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There it was, the ruddiness. The man most likely wanted to kill him for swooping in and stealing his bride. He really did like Demeter for more than her wealth.
“Perhaps you shall find a bride this Season too, cousin. There are many eligible women and debutantes for the taking and now you are establishing yourself into Society, I have no doubt you shall have many interested ladies.”
“I had thought I might try to find a bride but...” He pressed his lips together. “Well, none have sparked my interest.”
Or the one he’d been interested in was now taken. The more Blake talked to his cousin, the more he was grateful he asked Demeter to marry him, out of false circumstances or not. The way his cousin’s eyes took on a strange, clouded look at the mention of her name made Blake want to fling the man out of his own carriage.
“Surely you want a wealthy bride? Estates like your mother’s are horribly draining on one’s pocketbook.”
“My mother had plenty of wealth.” Bitterness inched into his voice.
Blake tried not to grin. “Odd that she did not choose to spend some of it on your education in London, Foster. I would have thought she’d want her son to have the best.”
“I had an excellent education.”
“Oh. Where precisely did you go to school?”
“I thought we were to talk about this dinner party,” Foster snapped, then pressed fingers to his temples. “Forgive me, I believe I am a little tired.”
“No doubt. You have been working hard of late, hosting balls, and finding your feet in Society. Perhaps a dinner party would not be a good idea after all.”
“No, no.” He shook his head vigorously. “If it is expected, I shall do it. As always, I would welcome your guiding hand, Cousin.”
Blake narrowed his eyes. Why did he suspect his cousin needed no help whatsoever? Whatever he had been doing all these years whilst hidden away from Society, he must have been preparing for this day for a long time, given how practiced his behavior was. Today was the first and only time he’d seen the visage slip, even a degree.
“Have you time for a drink?” Blake asked when they reached his aunt’s house. “Then we can discuss who you should invite and I can recommend an excellent cook.”
“My cookisexcellent,” Foster said tightly as he exited the vehicle. “One of the best.”
“Oh yes, I had heard. Monsieur Lucien Baduex. Quite the catch.” And exceedingly expensive. Even the richest members of thetonwould struggle to pay his yearly wages. His aunt had been a wealthy woman, but not that wealthy.
“Precisely.” His cousin’s smile grew smug. “I am certain I can hold a dinner party that thetonshall be speaking of for months to come.”
“I almost do not think you need my help, Foster.”
“Oh no. Your advice shall be most valuable.”
Blake had to conclude his cousin thought him best as an ally rather than an enemy. Maybe Foster deemed him too much a rake or too frivolous to even question Foster’s circumstances. Whatever the reasons for the continued ruse, he’d rather Foster think him a friend—at least until he had found out the truth behind his cousin’s inheritance.
He paused in the hallway, spying a bare patch on the entrance hall wall. The wallpaper offered a large, faded square and empty hooks hung from the picture rail. “Was there not a painting there?”
“Oh yes.” Foster’s cheeks slowly turned crimson. “I am changing things about a bit. Putting my own touch on the house and whatnot.”
“Indeed,” Blake murmured.
“Shall we go through to the drawing room?” Foster suggested, motioning to the room his aunt favored. It was decidedly feminine in décor, not at all the room he would expect his cousin to like.
Frowning, he looked past his cousin, eyeing the plinth at the end of the deep entranceway. He ignored his cousin’s frantic gestures and strode over to the plinth which a blue and white vase now occupied.
“More changes?” he asked, his voice sounding tight to his own ears.
“Oh yes.”
“Where is the elephant?” He did not move his gaze from the spot where a bronze elephant had once sat.
“Hard to say. I have moved so many things. Now shall we—?”
“I’d rather like to see it.”
