“How the deuce did your valet come by such information?” Elias wondered if he should hire Fords to discover more about Celia rather than Mr. Portney.
“Fords knows I prefer to read the table before I take part in the game.” Monty fiddled with his gloves. “It’s open season on eligible bachelors, and the marriage-minded mothers are cunning and relentless. One must carefully prepare before treading such dangerous grounds.” He twitched a knowing shrug. “Servants know everything. One must simply listen.” He nodded at the overflowing basket of envelopes. “Dig for the card, dear brother. What better place to observe and haunt your elusive Lady Cecilia than when she is trapped at a dinner party?”
Elias shuffled through the papers, tearing open seals and scanning the sheets for the gist of the contents and the sender. He paused long enough to toss a handful of the unopened ones into Monty’s lap. “Make yourself useful.”
Monty joined in but moved at a slower pace. One of the notes grabbed his interest. He leaned forward and stroked his chin, enraptured by the multi-page missive. “I had no idea he had that many illegitimate children.”
“Monty!” Elias snatched it out of his hands and set it aside. “Find the Whitfield invite—not fodder for gossip at the club.”
“We do not gossip.”
“You lie. I have witnessed it.” Elias looked closer at the words scrawled across the note in his hand. “Here. Found it.” Now that he had confirmed he was officially invited, he could more effectively plan his attack. He glanced up from the invitation. “You do plan to attend, yes?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world now,” Monty said. “You have piqued my interest regarding my future sister-in-law. Shall I come by and fetch you, since heavy rains appear to be the way of it today?”
“Yes, I fear the barouche offers little protection against the weather.” Elias refolded the card and tucked it safely into the inner pocket of his coat. “I shall be ready at a quarter past eight. That should enable us to arrive at an opportune time that is also acceptable to our hostess. I shall send my response to the Whitfields immediately.”
“We shall arrive early enough to watch for the arrival of those from the Hasterton household.” Monty rose, donned his hat and gloves, then winked again. “You shall be married before the month is out, dear brother. Never fear.” As he sauntered toward the door, he glanced back and proudly patted his chest. “And I shall be an exemplary uncle who spoils his beloved nephews and nieces with the finest of gifts.”
“Let us not get ahead of ourselves.” Elias gathered his hat, gloves, and satchel, and followed his brother out of the office and the building.
“Care for a ride?” Monty paused with his foot on his carriage’s step.
Elias glanced up at the overcast sky. The heavy bank of grayness looked ready to split open and pour. “I would, actually. Thank you very much.”
When they came to a stop in front of his modest home, he turned to his brother. “Thank you.”
For once, Monty became quite serious. “You can always depend on me. I hope you know that.”
“I do, and it is much appreciated.” Elias alit from the carriage, closed the door, then thumped on it before vaulting up his front steps and hurrying inside.
Mrs. Camp met him in the entry hall with a look of surprise. “Home early, my lord? Not feeling poorly, I hope?”
“I am quite well, Mrs. Camp, but I forgot to tell you I shall be going out this evening. Please have Henry ready the bath, and I shall require my evening dress seen to, of course.” An amused huff escaped him as he added, “It may be in need of a good dusting.” Elias rarely made it a point to attend such parties unless it would improve a relationship with a client. Tonight, however, he needed to impress upon Celia that he would not go quietly, and wherever she went, he would be there as well.
Mrs. Camp sprang into action, gathering his hat, gloves, and satchel from him. She waddled down the hallway at an impressive speed, considering her generous girth. “Right away, my lord,” she called back without slowing. “I shall have Henry shine your good leather shoes once he finishes carrying the water. I know you’ll not wish to wear your Hessians with your evening dress.”
If Wellington had troops as efficient and lively as Mrs. Camp, the war would have ended ages ago. Elias didn’t bother responding, since the housekeeper had already disappeared downstairs to rally the troops—ortroopas it were, since her son Henry was the only servant other than a maid to help her with the housekeeping. Jamison, the driver of his coach, lived above the stable at the back of the house.
As Elias climbed the stairs, it struck him that he kept quite a modest home. But as a bachelor and a worker of long hours, he didn’t need anything more. He halted on the landing, turned, and stared back downstairs at the sparse hall devoid of paintings, small tables, vases of fresh flowers, and any other unnecessary items that merely created clutter and required dusting. He failed to see the need for such things.
As the daughter of a very affluent family, Celia came from opulence and excess—the best of everything. While he did quite well at the firm, he could never provide her with such a lifestyle. Was that the true reason she had spurned him? Had she said she was protecting him from ruin to save his ego?
He pulled in a deep breath and slowly whistled it out through clenched teeth. Now was not the time to second-guess himself. A deep knowing, a raw feeling that gnawed at him, insisted there was more to Celia’s release of him than she had revealed. And while riches dripped from her name, she had never behaved like a spoiled darling of thetonintent on showing everyone that only the very best satisfied her. After all, asCelia the companion, she had always dressed with a modest intent of not outshining the dowager duchess. There was a worrisome mystery to be solved here, and he would not rest until he untangled it.
The door to the servants’ stair at the other end of the hall thumped open with a loud bang. Henry ambled out of it, toting steaming buckets of water. “Sorry for the noise, my lord.” The young man gave Elias an apologetic look. “I was paying more attention to not spilling than catching the door.”
“Give me the buckets, lad, and you can run down and get more.” Elias went to take them, but Henry backed up with a horrified look.
“If Mother found out I let you carry the water…” The boy gave a hard shake of his head. “I’ll not risk that sort of wrath, my lord. If you could open the dressing room door, though, that would be grand.”
Elias crossed the bedroom, opened the door, and stepped aside, noticing that his black evening coat had already been brushed and placed on the clothes horse. His newest white shirt—onewithoutruffles, just as he preferred—and his waistcoat waited there as well. His black trousers rested across the foot of the bed. He often wondered if Mrs. Camp was a ghost, because the woman had perfected the ability to move about the house with amazing speed and complete every task without being heard or seen. A freshly starched cravat was laid out on top of his dresser, as well as short drawers, stockings with their garters, and braces for his trousers.
As Henry hurried out for more water, Elias started shedding his clothes and pondering what Celia’s reaction would be when she saw him.Ifthe dowager duchess’s health permitted them to attend, as Monty’s valet had reported. If the poor lady’s day had not gone well, then all his preparations would be for naught.
“Think positive,” he said aloud while approaching the one luxury he indulged in—a metal tub large enough to stretch out his long legs in and hopefully, someday, use for an amorous bath with Celia.
Either Henry or his mother had already lined the vessel with linen. A hint of steam rose from the small amount of water barely covering the bottom of the tub. A pair of kettles hanging over the fire in the dressing room’s small hearth were at the ready for rinsing or making the bathwater hotter.
