“Are you well, milord?” the footman asked, just as the coachman came around from the front.
“Well enough,” Ramsey replied, tugging on the cuff of his coat, evaluating the carriage wheels in the dim light.
“’Twas a loud crack, milord. We thought it best to stop,” the coachman said, bending down to get a better view of the carriage. “I don’t think we’ve broken a wheel, but the axle may be damaged.”
Ramsey simply nodded.
“If it was the axle, it’s a good thing we didn’t snap it. ’Twould have been disastrous,” the coachman mumbled, then stood. “My apologies, my lord. But we cannot continue till we’ve fixed the problem.”
“I understand.” Ramsey nodded, then took in his surroundings more fully. He wasn’t more than a block away from Heathcliff’s residence, and he could send for a hack from there. “I believe I’ll head toward the viscount’s residence and hire a conveyance from there. I’ll send word back to the stables and have some assistance sent to you as well.”
“Thank you, milord.” The coachman bowed.
“I’ll accompany you, milord.” The footman stepped forward, and soon they were making their way to Heathcliff ’s residence. As Ramsey had suspected, they had already left for the ball nearly an hour before, but John was more than accommodating, allowing them entrance into the house immediately. After showing them into one of the parlors, John immediately dispatched a missive to request a hack coach. Ramsey conveyed his thanks, but didn’t dismiss John. There was a slightly anxious edge to his demeanor, and he kept casting assessing gazes at the footman who had accompanied Ramsey. After a moment, Ramsey dismissed the footman and instructed John to stay.
The footman obeyed and closed the door, and no sooner had he left than John strode forward. “My lord, I can only assume that you have not seen the viscount this eve.”
John’s demeanor had Ramsey immediately on alert. “No. I have not.”
“Then may I speak plainly, my lord?” John asked, his tone eager.
Ramsey nodded, frowning as he did so. John was beyond trustworthy, and loyal to a fault. If he was requesting to speak in such a way, it was something that needed to be heard.
“The viscount requested that I do some checking on Lord Westhouse. It has taken me longer than I anticipated, since he’s quite good at covering his tracks.”
At this, Ramsey snorted. He was well aware of that fact.
John continued after giving an agreeing expression. “But it would seem that there is some circulation of a possible connection between Lord Westhouse and your father,” John finished, his tone hesitant.
“Continue.” Ramsey tipped his head, a slight edge of dread spreading like ink through his blood.
“It would seem that Lord Westhouse is . . . that is to say . . . there are rumors that—”
“Plain speaking, John,” Ramsey almost ground out.
“He’s quite possibly your half-brother.”
Ramsey wasn’t quite sure what he had been expecting, but most certainly not that.
John continued. “That is all the information I have now, but I’m not certain that there aren’t more implications to be uncovered, so I would be on my guard, my lord. I’ll let Mrs. Marilla know that I’ll be taking my leave to evaluate your carriage myself. I want to rule out some sort of foul play. It would be a stretch, but I’ve learned never to underestimate a man.”
Ramsey nodded; that was all he was bloody able to do at the moment. He was still processing the emotional roundhouse punch John’s words had delivered. “Thank you, John,” he was able to say after a moment.
There was a knock at the door, and Ramsey found the presence of mind to call for the person to enter. Mrs. Marilla opened the door. “The hack is here, my lord. And your footman is already with it.” She curtsied.
Ramsey nodded, taking in the slight blush on her cheeks when she mentioned the footman. It would be good for her to find a companion; she’d been dealt a severe blow in life, and as such, deserved some happiness.
He pushed these thoughts away and nodded. “Very good.” He gave a curt nod to John, who bowed back, his expression a promise that he would not miss any detail, and with that, Ramsey quit the room.
The hack swayed slightly as he stepped inside. The faint scent of pipe smoke spiced the air and he immediately missed the more luxurious furnishing of his own carriage, but it wasn’t of import.
No.
What was of import was figuring out how the hell Westhouse could be his half-brother.
Their lands bordered each other, that was true enough. It was possible as far as distance, but they were nearly the same age. No. That wasn’t true. Westhouse was about six months older. Ramsey thought back over his childhood, scouring his mind for any recollection of his father mentioning Lord or Lady Westhouse. He hadn’t.
Which, as he thought about it, was rather odd.
