A widow might be pitied, but a woman whose marriage vanished under a legal ruling would become a pariah.
Dash straightened. “You think he’d go that far?”
Blackwell didn’t hesitate to answer. “When has Groby ever been known to be charitable?”
“We need to contain this,” Longstaffe said, frowning. “Before the ton runs away with it. For Lady Lovington’s sake.”
Dash leaned forward. “If we’re going to do that, we need to learn what Groby’s put in front of Faversham. A man with that reputation does not lend his name to a bastard’s wild claim unless he is anticipating a prize at the end of it all.”
Which meant Faversham was confident he could win.
Gideon’s expression hardened. “Then we trace Groby’s movements. Where he has been. Who he has spoken to. When this claim began to take shape.”
Blackwell picked it up at once. “If he has evidence, it came from somewhere.”
“We find it,” Longstaffe added, “And then we discredit it.”
Dash’s jaw set. “And if we cannot?”
That lingered, but Gideon knew the answer at once.
“Then we ensure the duchess is protected.”
It wouldn’t be the first time a woman had required protecting because of what happened at Harrowgate.
Gideon’s gaze lowered briefly to the table.
“I’ll speak with my aunt,” Longstaffe volunteered. “If Groby’s so much as bid ‘good day’ to the duchess, she’ll have heard about it.”
“Do so,” Blackwell said. “I’ll keep tabs on new business with the Lords.”
Dash exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “And I am to do what? Sit here and drink while the rest of you set the world to rights?”
“That wouldn’t be completely useless.” Longstaffe tilted his head. “Faversham is a member at White’s, is he not?”
Blackwell nodded.
“Well then,” Longstaffe went on. “Seeing as Dash has retired from gardening, it can’t hurt to have a set of ears hanging about. Observe. Listen.” His gaze focused on Dash. “And attempt to keep yourself sober enough to remember what you hear.”
Dash snorted softly. “A formidable task.”
Gideon set his cup aside.
“I’ll see to it that he’s watched.” Three heads turned. “Groby,” Gideon clarified. “Where he goes. Who he meets. And where he’s been these past months.”
There.
It was settled, then.
Not resolved. But there was a plan now. And Gideon found, to his considerable relief, that action was far easier than dwelling on the look he had put in Beatrice’s eyes.
It also meant Gideon had a reason not to return to Beckman House just yet, and that, well, it suited him more than it should have.
He did not particularly wish to stand in that ballroom again and face Beatrice’s disappointment. He had seen enough of it for one afternoon.
Even if it meant not seeing her face.
Dash it all.
