The situation was impossible. If Caro were a genteel widow with an untitled son, no one would talk very much if they quietly wed. There would be some disapprobation, yes, but most people would regard it as a sweet romance.
As it was, Caro was under close scrutiny of the world. Many had their opinions on what was good for the young duke, including his odious cousin.
Eamon was in love with Caro, no matter who she was. She could sweep gutters for a living, and he wouldn’t care. But she was a duchess, regardless of the state of her son’s finances, and the world would view Eamon as the swindler trying to gain control over her son and her properties.
If Eamon truly cared for Caro, he’d disappear and leave her free of gossip. But no, he was a selfish bastard who wanted to drink every drop of his time with her.
She’d suggested they become lovers. Eamon had laughed, wondering if she’d truly understood the implications of her idea. Upon reflection, though, Eamon would take her offer if it was all he could have.
What he could do was find a way to shower riches upon her and Leo, not to mention the dowager. Eamon had a talent for prying things out of people, and pry he would.
Then, when he departed to save the last shred of Caro’s reputation, he’d know she’d be all right. Eamon wouldn’t desert her until she and Leo could stand against the world and put the creditors in their places.
His duchess could wear diamonds again—her own—and astonish the world with her beauty.
Eamon then would have to go and explore the Arctic, or someplace suitably remote, until he forgot about her.
Which would take the rest of his life.
Eamon snapped back to the present moment when Singleton, who’d regarded Eamon steadily as Eamon displayed the keys, gave him a nod. “Very good thinking, sir. Will you require tea?”
“Not just yet, thank you. I want to do as much as I can here before luncheon.”
Singleton bowed. “Very good, sir,” he said and glided back downstairs.
Did Singleton believe the story about the key—even though Caro had indeed handed it to Eamon? Or did he know what had occurred last night after everyone had retired?
Singleton was a canny old sod, so he probably suspected. The fact that he hadn’t herded Eamon out the door was a good sign that he wasn’t outraged at him.
Eamon forced himself to focus on his work, his determination to find something valuable renewed. He busily went through his notebooks again, pausing at the few pieces, including the book of hours Leo had turned up, that were worth having valued. There were too damned few items for his comfort, though.
The Rembrandt would help, if Eamon could collect enough money to purchase it—and if Caro would accept it from him. Then he’d have to persuade her to sell it again instead of hanging it on the wall to admire it.
Too many things could go wrong, enough to make Eamon grind his teeth in frustration.
He worked all morning without interruption—to his disappointment. He’d hoped Caro would glide down the stairs and greet him, or Leo would appear with his eagerness to help. Eamon was surprised how much he looked forward to seeing the little lad every day.
As it was, nothing disturbed him until the knocker sounded on the front door, and Singleton appeared from nowhere to answer it.
Eamon tensed as he glanced over the banister, expecting Rudyard to try to insert himself into the house again. He relaxed as a maid preceded a young woman inside and helped remove her mistress’s light wraps.
“If you’ll follow me, your ladyship,” Singleton intoned. “Her Grace will see you in her sitting room.”
“Thank you, Singleton.” The smooth voice of the Countess of Heyford reached Eamon, along with her light footsteps, mixed with Singleton’s heavier tread.
The countess gave Eamon a curious stare as they mounted the stairs. Eamon made her a formal bow, and Louise nodded back at him in frank assessment before she followed Singleton up the next flight.
She knew, Eamon decided. Caro’s friends were perceptive and not fools, even if the princess sometimes pretended to be empty-headed.
Eamon hoped the princess and the countess would become his allies, not his enemies, because if the latter, he knew he’d never stand a chance.
“Louise, I am so glad you’ve come.” Caro kissed her friend on the cheek and led her to the warm chair by the fireplace.
The dowager had retreated to her chamber to write letters, and Leo was upstairs trying to study. He’d demand to join Eamon before long, and Caro would let him, happy they could begin their ritual again.
Louise sank to the offered chair, settling her dark gray broadcloth skirt. Clothing always draped well on Louise.
“Is anything the matter?” Caro asked in concern when Louise sat too long in silence. “Are Harry and Jack all right?”
