“Very good. Were you at the club?”
“I was. Michael was having one of his usual crises. He’s convinced he cannot be a good father to his child since our father was shite. At least he’s decided working far too many hours is preferable to running to Piccadilly and losing thousands like he did last time.”
I left the majority of that statement lying, instead inquiring after the lady’s health. It was a safe enough topic and one we covered quite nicely by the time Xander stumbled through the door, disheveled and underdressed.
I rose to greet him, and Mr. Grayson followed me into the main room.
“Is she in there with Mr. Summers?” Xander demanded.
“And Wayland. I’m sure they’ll be out in a few moments,” I explained.
“She was gaming at the club?”
“That is what I’m given to understand. I believe she won, at least. Have a tart and a seat. Catch your breath,” I suggested, gesturing to the additional chair in my office before taking my own. Both men entered and settled beside each other, Mr. Grayson with a second tart in his hand. Without a word he passed it to Xander, who tore into it unthinkingly.
“So,” Mr. Grayson started. “I was wondering something,” he asked, his full attention on Xander.
“You need her permission,” the duke retorted, looking up from his tart, peevish.
“What?” Grayson’s brow furrowed.
“You need Davina’s permission. To court her. The Lord himself could not force her into a courtship she did not wish. I’m certainly not going to attempt it.”
“I wasn’t going to ask to court your sister,” Mr. Grayson explained slowly.
“You weren’t?”
“No. I envy the men brave enough to court Hasket women. I’m not one of them.” He turned in my direction to deliver that last little quip.Well struck, sir.
“Well, what did you want then?” Xander demanded.
“I was just wondering where you decided to go for your trip.”
“My trip?” Xander asked, distracted once more by the tart.
“You were planning a trip the last time I saw you.” Mr. Grayson leaned toward him, biting back a grin.
“Oh, I’m for Scotland.”
“Scotland… Highlands? Lowlands? For how long?”
“Lowlands. And I’m planning to make it my primary residence. Why do you have so many questions?” Xander snapped back.
Mr. Grayson’s teasing smirk fell from his face and his eyes widened in something like distress. “I—you—Nothing. Just making conversation.”
“Apologies. I’m a bit… distracted at the moment. What with my sister,” Xander explained, his hands brushing away the distraction.
“Of course. When, uh, when do you leave?” Mr. Grayson asked, picking at an invisible piece of lint on his waistcoat.
“That depends on what Will has managed to find out for me. Hopefully within the next several weeks.”
“I suppose I should leave you two to it then.” Mr. Grayson said, stumbling up from his chair and walking back out to the main room. He leaned against the tart table, picking at his thumbnail.
“Have you had the opportunity to find any answers? I know there was a bit of a situation here the other day,” Xander said.
“I have answers for some of the questions. Surprisingly enough, neither the Rycliffe residence nor Hasket House is entailed, only the Yorkshire property. If you wanted to sell the Rycliffe residence after your departure, you could, and the money would be yours to do with as you see fit and untouchable by an heir. You could stay with your mother whenever you return to town.”
“I can sell that house? You’re certain?” It was impossible to discern whether he was distressed or excited by the idea. His tone and expression were on edge.
