Intrigued, Sheringham got to his feet. He could not abide a mystery, and so moved soundlessly towards the desk, taking advantage of his friend’s distraction. Catlike and sinuous, many had reason to distrust his lordship, for he tended to know things other people did not and thrived upon gossip. Not to spread it, for Sherry was the soul of discretion, but knowledge was power, and Lord Sheringham enjoyed his fair share of that commodity.
Peering over Hawkney’s shoulder, Sheringham read the fascinating words:
Dear Duke,
Please forgive me if that is not the correct salutation with which to address you. (Most noble and esteemed, sir?) I am not in the habit of writing to dukes ornoblemen and am somewhat out of my depth.
Sheringham plucked the letter from his friend’s hand and returned to stand by the fire.
“Dammit! Give that back,” Hawkney exclaimed, pushing to his feet and hurrying after him.
Sheringham danced out of the way, still reading.
“A most invigorating effect upon my constitution—Lord have mercy. Hawk, are you corrupting innocents with drink now?” Sherry demanded, casting his most guileless expression upon the duke.
“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer,” Hawkney growled, looking thunderous. He was an intimidating devil when he was in high dudgeon, Sherry thought with amusement. His scowl sent everyone running for cover. Sherry rarely scowled, and most people believed him to be too lazy to be dangerous and underestimated him. Their mistake. “Give it back. That is my private correspondence and—”
“And she sounds delightful,” Sherry said, meaning it. He had never read such a dreadful and yet so wonderfully irreverent letter from a woman who must be a spinster or a bluestocking, if not both, and that it had been written to the duke when the poor dear was clearly inebriated on his grace’s brandy was too wonderful to ignore. “Is she in love with you?”
“Sherry, I will break your damned nose,” Hawkney gritted out, clearly losing patience and knowing well that Sheringham was far too fond of his own handsome features to put them at risk for no reason.
With an elegant flick of his wrist, Sherry held the letter out between thumb and forefinger. Hawkney snatched it back.
“Miss Halfpenny is a plain spinster who lives a sheltered life with her aunt. She suffered a shock some days ago, which I was witness to. I felt sorry for her, hence the brandy. My grandmother supplied the lemon.”
The addition of the lemon struck Sheringham as irrepressibly funny and he dissolved into laughter.
“You never answered my question,” Sherry spluttered once he had sufficient command of himself to speak.
“Don’t be an arse.” Hawkney returned to his seat and resumed glowering, this time at Sheringham. “Miss Halfpenny despises me. At least she did until I supplied the brandy. It seems I have done something she approves of, though I fear now I may not have done her a kindness if she indulges to such a degree. One hopes this morning’s headache will have brought clarity.”
“Not enough to keep hold of that letter,” Sherry replied, deciding he really must meet Miss Halfpenny, for he liked her already, though in truth he liked most women, except for the spiteful kind.
Hawkney’s mistress, for example. A beauty she might be, but Sherry would not have touched her with a barge pole. He suspected Hawkney would rue the day soon enough too. Only time would tell.
Ocean View Villa, Little Valentine, 21stJanuary 1816
Alfie regarded his reflection in the looking glass and smiled as he realised what a shock Aubrey would get when he turned up at the hall.
Lill stood with her arms folded, anxiety shining in her blue eyes. “I’m really not sure this is a good idea.”
“Me neither, but I must do something. Hawkney didn’t come all this way for no reason. I can’t have him haranguing Aubrey constantly over our marriage, for it will make him miserable.”
Alfie turned, taking his hat from Lill, who still appeared troubled. “Yes, I see that, but do you really think that Alfie promising he’s mended his ways and won’t trouble his sister again is the way to do it?”
He shrugged before bending to tie his bootlaces. Lill fussed about straightening the bedcovers; she always tidied when she was uneasy. “I don’t know, Lill. Maybe not, but it’s all I’ve got. I can’t make Alice a lady, now, can I?”
“I wish I’d not told you he’s back now. Aubrey must have kept it from you for a reason, else he’d have said when he called on you earlier,” Lill fretted, twisting her apron into a knot as she followed Alfie down the stairs. “Can’t you wait until morning, at least? It’s dark now and—”
“Lill, it’s Little Valentine, not the Seven Dials. I’ll likely be back before ten, and obviously Aubrey didn’t tell me because he didn’t want me to worry for him, but if we’re to be married, that’s my job.” Turning at the door, Alfie smiled and kissed Lill’s cheek. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Fine. Do as you please, you usually do,” Lill grumbled, and waved at Alfie as he slipped out into the dark.
Chapter 16
Regrets and Retribution.
The Vicarage, Little Valentine, 21stJanuary 1816
