But deciding what he would do if his suspicions were confirmed would be sticky indeed.
“I don’t know if your debt to Sydenham can or will be resolved,” Marchand told him, carefully. “I believe your sister is doing her best. But in truth, it ought to be you, Hogarth, who is attempting to resolve it.”
Hogarth swallowed. “I know. It’s just that she’s... she’s always taken charge. I’m so used to her taking things on... and it’s hard to say no to Ginny.”
Truer words were never spoken, Marchand silently conceded.
“The donkey you won was delivered, by the way, and is resting comfortably in a livery stable.”
Hogarth brightened. “I won a donkey?”
Marchand sighed.
“All right,” he said briskly. “Please write that letter today and send it to me care of Lucifer’s Fall in London. Within a fortnight, I will write to you with information on when and where your instruction will begin. I will have my solicitor draw up a contract for you to sign, which you will do, in London, in my presence. As of now, if we shake on it, I will consider your debt settled unless or until you otherwise violate the terms ofthe contract. And you can tell your sister when she returns to Sussex. I need to leave now in order to get the coach back to London.”
Hogarth exhaled windily. “I cannot thank you enough, Marchand.”
He extended his hand and Marchand shook it. Then he turned to leave.
Then he paused, and turned back.
“Lord Highgrove...” He hesitated. Then decided he could not forgo this opportunity, because he might not ever have it again. And he wanted to do it both for this young man and for Ginny. “Most men of any worth make mistakes of magnitude at least once in their lives. But when you care about others in your life more than you care about yourself—and that means more than you care about your pride, or your honor—you don’t makethosesorts of mistakes. The kind that cause utter destruction. Perhaps this is something that can only be learned the hard way. I don’t know. It’s just something I’ve learned, and if it has any value at all I just felt I should tell you. Do you understand me?”
Just the faintest hint of sullen rebellion flickered over Hogarth’s face. No man likes to be lectured by another man. Particularly not by a man who is far from his social equal.
But the expression was fleeting. Hogarth nodded somberly. “I understand. Truly. Thank you.”
“Sweet,” Marchand muttered as he jammed on his hat and headed for the door.
Chapter Sixteen
The word “shite” hovered over Delilah like a guillotine with a fraying rope.
She sat now at her dressing table, plaiting her hair, relieved to have gotten through another evening without hearing it echoing throughout the sitting room in Daniel’s voice. She knew it was only a matter of time, however. Her pride balked at telling his mother about their little encounter on the stairs. So far, she’d told only her husband, very briefly, shortly after she’d forced him to say “blancmange” aloud. Even makingthatconfession had felt torturous. She didn’t know why. Tristan had been asailor, after all.
Still, she had inwardly writhed in embarrassment when his eyes had widened in amazement.
She whirled when she sensed said beloved husband standing in the open doorway of their room. Staring at her.
He entered, and quietly closed the door.
“Tristan... why are you looking at me like you’ve never seen me before in your life?”
“Because I don’t know who you are anymore,” he said gravely.
Alarm surged through her. “W-what do you mean?”
“I thought I’d married a refined lady. Somehow well above my station. Instead, tonight I find myself going to bed with a salty-mouthed sailor. I don’t know, Delilah. I might need a little time to adjust.”
She snatched a glove off her dressing table and threw it at her laughing husband, who caught it adroitly.
Truthfully, she loved it when he teased her. It was a side of him that he shared almost exclusively with her.
“I’m gladyoufind it funny, Tristan.”
“And I’m sorry to tease you if you’re embarrassed about it.” He deposited a kiss on top of her head as he deposited her glove back on her dressing table. Military habits died hard. He never flung his clothes about, even if he was able to get out of them with breathtaking speed.
He did that now and got into his nightshirt and she tried not to stare, but that nightly revelation of her husband’s magnificent body was like getting a birthday present every evening, and it remained one of the best things about being married to him.
