The carriage pulled to a gentle halt outside a handsome townhouse where window boxes were filled with a pretty selection of pink roses. Brody waited for his accompanying footman to open the door before climbing down onto the pavement. He paused there briefly then strode to the door.
Three solid raps ensured his call was answered by Barlow, the man Brody had hired to serve as Florence’s butler.
“You’ll find her in the music room,” Barlow said after taking Brody’s hat and gloves. “Would you like me to ask for some tea to be brought up?”
“No. Thank you. That won’t be necessary. I don’t intend to stay long.”
If this surprised Barlow, as it ought, he gave no indication of it. Instead, he merely inclined his head and made himself scarce. Brody took a deep breath, reminded himself of his reason for coming, and went in search of his mistress.
He found her at the pianoforte, playing a jolly tune that stood in stark contrast to his mood. Attempting a smile to dampen the blow he would soon deliver, he moved into her line of vision.
“Corwin!” She abandoned the music and came to greet him.
She lifted her mouth to his, kissing him with the same sort of hunger he’d always found so wonderfully distracting. It had little effect today, but he kissed her back anyway, for old time’s sake.
At four and twenty years of age, with long curly hair and a voluptuous figure, she’d been his mistress for nearly three years. Ever since he’d first seen her perform at the Haymarket Theatre.
“I wasn’t expecting you until Friday,” she said, pressing herself against him with what could only be described as keen interest. “Shall we head upstairs?”
“No. My visit today will be brief.”
She leaned back a little, her soulful eyes meeting his. “Oh?”
There was no easy way about this. Best get it done with as swiftly as possible. “I’m sorry, but I’ve come to inform you that our acquaintance must come to an end.”
“I don’t understand.” Her gaze searched his. “Are you to be married?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“The last time we met you spoke of how much you enjoyed my company. You said you appreciated my friendship and the confidences I’ve kept on your behalf.”
“Confidences which ought to explain my reasoning, Florence. You’ve known my situation for a while now. If you’ll recall, I warned you it might come to this, though I do regret the suddenness.” Each word he uttered tasted bitter, but what else was he to do? “I’m afraid I can’t afford to keep you any longer. As it stands, I see no recourse but to sell this house and let the servants go.”
She raised her chin even as her eyes welled with tears. “It’s all right. Margate approached me a few weeks ago. I’ll see if he still has an interest.”
“If not, please let me know.” She pulled away and he released her, watching as she went to stare out the window. “My financial situation might have gone to hell, but I’m still well connected. I’m happy to introduce you to my gentlemen friends.”
“Thank you.” She was silent a moment before she asked, “How long do I have?”
“One week.”
She whipped back around. “You cannot expect me to move out in such a short time, Corwin. It’s unreasonable.”
“I know, and I’m sorry, but there’s an issue forcing my hand – a situation that must be dealt with – and this is the only solution available to me on such short notice.” He’d put the house on the market at once. If he could at least get an offer with a down payment, he’d be able to deal with Mr. Apcot.
Florence shook her head. “You’re serious?”
“Unfortunately so.” How he wished he could give her more time.
She didn’t respond but merely stood there, glaring at him through watery eyes. He wondered if she knew how effective it was. His gut twisted, even though this wasn’t his fault. It was Finn’s, though his loyalty toward his brother prevented him from saying as much. So he repeated his promise to help her move on, should she need it, and wished her well before going to speak with Barlow. The butler would have to stop by with the key once the house had been vacated.
Until then, a well-placed advertisement inTheMayfair Chroniclewould hopefully help take the house off his hands.
2
The note that arrived for Brody the following afternoon did not improve his mood.
Dear Duke of Corwin,
