Jasper had never approached Greydrake in his townhome before, but any decent butler would be well aware who he was. The man’s polite demeanor reassured him. “Is Lord Westlock at home?” he asked, extending his card.
The butler received it with another bow. “I shall inquire, sir, if you’d care to wait.”
Jasper stepped into a well-appointed entrance hall and the butler closed the door before striding away. Jasper clasped his hands tightly behind his back, refusing to pace. He didn’t dare strip off his outerwear, fearful the presumption would go unrewarded.
Greydrake’s butler reappeared in moments. “If I may take your hat and coat, sir, Lord Westlock will receive you in his study.”
“Thank you.” Jasper tried not to let his relief show as he stripped off gloves, greatcoat, and hat. He offered them to the butler, who in turn handed them to a footman who’d materialized while Jasper disrobed.
“This way, sir.”
Jasper followed the butler down a wide corridor until it met another. Feminine chatter drifted from the right hallway, along with the voice of what he guessed to be a young lad. Though he couldn’t make out of what they spoke, he recognized the women as Lanora and Miss Birkchester. He strained his ears as the butler started down the left corridor but couldn’t hear Madelina’s voice.
Halfway down the corridor, the butler halted, knocked once on the door before them, then pushed it open. “Mister Mclintock, my lord.”
Greydrake looked up from the ledger before him and rose as Jasper entered the room. He started around the desk, gaze focused over Jasper’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he said, dismissing the butler before addressing Jasper. “Brandy, Mclintock?”
Jasper eyed the decanter to which the marquess strode. As much as he wanted fortification, he shook his head, worried the offer was a test.
Greydrake shrugged and poured a finger of amber liquid into a cut crystal tumbler. He took a generous sip, then returned to his desk, halting before it and setting the glass on the lacquered wood. “How can I help you? Did my man not send over my promised donation?”
“He did, and I thank you for it.” Jasper cleared his throat. He should have accepted the brandy. “I’m here on a different errand.”
“Oh?” The marquess cocked an eyebrow.
Inexplicably, Jasper felt certain the other man knew his reason for coming. “Yes. Of a more personal nature.”
“I see. Lanora owes Miss Birkchester yet another five pounds.”
Jasper frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
Greydrake shrugged. “You’re here to ask permission to court my sister, correct?”
Was the marquess’s amusement aimed at Jasper? He tried not to bristle. “I am.”
The other man nodded. “As Miss Birkchester predicted. I can’t for the life of me understand why my wife continues to accept her wagers. Miss Birkchester is always correct about these matters.”
“Is she?” Jasper asked, working not to let annoyance into his tone. So, the marquess, marchioness, and their hangers on found amusement in how obviously smitten the Duke of Aspen’s bastard son was with Lady Madelina.
Greydrake stepped forward and slapped Jasper on the arm. “Don’t take it like that, man. Here, let me pour you that drink.” He swiped his tumbler from the desk, then moved to the sideboard to splash more brandy into his glass and a second.
“If you know why I’ve come, do you have an answer for me?” Jasper asked.
Greydrake turned back, holding both tumblers. “That depends on how you answer this question: What will you do if I refuse permission?”
Disappointment carved a pit in Jasper’s gut. Greydrake had been one of the few who hadn’t treated Jasper with indifference or disdain after the duke’s death. That he, too, had only feigned friendship to curry favor with Jasper’s influential father cut deep.
Still, he was Madelina’s brother. It wouldn’t do for Jasper to let his bitterness show. He struggled to select the right words. “If that were the case, my lord, I would point out that I came here as a courtesy and that it is the lady’s place to decide if she wishes to receive my attentions.”
“She’s nineteen. She cannot wed without my permission.”
“Two years is not long to wait,” Jasper said stiffly.
“Well, then, you have my permission.” Greydrake proffered a glass.
Jasper stared at him. “I do?”
“Of course. I’ve no doubt you’d be a good husband.” One glass still extended, the marquess took a sip of the other. “I simply wanted to test your resolve. Madelina doesn’t need someone who would give up at the first obstacle.”
