“Did Mrs. Wilde make it back inside?” he asked.
The butler inclined his head slightly. “Yes, sir. She retired to her chamber briefly. She did say she would come down for supper in a few moments.”
“And my brother, where is he?” Gray asked.
“Lord Stenfax is in the billiard room, I believe,” Taylor intoned.
“Thank you,” Gray said, heading in that direction when what he really wanted to do was climb the stairs two by two and burst into Rosalinde’s chamber.
Quite a spectacle that would make.
So he didn’t do something so foolhardy. Instead, he made his way up the hall. The main rooms of the house had been well kept, but back here, in the places where normally only family went, the truth of their financial situation was clear. The wallpaper peeled slightly, the furniture was rickety.
Gray pursed his lips.Thiswas why Stenfax was so desperate to match “well” in Celia’s inheritance. And perhaps his brother wasn’t wrong in it. After all, everyone kept reminding Gray that people arranged these kinds of unions every Season.
But Gray couldn’t get the image out of his mind of Lucien perched on the edge of a terrace wall, so close to oblivion, his face twisted in pain. The helplessness of that ugly night, the reason behind it…
Gray still feared the mindset his brother could be put in with this grasping, loveless match.
He neared the billiard room and stopped. He had assumed he would find his brother there alone, but there were voices coming from the chamber. Lucien’s was one of them. The other was Celia Fitzgilbert’s.
“I understand,” she was saying in that soft tone Gray could hardly trust. “But you must understand, he only wants access. Could it hurt to introduce him to a few of your friends, see if he might be occasionally included in their circles in London?”
Gray clenched his fists at his sides. Rosalinde might wax poetic about what Celia’s true motives were, but here she was, pressuring Lucien to grant her grandfather access where he very much did not belong. Furthering him and herself, just as Gray had always believed she would.
Lucien let out a long sigh, one filled with exhaustion. How long had she been haranguing him this way? “I will do so if it will make it easier for you,” he said, his tone stiff and formal, despite the fact that he was alone in a chamber with his fiancée.
Gray heard Celia’s skirts rustle, but was uncertain if she moved closer to or farther from Lucien. “I think it might,” she said. “It would help me concentrate on matters at hand a little more.”
“I think you’re doing fine.”
“But to be a good countess, I will need more focus.” She cleared her throat. “At any rate, I appreciate your attention to the matter. I will see you at supper shortly.”
Gray backed up, finding the shadow of another door nearby to stand in. He watched as Celia exited the chamber, but instead of going up the hallway, she stopped and looked back over her shoulder into the billiard room. Her expression caught the light, and Gray shook his head. She looked…upset. Frustrated. Like she wanted more.
But of course she did. Nothing would ever be enough for a woman like that. He waited until she moved up the hall at last, then slipped into the billiard room and shut the door behind him.
His brother was leaning over the table, cue in hand, and he looked up. “Gray.”
Gray waited for him to take the shot. It didn’t arc as his brother had intended, though, and Lucien let out a sharp curse. Gray’s eyebrows lifted. Stenfax was one of the best players in their circle. He never missed a shot. That and his angry outburst proved his brother was not content. Clearly his conversation with Celia was troubling him.
“I’d offer you a game, but everyone will be gathering for supper in a few moments,” Lucien said as he leaned on the table with both arms, staring at the scattered balls.
“You always beat me anyway,” Gray said carefully.
Lucien jerked his gaze up. “You might be luckier tonight.”
“Perhaps after supper,” Gray suggested. “Though your fiancée’s grandfather would likely insist on joining us.”
Stenfax flinched almost imperceptivity. “I suppose he would,” he conceded.
“And that would make things ‘so much easier’ for Celia,” Gray said.
Lucien’s gaze held his. “Lurking in halls like a villain, are we? Spying on private conversations.”
“Overhearing isn’t the same as spying,” Gray said, but he knew they were hitting upon an issue of semantics.
Lucien shook his head. “No. I suppose on a point of technicality, it is not. I can only assume you have come here to lecture me about Celia once more.”
