The thought of his mother had Alexander’s stomach souring.
Cotswold was an adversary of Charles in Parliament as well as Marianne’s lover. Damon pushed aside the gossip and his suspicions, not wanting to believe Charles was truly in danger. He blamed himself for his brother’s death and as his penance, shouldered all the responsibility of Roxboro. Alexander was never given any duties. No obligations. Only told to pursue his pleasures. Live the life Charles hadn’t been allowed.
“I doubt I’ll be stabbed, unless I trip and fall on the blade myself.” Alexander gave a short laugh to lighten the mood.
“Don’t make a joke,” Damon said quietly. “I live with my regret every day. Cotswold is dead and will never see justice.” His shoulders sagged. “But do you see how the situation you find yourself in is similar to your father’s? Marianne was an ambitious woman. One who would never have become a duchess except through dishonest means. She, too, accused Charles of ruination.” His brow furrowed. “I should have demanded answers from Marianne. Made Philpot believe me.”
Philpot had been the previous duke’s solicitor.
“But I was barely twenty,” Damon said. “Something of a rake myself.” Sadness laced his words. “And I thought all marriages to be so contentious. I had no idea, until it was too late, that your mother—I failed Charles.”
“You did not. You have given me everything. Raised me as your own.” Alexander shut his eyes at the light streaming through the window. He really needed to lay down. “You would never fail me.”
Damon gave him a sad smile. “Yet I’ve allowed you to fall prey to the same circumstances as your father. I do not think Canterbell capable of such deceit. But his daughter? She is another matter entirely.”
“I blame Oakhurst.” Alexander pressed a palm to his forehead. “I think he may have purchased some gin that wasn’t—I think it must be from St. Giles given the way I feel today. And while I do not believe I was ever at the Perswick ball, I admit that I cannot account for the appearance of Lady Maxwell in our carriage.” His brows drew together, sending a sharp pain through his temples.
Damon turned to face the window once more.
“Thank goodness you changed your coat, Your Grace. The wine stain was quite unlike you.”
Alexander could hear Lady Maxwell’s voice in his mind quite clearly. He’d been annoyed at her because not only would he not permit his clothing to be stained, but Alexander didn’t drink wine. Ever. He’d had a most unpleasant experience with the stuff when a lad. The smell alone made him ill.
“But you recall the brothel you visited?” his uncle asked.
“Music. Perfume. Great loads of scotch. Oakhurst can tell us.” Alexander sat up. “Timmons,” he summoned the butler who stood just outside. “Send a messenger to Oakhurst immediately. Ask him to call upon me. The matter is most urgent.”
Timmons bowed. “Forgive me, Your Grace. But Lord Oakhurst has left for the Continent. He was to sail this morning.”
Damon turned from his perusal of the street outside. “Oakhurst has fled to the Continent?” he said in a casual tone, though his entire body grew taut. “How like him to leave you with such a debacle.”
“I know you don’t like him, Damon. But he’s my closest friend.” Alexander looked at the butler. “How do you know of Oakhurst’s plans, Timmons? Were you eavesdropping again?”
“No, Your Grace. He…mentioned as much after arriving with you, though you…may not recall. Lady Maxwell waved goodbye from the carriage window. I recognized her as she…has called upon you several times in the past.” The butler paused, stared at the floor, uncomfortable at the news he was forced to relate.
Bloody hell.
What Timmons meant, by his stumbling speech, was that Lady Maxwell and Alexander had been lovers for a time, and she’d stayed the night more than once. Timmons had seen her breasts in at least one instance after throwing open the door of Alexander’s study upon hearing her scream while she was being tupped. Terribly embarrassing for Timmons. He was something of a prude.
Alexander and Felicia were no longer lovers and hadn’t been for at least a year. They’d parted amicably. And it wouldn’t have been the first time he and Oakhurst had shared lovers. So why had his friend never mentioned taking up with her?
“Did Oakhurst leave me a note? Or an address where I might reach him?”
The butler eyed him with regret. “I’m afraid not, Your Grace.”
Well, this was unwelcome. Alexander had no way to reach Oakhurst. How was he to unravel the mystery of his whereabouts last night without his friend?
“Send a note to his staff. Surely, they’ll know where to find him.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Timmons hurried off.
“How like Oakhurst,” Damon drawled. “Fleeing at a moment’s notice, without regard for others.”
“I don’t think he fled purposefully, Damon,” Alexander mused. “Nor do I think his absence is because of anything that may have happened last night. I doubt it has anything to do with me. He likes Paris a great deal. As does Lady Maxwell.”
“I suppose we cannot confirm whether you were at the Perswick ball. Not from Oakhurst, at least. But given Canterbell’s visit, I fear his confirmation isn’t necessary. If what he says is true about Lady Brokeburst.”
“I could not have been there,” Alexander insisted. “I would not have forgotten an entire ball.”
