Adrian’s brows rose. “Was it urgent, or simply domestic? The way you hounded me out, one might suspect you intended to commit murder. Or worse—enjoy yourself.”
Oscar accepted his cup, sipped, and waited for the opening to close. “If you must know, I prefer not to discuss private matters in front of an audience.”
Adrian folded his arms. “So this is a private matter, then. Are you here to duel or to explain?”
Oscar had planned this meeting with the grim determination of a man scheduling his own amputation. He was not fond of confrontation—despite public opinion—but the night had gone sour, and he knew it. The memory of Nancy dancing with Adrian, laughing at some nonsense, had left him in a state of irrational irritation that had lasted until morning.
Worse, he had no idea why. The entire marriage had been a business arrangement, a tidy solution to an untidy problem. He should not care who danced with whom, or for how long.
And yet.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I’m here about the governess.”
Adrian’s composure, for the briefest second, slipped. “The governess?”
Oscar nodded, careful to keep his expression neutral. “You mentioned last month that you knew someone suitable. A Miss… Townsend?”
Adrian’s eyes brightened, but his voice was the picture of nonchalance. “Indeed. She is eminently qualified, and more importantly, unflappable. Which, as you know, is the only trait that matters when educating children of your ilk.”
Oscar let the slight pass, more interested in the way Adrian leaned in, eager and animated. “She is still available?”
“I’ll have her at Scarfield by the end of the week,” Adrian promised, producing a fountain pen and a notecard from his coat. “You will not regret it, old man.”
Oscar watched him scribble, unease gnawing at the edges of his mind. He did not dislike Adrian—he disliked few people, as a rule—but he’d always regarded the Viscount as something of a wild card. Charming, certainly, but too clever by half, and never entirely predictable. Still, Oscar had no grounds for distrust, and less for animosity. The outburst at dinner had been a lapse in judgment, plain and simple.
Adrian finished his note and tucked it into his breast pocket. “Consider it done. Now, tell me—was that the real reason you summoned me? Or is there a more sinister plot afoot?”
Oscar offered a smile so cold it might have frozen the Thames. “That was the reason. The children are in need of proper instruction. Nancy is doing well, but she cannot be expected to run the household and manage their education alone.”
Adrian’s mouth quirked, as if he found something deliciously funny in the phrasing. “You’re worried for your wife’s health, then? I am touched, truly.”
Oscar ignored this. “If you wish, you may visit when Miss Townsend is installed. I believe she will require your personal recommendation.”
Adrian steepled his fingers. “I would enjoy that. I must say, Scarfield, I have never seen you so… invested in domestic affairs.”
Oscar bristled. “It is my duty.”
“Of course.” Adrian’s gaze lingered, a little too long. “But if I did not know better, I’d say your marriage has improved you. You’re almost human these days.”
Oscar ground his teeth, but said nothing.
Adrian laughed, light and dismissive. “Do not worry. I shan’t tell anyone.” He drained his coffee and stood, stretching like a cat. “Now, if that is all, I have an appointment with Lady Hartley and her pug. The poor creature cannot walk two steps without an army of retainers.”
Oscar rose, less gracefully. “Thank you for your help.”
Adrian tipped an imaginary hat. “Always, Scarfield. You know I live to serve.”
Oscar watched him leave, the strange taste of the meeting lingering in his mouth. He could not say what bothered him—nothing in Adrian’s manner had changed, nothing overt or actionable. And yet, he left with the distinct impression of having missed something important.
He set his hat on his head and strode out, determined to put the business from his mind.
But the question remained, a burr he could not shake:
Why was Adrian so eager to help?
He turned the thought over as he walked to his carriage, but found no satisfactory answer. By the time he arrived at home, the feeling had not abated.
He resolved to focus on more immediate matters.
