DuMond frowned. “Who?”
“Daria Kearsley.”
“Of the Kearsley family?” His friend sought further clarification.
Impatient, Argyll took a sip. “Yes, the Kearsleys. Is there another Kearsley family?”
“The brother, Viscount St. John, I recall from university. The fellow is a tired bore,” Cadogan said. “His father kicking off young and leaving the fellow to care for a gaggle of sisterswouldhave that effect on any gentleman.”
Argyll grinned. “Not on me.”
“I said anygentleman,” Cadogan drawled.
DuMond laughed.
Argyll stuck his middle fingers up in a V in both men’s direction, pulling a bigger laugh from both of them.
When their amusement settled, Argyll brought them to the matter at hand.
“I want everything there is to know about Miss Daria Kearsley. Her friends. Her siblings. Who she keeps company with. How she takes her tea. And why a man like St. John lets a sister like that out of his sight.”
“Faith has mentioned the lady before.”
Argyll stood up straighter. “Oh?” Given Lady Faith was once an object of Society’s scorn, the lady would notice a kindred soul.
DuMond shrugged. “She mentioned Miss Kearsley went about in widow’s weeds and was mocked cruelly for her attire.”
“I assure you the lady’s peculiarity has more than to do with her garment selection,” he said under his breath.
DuMond angled his ear at Argyll. “What was that?”
Heading off that question, he took a swallow of his drink and returned to his spot overlooking the Mayfair streets. Argyll scoured for a hint of the unordinary. At this early morning hour, the occasional carriage rolled by as ton events emptied for the day.
The guards stationed outside the pillars leading up the drive, and another four strategically placed around the front of Argyll’s townhouse, had the place secured.
That said, there was no greater risk than complacency.
Cadogan spoke from behind him. “I’ll be the one to ask the question. Is there…a specific reason to explain your newfound interest in Miss Kearsley?”
“I’ll be the one to ask it even more clearly,” DuMond drawled. “Has the lady captured the untouchable Duke of Argyll’s affections?”
Argyll burst out laughing.
“…We are meant to wed one another…”
“Memarried toher?”
“…I believe you misunderstand. I do not need to have relations with you, Gregory. I need to marry you…”
His amusement redoubled.
The bloody hilarity…
“…There was a witness…A gentleman. Two of them. You are close. And two…nay, three women now… One older. One younger. They are of the same face. And the other, of darker coloring. We were there together.” Her vacant eyes expanded. “It is your office. So floral. So light. Your sisters were allowed to dec—They are your sisters…But…two fair and one dark…”
Argyll’s amusement died on a frosty chill. “Never,” he whispered.
“It would be helpful to know something about your relationship with the young woman,” Cadogan said, an emotionless fact-finder. “Something to add any relevance to help determine just what it is I’m looking for.”
