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“Very well. I will trust him if you do.” Crawford looked down with some contrition in his expression. “Forgive me for my questions and distrust. I was concerned.”
“I likely would have behaved the same way if I were in your position,” Matthew reassured him.
Crawford smiled, and Matthew remembered the dinner invitation. “I am hosting a small dinner party tomorrow. Would you like to join? I suppose it would make things simpler if we were better acquainted.”
Crawford grinned. “I would love to join.”
Matthew inclined his head and picked up his whiskey, concluding that they had finished their business discussion. Tomorrow, he will learn more about uncovering the identity of Dee, but now, he could learn a bit about Crawford.
“I just realized that our discussions have mostly been about business, and I barely know the man I joined ventures with,” he began, going to sit in the chair opposite Crawford’s.
“Ah, yes, and I suppose that is not a very good thing.” Crawford smiled genially. “As you know, I moved to Kent from London three months ago.”
Matthew nodded. “Did the town bore you?”
“Well, London has a surfeit of diversions,” he chuckled ruefully, “but I find myself seeking a purpose, and I am hoping that Kent has the answers. I was betrothed to a lovely young lady nine years ago. She came of age last year and ran away to Gretna with another man.”
“You want to recover from a broken heart,” Matthew observed.
“Indeed,” Crawford sighed. “I discovered that the bucolic life here suits me, and perhaps my spirit will be restored if I find a good woman to marry here.”
“That should not be difficult given that many genteel women live here.” Matthew raised his glass. “I wish you luck.”
“I thank you, Stormwood.”
After hearing some of his tale, Matthew thought they could become friends due to their relatively similar circumstances. In fact, he was anticipating it.
“The former Duke of Stormwood died six months ago,” Abigail told Diana. “It was so sudden.”
“What happened?” Diana asked, recalling the grief she had seen in Matthew’s eyes at the castle when asking about his father’s painting. She wanted to know all she could about him without asking him directly, and she trusted Abigail not to tell anyone about her inquiries.
If she had picked up Debrett’s Peerage the day she received Matthew’s last letter, she would have known that his father had been the Duke of Stormwood at the time; and she would have known who the new duke was and stayed at home instead of going to the ball. She would not have had to lie about Dee and complicate matters for herself. Now she would know more before she saw Matthew again.
“A casualty with a horse,” Abigail shuddered. “The new duke returned a month after to assume his title. In fact, I recall telling you of the incident when it happened, it was quite the big thing.”
Diana shrugged. She was not particularly interested in the peerage six months ago. “Where was the new duke before?”
“Away fighting in the war,” Abigail said bluntly, and Diana sucked in her breath. She did not know that. “I heard he served well before he was wounded.”
“He was wounded? Where?”
“I am not sure because he looks quite well.”
“Poor Matthew,” she breathed but quickly caught herself when she saw Abigail watching her curiously. The thought of him in pain scraped at her heart like a knife against a wooden board.
Suddenly, her bedchamber door opened and Margaret walked in. Her eyes narrowed to ominous slits when she saw Diana sitting near her window with Abigail.
“Leave us,” she commanded Abigail, who stood, curtsied, and rushed out of the room. Margaret regarded Diana for a moment before she said, “I hope you have reflected on your behavior because I have come to offer you a truce.”
Diana’s mouth fell open in surprise but she quickly closed it and blinked. “Youwish to have a truce?” She had honestly thought her aunt had come to give her the daily ration of hate.
“Yes. I want the duke to court Florence,” Margaret replied, raising her chin proudly, “thus, I do not want him to have a poor opinion of us. If you can behave like a civilized human being, I shall extend you more courtesy.”
“Yet you continue to insult me,” Diana remarked, her brows knit.
“I hardly consider that an insult, my dear,” Margaret smirked. “I have called you worse.”
Diana shook her head in incredulity. “What do you want from me besides me minding my behavior?”
