It baffled him. Two months ago he wouldn’t have spared either memory a second thought. Now he was obsessed with figuring out how closely his own deeds resembled his father’s, and how he could have done some of the idiotic things that he had indulged in, and whether Alexandra was right to doubt his ability to love when there was no ulterior motive or game involved. They would both find out soon enough.
The task he’d thought would be the most difficult turned out to be the easiest. Between Mr. Mullins and himself, he tracked down and purchased half a dozen paintings by one Christopher Gallant. He knew Alexandra thought highly of her father’s work. Upon viewing them, he was ready to share her opinion. Apparently so did several of the more renowned critics of British landscapes, and he arranged for a series of formal viewings over the next few months.
The prices for the works were considerable, and he was glad to pay them. Alexandra would be happy to hear of their increased value, as well. Of course, he had no intention of mentioning a word about any of his purchases until he had her securely in his arms—otherwise she would accuse him of bribing her. No, he would keep the paintings safe and sound at Kilcairn Abbey until she arrived there as his bride to see them lining the Great Hall with the family’s other treasured works of art.
“Lucien, if you’re having second thoughts about your grand party, please let me know so I can flee to China.” Lord Belton leaned against his fireplace mantel.
“I’m barely having any thoughts at all,” Lucien grumbled. “Though I do confess to being bloody annoyed at having to come to your house if I want to compose any private correspondence.” He sat back, rereading his note, before he dusted it with sand and folded it. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you, my boy?”
“About marrying Rose?”
“No, about swimming across the Channel.”
“Very amusing.” Robert strolled over to drop into the chair behind Lucien. “Rose will make a delightful viscountess, and I’m happy to have found her.”
“But?” Lucien prompted.
“But our—your—treatment of your aunt bothers me. She’s going to be furious, and she’s also going to be my mother-in-law.”
“Don’t worry about your family valuables.” Lucien chuckled. “She wants grandchildren so the lot of you can raise them to despise me.”
“I just hope it’s you she keeps despising. She’ll be living under my roof at Belton Court, you know. Even if I keep my valuables, I could lose an ear or a toe.”
Still chuckling, Lucien dripped wax onto the back of his correspondence to seal it and mashed his signet ring into the cooling globule. “Even if I could think of another way to resolve this mess, I don’t think I’d do it. What kind of mother would force her only daughter—her only child—to marry me? Especially with you about as an alternative.”
“Good God. Was that a compliment?”
He turned around, straddling the writing desk’s chair. “What’s not to compliment? You’re a good man, Robert. A better one than I am.”
“Hm. I’m less convoluted than you are. With certain benefits of family that you never had.”
There it was again. He was damned both by nature and by upbringing. “Poor family’s no excuse. My foul way of living is simply easier.” Lucien rested his chin on the back of the chair. “I’m glad you found Rose, and that she found you. I hope one day to be as lucky.”
“Balderdash. You are as lucky. The love of your life just happens to be locked in your cellar.”
“That is for her own protection.”
“All this has nothing to do with your being madly in love with her, then? Do you think I’m completely cork-brained? You practically swoon whenever you mention her name.”
Lucien straightened. “I donotswoon.”
Robert grinned. “I was speaking metaphorically.”
“Well, I’m about ready to metaphorically bloody your nose,” Lucien retorted, and stood. “Don’t be late tomorrow.”
“I won’t be. When’s the grand reunion to take place?”
“Right before I announce your engagement, and before Aunt Fiona can find a pistol with which to shoot me.” And more important, before she could begin spouting any more rumors about Alexandra and Lord Welkins or himself.
“Good luck.”
Lucien opened the door and handed his missive to Robert’s butler for delivery. “It’s a brilliantly composed plan. I don’t need luck.” He accepted his coat and his hat as Robert joined him in the foyer. “But thank you, anyway.”
On his way back to Balfour House he had the coach stop at Madame Charbonne’s, where he checked on the progress of one last item he needed for tomorrow evening’s festivities. And then he went to get drunk. He was going to have to be sober for the festivities tomorrow.
Alexandra crouched just inside the cellar’s garden entry and rattled the padlock. Atlas the Titan couldn’t have opened the blasted thing.
The other cellar door opened. “Alexandra, I have…” Lucien’s voice trailed off, and then he cursed. “Alexandra!” he called sharply. “Damnation!”
