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When Arthur finally left the breakfast room after a quiet and inwardly tumultuous meal, the last thing he had expected to see upon entering the foyer to ready for his errand were Francesca and Kitty readying their gloves and bonnets. The duchess was the first to spot him and waved cheerily. “There you are, Barrow. We thought you’d changed your mind for a moment there.”
He stared dumbly back. “I did not think you were still coming along, so I took my time.”
Francesca finally turned, peering at him shyly from beneath the brim of her bonnet, and he was relieved to see that she hadn’t been crying. “Do you mind?”
Still rather confused over the sudden change in mood, Arthur could only nod. “No, of course not,” he replied carefully.
“Excellent,” the duchess replied with a happy clap. “Francesca was too scared to continue, but I insisted. I’ve been cooped up for weeks, and Sebastian’s fretting has been driving me mad.”
“Kitty,” Francesca hissed.
But the woman only grinned. “Let us be off,” she said and wrenched open the front door before the footman could even think to open it. The lad scrambled to hold it open after she’d passed through, and Arthur gave him an apologetic smile on the way out.
He held out his arm to Francesca at the top of the portico steps, noting that Kitty was already striding briskly down the drive. “May I walk with you?”
“Yes, thank you,” she mumbled and placed her hand on him. It was the first time she’d touched him since yesterday, and he felt every warm fingertip pressing into his arm. They walked in silence for several minutes, the duchess stubbornly keeping several yards ahead of them and whistling a jaunty tune, loud enough that she would likely hear little of their conversation.
“I wanted to apologize,” Francesca began as he struggled for something to say to break the uncomfortable silence between them. “I said things in anger that I did not mean.”
Arthur nodded and considered his next words. “Do you blame me for what he did?”
“I used to,” she admitted. Though the bonnet obscured the side of her face, he could still see her mouth twist in turmoil. “With him not being here, I think I needed something concrete to be angry at, and you were the next best target. It was small of me, and I am sorry.”
“He ruined himself with his inability to control his betting. If I may be so bold, I have little sympathy for rich men in that situation when there are those in the streets barely hanging on through no fault of their own.”
“I know that now, have known that for a while. Today was…” Her hand tightened on his arm. “I’ve been out of sorts in a way that has dredged up unpleasant memories, and I’m afraid I reverted to old habits.”
A mischievous smile bloomed despite himself as he recalled the duchess’ words at breakfast. “Who is the cause of such disruption, I wonder?” He darted a glance at their walking companion, noting that she was still improperly far ahead of them.
Francesca whipped her head up to glare at him, an adorable flush staining her cheeks. “You very well know—”
Before she could finish, he leaned down to deliver a brief peck on her lips. “I forgive you,” he said and leaned back, laughing when she only sputtered in response.
“You are ridiculous, Mr. Barrow.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Back to ‘Mr. Barrow’?”
She smacked his arm with a scoff, and he chuckled. Their supposed chaperone showed no signs of slowing her pace, and Arthur prepared himself for a cozy walk with Francesca for the remainder of the trip. They chatted about nothing and everything, her shining exuberance for even the most mundane of topics warming him. For that brief half hour, he forgot about his failing earldom and his anxieties at being away from The White Heather. There was only them and the countryside that he was enjoying for the first time since arriving three weeks ago.
**
The inn was deserted when he arrived, the only patron being a rather surly looking young man nursing a drink at one of the back tables. Arthur eyed him as he passed, noting the other empty glasses strewn about the table and wondering what extended business such a gentleman might have at a village that functioned as little more than a brief stop for travelers along the road. Not that such things were of any interest to him, Arthur thought with an inward shrug. Observing his surroundings and those within it was a habit born from both his upbringing and ownership of a gambling hell. Putting the odd lad out of mind, Arthur approached the innkeeper behind the bar. “Any letters for Arthur Barrow?”
A chair scraped in the corner of the room, but he paid the sound no mind as the innkeeper dropped a stack of letters on the counter. He took it with a muted thanks and briefly leafed through the bundle. Two letters were from gentleman indebted to him, thick with bank notes for their monthly payments. The third was from the orphanage he funded, more than likely an update on the state of things that they sent to him every week. The final was from Griffin Raleigh, his right-hand man and current manager of the club in his absence. Knowing that he wouldn’t bother writing to him unless there was a serious situation, Arthur plopped into a chair at one table and opened the letter. He scanned the contents with a frown.
Sorry to bother you, boss,
An angry young man showed up and demanded to see the Earl of Clifton. Since you told me not to tell anyone about it, I called him a blathering idiot and kicked him out. The next day, Mrs. Lauram informed me that the man had barged into the orphanage and accosted her for your location. The poor woman was so confused, she told him you were at Amberwood’s place. He was a whelp of a thing, so I’m sure you can handle him, but I wanted to warn you in advance.
Griff
A shadow loomed over him as he finished the last line, and Arthur calmly placed the letter on the table with the others. Francesca and the duchess were at the milliner, but would no doubt be looking for him shortly. He needed to resolve the situation, fast. “May I help you?” he inquired calmly. Thankfully, the little pup was too stupid to notice him reaching into his waistcoat.
“Turn and face me, you bastard.” The man’s hand gripped Arthur’s shoulder, tugging as if to launch him from the chair.
Ha.
Arthur launched from his seat, grabbing the assailant’s forearm and pointing a knife at his face within a second. “How about we calm down and discuss this like gentlemen, hmm?” He smiled darkly. “Ye won’t win a go at me, boy, I assure ya.”
