And it was all very confusing.
When Finn had told Esme that he preferred Fitzhugh’s to White’s, he hadn’t been lying and it was all coming back to him why he avoided the place. He stood in the large entryway, soft sounds of voices drifting from various parlors and game rooms, and sighed. So many here were pretentious or terribly dandified, there to see and be seen.
He supposed he was little better today, though. He had prey, after all. One he could only hope was actually in attendance.
“May I do anything else for you, Lord Delacourt?” the attendant said as he took Finn’s hat and gloves.
“I am hoping to meet some friends today,” he said. “I wonder if Lord Ramsbury or Lord…Lord Chilton are in attendance.”
It was hard to say the second. He hadn’t thought about the fact he’d be forced to refer to Esme’s awful cousin as Lord Chilton. A name he associated with one so dear to him and to her.
“Lord Ramsbury is not here,” the attendant said. Finn wasn’t surprised. Normally Sebastian wouldn’t set a foot in White’s. He only asked so that his interest in Chilton wouldn’t be too obvious. “But Lord Chilton arrived an hour ago. I believe he is in the reading room.”
Finn inclined his head and made his way into the main rooms of the club. A few turns and he saw the reading room ahead of him, a place where gentlemen could read the newspapers from all over the world, as well as current books and political and scientific papers. He had a hard time believing Chilton would be interested in any of that, as he was no intellectual.
But he entered the room and did, indeed, find the marquess sitting by a large window, a paper in his hands, though he didn’t seem to be reading it. Finn’s heart began to pound and he took a few long breaths to calm himself before he looked around the room. There were two other gentlemen in the quiet area and he forced himself to acknowledge one with a wave and cross to say a brief good afternoon to the other.
Once that was done, his eagerness hopefully masked, he turned toward Chilton. The marquess was watching him now and he rose as Finn made his way to him.
“Good afternoon, Delacourt,” he said, extending a hand.
Finn wished he didn’t have to take it, but he did, shaking it firmly. “Chilton.” It tasted as bitter as it felt to say it. “I feel I haven’t seen you in an age.”
Finn took in his foe in the moment they shook hands. He was a dandy through and through, wearing the highest collar Finn had ever seen, hair teased and twisted into a ridiculous pompadour. It was all fashion, no function, as Chilton’s face twisted with discomfort when he tried to retake his seat in his stiff jacket.
In truth, the man didn’t look capable of hurting a fly, let alone committing or orchestrating a murder. Could Esme be wrong about him? Not about his selfishness, but about the danger he posed?
“Will you join me?” Chilton asked.
“Certainly,” Finn replied, and took the place across from him.
There was an intricately carved and painted snuff box before the marquess and he motioned to it. “Will you have some?”
“I’ve never taken to the habit, I’m afraid.”
“Hmm.” Chilton looked him up and down with a sneer. “I see.” He opened the box, took a large portion and stuffed it up his nose with a great gasp of air. When he had shut it, he leaned back and said, “I don’t normally see you at White’s.”
Finn shrugged. “Not often, I fear. You know how it is. One has memberships at White’s and Boodles and Fitzhugh’s and Ripley’s…I can never find the time to fit them all in.”
“A gentleman’s work is never done,” Chilton purred. “I swear, since taking over the title, I’ve never had more to do.”
“Yes, the management of estates and tenants and?—”
Chilton wrinkled his nose. “God, no! I don’t give a damn about that. I have managers for such things and if they cannot resolve an issue, why should I? My tenants and servants should be happy they have a position at all.”
Finn’s stomach turned. He knew far too many men like this in Society. Ones who didn’t take their duties seriously. He might play, but by God, he refused to let those below him suffer because of it.
But he nodded. “I suppose when you inherited, your uncle had a great many good people in place to take care of things for you.”
“My uncle,” Chilton said with a short sigh and a more focused look for Finn. “If I recall, you and he were great friends.”
“Yes. I’m sorry for your loss. He was the best of men.”
“Was,” Chilton said, and Finn thought he emphasized the word. But had he? Was he just chasing ghosts now, trying to find some hint of proof so that he wouldn’t have to tell Esme he saw nothing to back up her claims?
Was he so focused on that now, despite their short acquaintance?
“You must be busy, yourself, with the upcoming wedding of your sister,” Chilton said.
