However, it wasn’t something I wanted to discuss over tea in the salon, especially since there was very little chance that Christopher and I would ever produce offspring. I’d marry him if I had to. I’d bed him only at gunpoint, and I was certain he felt the same way.
The doctor took his leave, a little ruffled, and I turned to Crispin. “Really, St George? Your grandfather’s lying dead upstairs, and this is how you get your jollies? By suggesting that Christopher and I are getting married?”
He arched that infernal brow. “Was that, or was it not, a proposal that was interrupted earlier?”
It had been, I guess. Or at least that had been my impression of it when it was going on.
However—
“Interrupted is the operative word here,” I said, and glanced at Christopher.
He said, “Mind your own, Crispin,” to his cousin.
“Of course.” Crispin smirked. “Just let me know when the deed is done, and I’ll package up a nice fish spade.”
“Just what every married couple wants,” I said, and pushed to my feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to my room.”
I’d had enough of the assembly for the time being—had specifically had enough of Crispin—and besides, I did feel a little out of place. I was the only person here who hadn’t been related to the late duke, by blood or marriage, and although no one specifically let me feel that I wasde trop, I felt like an intruder nonetheless.
“Supper at eight,” Aunt Roz said. “I don’t think we’ll bother dressing tonight, given the circumstances. Have a nice rest, Pippa.”
“Thank you.” I escaped with as much of my dignity as I had left.
I had thoughtthat Christopher might stop by during the time between tea and supper, but I didn’t see him, so he must have found other things to do. For all I knew, the family had spent the entire time in the parlor, discussing what had happened and what would happen next. As a result, it wasn’t until after the (quiet) meal was over, and after everyone had dispersed, that I was able to get Christopher alone to discuss this evening’s events. Both the ones that had happened already, and the ones that were about to.
“I’m sorry about your grandfather,” I said, tucking my hand through his arm as we promenaded back and forth on the terrasse after supper.
He glanced at me. “I’m not. I mean, of course it’s sad that he’s no longer with us. But he was a cantankerous old bully most of the time. And I can’t believe he sent Grimsby to spy on me!”
Which was precisely the other thing I’d wanted to talk about. “Do you still want to meet him tonight? Now that your grandfather—his employer—is gone, do you think he might have given up the blackmail as a bad idea?”
“I imagine he’ll want the money even more now,” Christopher said. “He might lose his job, after all. Unless Uncle Harold or Crispin wants to take him on. But Uncle Harold already has a valet, and I doubt Crispin would want one. Especially Grimsby. He might be blackmailing Crispin, too.”
“What has St George done to be blackmailed over?”
“Let me count the ways,” Christopher said, and then shook his head. “Never mind. I have no idea what Crispin’s been up to, other than what everyone knows. Dalliances, drinking, dope, debt…”
“All the usual vices, in other words.”
He nodded. “And he hasn’t made a secret of any of them, either. But I don’t know if he’s worthy of blackmail if it’s all out there in the open, and if there is more, I don’t know whether Grimsby has done anything about exploiting it. Blackmailing me is one thing. Blackmailing the future duke is quite another.”
Yes, I could see that. “But you’re still going to meet with him?”
“I don’t see how I can avoid it,” Christopher said. “If I don’t show up, and he does, he’ll think I’ve refused to pay, and then he’ll start spreading my business to anyone who’ll listen, and I’m sure there are plenty of people who would.”
No doubt.
“I haven’t had a chance to talk to Mum, though, and I’m not going to tonight. Not with everything else that’s going on. So I’ll just have to head him off until I can work out how to get the money.”
“That’s if he shows up at all.”
He glanced at me. “Why wouldn’t he?”
“I don’t know. But this—what happened to your grandfather—has been a shock to the whole household. That might have been the worst roast duck I’ve ever eaten.”
Christopher nodded. “I’ll go to the meeting, but I think you’re right. He might not show up. Although if he doesn’t, I won’t make the mistake of thinking I’m off the hook.”
“Probably better if you don’t,” I agreed. “But at least it would give you—give us—some breathing room, and time to figure out how to come up with a thousand pounds without falling short over the next few months. I can live on beans on toast for a while, if it would help.”
