"Trivial?" Sylvia cried, bringing a look of satisfaction to the tutor. "He snuck away from his tutor. He went there, Chadbourn."
Will ignored her. He looked Franklin up and down. "You're dismissed," he said as calmly as he could manage.
"Sacked?" The tutor shook with outrage. "For following His Grace's orders?"
"For failing to follow mine, and for failing to teach this boy a blasted thing. Go pack your things." When Franklin glanced frantically at Sylvia and looked as if he would argue, Will held up a hand. "Pack your things without a word, and I'll allow the duchess to provide you with a character reference. Otherwise, I will toss you bodily from the house without it."
Sylvia cowered beneath Will's tone, and wept.
"He went there, Chadbourn. Emery forbade it. We do not go there."
"He went with me yesterday, and he will have my permission to go again," Will said. He watched the tutor wrap his dignity around him and leave.
Sylvia began to hiccup, tiny sobs emanating from her.
Will turned to Charles and smiled into the boy's pale face. "You do look rather a mess, my boy. You didn't tell me you went back and left the schoolroom without permission."
"Sorry, Uncle Will. Fred and Randy sent a message up with John Footman, and I had to meet them. I had to."
"Your mother is right about one thing. This suit is ruined. Do you own clothes that aren't silk, something suitable for playing?"
"No, sir."
Of course not. "We'll see to it. For now, remove those clothes and have them laundered for the poor box. For leaving without permission, I want you to spend the rest of the day writing out your multiplication tables. Understood?"
Charles grimaced. "Yes, Uncle Will."
The boy left, and Will turned to his sister, determined to get to the bottom of the animosity with Songbird Cottage, but she had already slipped into a drug-induced sleep.
"You've been busy. I rather think you didn't need my help." The Marquess of Glenaire, who had arrived just as Will saw the tutor on his way, sat at his leisure over port.
Thank God he came today before I strangled the rotter and did the same to Stowe, Will thought. The man's hostile glares put him in mind to turn off the butler next. I would if he weren't so blasted old. Better to pension him off, and soon.
"Oh, but I do," he said. "Besides, you'll enliven the winter holidays."
White-blond eyebrows shot up over ice-blue eyes. "I'm hardly one for the sentiments of the season."
"Even your hidebound dignity improves the mood of this place, Richard. It is driving me to drink." He downed another glass, while he poured out his woes to his best friend in the world. "What can you add?" he asked when he his tale wound down.
"Not much. Lord Arthur is, as you surmised, the second son of the seventh duke of Murnane. By reputation, he presented a mild-mannered contrast to his rakehell older brother, when the two came down from university. Lord Arthur actually finished a degree and took a first. He went about during the Season for a few years, sowed a few wild oats—damned few—courted a few chits unenthusiastically, and avoided house parties. He shunned society entirely after his marriage. He supports himself on a meager income from his books."
"That, and a well-run farm. What about his marriage?"
"He wed Miss Mary Harlow, daughter of the Wheatton vicar, in 1804. Their son, Frederick, was born less than a year, but more than nine months, later."
"Catherine?"
Glenaire's sardonic look at Will's use of her given name spoke volumes, but the marquess didn't comment on it. "About Miss Wheatly, if that is her name, I could find little. Her mother departed Wheatton abruptly late in 1788, and came to live with an aunt in a remote village in Scotland, with an infant, soon after. Of marriage or a father, we found no trace. I have people looking into it, but, if there is no paper, they are reduced to listening at keyholes."
"Call them off."
The eyebrows rose.
"We can assume the obvious. No point in causing Catherine embarrassment or upsetting Lord Arthur any further. The man is fiercely protective of her." Will watched the deep purple liquid swirl around in his glass. "It might help to know, however," he murmured.
"To what purpose?" Glenaire asked, knowing eyes boring into him.
Before I take her to wed. He couldn't say the words out loud. Not until he was certain enough of his own feelings to put them to the test.
