“And looks to me as if it won’t be anytime soon, either. I think the cane is helping. You seem to be getting around quite well to me.”
“Ah, yes, the cane.” The old man huffed a tired laugh and hit the floor with the tip of his walking stick before settling it to rest between his legs. “It keeps me from running into doors and stumbling over chairs. People and guttering lampposts, too.”
“You don’t mind if I join you for a moment and ask you a couple of questions, do you?”
“I’d be happy for you to, Your Grace. Life can get lonely at times. Mighty lonely. You know I sit by the entrance so everyone will speak to me when they come in and when they leave, too. The club doesn’t mind.”
“I didn’t know,” Hawk said, though it wasn’t true. Everyone knew. “I thought it was your favorite table.”
“That, too, but now you know why it is my favorite. I hated having to give up going to the card room and playing a hand or two. Had to give up billiards and dice, too, but that’s what happens when you can’t see the cards orthe balls and spectacles don’t seem to help.” His bushy gray eyebrows drew close together. “I heard your tankard hit the table. What are you drinking?”
“Ale,” Hawk said, motioning for the server to come over. “Want the same?”
“Are you buying?” the old man asked with a sudden twinkle in his narrow, unfocused eyes.
“Yes.”
“In that case I’ll have a nip of their best brandy.”
Hawk chuckled and told the server to get Sir Welby what he wanted. “I thought I’d ask if you’ve heard any more from or about the bucks who started the rumor about the Duke of Griffin’s twin sisters last year.”
“No, no, can’t say I have. Never heard the fellows’ voices again. Not once. Odd as it seems, it was just that one time when one of them said the Rakes of St. James never had to pay a price for their scandalous behavior for writing those letters years ago and that it was time they did. Then another said it would be fitting if something happened to ruin the Duke of Griffin’s sisters’ first season.”
The hair on the back of Hawk’s neck rose every time he heard that story. “Have you heard that, even though nothing happened to Griffin’s sisters last year,Miss Honora Truth’s Weekly Scandal Sheethas renewed the story and is now suggesting my sister, Lady Adele, might be marked for mischief, too?”
A strand of his long gray hair fell across the old man’s wrinkled face as he leaned over the table and said, “No, no, Your Grace. I hadn’t heard that, but I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“Neither was I. Not much respect from the younger fellows these days. No, not much. Guess that’s why they don’t come around White’s often. They know this is a respectable club. Did Griffin ever talk with the barkeep? Hemight remember who was here that night. He sees better than I do.”
“The barkeep sees drinks, not people.”
“That’s probably the best way for him to be. Members respect that.”
“You will keep your ears open and let me know if you hear anything else?”
“Yes, yes. Just like I told the Duke of Griffin. He’ll be the first to know. I’ll make sure you are the second.” The server placed the glass of brandy in front of Sir Welby and helped him take hold of the glass before turning it loose.
Sir Welby lowered his head and inhaled the scent of the strong liquor and then took a wee sip. He then looked in Hawk’s direction and smiled. “On second thought, I’ll let you know first.”
Hawk thanked the man and, steering clear of the Lord Mayor, started making his way to the card room to join his friends, but his mind easily drifted back to the business he’d left undone at Mammoth House—not with Quick but with his sister, Miss Quick.
Chapter 10
A gentleman must never be mysterious about his affection for a young lady.
APROPERGENTLEMAN’SGUIDETOWOOINGTHEPERFECTLADY
SIRVINCENTTYBALTVALENTINE
Loretta gasped with indignation. “Did you just call me an old hag?”
“That’s what ye are. Now leave me be. Go off and be a bother to someone else.”
She looked down at Farley. His long, dark-brown hair was matted in places and sticking out wildly in others. The nightcap she’d knitted for him and placed on his head while he slept had been slung to the foot of the bed. His borrowed, rumpled nightshirt hung loosely on his thin shoulders and chest. His deep-brown, angry eyes seemed too big for his pale face. Loretta was certain no one had ever called her anything remotely resembling an old hag.
It surprised her he was being so disrespectful and so ungrateful, too. Obviously he had no memory of her soothing his brow and whispering words of comfort when he was so sick he could only twitch and mumble. He didn’t seem to remember how he’d clung to her arms when he’d called out for his mama and she’d gone to his bedside and held him. Maybe he didn’t know that it was because of her constant care and attention for the past week and a half that his life had been spared?
But Loretta remembered. As much as she might like to, Loretta couldn’t blame the discourteous talk on his fever. It had left him yesterday and hadn’t returned overnight. There was still no color to his thin lips or gaunt cheeks. His voice wasn’t much more than a hoarse, cracked whisper. And the cough that had plagued him almost from the beginning of his sickness seemed to be worse.
