‘I have no idea,’ Nicholas sighed, the last vestiges of his anger disappearing. ‘He has clearly not been in London for long. I would have heard of it otherwise.’
‘I dinna ken why ye’d think so,’ Malcolm countered. ‘It’s not as if he moves in the same circles. Stanhope could quite easily have been hanging around like a bad bloody smell for a year or more. Avoiding dukes is not that much of a feat to us common folk.’
The Duke gave an inelegant snort and shook his head. ‘If he’s back in London, then he has good reason. I doubt he would have been able to keep away for any length of time. Recklessness is only one of his many less than desirable qualities.’
‘Who is he?’ Chastity finally mustered up the courage to ask. ‘I mean, heseemedlike a gentleman.’ Even as she spoke, she thought back to the mockery in Christian Stanhope’s eyes, the sense of mystery he exuded and realised that despite the fine clothes, he’d looked anything but.
Sighing, Nicholas ran his fingers through his hair, suddenly looking every one of his two and forty years. Giving Chastity’s shoulder one last squeeze, Grace went over to the sideboard and poured two brandies. After giving the first to Malcolm, she walked over and handed the second to her husband, bending down to give him a quick fierce kiss at the same time. ‘Whatever this man is to you, my love, I’m entirely certain he’s not worth risking an apoplexy for.’
‘Do you think me so in my dotage that you need to ply me with strong drink?’ Nicholas commented drily. ‘You’ll be bringing me a blanket next.’ Nonetheless, he took the proffered brandy and returned her kiss before turning towards Chastity.
‘According to eyewitnesses, Christian Stanhope murdered one of my ship’s company,’ he offered tersely in answer to her question. ‘But before he could be court martialled, he jumped ship. I haven’t seen or heard of him since.’ He took a swallow of his brandy and added, ‘Until now.’
‘Well, he certainly isn’t lacking in nerve,’ Grace observed.
‘Aye, well, I can’t deny he was a bloody reckless fool,’ Malcolm agreed, shaking his head and favouring the Duke with an explicably hard stare.
Chastity longed to ask exactly what had happened, but looking at Nicholas’s closed face, she knew he was unlikely to indulge her curiosity.
‘Did he give you any indication as to under which rock I might find him?’ her brother-in-law probed. Chastity shook her head and frowned.
‘As you say, he definitely had an aura of danger around him, but I … I did sense a sadness too. Mayhap he regrets what happened to that man.’ From the corner of her eye, she saw Grace look over at her sharply and couldn’t prevent the sudden surge of colour in her cheeks.
‘Well, if he wishes to speak with me, he clearly knows where I am,’ Nicholas growled. ‘He has an inflated sense of his importance if he thinks me likely to jump to his deuced bidding.’
‘Do you want to speak with him?’ Grace questioned with a frown. ‘I mean, if he was about to be court-martialled before he disappeared, then surely he has still to answer for his crimes.’
‘I doubt very much the Royal Navy will be interested in coming for him after all this time.’ Malcolm shrugged. He was still eying his employer inscrutably.
‘How long ago did this all happen?’ Grace asked curiously.
‘It was seven full years before Trafalgar,’ Nicholas answered reluctantly. ‘So that’s, what … seventeen years ago?’ He shrugged. ‘Difficult to believe so many years have passed.’ He was clearly directing his last remark to Malcolm, and the Scot nodded but offered no further clarification of the incident.
‘So, is he likely to call?’ Grace queried. ‘And if he does, should I allow him admittance?’
‘I can’t imagine even Kit Stanhope being so barefaced as to call on a peer of the realm without invitation,’ Malcolm declared. ‘He’ll most likely send a note.’
Nicholas shook his head and frowned. ‘The man certainly has enough presumption. But his words indicated that he expected me to be aware of his address.’ He turned towards his valet. ‘Malcolm, make some discreet enquiries. We have not been long in town and are likely not acquainted with the latest gossip.’
‘Chastity and I are taking afternoon tea with Tempy and Hope,’ Grace declared. ‘I believe the Viscountess Morehaven will also be attending.’ She gave a slight chuckle. ‘Lady Morehaven is the biggest windbag in all England. If there is any gossip to be revealed about Christian Stanhope, she is certain to divulge it.’ She rose to her feet and looked over at Chastity, her expression promising a few astute questions.
‘Will Miss Beaumont be joining ye in London at all?’
Malcom’s casual words stopped Grace in her tracks. Surprised, she looked over at the Scot whose face was carefully blank. ‘I believe she will be coming at the end of the month,’ she responded, equally nonchalantly. The valet nodded, then without further comment, climbed to his feet, nodded to those present and ambled from the room, leaving the other three occupants looking at each other with open mouths.
∞∞∞
Christian Stanhope, the unexpected sixth Earl of Cottesmore gazed into the depths of his brandy and reflected on the fickle nature of fate.
Two years ago, he’d been contemplating the purchase of a gentleman’s residence in New York. But two things happened that changed everything. Almost overnight.
The first was the damned letter. A mere third-or was it fourth?-cousin to the former Earl of Cottesmore, Christian Stanhope could never have imagined in his wildest dreams that a fire would wipe out the entire line. Except for him. He shook his head. He would have told the solicitors exactly what they could do with their bloody title, except for the second thing.
Another letter, this time attached to the cloak of a seven-year-old child left on his doorstep with nothing more than the clothes she was standing up in.
A girl the note claimed was his.
She couldn’t have arrived at a more inconvenient time, since he’d been in the middle of entertaining a few acquaintances and the unexpected knock on the door had dragged him away from a very agreeable flirtation with a young widow.
