Violet swung around. “Oh, Your Grace, good afternoon. I did not know you were here.” Violet gripped her skirts with a white-knuckled grip.
“Didn’t I see you upstairs moments ago with Mr. Murdoch?” Hart asked.
“Oh, did you? I did not know you were here.” Violet repeated herself and then seemed to realize what she had done because a crazed giggle rang out.
Lucy winced. Poor Violet was not a natural at lying.
Just then, the butler came striding into the foyer. “Your hat and gloves, sir?”
“Yes, and can you tell my coachman that I am going to walk home from here? I need some fresh air.”
Lucy studied Hart. His expression was tight and grim. What had he learned in his meeting with the earl? Or was it due to finding out from Mr. Murdoch that she had fabricated her fake beau? Was he upset that she had lied to him?
The butler came into view as he retrieved Hart’s hat and gloves from the console table next to the closet. Lucy took a step back into the dark interior in case the man glanced toward the closet to see an eye peering back at him.
Hart donned his gloves and hat, then nodded at Violet. “Good day, Lady Blakely.
She curtsied in return. “Good day, Your Grace.”
After Hart left the house, the butler turned to Violet. “Is there anything I can get you, miss?”
Violet put her hands behind her back. “Oh no, thank you, Hoby.”
The butler turned and returned to whence he came from. Her friend hurried over to the closet. “The coast is clear.”
Lucy emerged and lifted one hand to smooth a stray hair that had fallen into her face. “Thank you. That was quick thinking. You are a true friend, Violet.”
“No thanks necessary.” Violet winged out her elbow. “Shall we adjourn to the drawing room to eat sticky buns?”
“If there was ever a time for sweets, now is that time.” Lucy glanced back at the door and frowned. “But Hart looked almost distraught. I think maybe I will try to catch up with him.”
Violet tilted her head. “He did?”
Lucy nodded. “Better to know now if Mr. Murdoch ratted me out than to wait and fret over it for days. Can you call for my maid, please?”
“Of course, dear. But you must send me a note later, or I will simply die of curiosity.”
Chapter Fifteen
His father hadhad an affair with the wife of his close friend. His father—a womanizer. Hart couldn’t seem to reconcile these things with the man he’d known. The man who cautioned his sons to take care with their liaisons. To not bring scandal to the family name. Although his father had been stern and distant, Hart had always looked up to him… from afar. The man had seemed larger than life, good at everything he did—excellent horseman, hunter, even gambler. Robert had always groused that Hart had inherited his father’s immense luck and skill with cards.
His walking stick hit against a small branch that lay across the pavement. Hart stepped over it as he continued down Harris Street. A light breeze raced against his skin, cooling him from the warmth of the day. From his right, came the loud, cheerful voices of children and he realized he had made it to Green Park. He changed direction and strolled through the gate, entering onto a shady path.
Of course, his father was only a man, but Hart had spent his whole life idolizing him and older brother. Never measuring up to them in his mind. He’d always been the loose cannon, just the spare. Seeing the cracks in his father’s life made him reconsider how he felt about his own. Perhaps, he wasn’t doing so badly filling the role of Duke of Hartwick. Spotting a wood bench, Hart sat down with a long sigh. He desperately wished he could speak to his brother. Had Robert known?
Damned if he wouldn’t give all he had to sit here next to Robert and tell him the salacious news and commiserate in their shared shock. His brother would have been the one person who could have understood the thoughts swirling in Hart’s mind. Robert had known him like no one else. Like only your sibling could. He could admit it had been lonely, he hadn’t let anyone else become that close since Robert died. Except maybe Grisham. And after the attack, his sadness had been suffocating. It hadn’t seemed fair to suck anyone into his own personal hell. Grisham had just married and started a new business; he needed to look forward and not worry about Hart.
A few leaves swirled in a small whirling dervish at his feet. Hart watched as a pair of tall black Hessians entered his line of view. He glanced up to find a man with a long, lean frame. The man had sharp, angular features and wore no hat. His dark hair ruffled by the breeze.
“You look as though someone has killed your puppy.” The gravel in the man’s deep voice surprised Hart. It reminded him so much of his brother. He blinked slowly, his thoughts of Robert interfering in reality.
“Pardon?”
“I’ve never seen a sadder sight than you slumped on this bench.”
Taken aback, Hart found himself answering honestly. “I just found out some shocking news.” He peered up at the stranger. “Do I know you?”
“No, but I know you. You came looking for me.” The man pulled out a white card from inside his jacket and held it up.
