“Probably because titled lords are looked upon as men who can do no wrong, even though we both know that isn’t true. Some wives of such men don’t want to know about their husband’s affairs. They would rather stay innocent. So keeping the secret about such children is for the best.”
Miss Georgina flipped her hand. “I suppose, as a duke, that answer suits you just fine, but I assure you, most illegitimate children are just wanting to be accepted.”
A feeling Gavin wasn’t expecting came over him, twisting his gut. Why did he suddenly feel sorry for her? But even though she wanted to feel accepted, that didn’t mean it was right to let everyone know who her father was.
“Then forgive me for being outspoken with my thoughts. And although I would love to talk about this subject with you further,I fear I need to get inside and speak to a police officer about the fire.”
She blinked rapidly. “Oh, I’m sorry for keeping you. I hope we can talk again, Your Grace.”
“As do I.”
He bowed slightly as she curtsied, before turning and walking up the five steps to the front doors and entering.
Chapter Thirteen
Gavin left thepolice station an hour later. Had the trip been worth it? Probably. The officer he’d spoken with promised to look into the matter. Gavin told the middle-aged man about the stolen money, but the officer said he couldn’t do much about that—not until Gavin could pinpoint the exact way the money had been taken.
He growled and climbed inside his coach. If he knew the exact way the money was disappearing, he could track down the culprit himself.
“Which way will you be heading, Your Grace?”
Gavin tapped his boot impatiently on the floor of the coach and looked at the footman.Which way?He would love to head back to the estate and be with Priscilla. She always seemed to calm him when he became irritated. However, he was on edge at the moment, and wasn’t ready for the long drive home.
“Take me to Rendell’s first. I need a drink,” Gavin instructed the footman. “Then we can return to the estate.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
As the coach lurched into action, he shifted on the seat. After a drink—or two—he hoped his mind would be clearer, because as soon as he reached home, he needed to go back over the ledgers and see if he had missed something. He was sure the answer stared him right in the face—if only he knew what he was looking at. If only he had been taught to keep track ofexpenses. If only his secretary knew more—but the man who had been friends with the family for so long had discouraged Gavin from continuing his search. If Jacob McGuire couldn’t find the discrepancy, then what chance did Gavin have?
Not long later, the coach stopped, and he hurried inside the gentlemen’s club to get a drink, hoping he would see some friends. Although he wouldn’t mind hobnobbing with the gents, he didn’t plan on taking very long.
A servant dressed in the gaming hall’s customary uniform of black trousers, matching waistcoat, and jacket with a white shirt greeted Gavin and showed him to a table. He ordered his favorite drink, French claret. As the servant left to get the drink, Gavin removed his hat and pushed his fingers through his thick hair as he glanced around the room.
From one of the tables, a man kept looking at Gavin, and within moments, he stood and walked toward him, holding a half-empty glass of sherry. At first, Gavin wasn’t sure if he had met the gentleman, but the closer the man came, the more he recognized him as someone he had been introduced to… but he couldn’t find a name in his recollection.
“Pardon me, Your Grace,” the man said, stopping at the table and pointing to an empty chair. “Might I join you?”
Gavin nodded. “Be my guest.”
The tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair pulled out a chair and sat. “Forgive me for making an observation, but from the look on your face, I fear you don’t recall meeting me.”
Gavin chuckled. “Does it show that much?”
The other man laughed. “Indeed, it does.” He drank the rest of his sherry and placed the glass on the table. “Your cousin, Trey Worthington, introduced us. I’m his friend, Dominic Lawrence, Marquess of Hawthorne.”
Gasping in surprise, Gavin leaned his forearms on the table. “Hawthorne? I can’t believe you are here. I was just thinking about you the other day.”
The marquess belted out a laugh. “Indeed? I didn’t know I was worth thinking about, Your Grace.”
The servant brought Gavin’s French claret and set it in front of him. “I remembered what my cousin had told me about his friend, the Marquess of Hawthorne, and how you gamble some of your money on speculations… and how well they turn out.”
“Ah, yes.” Hawthorne drummed his fingers on the table. “And are you thinking of finding something to help increase your money?”
“I am indeed. Sadly, when my father passed on and I inherited everything, I didn’t realize it came with a depleted bank account.”
Hawthorne tapped his finger against his empty glass. “Then the rumors I have heard about the previous duke are true.”
Gavin’s chest tightened with anger over what his father had done. “Unfortunately, they are.”
