by Burke, Darcy
Ripley blinked in surprise. “Before I’ve tumbled the lovely maid? I think not. Give me a few moments this time.” He rose and went to find the serving maid.
“Let us gamble, then,” Colton said, standing quickly. He wobbled a tad and braced his fingers on the table to steady himself. “We are in a gaming hell after all.”
Graham had never felt more boring. He had no interest in shagging a maid nor was he going to play any games of chance. Since he didn’t wish to leave Colton alone, he rose along with him. “Yes, let’s.” Graham would simply go along and hope that Colton was perhaps inebriated enough to notice he didn’t play.
He’d had all the curiosity he could handle for one night. Even so, it had turned out well. He hadn’t found Osborne or Tibbord, but he felt certain they were within sight.
Chapter 8
Friday afternoon, Graham sauntered into Miss Lennox’s garden room wearing an expectant smile. Present were three ladies—Miss Lennox, Miss Pemberton, and presumably Lady Clifton.
Three ladies, not four. He was disappointed Miss Stoke wasn’t there.
All were seated, but Graham could tell Lady Clifton was taller than average—at least she appeared so compared to the other two. Her pale blonde hair was pulled into a neat style atop her head with small curls gracing her temples.
He bowed, extending his leg. “Good afternoon, ladies.”
“Good afternoon, Your Grace,” Miss Lennox said. “Allow me to present Lady Clifton. Lady Clifton, His Grace, the Duke of Halstead.”
Lady Clifton rose and offered a curtsey. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Duke.”
“The pleasure is mine.” And it should have been, for she was as lovely to behold as her bank account was necessary to his future. However, he was having a hard time focusing on what he needed to do today. Which was to woo her. Or Miss Lennox. Hell, he couldn’t woo two women at once. He bet Ripley could. Perhaps he should ask the man for lessons.
No, that wasn’t Graham. He felt strange enough wooing a woman for financial purposes instead of something… Something what? Nobler?
Lady Clifton sat, and Graham did the same, taking a chair near the settee where she resided next to Miss Pemberton. “You are new to the peerage, I understand,” she said.
“Yes. It’s been rather a whirlwind.” Graham was also disappointed to see there were no butter biscuits. No biscuits and no Miss Stoke. How…deficient. “I’m delighted to have friends such as Miss Lennox to help me acclimate.” He gave his hostess a warm smile.
“I think I’ve decided that helping people is my calling,” Miss Lennox said. “Though we must credit Jane for bringing you two together. I think that may be her calling.” She and Miss Pemberton exchanged a quick look before Miss Lennox shifted her gaze to Graham and Lady Clifton. “Perhaps you two should take a walk in the garden.”
It wasn’t very subtle. But then why bother with pretense if the intention was to see if they might suit?
“That sounds lovely,” he said, thinking his voice sounded foreign. “Lady Clifton?”
“I would be honored.”
As she rose, he leapt to his feet, then offered his arm. Her touch did none of the things to him that Miss Stoke’s did, and bloody hell, he had to stop thinking of her.
Graham guided Lady Clifton outside to the garden, his gaze immediately straying to the gate that connected with the Stokes’ garden. Would Miss Stoke come through it at any moment? He hoped so, and yet… It would be awkward for her to see him with Lady Clifton.
Why? They weren’t courting. They had no relationship whatsoever. At least not one that ought to engender jealousy. Still, when he put himself in her position, he decided he didn’t like thinking of her walking in a garden with some other gentleman. Or dancing with him. Or fencing with him.
He chuckled—as if she would fence with anyone but him.
“What amuses you?” Lady Clifton asked.
Bugger, he’d quite forgotten she was beside him. He was a cad. “I was just thinking…of a joke I heard last night. Something about birds, but I can’t recall the specifics. How gauche of me.” He needed to focus on Lady Clifton. Not just for his goal, but because she deserved his full attention. “I understand you have a son?”
“Yes, he’s eleven.” She launched into a warm description of the young Lord Clifton—his love for astronomy and treacle pudding.
At one point during their conversation as they circled the garden, something hit Graham in the shoulder. “Is there something on my coat?” he asked, fearing a bird had just relieved itself on him. He took his arm from Lady Clifton and turned so she could see his shoulder. Belatedly, he realized he probably shouldn’t ask a countess to check him for bird excrement.
“I don’t see anything,” she said. “What happened?”
“Nothing, apparently.” He offered his arm once more and they continued. A moment later, it happened again, but this time lower on his back. Whatever it was wasn’t coming from above.
Narrowing his eyes, he looked surreptitiously behind him. There, peeking just above the gate, was Miss Stoke. He inclined his head ever so slightly to signify that he saw her. Hopefully, she would stop pelting him with pebbles or whatever she was using.
He continued his conversation with Lady Clifton as he steered her back toward the garden room. They went back inside, and Lady Clifton said she needed to be going.
“I trust you had a nice promenade,” Miss Lennox said, her eyes alight with interest as she looked between the countess and Graham.
“We did, thank you,” Lady Clifton said. “I do hope we’ll have the chance to do so again.” She curtsied to Graham once more, and he bowed in return.
“It would be my privilege, Lady Clifton.” Impatience tore through him as he fought to keep from going back outside to Miss Stoke.
The countess took her leave, and Graham looked toward the garden, wondering how he could excuse himself to go back outside. But there was Miss Stoke coming toward the door.
“Oh, look, it’s Arabella,” Miss Pemberton said.
“How lovely.” Miss Lennox turned her head to Graham. “How was your walk with Lady Clifton? You seemed to be getting on quite well.”
Miss Pemberton laughed softly. “We’re not ashamed to say we were watching.”
Miss Lennox stood and went to the door to let Miss Stoke in. “Come in, Arabella. Look who’s here.”
Miss Stoke was a picture of fresh loveliness, her light brown hair gathered into a chignon at the back of her head while wavy strands framed her heart-shaped face. Her gaze landed on him and didn’t move for probably a moment too long. He was entranced.
“Good afternoon, Your Grace.” Miss Stoke curtsied, and Graham almost forgot to bow.
He presented his leg. “Good afternoon, Miss Stoke. What a delight to encounter you here.”
“You just missed meeting Lady Clifton,” Miss Lennox said to Miss Stoke. “She is an old friend of Jane’s, though she’s slightly older than you, isn’t she?”
Miss Pemberton nodded. “Oh yes, by several years. We were neighbors, and our families often visited when I was a child. We became correspondents, and I do consider her a dear friend. She is widowed and looking for a father for her son, someone who can guide him into the earldom he’s inherited at such a young age.” She glanced toward Graham with a smile. “I understand His Grace is new to the peerage, but his experience as St. Ives’s secretary allowed him to directly support an earl. Surely that will be of excellent help to the young Lord Clifton.”
“I agree,” Miss Lennox said. “Jane thought—and rightly so—that Lady Clifton and His Grace might suit. They took a walk in the garden, and he was just telling us how it went.” Miss Lennox looked toward him expectantly. “Will the banns be read on Sunday?”
A great wave of discomfort washed over Graham. He didn’t want to discuss this in front of Miss Stoke. He didn’t want to discuss it at all. “That’s a bit premature,” he said softly.
“But you got on well, didn’t you
?” Miss Pemberton prodded.
“We did.” He stole a glance at Miss Stoke, whose expression was completely impassive. It seemed she didn’t give a whit that he might be courting Lady Clifton.
And why on earth should she? They’d made no expectations of each other. On the contrary, they both knew the other had to wed someone with money or suffer the consequences. For him, that was losing Brixton Park, but for her, it was far more serious. He felt like a cad again. Of course she wasn’t trifling with feelings of jealousy.
Miss Pemberton smiled widely. “Marvelous. I was certain you’d suit. We’ll make sure you both attend the next ball so you may ask her to dance.”
Graham was fast losing interest in this conversation, if he’d ever had any to begin with. He wanted to speak with Miss Stoke, but couldn’t imagine how they would accomplish that.
“It’s actually quite fortuitous that His Grace is here,” Miss Stoke said, pivoting toward him. “I’ve a need for someone to reach something. The butler is out, and no one else is tall enough.” She smiled and shook her head, then gave Graham a look tinged with urgency.
Was there a problem? He hoped her father was all right.
“Allow me to help,” he said. “Lead the way.”
“Oh, thank you.” She glanced toward Miss Lennox and Miss Pemberton. “We’ll just be a moment.” Then she turned and led him from the house before the other ladies uttered a word.
Graham inclined his head before following Miss Stoke into the garden. They didn’t speak until they reached the gate, which he hurried to open for her. “Is something amiss?” he asked.
“No. It was an excuse to give us a few minutes so you can tell me what happened at the gaming hell.” She moved into her garden.
Graham closed the gate, then shot a glance at her house. “Can anyone see us out here?”
“Of course they can—if they look. They won’t, however. My mother is busy with my father, and everyone else is so overworked, they hardly have a moment to stop moving, let alone gaze out at the garden.” She sounded cool and maybe even irritated. But then he would be too if his father was very ill and there was barely enough money to run a household.
Now he darted a look at Miss Lennox’s house and wondered if she and Miss Pemberton could see them. Perhaps the top of his head. He squatted down.
Miss Stoke narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you doing?”
“Ensuring Miss Lennox and Miss Pemberton can’t see me.”
“Oh.” Miss Stoke stared at him a moment, then laughed. “I’m sorry. You look rather ridiculous hunched down.”
“Yes, well, I feel rather ridiculous too. Furthermore, I’m not sure how long I can squat like this, so let us be quick. I was not able to find Osborne or Tibbord, but I did learn that they left London several months ago.” She frowned, and he nearly took her hand. “Don’t despair, for they have returned, and I’ve a plan to coax them into the open.”
Miss Stoke’s green eyes lightened. “What is it?”
“Actually, it’s Ripley’s plan. He’s the one who learned they were back in town. He’s going to host a party Saturday evening and invite them. I will also be in attendance.”
“The Marquess of Ripley is helping you?”
“He has, er, certain skills,” Graham said slowly. “So far, he’s been quite resourceful.”
Her lips flattened into a line. “What sort of party is this? Can you make sure my mother and I receive an invitation?”
She couldn’t mean to go to Ripley’s house? Regardless of the type of party—and he had no intention of telling her—her reputation wouldn’t support it. She could wear a mask as he planned to do, but no, she couldn’t. She just couldn’t.
“You can’t attend a party hosted by the Marquess of Ripley, even if you were invited. And no, I won’t ask him to do so.” She started to frown, so he seized on another tactic. “Your mother would never allow it.”
She exhaled. “That is, unfortunately, true.” She cocked her head to the side. “What of your reputation?”
Graham shifted his weight. As he predicted, squatting in this position was not terribly comfortable. His legs were beginning to ache. “Masks are optional, and I intend to wear a mask. With luck, no one will know who I am. My only goal is to finally talk to Tibbord—or at least Osborne—face-to-face. Er, mask to mask potentially.”
“How will you even know he’s there if everyone is masked?”
“Ripley has a plan—his retainers will know who I am and will ensure the meeting occurs.” At her skeptical stare, he added, “I trust him. He’s been incredibly helpful so far.”
“And what if they don’t show up?”
He’d thought about that. “Then we’ll try something else.”
“Does that ‘we’ll’ refer to me or Ripley?” Yes, she sounded annoyed, not that he blamed her.
“You.”
Now she looked surprised. “I haven’t done a thing.”
“That’s not true. The information you gathered from your father was most helpful. I never would have known to go to the Thundering Stag.”
She seemed to relax slightly, but there was still an edge to her today. A grooved line scored the flesh above her nose, and her body seemed tense and tight.
He surrendered to his desire to touch her and clasped her hand. “We’re getting closer, I know it.”
She looked down at where they touched, then lifted her gaze to his. The connection between them was still there, and it seemed to him in that moment that they were both fighting a losing battle.
“You know, you could sell your name to the highest bidder,” she said softly. “You may not have money, but you have an excellent title, and there are heiresses who would pay for the privilege to become your duchess.”
Why the hell hadn’t he thought of that? Because it turned his stomach. He was essentially doing that in looking for an heiress to wed, but at least he wasn’t outright advertising his desperation. “I couldn’t.”
Her lips lifted in a slight smile. “I didn’t think so. However, I thought it bore mentioning.”
Because it would help him. He squeezed her hand. “We’re going to make this work, I promise you. We are both going to make it through this without suffering total disaster. Please trust me.”
“I do.”
He could have stared into her eyes and held her hand for another hour or a day if not for the ache in his calves. “Good God, my legs hurt. I must go.”
“Stand and we’ll go through the gate.” She reached for the latch, and he reluctantly released her other hand.
“Would you like to meet for another fencing lesson in the park so that I can tell you what happened at the party?” He held the gate open for her.
She peered up at him with a saucy glint in her eye. “They’re ‘fencing lessons’ now?”
He laughed. “Why not? You demonstrated an aptitude. It would be a shame not to continue.”
She preceded him into Miss Lennox’s garden. “Then yes. Sunday morning, or will you need to recover from Ripley’s party?”
There was a note of envy in her voice, and he hated that she wasn’t able to participate in any of the investigation. “I’m happy to meet you Sunday morning.” Even if he was exhausted. He could stay at David’s house again. It was the least he could do for her.
In truth, he wanted to do much, much more.
* * *
Enduring the Marriage Mart was growing harder and harder. Arabella had danced with Sir Ethelbert again last night and also with Mr. Alexander Litcott. While he didn’t have a title, he was rather wealthy due to his family’s success in textiles. He was also just a year older than Arabella and not particularly adept at conversation. He’d spent a good portion of their dance staring at her breasts.
Duty called once more tonight, but Arabella wished she could go to the Marquess of Ripley’s party instead. If she wore a mask, she could…
“What?” Papa jolted awake, startling Arabella in the process. She dropped her needle, not
that she’d been actively sewing the past few minutes while her mind had wandered.
She looked to the bed where Papa lay blinking his eyes, his head elevated on a stack of pillows. He’d fallen asleep while she’d read to him a short while ago. While he seemed better overall since she’d talked to him about Tibbord, he still lay down in the afternoon and napped. “Do you need anything?” she asked.
“Some water, please.”
Arabella set her sewing onto the basket beside her chair and went to a dresser in the corner, atop of which sat a pitcher. She poured water into a glass, then returned to the bed, where Papa was struggling to sit up.
After setting the glass on the bedside table, she helped him to a better position, then handed him the water. “Better?” she asked with a smile.
He finished drinking and handed her the glass, his brow furrowed. “I had a rather troubling dream. It was about Tibbord. Did you warn the investigator about what he might do?”
Arabella had no idea what her father was talking about. “No. Why would I warn him?”
The lines in his forehead deepened, and he sat up further, his back coming off the pillows. “I told you—he will seek revenge in some way. If any of us who invested with him complained about losing money or wanted to walk away or worse, if we said we’d tell others that Tibbord was fleecing us, Osborne threatened to share the truth of our financial states.”
“He extorted you to keep investing money or at least to keep quiet about his fiendishness?” Arabella’s blood chilled. “You didn’t tell me anything about that.”
“Of course I did. The other day, when you came to tell me about the investigation. I told you if Tibbord knew about it, whoever hired the investigator would find themselves exposed.” He hadn’t either, but she wasn’t going to continue to argue with him, not when he was like this.
“Perhaps they don’t care.” Arabella could think of who would care—Halstead. If he cornered Tibbord or Osborne tonight, he might find his insolvency revealed to the entire ton. While he could probably recover in ways she couldn’t, he didn’t want anyone to know.