“There you are,” she said sweetly. Her eyes darted between Algenon and his father. “Are you done with your letter?”
Algenon lowered his fist, but his nostrils still flared. How much had they all heard?
His father raised an eyebrow, challenging him to bring up the subject of Javenia’s pain. Algenon glanced at Miss Weston knowing she’d happily spread rumors about Javenia if she knew any. He suspected her of making up several already.
Swallowing down his anger, he gave a curt nod but said nothing.
“Splendid. Do you mind if I use your writing desk to dash off a note to my uncle?”
If Algenon didn’t know any better, he’d have thought Miss Weston another sweet miss with the way she clasped her hands in front of her in supplication, her big blue eyes and upturned nose creating the picture of innocence. But he was all too aware of what sort of creature stood before him.
He stepped to the side and motioned toward the desk. “It is all yours.” Then he gave a curt bow and turned to the door.
“Roberts, I think it best if we wait here until Lord Rupert arrives.”
Algenon stopped, ice slithering through his veins. First Lord Falcross and now Lord Rupert. Were they to be overrun with all the morally questionable men of London? Lord Rupert was a menace to women. Lord Falcross was a kitten compared to the earl.
“Why are you expecting Lord Rupert?” He’d asked his father the question, but Miss Weston answered.
“Because that is my uncle, silly man. Great uncle, actually. On my mother’s side. He met Miss Roberts at Lady Jersey’s card party and was quite taken with her.”
Algenon speared his father with a look. How could he agree to such an acquaintance? Lord Rupert was sixty, if not older. He kept company with the Earl of Penbrose’s son, the father of Mr. Fairchild. The same Mr. Fairchild who had caused the havoc that had nearly ruined Melior. That information alone should have been a good enough reason for his father to keep Lord Rupert far away from his sister.
It was rumored that the man’s first and second wives had died of unnatural causes. What sort of circle had his father become mixed up in? He’d never kept company with such uncouth men before. No wonder Phillipa was feeling out of sorts.
“I will relay our plans for the day to Phillipa,” Algenon said.
“Very well,” his father said, “but I expect you back here posthaste.”
Algenon nodded, a mistake as pain had started to gather at the base of his neck. Such tension this early in the day did not bode well for him. He’d be in bed with a headache before dinner if he did not find a way to ease his worried mind.
“Oh, and Roberts.”
Algenon paused at the door.
“Remember my instructions.”
The statement was benign to Lord Falcross and Miss Weston, but Algenon heard the threat in his father’s words. Except his father had already set into motion Javenia’s presence at the Tower today by sending the missive without asking what was contained within.
Now he could only hope that John and Susannah could not attend, keeping Javenia away as well. Because if she showed up, Algenon was certain his father would make good on his threats, and there was nothing he could do to save her.
Two hours. Javenia had waited two hours before she could no longer importune on John and Susannah’s good graces. Not that they’d ever send her away, but she’d not been decent company the last hour as her worry over Algenon’s continued absence increased.
John sat in a large wingback chair before the fire reading a book, their breakfast long since over. Susannah, too, held a book in her lap, but her gaze was focused on Javenia’s hand. The hand in constant motion as she drummed the arm of the settee.
“Maybe something has held him up and he will be here as soon as he is able.”
Javenia smiled at Susannah, the gesture growing tighter every time her friend repeated the same sentiments in different words. She had counted at least five such suggestions, and now it was time to come to terms with the truth.
Algenon was not coming.
Either he’d forgotten, or his interest in discussing all the things that had transpired between them had waned. Maybe he’d decided a change in their friendship wasn’t worth the risk. She had to admit that losing what they had frightened her too. If friendship was all that could exist between them, she’d take whatever morsel was left.
But her heart yearned for more. And that yearning demanded she rise to the call for action.
“John, did Algenon request that you arrange a dinner party?”
John slowly lowered the large volume of Gulliver’s Travels. “He did. I told him I would be h-happy to host such an evening next Thursday. Do you know why h-he’s requested I do it instead of s-s-simply having his father arrange one?”
