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His Grace scowled darkly. “Why would you ask that?”
“Because if you are, then the Constabulary might be a good option…They’re well-equipped for criminal investigations.”
“For the moment, Mr. Conolly, I’d like to see if we can handle this quietly,” the Duke replied. “Your specific talent is to do so.”
“It is,” Charles agreed. Although he was an estate lawyer. His duties were supposed to remain in terms of property. Regardless, the gentlemen of the ton seemed to forget this.
“I’d like to keep this in the shadows…where it belongs,” the Duke stated.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Charles said. What else was he supposed to say? The Duke was going to pay his hourly wages. He would likely double it, too, as he had paid for the time that Charles had sat in the carriage, on the way to and from Tiverwell Manor, during the summer.
The Duke smiled for the first time since his arrival—it was like the sun peering out from behind the clouds. “Then we are on the same page.”
Charles nodded, then sipped his drink. He was good at handling things on the quiet. It was his particular talent.
“You’ve done very well at making yourself absolutely indispensable,” the Duke said. “I don’t know what I’m to do without your services.”
“You won’t have to find out, Your Grace,” Charles replied.
In more ways than one.
The Duke raised his glass. “Cheers, Mr. Conolly. To a magnificent partnership.”
“Agreed, Your Grace.” Charles clinked his glass against the Duke’s. He had a dark, foreboding feeling that his services were beginning to take a much darker turn than they had thus far.
However, this was to be his father-in-law. He needed him to require him. It would make his marriage to Lady Arabella that much easier to negotiate. After that, their discussion turned away from secretive matters, to ones of news of the gentlemen of the ton.
After the Duke had left, Charles felt far more confident in presenting the Duke of Tiverwell with his suit. As long as the gentlemen of the ton required him, he would have the money to support her as close to what she was used as a London barrister could.
Arthur peered out of his door. “That sounded like it went well,” he said. “Did you broach the subject of his daughter’s hand?”
“Not quite,” Charles replied.
“Ah,” Arthur said, woefully.
“You really think that it’s not going to go well?” Charles asked. “I mean, the Duke just said that he doesn’t know what he’d do without me.”
“What you can dofor him,” Arthur pointed out. “Not for his daughter.”
“You’re being a spoilsport,” he replied. They had been friends for nearly a decade. Why couldn’t Arthur be happy for him?
“Your funeral, I suppose.” Arthur disappeared back into the depths of his office. Charles sat down at his desk, staring into the fire, which crackled in the grate.
