A short time later, a finely dressed gentleman was standing stiffly in the library. His clothing was well tailored, yet little else about him was remarkable. Bishop had the unkind thought that the gent would be overlooked in a circle of three. He hardly seemed tofit with Bishop’s image of the sort of man who would stand beside the lovely Louisa Parker. Bishop didn’t extend a welcoming hand because he doubted his guest would take it. “Mr. Parker.”
“Mr. Blackwood.” He’d expected a voice rife with anger. Instead, it reflected the tone of someone who had wagered a great deal and lost.
“Mr. Blackwood is my father. I go by Bishop. Friend and foe refer to me as such.”
“Do you love her?”
Bishop felt as though the man had suddenly delivered an unexpected blow that threatened to send him reeling backward. “I beg your pardon?”
“Louisa. Do you love her? Is she happy with you?” He held up his long-fingered hand. “It doesn’t matter. I want to make this situation as easy for her as possible. A married woman known to carry on with another man is ostracized. Therefore, I need to take actions that will allow her to file for divorce rather than my instigating the proceedings. I thought perhaps, based upon your reputation, you might be able to guide me toward a right proper brothel.”
Stunned, Bishop could do little except stare as his brain tried to make sense of the words tossed so calmly and resolutely his way. “By its very nature, a brothel is not proper.”
The man’s face scrunched up as though something he’d eaten wasn’t agreeing with him. “I had hoped you might know of one where my pockets wouldn’t be fleeced, and I wouldn’t come away from the experience diseased.”
Well, this conversation certainly wasn’t going as he’d anticipated. He may have misjudged a situation and aman. Not something he managed to do often. “You’re not here to deliver a blow to my jaw or challenge me to a duel or inform me you intend to sue me?”
“I’m tempted to do all three but assume any one of those would cause Louisa distress, and she is unhappy enough, obviously, to have turned to you.”
Why did that sound like an insult? Subtle, but still an affront. Bishop found himself liking the man, damn it. “Would you care for some scotch?”
“Desperately. Thank you.”
“Take a chair somewhere. I believe we need to talk.” He went to the sideboard and poured two generous glasses of the amber liquid before joining his guest in the seating area near the fireplace. He didn’t know why people always gravitated toward that part of the room, even when no flames licked at log or coal. He handed Parker his glass and then sank into the chair opposite him. “Cheers.”
He downed a good portion of his, watching while his guest did the same. When any woman came to him, Bishop did a bit of investigating on the husband. Parker, the son of a mercantile owner, had expanded the family business and now was proprietor of three thriving stores, each with several levels and departments. He was looking for investors for a fourth, and Bishop had been considering going in anonymously. The man had a knack for knowing what items people wanted to purchase, and the decor in his retail establishments was fine enough to appeal to those gaining wealth without making them feel that they were shopping below their station. “How long have you known she’s been coming here?”
Parker inhaled deeply. “I thought from the beginning. Two months.” He tapped a well-manicured slender finger against the glass. “Has it been longer?”
The question came out in a near strangle. Bishop shook his head. “No, you have the right of it.”
“I know she married me for my money, that she doesn’t love me.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Look at me, man. I’m lanky like a scarecrow. My face is too narrow, my nose resembles a beak, and I’ve hardly any chin at all, whereas you look as though you’ve been chiseled from granite for the specific purpose of adornment. Strong jaw, deep brow, sharp cheekbones. I imagine she fell for you rather quickly and thoroughly.”
“I think you insult her by insinuating she’s as shallow as all that, to be turned by comely features.”
Parker took a sip of his scotch. “You’re correct, of course. She is so exquisite. I fell in love with her from the beginning. It wasn’t her beauty... well, it drew me to her. How could it not? A perfect blossom. But it was her kindness that held me enthralled. And her humor. She could make me laugh, and I’d had little laughter in my life. But then when she lost the babe...” His voice trailed off as if he struggled with the words. “She nearly died. I cannot bear the thought of a world without her in it. You are taking precautions to avoid getting her with child, surely.”
His gaze was pointed and direct. However, Bishop couldn’t help but wonder if that was the reason the man was avoiding his wife’s bed. The fear of losing her. Losing her to another man was more acceptable than losing her to death. Good Lord. “I assure you she is in no danger of carrying my babe.”
Parker nodded as though mollified and satisfied. “I trust you will do right by her when she is free.”
Unfortunately, Bishop had swallowed scotch before those words were uttered and it took extreme effort not to spew the contents all over himself and his guest. Forcing down the liquor, he nearly choked. “You mean, marry her?”
“Without question.”
Bishop had a lot of questions and only one answer. Absolutely not. But he had no desire to face a pistol at dawn. “You do realize that a woman can’t acquire a divorce based solely on her husband’s infidelity.”
Parker nodded. “Abandonment for two years or cruelty. I haven’t quite decided which way to go there. I don’t wish to hurt her, nor do I wish to put her through the agony of a long wait before she can be with you publicly.”
“I may have an idea, but let’s get the infidelity out of the way before discussing it, shall we?”
“You know of a place then?”
“I do. You’ll require a witness, of course. The establishment I have in mind provides discreet peepholes. Bring your witness, and I’ll arrange with the proprietress for that person to be placed in a position to watch.” He thought Parker visibly paled, but still the man nodded just before tossing back his remaining scotch. “Are you available Thursday evening at nine?”
