“It hardly signifies what she wears. She is the future Duchess of Rosehill,” Parker said.
That was intriguing. I hadn’t thought the Duke’s interests lay that way.
I had half a mind to interrupt the gossipmongers, if only to clear my view, when I felt a pointed jab to my shoulder. I turned to find Kate in her most dignified fury.
“Hours late and eye blackened! I look forward to the explanation I shall receive on the morrow,” she hissed while searching for further damage to my person.
“Would you believe I was attacked by a rabid swan?”
“No,” she replied with a roll of her eyes as she brushed unseen dust from my lapel. Probably left from the curtains. “I expect you’ll be wanting something stronger than lemonade. Hugh and Tom are in the study with the good scotch.” With that, I was dismissed, and she turned to greet other guests.
I’d managed to avoid the study in all my visits to Grayson House in recent weeks. The room I found was much the same as it was under the late viscount’s reign. Dark cherry wood adorned every available surface. Hugh seemed content to allow the stacks of ledgers to overtake the shelves behind him, much like his father. Father’s desk appeared smaller than it had during his life, less imposing. Featured prominently behind the desk, the man’s portrait remained. Stern of jaw and dark of hair, he was prepared to judge every decision I made at that desk.
The desk that was never mine. I had merely borrowed it for a time. Still, it stung to see Hugh with his feet propped casually on the surface. The one on which I toiled for years. I forced myself to bite back a comment regarding the mistreatment of furnishings. After all, Hugh was a grown man, and the desk was his to abuse.
I could see almost nothing of the small, skinny, red-faced boy who had returned from Eton, angry, hurting, and utterly unprepared for the duties of viscount at one and ten. He blamed me for his father’s death. He never said as much, but he was less than subtle. I knew better, though. I knew the gift I had given him. Blissful ignorance.
Tom was making liberal use of the liquor at the sideboard between the two carved doors, one to the hall, the other to the library. He poured a glass for me without a word. The boy was not yet eight when his father passed, and I still found it strange to see a young man, making free with the scotch, in his place.
In his youth, Tom held none of the bitterness of Hugh, merely sadness. He, too, knew only that our father had fallen in the lake that bitter morning in January. He understood that I had been too late to save him. That was all he would ever know. It was better that way.
I took a seat across from Hugh. Tom chose a seat on the desk rather than the perfectly serviceable chair beside it. Hugh said nothing about it, and I was left to hold my tongue. I was not his father.
Hugh broke the companionable silence. “What the devil did you do to your eye this time?”
“Swan.”
“Really? Again?”
“I’ve used that one before? I need to start keeping a list. Kate will suspect I’ve been less than truthful with her.”
“I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but Kate knows all.”
“You almost sound as though you admire your wife, Hugh.”
I knew better than to comment on a man’s marriage, but the temptation was too strong. Tom shot a reproachful look in my direction. I ought to avoid antagonizing Hugh if only to save Tom the effort of maintaining the peace.
Hugh’s brow furrowed. His expression shifted slowly as he tried to determine whether my comment was a compliment or insult. Before he could settle on the right of it, I changed the subject. “What do you know of Richard Dalton?”
“Is he a guest?”
“The one Kate wanted to keep from the ladies,” Tom added.
A spark of recollection dawned on Hugh’s face. “What do you want with him?”
“A simple conversation.”
“The man is a loose screw. How much does he owe you?” For all his talents, Tom hadn’t yet mastered the art of subtlety.
“Enough.”
“If I get him to the library, you’ll talk to him. Nothing else.” Hugh was grave, and it stung a bit coming from him. “You’ll not have a row with him during Kate’s ball.”
“Certainly not!” I cried, offended by the notion. My business may be unscrupulous, but I would never dream of insulting my sister in such a manner. I lived outside the watchful eyes of the ton; but I knew how to comport myself, a fact Hugh well knew.
“You can wait in the library; I’ll try to lure him away from the debutantes. At least Kate will thank me for that effort.” Hugh was off with Tom trailing behind. I was left alone in the study I had once occupied, now a guest.
I tipped the last of my scotch in a toast toward the late viscount’s portrait before swallowing it back. “Cheers, my lord.” His disquieting presence dismissed; I made use of the second door into the library.
