Chapter 19
Greys attempted to catch an hour or two of sleep but, plagued by a sense of urgency, gave up in favor of tending to business. And if he was going to have to deal with unpleasant affairs, he might as well do so in style.
With that in mind, after bathing, Greys dressed in his favorite waistcoat—a royal blue silk, matched with a navy-blue jacket, pristine linen shirt, and elaborately tied cravat.
With his valet’s assistance, of course.
The ensemble almost had him feeling like himself.
As Lord Huntly was not known for being an early riser, Greys considered it best to delay meeting with the earl until one that afternoon. Waking the man before he was ready to face the day, would only add insult to injury.
Forced to wait, Greys spent what remained of the morning in his observatory, distracting himself by using the Stellar Parallax method on his recently collected data. Unfortunately, even the beauty of that magnificent equation wasn’t enough to make the morning pass faster than a snail’s pace.
What was Diana doing? The Ravensdale’s were hosting their annual ball that evening. Was she bathing and preening and resting, preparing to dance the night away?
He ought to have reserved a set with her—two sets: a waltz and the supper dance.
That sense of urgency where she was concerned rose again, and when, at only quarter past noon, he realized his computations weren’t making any sense, he decided to take his chances early with Huntly.
And as luck would have it, the earl had had an early appointment that morning. So as Huntly’s butler escorted Greys into the man’s study, Lady Isabella’s father crossed the room, hand outstretched, looking excessively pleased with the visit.
“An unexpected pleasure, Greystone.” The man gripped Grey’s hand firmly, with a good deal of enthusiasm. “Have a seat, my good man.”
Greys ignored the invitation and instead planted his feet wide, clasping his hands behind his back. “You may not think so after I tell you why I’ve come.” He had no wish to draw out this meeting.
“I’m sure there’s nothing we can’t work out.” Even Grey’s sobering words failed to subdue the earl’s enthusiasm. “What can I do for you, Greys?” Lord Huntly propped his backside against his desk, a slight narrowing of his eyes being the only indication that he might be braced for bad news.
“I will not be marrying your daughter.” Greys wouldn’t beat around the bush. He had not signed any contracts, he’d not made any promises, but even so, he’d sought permission to court the girl, giving her father every reason to believe those promises would come.
Huntly’s knuckles, Greys noticed, had turned white where he gripped the edge of his desk. “We had an agreement.” The man said.
Greys shook his head. “It was preliminary.” Which was true, but… “I apologize if this causes your family any embarrassment.”
Greys had not, however, given his word, and he resented the implication that he had.
“A match between you and Lady Isabella will eclipse every other marriage this year. But, surely, this is merely a case of cold feet?” The earl laughed uncomfortably.
“I’m afraid this goes well beyond cold feet.” Greys exhaled. This would have been so much easier if only the earl’s wife and daughter hadn’t prematurely announced the tentative agreement to all theTon.
Even easier if Greys hadn’t gone to Huntly in the first place.
“People are going to believe my daughter has done something to give you cause to cry off.” Huntly was scowling now, giving up any pretense of amicability. “Your failure to uphold your word will make her the laughingstock of the season.”
Something of an exaggeration, although there was a hint of truth there. “I’ll ensure it is known far and wide that the fault lies with me.”
Huntly stared at Greys suspiciously. “Might I enquire as to your reason, my lord? Surely I deserve to know why you would take such unprecedented steps as to break your word.”
It wasn’t any of Huntly’s business, but the earl would find out eventually—once Greys announced his engagement to Diana.
“I’ve decided on another bride.”
At the slamming of Huntly’s fist on his desk, Greys merely flicked his wrist, staring at the lace reaching out of the sleeve of his jacket.
“Surely not one of Chaswick’s bastard sisters?” A bitterness Greys hadn’t expected vibrated from the gentleman whom Greys had imagined he’d establish a permanent alliance. “My countess said you were sniffing around the younger one.”
In response, Greys merely plucked his fingertips at the lace on his sleeve. “You will watch what you say about the Baron’s sisters.” Even if Greys didn’t intend to marry Diana, he’d not have allowed anyone to speak like this about the family of one of his oldest friends.
“You’re making a mistake, Greystone. Marry well and then keep Chaswick’s sister on the side. To imagine theTonwill accept her as your marchioness is the height of foolishness. Your grandfather would have disowned you for this.”
