‘You are my family,’ he said simply, ‘and I know you’ll always have my back should I ever have need of it.’
Anthony placed his hand over the top of the Duke’s, not trusting himself to speak.
Abruptly, a loud snore cut into the poignant moment, accompanied by the sound of a bottle falling to the floor.
The Reverend sighed and went to pick up the bottle. ‘Thunder an’ turf, if I’ve told her once, I’ve told her a dozen times, the Reverend tutted, picking up the empty bottle. ‘The pedlar’s a deuced ivory turner.’
He held up the bottle. ‘If this isDr. Brodum’s Botanical Syrup and Restorative Nervous Cordial, then I’m the Archbishop of Canterbury.’He gave a weary shake of his head. ‘It’s nothing but a bottle of grog.’
He paused, then brightened slightly before adding, ‘Still, she’ll be unlikely to surface before tomorrow afternoon. As the Almighty constantly shows us, there’s always a light at the end of every tunnel.’
∞∞∞
Simon Linfield had spent the last few hours pacing the study. What the bloody hell was he going to do? His bastard of a cousin had bamboozled him. Anger swamped him, and he sloshed another brandy into his glass. He would have to apply for guardianship over Victoria immediately, but there was no guarantee it would be granted. But without her money, the title was worthless. In a sudden fit of anger, he threw the glass against the fireplace.
Suddenly producing Georgiana wouldn’t help. What good would it do now to prove she was Roland’s get? He’d still be left with nothing but a worthless title.
Unless he married her.No, not her.Victoria.
If he married Victoria, her fortune would be his to do with as he wished. There would be no complications. Why the devil hadn’t he thought of that immediately?
But first he needed to throw George down the deepest bloody pit he could find and rid himself of his shrew of a wife…
∞∞∞
They reached Exeter before most of the farmers and traders began queuing to bring their produce into the city market.
‘Is the Bishop like to be abroad at this godforsaken hour?’ quizzed Malcolm.
‘I’m told he’s a pious man, so doubtless he’ll have been on his knees for a good couple of hours,’ the Reverend retorted with a dubious shrug.
‘Pious or not, it hasn’ae stopped him accepting illicit coin when the mood takes him,’ the Scot countered matter-of-factly.
‘In fairness, we don’t know it was illicit,’ Nicholas returned evenly.
‘Well, it’s damned immoral at least, and even if we have got the wrong end of the stick, I canna see the murdering varmint we’re looking for being the sort to give money to good causes,’ Malcolm snorted.
‘I suspect the only charity Linfield is interested in is himself,’ Anthony commented caustically. ‘And I think murderingbastardis a more accurate description.’
Nicholas looked at his brother-in-law in concern. Anthony was pale and had spoken little on the journey. ‘Are you well enough to continue?’ the Duke questioned bluntly. The young man nodded grimly.
‘I think it would be better if Malcolm and I question His Excellency,’ Nicholas went on. ‘The Bishop has the power to remove your incumbency Augustus, and since I’m assuming that’s the last thing you wish to happen, I suggest you and Percy remain in the carriage with Anthony.’
The curate breathed a sigh of relief. He certainly wasn’t looking forward to a repeat visit to the Palace. EvenThe Illustrated Art To Manlinessdeclared that discretion was occasionally the better part of valour. (Chapter Fourteen: Saving One’s Bacon).
The Reverend was clearly of the same opinion and for once didn’t argue.
∞∞∞
‘Well fer sayin’ the bloody staff are loyal, they ain’t in no hurry to feed us,’ George grumbled a pair of hours later.
‘No doubt Simon left that oaf Henry Atkins to keep an eye on them,’ Judith responded, standing up and walking over to the window.
‘Atkins is ‘ere?’ Sick terror swamped George, and for a second, she couldn’t breathe. Hearing the panic in the young woman’s voice, Judith looked back over her shoulder.
‘He wouldn’t dare touch you,’ she reassured. ‘He’s Simon’s lackey, nothing more.’
‘Din’t stop the bastard’s wandering ‘ands when ‘e ‘ad me under ‘is roof,’ George spat.
