“Della said something of the sort not so long ago,” he remarked softly. He walked to the window and looked out, his hands clasped behind his back. “Am I so very hard-hearted?”
“No,” Aubrey said with a sigh. “No, you’re not. Just rather hard-headed. It comes with the dukedom, I think.”
Hawk gave a huff of laughter and turned around, his serious gaze settling upon Aubrey. “Well, Aubrey, old fellow. What can I do for you?”
Aubrey smiled upon hearing his own words given back to him. “I… I can’t explain it all, Hawk, not right now, but I need you to come to town with me. Now. This minute. Lord Jefferson has a party tonight, and we must be there. It’s… It’s imperative. My future happiness may depend upon it.”
Aubrey’s heart gave an erratic thud behind his ribs. He prayed he’d pitched his demand somewhere between entirely unreasonable and frantic enough that Hawk would act without committing him to Bedlam first.
“Now?” Hawk said, his eyebrows going up.
“If we’re to get to town in time for the party, I’m afraid it’s going to be a disagreeable journey,” Aubrey said, knowing Hawk would normally stop overnight on his way to visit Gee-Gee.
“Your future happiness?” Hawk repeated sceptically.
Aubrey nodded.
The duke sighed. “Dammit, Aubrey, itisan unsuitable woman, isn’t it?”
Aubrey’s lips twitched. “Perhaps. But this is life or death, Hawk. We can row about how unsuitable she is another day. For now, I just want to ensure she’s alive and well so we can do that.”
Hawkney’s expression narrowed. “She’s in danger?”
Aubrey nodded, his stomach pitching. “Grave danger.”
“Well, why the devil didn’t you say so?” Hawk said impatiently, striding from the room. “Order my carriage.”
“I already did,” Aubrey said in relief, hurrying out after his cousin.
Chapter 11
A Safe Bet.
Lady Jefferson’s Ball, Mayfair, London, 19th ofJanuary 1816
It had been an appalling journey to town, and all Alfie wanted to do was sit down somewhere quiet, preferably in front of a blazing fire with a glass of something warming. Fate had other things in mind, however.
“Your name ain’t on the list of footmen for the night,” the man at the kitchen door said, looking Alfie up and down suspiciously. “The others have been here over an hour.”
“I know it ain’t,” Alfie said, slipping a bottle of brandy partway from his coat pocket. It was of excellent quality and the fellow’s eyebrows went up. “Look, I only heard about the position a few hours ago, but I really need this job. I’m hoping if I do well, they might give me a chance, permanent like. Please, mate.”
The fellow looked around, his expression furtive, before holding his hand out. “Go on,” he said gruffly, as Alfie passed him the bottle. “You’d best hurry. Keith, that’s the butler, is about to give instructions and he don’t like latecomers.”
“Cheers, mate.” Alfie flashed a grin, genuinely grateful.
The fellow snorted, and Alfie hurried inside. Hanging up his coat beside those already in place, he gave his outfit one last inspection and slipped in behind two rows of men as Keithgave them their duties and explained to them where they were expected to be and where was strictly off limits. Alfie was on duty delivering champagne as he’d hoped, which gave him more freedom to move about, but he would be needed to help in the kitchens when the dinner began at one a.m. Alfie twitched anxiously, realising this would be his best time to act when everyone was so busy, yet it was later than he had hoped. It gave Silas too much time to make his move.
The temptation to go straight up and get the job done at once was tempting, but experience had taught Alfie that the upper floors were still liable to be occupied. Ladies dashing up to make adjustments to their hair or toilette were not uncommon. Later in the evening was safer, not least because the staff would be weary by then and less likely to notice anything out of the ordinary.
Alfie followed as Keith led them to a room beside the cellar where tables had been set up and a footman was pouring out glasses of champagne. One by one the men each took up a silver tray, carefully balancing the full glasses upon it, and made their way up the stairs.
By the sound of it, the guests were already arriving, and Alfie followed the other men up the stairs.
The grand entrance hall was bustling as footmen relieved the guests of cloaks and hats and gloves. Gorgeous shimmering silks in a myriad of colours rustled and an overpowering waft of perfumes battled for supremacy as Alfie entered the fray. Overhead, the chandeliers sparkled, the heat from hundreds of candles making even this enormous room feel stuffy and close. The chatter of excited guests echoed in the high-ceilinged hall as men and women dressed in their best made their way through the house to the ballroom.
“I’m surprised her ladyship chose to entertain so soon, she’s still so dreadfully fat,” observed one unkind woman, her haggard face overly painted. Alfie offered her and her party a glass of champagne. “If I were her, I’d have waited until I’d slimmed down. My doctor has a wonderful lowering diet of vinegar and cabbage, and you drink the cabbage water afterwards, it’s most effective. Aren’t there any canapés?”
Alfie shook his head apologetically, as this question was aimed at him. “I do not believe so, Madame. There is a lavish supper to be served at one in the morning, however.”
