Chapter Fifteen
Roland watched theduke stroll off after having informed him of the absurd letter Charles had sent to him, claiming that he was the author of poor Clara’s troubles. His brother was outrageous. Did he actually think he would have got away with such a thing? He supposed he had thought that, as he’d done it. He might have, had the duke been a different sort of gentleman.
All along, he’d been so distracted by the duke’s eccentricity that he’d not noticed how astute the gentleman really was. Another father might have fallen for the ruse, or at least not been certain of the truth. That father would err on the side of caution and cut off all contact. He was very lucky that the duke had seen through it.
Of course, there was also the duke’s hint that he ought to get on with it. At least, he’d taken it so. That would indicate the duke’s firm approval of a match between himself and Lady Serenity. He had thought that would be the case, but it was well to hear it.
Roland’s eyes searched the ballroom to locate Lady Serenity. Lady Marchfield had indeed introduced her to the Countess of Pembroke. She was an older and very stately lady and she seemed to be looking kindly at Lady Serenity. He supposed the countess would—she was known to be kind and full of good sense.
Just then, Charles approached Lady Pembroke’s party. Though Roland could not hear what was said and was left trying to read expressions, he did not think his brother was particularly admired by the party for doing it.
Charles never understood when it would not be welcome to push in. Lady Marchfield wished her niece to be introduced to one of the grand dames of London, she did not need Charles to crash into the conversation.
At first, Charles was all smiles. There seemed to be an exchange between him and Lady Serenity. Then she flushed and turned away from Charles. Of course, his brother did not know that Lady Serenity had been warned off him. He’d just put her in a very uncomfortable position, and he’d probably been insistent about it.
Charles curtly bowed and strode away. In Roland’s direction, unfortunately. He took a glass of claret from a passing tray and turned round. With any luck, Charles would pass him by.
“What did you say to her?” Charles practically growled into his ear.
“To who?” Roland said, turning round to face his brother.
“You know who,” Charles said. “Lady Serenity.”
“Ah, Lady Serenity. I said nothing, that would have been the duke’s doing.”
“What do you mean the duke’s doing?” Charles asked.
Roland knew his brother well enough to see that he was making rapid calculations and speculations in his mind.
“Well, let’s see,” Roland said, taking a sip of his claret, “the duke received a letter. After reading it, he concluded that it would be best to keep his daughter well away from you.”
“Did you dare to send some kind of letter denouncing me?” Charles said, his outrage simmering.
“No,” Roland said, laughing, “yousent a letter attempting to denounceme.”
It was fast dawning on Charles that not only had the duke not believed the letter from the “lowly servant,” but had easily deduced who had sent it.
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Charles said, clearly in a play for time.
“Ah, I see. Well, perhaps ask your porter from The Albany, as he was the one who delivered that letter. Really, you ought to consult with him in any case. If the fellow is to go round delivering anonymous letters, perhaps he should not wear his livery—it gives the game away, you see. That was just one of the tip-offs to the duke that all was not as it seemed, though he had quite a hilarious list of your missteps.”
Charles had gone very red in the face. Roland had seen that look before, especially when they’d been younger. At those moments, Charles was likely to break something or throw fists. He could not do so here, though. He was careful of appearances and would not dare damage his reputation in such a manner.
Rather, he stormed off. Such was the violence of his departure that his tin crown flew off his head, clattered on the floor and rolled into a corner. He did not stop to pick it up.
Roland assumed that would be the end of Charles’ meddling. His younger brother had flown a little too close to the sun with that gambit. It would unnerve him that the duke knew he’d sent that ridiculous letter and, knowing the duke, His Grace might decide at some later date to talk about it. Or rather, joke about it. Roland could easily envision such a circumstance, and he imagined Charles could too. The one thing Charles absolutely could not bear was to be laughed at.
Perhaps this was all for the best. Whenever Charles went too far, which was often, he always retreated to lick his wounds. He’d done so a hundred times when they’d been schoolboys. After a suitable time had passed he would reappear as if nothingat all had occurred, as he seemed to think that time washed all crimes clean.
Roland would not be at all surprised to discover that his brother had set off for the continent again, only to return at some later date looking blameless.
He would be glad to see the back of his brother for a while. He had more important things on his mind than Charles’ bad behavior. As soon as Lady Serenity had concluded her conversation with the countess, he would approach and suggest a turn around the room.
*
Serenity had beenwhisked off to meet the countess, as her father wished a word with Lord Thorpe. And, he had threatened her aunt with telling all and sundry that he was dressed as her vicar going to the devil.
She supposed the word her father wished for with Lord Thorpe was the mysterious problem with his brother, Lord Charles. She tried to avoid being over-curious about it, as it would not do her good. However, she really was curious about it.
