Halfway to the house, he asked, “Which Wilcox sister are you? I’d heard there were three.”
“Georgina Wilcox. There are four Wilcox women including Lady Hampton. She’s the best of us.”
He looked away, maybe toward the rippling Thames.
“You look flushed, Your Grace. Is walking too much?”
“Nyet. Memories, Miss Wilcox. Nothing dampens them. They are soaring like meteors, even when I crash to earth.”
A poetic soul, and a bit dramatic. I supposed those words were for my benefit. “Sir. Maybe it’s best we wait outside. It might be easier to listen for a servant to signal my brother-in-law has passed.”
“That seems a shame to have come this far to be late.” His tone was kind. “It is up to you. I will not leave you outside alone.”
The man had traveled far to come at Tavis and Katherine’s summons. Yet I wanted to admit to a stranger that all our family’s problem stemmed from Tavis’s dealings and Katherine allowing him to run everything amok.
The duke with large hazel eyes stared at me. Then he nodded. “Tavis Palmers, the viscount, and I were once close friends. Today we are not. I understand what you’ve said and haven’t.”
Before I could feign ignorance, or acknowledge a kinship with a stranger who too probably suffered at Tavis’s negligent hands, a man on horseback appeared.
“Torrance,” he called out, “I can join after all.”
Before he could jump down, our man of all work, Mr. Thom, came from the stables wielding a pitchfork. “Be gone you, you creditor! Let the scarecrow come get ’em before you pounce.”
Nothing was funny, but this made me laugh, maybe release a little of my frustration. “He has you like a rogue chicken, sir. So sorry.” I turned to Mr. Thom. “Be easy. He’s a friend of Lady Hampton’s guest.”
The duke waved this man closer. “He’s no threat, Mr. Thom. I can vouch for him. This is Lord Mark Sebastian. I believe him harmless.”
The fellow jostled his top hat, which exposed straight brownish-black hair. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.
“You’ve dispatched Livingston to a ditch?” the duke asked.
His lordship’s lips parted and again nothing came out.
Then he hiccupped.
I turned to the duke. “You brought a drunk friend with you. None of Tavis’s friends are any good.”
His Grace frowned and when he turned to his friend, the younger man whispered, “Gorgeous.”
The fellow must be quite in his cups. Most, who weren’t seeking courtesans, never talked about anything except my height, especially in comparison to my lovely sisters.
Me. I was tall at five foot nine inches. Yes, a tall Meg. At twenty-four, I’d describe myself as a tall wallflower. With my last birthday passing a month ago, I was beyond being a wallflower. I was a full-on matron. With no desire to be unhappily wed just to gain a new name, a Mrs. Somebody, or to give another fortune hunter access to the little Wilcox Coal money we had left, I refused all offers.
Charging myself with protecting us now, I folded my arms. “Your Grace, for my sister’s sake, don’t make a mockery of Lord Hampton’s final moments. Perhaps you both should go.”
“I’ve been summoned. But, Sebastian,” the duke said, “while I appreciate the company, go back across the river. Find a close tavern—”
“There’s one on this side. It’s closer. You can wait for the duke there.” I pointed, hoping to be rid of a fool that called me gorgeous.
The duke tossed him a coin. “Go sit at the tavern. Wait for me.”
Mr. Thom, our man-of-all-work, waved a finger at the duke. “I like this one. He’s free with his money.”
“But . . .” The fellow hit at his chest. “Turban. Gorgeous.”
His Grace came closer. “That painting at Kenwood. It wasn’t Lady Elizabeth that captured your attention—was it, Sebastian?”
The fellow’s cheeks brightened to a burning red color.
