“I’m not certain how this pertains to our mutual friend.” Meyer’s expression shuttered, and Lucas forced the patience he certainly didn’t feel after such a long night of no sleep.
“Because I have reason to believe your father . . . has created some circumstances that will once again inflate the earldom’s wealth. I’m not in a position to mention exactly what those circumstances are, but I do have a few additional questions. The answers to those questions just might allow you the freedom to break the betrothal,” he added quietly.
Meyer’s gaze sharpened. “Then by all means, continue.”
“How long has your father been pushing the alliance between the lady and yourself?” Lucas was careful to never mention Liliah’s name, for insurance against eavesdroppers.
Meyer gave a shrug. “About a year. But I do remember him mentioning it once before, maybe four years ago? It wasn’t a large push, just a suggestion. In the past year it became far more insistent.”
Lucas nodded. It was near five years ago that the situation with Catherine happened, so the timelines almost coincided, at least enough. “Would you consider your father a confidant of the duke?”
Meyer frowned. “They have had several closed-door meetings. Once there was shouting, but I wouldn’t say they confide in one another.”
Lucas turned his gaze to the path before them. “Are you aware of any reservations your father has toward Lord and Lady Grace?”
Meyer didn’t answer for a moment, and Lucas turned his inquiring gaze to him.
“If what you’re saying is true about the current state of the my father’s affairs, then an alliance with the Graces is one he wouldn’t entertain,” he answered cryptically.
Lucas paused in his steps, waiting for Meyer to elaborate.
“What I am about to tell you is of the strictest confidence.” Meyer started.
Lucas nodded.
“Lady Rebecca confided in me about two months ago. Her father’s investment in the West Indies faced a huge loss after a storm. Their estate is not as endowed as it was earlier. There’s hope it will once again thrive after the next year’s investment returns, but for the time being, there isn’t much to spare.”
Lucas closed his eyes. “I see.” He met Meyer’s anguished expression.
“So, that would make a union unhelpful for either family.”
“Yes.”
“But a duke’s daughter . . .” Lucas let the words linger.
“Would be a huge asset to a poor estate,” Meyer murmured. “I see.”
“Don’t we all.” Lucas sighed. “I need to ask a favor of you.”
Meyer gave a curt nod.
“If your father, or if the duke suspects that we are aware of what is going on, they will likely move forward the wedding. I need time to collect evidence and play my hand if this is going to work. Can you play along for the time being?”
Meyer agreed. “It isn’t as if I have a choice either way.”
“Let’s see if we can give you some more options, shall we?” Lucas offered a smile.
Meyer didn’t return it, rather he frowned. His expression bespoke of a myriad of questions, but he continued with the one of most importance. “Then what of Lady Liliah?” he asked in a hushed whisper.
Lucas’s brow pinched, then he realized that he hadn’t made his intentions clear. “We’ll see about regularizing the situation posthaste.” He offered a slight grin.
Meyer gave a disbelieving look. “Truly?”
“It seems that we are not all immune to her charms, like you,” Lucas admitted.
Meyer gave a small smile. “Well then, I can most certainly get behind this plan.”
“I didn’t think you’d object,” Lucas added.
“No, no indeed. Rather I find it a quite fantastic solution, except for the fact that I might soon be penniless.” Meyer shook his head. “I’m not certain how to solve that problem, but one disaster at a time, eh?”
Lucas had renewed respect for the man. It wasn’t many men of the ton who wouldn’t fall to their knees in worship of their wealth, and here was a man who faced his potential bankruptcy in a forthright manner. “I might be able to assist in that matter as well. We shall see.” Lucas gave a quick bow, and took his leave.
He had a masquerade to oversee tonight.
And a blackguard to take down on the morrow.
There was, indeed, no rest for the wicked.
Chapter Thirty-two
Liliah had chosen to be at peace.
And it was quite certainly a choice.
Because if left to her own devices, she would be having the largest pity party of all. Yet she refused, and focused her attention on her sister. It had been a relaxing afternoon and was one of the few nights when they were not engaged for some sort of theater production or ballroom party, out and about. After dinner, Liliah retired to the library to spend the remainder of the evening with her sister and a favorite novel.
Unbidden, sorrow flowed over her soul with the realization that these evenings with her sister were numbered. Samantha was sitting in the chair, her softly curled hair was styled in a simple chignon, and the firelight gave her an angelic glow.
Yet her brow was pinched and her lip was pulled between her teeth as she read. Liliah sat up straighter. “Are you well? What are you reading that has you so concerned?” she asked, a slight teasing tone in her voice.
Samantha met her gaze, then set the book down gently on her lap. “Actually . . . may we speak of something?” she asked.
Liliah nodded, setting her own book to the side and awaiting her sister’s leisure.
“Today . . . father called me into his study. I expected us to speak of my come-out next season, but it would appear that I’m not to have one. He’s already secured my match.” Samantha’s words were spoken slowly, as if being pulled from her unwillingly.
Liliah’s first reaction was anger, then pain for her sister, then all the emotions melted into fear.
What possible reason would their father have for keeping Samantha from having a season? She had been looking forward to her come-out for several years, and they had already selected a modiste to make the gowns. It didn’t make sense.
“I’m so very sorry.” Liliah scooted over on the sofa so that she could reach her sister’s hand and hold it. “Who is the man our father has selected? Do we know of him?”
“I confess I do not remember the name, I was in such shock I don’t remember much more of the conversation. It was something like Mayson? Father dismissed me shortly after, not wishing to hear my reaction, and—”
“And you’ve been mulling about it ever since. That is just terrible! Why would he do such a thing? It makes no sense!” Liliah was growing increasingly angry by the moment. Why destroy Samantha’s chances at finding a suitable match? Why take it into his own hands? And if it was Lord Mayson, he was an older gentleman at least twice her age, and known for his penchant for brandy. Surely her father wouldn’t do that to his daughter!
“I’ll figure this out, and we will see how we can prevent it,” Liliah added with feeling.
“I’m afraid he won’t listen to reason, much like he has been with your betrothal to Meyer. He did say something about being done with the whole . . . er . . . situation, with no longer having daughters to oversee. I rather think he simply finds the errand of securing our matches tiresome.”
“What a terrible thing to think!” Yet Liliah saw the truth in her sister’s statement. During her own come-out, her father had resented each action he’d had to make to secure a marriage—that was, until the situation with Meyer came into play. The duke wasn’t a man who suffered the needs of others well, or tolerated their interference with his own plans. He would likely be thrilled to be rid of the baggage of two unmarried daughters—after all, there was no heir for him to consider, and as long as Liliah and Samantha were married off, they could see about producing heirs. It truly did make sense, in a distorted way.
“What are you thinking?”
Samantha asked, her tone worried.
Liliah gave her sister a gentle smile. “Just that our father doesn’t deserve us.”
Samantha returned the smile, but it faded quickly. “Thank you, I actually needed to hear that. It’s difficult to think of myself as a burden to him. I’ve always tried to be what he wanted me to be, and for me to consider that it was all for naught, it . . . hurts.”
“Of course it does. Well, what I will do is this. I shall speak to Father about overseeing your come-out, since as a married lady I’ll be a proper chaperone, and then perhaps that will change his mind.” Liliah gave a squeeze to her sister’s hand.
Samantha squeezed back. “Thank you. You always know what to do.”
Liliah giggled. “No, but I usually react, and that’s sometimes good, and sometimes . . . not good.”
“I wish I had your courage.”
“I wish I had your sweet and kind heart, my love.” Liliah released her sister’s hand and patted her knee. “Now, since we have a plan, let us leave it to rest and talk about something much more diverting.”
“What do you wish to speak about?” Samantha asked, her smile returning.
“Anything but Father! How about we discuss that delicious new gown that you ordered the last time we shopped on Bond Street!” Yet as soon as Liliah mentioned it, she regretted her words. Memories flooded back to her of her secret tryst with Lucas, and she missed him all the more. Her body carried around a dull ache that never truly subsided. Love was truly the most beautiful and wretched thing she’d ever experienced.
Samantha didn’t seem to notice her shift in mood. “Oh, it will be so very lovely!” She continued to expound on the detail of the gown, and Liliah tried to follow her words, but the dull ache throbbed, and she wished that she could simply see him again. But she knew the foolishness of such a hope, and tried to extinguish its frail flame.
But hope was nearly as stubborn as love, and refused to subside.
Her heart was a traitorous thing, and refused to listen to reason.
No matter how many times she called herself a fool.
She still clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe . . . what she knew must be the end, would somehow become a beginning.
Chapter Thirty-three
“Do I want to know?” Heathcliff asked as he strode down the Barrots’ hall toward Lucas.
Lucas chuckled. “I’d like to say that the chap is in a worse state, but I actually took the hit and didn’t give recompense.”
Heathcliff nodded, his gaze skeptical. “You’re bloody lucky it’s a masquerade; that shiner of yours is quite impressive.”
Lucas winced as he grinned. The swelling had increased and his eye boasted grand hues of purple and blue, but the silver mask would indeed help in hiding his current injury. It would also help with the swelling; the cool metal would be a welcome relief to his tender flesh. “Was there anything of import that you wished to notify me of, or are we done here?” Lucas asked dryly.
Heathcliff arched a brow and paused in the foyer just before Lucas. “I was going to confirm that the guest list has been set up at the side entrance. The carriages will deposit the guests in the front and they will follow the torchlit path to the correct entrance so that we can double-check for invitations. It was the only way we could make sure that no one unsavory crept in.”
“Very good. I’m sure we’ll have a few complaints about having to take the footpath, but the side entrance is much easier to manage for security, plus it’s almost a direct entrance into the ballroom, so fewer people to, er, get lost.” Lucas chuckled.
“That does happen quite often.” Heathcliff nodded his agreement, his grin wide against his dark beard. “Just last week I found Lord Jaymeson passed out on one of Lady Barrot’s fainting couches.”
“How poetic,” Lucas remarked.
“Lady Barrot didn’t feel that way about the situation. She poked him with her cane till he roused.”
“And what did you do while the poor man was being assaulted?” Lucas asked, chuckling.
Heathcliff hitched a shoulder. “I observed.”
“How noble of you.”
“I do what I can.” Heathcliff gave a curt nod. “Needless to say, Lord Jaymeson rolled off the couch and quickly make his departure. I’m not certain as to how he made his exit from the estate, but I’m assuming he made it home.”
“Good, good. He’s a confirmed guest tonight, so he’s obviously no worse for wear.”
“Lady Barrot no doubt appreciates our additional safety measures.”
“For the sake of her furniture, I’m sure,” Lucas added.
Heathcliff grinned in response. “I’m assuming your altercation was with Meyer?” he asked, changing the topic of conversation.
“You assume correctly,” Lucas said in an irked tone. He didn’t wish to converse about Meyer, because then his mind would certainly wander to Liliah, and he was already fighting the temptation to think of her constantly. It really was becoming exasperating to be so obsessed with a skirt.
“Your face bears an odd expression,” Heathcliff remarked.
Lucas sighed. “It was an odd afternoon. Were you able to gain any progress in the matter we discussed earlier?” Lucas glanced about for listening ears. Lord and Lady Barrot’s staff were notoriously discreet, practically invisible, which only meant they could easily overhear. Lucas would take no risks, even if they were probably trustworthy.
Which gave Lucas an idea, but he waited to hear Heathcliff’s news before he expounded on his newfound thoughts.
“Just confirmation of your suspicions, and the amounts. I’m still awaiting news on the possible . . . awareness said person could have of past circumstances,” Heathcliff answered cryptically.
Lucas nodded. “Have you interviewed the Barrots’ staff?”
Heathcliff frowned. “No, but that’s a good idea. I hadn’t thought of it.”
“I hadn’t either until just now,” Lucas admitted.
“I’d wager they have at least some insight. While the one person in question isn’t a member, the other is quite loose lipped when brandy is involved. I’d suspect someone has heard something of note.”
Lucas nodded. “I agree. We have several hours before the hordes arrive. Why don’t you take a few of the staff aside and question them? It might make the night easier if we have more information to use.”
Heathcliff scolded his friend. “The staff are already overworked preparing for the event tonight; I’ll not add to their workload by taking up their time. This is too important an event, and they need time to do their jobs.”
Lucas twisted his lips. “You’re quite the compassionate soul.”
“I’m nothing of the sort, I’m simply more practical than you. I’m thinking with my mind, you’re thinking with your willy.” Heathcliff chuckled.
Lucas gave a lewd gesture to his friend, but grinned. “Be that as it may, I’m anxious to end this whole sordid mess.”
“I’m anxious for it to end as well, just to get you off my back and onto . . . someone else who would appreciate it.”
“Are you quite finished?” Lucas asked in an exasperated tone.
“No, I’m sure if you give me time, I’ll come up with another inappropriate remark.”
“Lucky me.”
“That’s what—”
Lucas interrupted. “Enough. Aside from the side entrance, what other information do you have?”
“Be sure to wear the mask, you look like hell.”
“Thank you, you’re so entirely helpful. Anything I’m not already aware of?”
“One thing . . .” Heathcliff stepped a little closer to Lucas. “We had a late request for membership. One of which you’d like to take note.”
Lucas nodded. Membership was by invitation only, and the invitations were always sent out at night, returned by the next night via their private courier. Only after your membership was approved could you attend and become acquainted with the other members—provided it wasn’t
a masquerade, which it usually was. People were so much more comfortable when they had privacy on their side. “Who?”
Heathcliff whispered the name. “Chatterwood.”
Lucas frowned, meeting his friend’s sober gaze. “Why in heaven’s name does he reply now? We sent the invitation over a year ago, and he never replied, so we assumed he refused.” They had welcomed his rejection; they felt obliged to extend an invitation to one as powerful as a duke, but didn’t truly wish he’d attend.
“Apparently he had a change of heart,” Heathcliff said.
“He kept the invitation for a year, and then submitted it? Bloody hell, how?”
Heathcliff twisted his lip. “Apparently the duke had it sent by private courier. It was left with the butler and then Lord Barrot opened the missive. It wasn’t in the usual envelope.”
“Interesting. So he will be attending tonight?” Lucas asked, thankful that the event would be a masquerade. It would be helpful to be less recognizable.
“That is my assumption.”
“And Greywick?”
“Yes.”
Lucas blew out a tense breath. “Who needs Vauxhall fireworks when you have this intrigue afoot? It’s far more explosive.”
“At least has the potential to be.”
Lucas narrowed his gaze as he studied the floor, his mind racing. “There has to be a reason.”
“I’m assuming that, but it would be wise for us to uncover that tonight.”
“Agreed. Please communicate that to Ramsey.”
“Done.” Heathcliff nodded, then strode down the hall, presumably to speak with Ramsey.
Lucas’s brow pinched with confusion and frustration as he tried to figure out how attending the party would benefit the duke. Lucas knew he was missing a vital piece of information, he just didn’t know what.
And not knowing could be the most dangerous thing of all.
Chapter Thirty-four
Lucas studied the ballroom from the balcony that overlooked the main level. His hands gripped the highly polished banister with a force that had his knuckles turning white. The glitter of silver masks twinkled against the candlelight that they had chosen as the sole illumination for the evening. The air was scented with the rose petals that were crushed under the dark ton’s feet as they walked into the room from the hall. The dull roar of conversation and the music from stringed instruments blended together as Lucas oversaw the evening, searching the crowd for the men of note.
Falling from His Grace Page 20