Page 78 of The Work of Art

Arthur felt himself grow warm under his cravat. “I’m a little improved, but it’s hardly miraculous.”

“Don’t cozen me, sir. You have a look of health about you.” The earl dropped his voice. “And your leg? Your hand? Those damnable headaches? Do they still give you much pain?”

“Less,” Arthur admitted gruffly.

“Thank God for that.” The earl turned back to the coach to assist his mistress out. “Madam, come and look at how improved my son is.”

Marianne Ogilvy was a petite woman of fifty, with a mass of brown hair, laughing blue eyes, and dimples in her cheeks and chin. She had a voluptuous figure, the curves of which couldn’t be concealed even in her modest slate-colored carriage gown.

“Captain Heywood,” she said with a merry laugh. “Heavens, you do look uncommonly well.” She gave a perfunctory curtsy, which was returned by a very stern bow. “Do you see, Gordon? You’d no cause to worry at all. This new bride of his has done him a world of good.” She craned her neck, looking about amongst the chaos of the servants. “But where is she, Captain? I’m longing to meet her.”

“She’s out riding.”

“Ah, a sporting sort of girl, is she?” The earl nodded his approval as they walked up the steps to the house. “Some fine horses at Tattersall’s of late. You might consider it, Arthur. Anything by Gringolet would do her nicely. Not as impressive as Titan was, mind you, but Gringolet’ s foals are levelheaded.”

“Gordon spends far too much time studying bloodlines.” Mrs. Ogilvy gave the earl a dimpled smile. “He’ll buy Gringolet himself before the month is out, mark my words.”

Arthur ignored their talk of fine horses. He’d grown up with such conversation and was inured to it. Besides, he had no desire to tell his father—whose stable of bloodstock was the envy of every sportsman in England—that his new daughter-in-law was perfectly happy with her bad-tempered crossbreed mare. “If we’d known in advance of your arrival, my wife would have been here to receive you.”

“Couldn’t be helped,” the earl said. “Business and whatnot. My health. Mrs. Ogilvy ill. Your damned brother in trouble with a woman up north.”

Arthur cast his father a sharp glance.

The earl nodded. “An opera dancer this time. Not ideal, but better than a blasted adventuress, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

In the house, there was a flurry of activity as servants rushed about unloading the coaches and preparing things for the unexpected guests. Mrs. Lamb came to meet them in the main hall, and after a brief exchange of words, Mrs. Ogilvy was swept off to an upstairs room so she could refresh herself.

“I mean no disrespect to your new bride,” the earl said when his mistress was out of earshot. “But at my age it’s damned hard to travel without my comforts. Couldn’t leave Mrs. Ogilvy behind.” He fidgeted a moment with his walking stick. “I suppose your wife will cut her dead.”

“I doubt that very much.”

“Or refuse the introduction.”

“She’d be justified in doing so.” Arthur knew that Philly wasn’t likely to be offended at all, but he was offended for her.

“Perhaps you can explain it to the girl? Wouldn’t like to insult her so early in our acquaintance. She’s likely to be my only daughter-in-law if your brother continues as he is.”

“It’s a little late to worry about insulting her.”

“Indeed. What’s done is done. Now, if you’ve grown tired of looking severe, you might see your way to offering me a large glass of claret and a comfortable chair. I have an item or two to discuss with you, and we may as well get all this unpleasantness out of the way before your wife returns from her ride.”

Arthur motioned his father into the library. A footman poured out the earl’s drink, placed the decanter at the ready, and then quietly departed, shutting the doors behind him.

“Unpleasantness?”

“Quite so. Can’t thwart a man like Edgar Townsend without a bit of unpleasantness now, can you?” The earl settled himself into a chair near the fireplace, watching closely as Arthur sat down in the chair across from him. “I must tell you, my boy, your exploits of the last month put your brother in the shade. I should’ve known when you finally lost your head over a woman, you’d do a thorough job of it.”

Arthur fell quiet. The last thing he’d expected from his father was a reprimand. And he’d certainly not anticipated being compared to his rakehell older brother.

“I received a nasty letter from Townsend several weeks ago. An express, no less. Said you destroyed his investment scheme, spirited off his niece and secretly married her, and then, as a final insult, stole one of his servants.”

Arthur leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “It sounds rather fantastical when you list it all out like that, but I’ll not deny it.”

The earl fixed him with a repressive glare. “He also said that this niece of his you ran off with was betrothed to the Duke of Moreland.”

“I’d hardly call it a betrothal. She refused him.”

“Did she, by God.” His father mulled this over. “Suppose you’re aware the details of your courtship and marriage are the talk of London?”