Chance ran a hand through his hair in frustration, only then realizing the mistake he’d made by not going after his damn hat.
At least her dog still liked him. That had to account for something. And then he smiled at the thought. She’d named himLancelot.
Chapter 17
Chance
Chance lay in bed that night, replaying everything she’d said to him. Hollis had been right in the fact that she most definitely had not forgotten him. One did not run off and burst into tears if they felt nothing for the person they were running from. He encouraged himself by remembering that love and hate were two sides of the same coin.
Chance simply needed to flip the coin back over. And he could only do that by… that was the question.
She needed to become familiar with him again. She needed to trust that he wasn’t going to disappear for no reason.
The next morning, the same as he had the day before, he dressed and strolled through Mayfair until he took his place across from her townhouse again. When she exited, she turned her head around, located him, and promptly looked right past him and strode off in the opposite direction, a maid trailing her this time.
His initial thought was to follow her but reconsidered in order to allow her time to work through her temper. The street was oddly quiet after she’d gone, causing an emptiness to linger with the knowledge that she wasn’t nearby. Chance frowned as he contemplated a path and iron gate set neatly to the right of the house. The locking mechanism posed no problem for him, he’d have to speak with her about that later on. If he could break in, anyone could.
Careful not to make an abundance of noise, he slipped through the iron gates and followed the stone path leading around back. Although a few trees grew between her house and her neighbors, the garden was mostly dirt with some sparse patches of grass and randomly placed unkept shrubs. Two years ago, she had told him that she would plant a flower garden. Ah, yes, Old Harry Bloomington had considered flowers to be a waste.
Chance studied the space for a bit before removing a pencil and paper from his pocket and making a small drawing.
“Your Grace!” Mr. Carrington had emerged from inside and was standing on the back step. “Would you care to come inside for some…tea?” At that same time Lancelot came rushing out to greet him, tongue lolling out the left side of his mouth, eyes wide, however, and excited.
“Don’t mind if I do.” Chance brushed at his trousers, gave Lancelot a moment of attention and then made his way inside, the short-legged dog close on his heels. “I’m rather curious to see how matters have been progressing,” he added. Mr. Carrington had initially been his father’s butler, and after the previous duke passed away, become a loyal employee to Chance. Chance had given the experienced butler a healthy raise when he’d asked him to go to work for Aubrey Bloomington. He’d known that Mr. Carrington, a consummate professional, would watch out for her. Assure not only her safety but her standing.
“My condolences on the passing of Her Grace,” Carrington offered as he led Chance into his own personal office. The brandy he poured for both of them would be from his own supply.
Chance had not given the older man a very detailed explanation when he’d arrived in London two years ago, after sneaking out on Aubrey. He’d simply told him that Mrs. Bloomington would need to believe all of the improvements were a part of her inheritance and to be certain she was not taken advantage of by any cheats, nor that she was left to her own devices for overly long.
Mr. Carrington had not once asked him why but had instead suggested a few Mayfair ladies of whom Chance might turn to for help in order to prevent the latter. Chance had barely had time to make a visit to his mother’s acquaintances before he’d had to depart for Margate.
“She is doing well?” Chance dropped into the wooden chair that sat across from the butler’s desk. It was not a question, really. But Chance wanted to hear some of the details of her life now that he’d seen her again.
The butler furrowed his brows. “She is, Your Grace.”
At the butler’s sudden reticence, Chance realized he was putting the gentleman between a rock and a hard place. Of course, the man would not wish to divulge too much information about his current employer, about Aubrey, but at the same time, it was Chance who paid the greater portion of his salary.
“I won’t ask you to reveal anything I cannot discover for myself, by asking around town. Is she… attached to anyone?” Chance needed to know this. Perhaps if she was, then he could walk away. Forget all that they shared.
“She hosts monthly salons. Political discussions, poetry readings, musicales on occasion. Last year she met Mister Richard Cline. He was—is—a poet. She has come to depend upon him greatly. She seems quite comfortable with the gentleman and I believe they will make an announcement soon.”
Chance’s heart skipped a beat.
“Is he worthy of her?” The thought of this dandy… Richard Cline… Dandy Dick, touching her…
His gut churned. It was not too late. It could not be. Gesturing toward a stack of foolscap, a pen and inkwell, he asked. “May I?”
Carrington nodded and after a few minutes Chance was blowing on the paper and then folding it in half. “You will place this in her room?”
Carrington pinched his lips together, but then nodded. “I will make sure she gets it, Your Grace.”
All Chance could do was nod to himself. He needed her to trust him. She needed to accept that his intentions were honorable this time. He was here for her and only her.
You’re going to have to talk with me if you ever want to get rid of me, he’d written, and then he’d signed it Chance, and given her his house number and street. It would not be overly exceptional for her to make a visit to Chauncey House. She was a widow, and he a widower now. But would she?
At least she could find him now. When she was ready.
He knew her. She was not one to play games. In all the time they’d been together, she’d not once presented herself falsely or pretended ennui. She’d been up front as to her feelings. She’d given herself to him expecting nothing in return, and she’d believed she could live with such a bargain.
