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Harold left the museum and hailed a cab. Gun metal gray clouds tumbled through the sky, threatening rain. After walking with Alice back to the public galleries of the museum, he had gone in one direction and she another. Their meeting had been clandestine, making him feel like a spy in enemy territory. Hardly the basics for romance.
But then I have not been seeking romance. Far from it. She is beautiful, I would be blind not to see it. But, what else draws me to her?
The idea that a liaison with Alice would incense her brother, with his ludicrous vendetta, was an attractive one. Simon had made insulting suggestions about Harold’s character, so far in private as far as Harold knew. But, would those comments stay private? Would Simon’s resentment spill over into a more public arena? London clattered past him in all its tumbling seething life. Spots of rain began to hit the roof of the carriage, prompting ladies and gentlemen to scurry for shelter and poorer people to carry on with no more than a muttered curse.
He sat back, hat on the seat beside him, staring out of the window but seeing none of it. His mind was still full of Alice. Her waves of black hair framing the palest complexion, and her challenging eyes of purest blue. The taste of her lips and the softness of her skin.
Do I desire her simply because she is desirable? Would I stoop to seduce her because I wish to return an insult made against me by her family?
Harold frowned. If that was his motive, then he should never see her again. That would be the honorable course. But, there was nothing honorable in the disgusting rumors that the Hathways were harboring concerning him. To allege that he had seduced a woman out of jealousy, to hurt the man who had bested him in a contest for that woman’s heart. It truly was the behavior of a blackguard, a cad of the worst order.
The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. To know that there were people in this world who believed that of him was infuriating.
After everything I did to distance myself from my father. To step well out of the shadow cast by that old tyrant. And now to be tarred with the same brush regardless.
Abruptly, he rapped his knuckles sharply against the roof of the cab and called up a different address to the driver than the one he had given upon entering the cab.
Simon read the note again, rubbing a hand across his forehead, mouthing the words as though to form their shapes would render them more comprehensible. Nothing could do that. The note bore the signature and seal of the Duke of Norfolk. The man who had been so enthusiastic about Simon’s proposed business venture the previous evening.
“Viscount Lindley, regarding your proposed venture, I find myself having doubts. I have taken further advice from a trusted source and am led to believe that it may not be in my interests to enter such a partnership. I will require considerable time to think over what you have said to me and what I have since learned. Do not wait on my agreement however, it may never be forthcoming.
Norfolk”
He let the note fall to the table, hand resting on it. The servant who had brought it had been told to wait in the hall for a response. Simon did not know what he could say that would not descend into pleading.
Norfolk was my last hope. He is the only one with the capital and the expertise. There is no one else. Blast him. Damn his eyes. Who has he spoken to and what did they say?
The library, in which he sat, still had its curtains drawn. The previous evening’s drink still hung in Simon’s head, pulsing against his skull. A half-empty decanter of port sat at his elbow, a full glass untouched beside it.
I will not be driven to that glass as Teddy was.
But the urge to reach for it was almost overpowering. To drown himself in that decanter and numb the worries that plagued him. His eyes returned to the note, the lines of neat handwriting that had cut through him like a saber.
At least Alice is debuted. The cost of that was crippling but she has been introduced to the ton and a good introduction it was. We can hold our heads high in London society. And she will find a husband this season unless I miss my guess. That will be one less mouth for me to feed.
“Your pardon, my Lord, but His Grace’s man is still waiting,” came a deferential voice from the door.
It was Smithers, the butler they had brought with them from Lindley. Stork-like in appearance and with almost no hairs left on his head, he had entered the room quietly and stood by the door attentively.
“Send him away. No reply,” Simon said, irritated. “And no more visitors—”
Smithers had turned as Simon spoke, and conferred with another servant in inaudible whispers. A note was passed to Smithers and he turned back to Simon who arched an eyebrow.
“Do I have your complete attention now, Smithers?” he asked.
“Your pardon, my lord. But I have just been told that a visitor is waiting for you in the hall. His Grace, the Duke of Redwood, in fact. I presume your prohibition on visitors would not include a man of his rank?”
Simon gaped at him for a moment, then rose, slamming his hands on the desk.
“Are you quite serious, Smithers? Harold Clauder is in my hall at this moment, wishing to speak to me?”
“Yes, my lord. He has just arrived.”
Simon knew that he could simply send the Duke away. Refuse to see him. Smithers and the rest of the household would be scandalized. So too would the rest of the Ton, when the news got out. Simon could not refuse to speak to a man of his rank, not without damaging the chances of finding Alice a husband. He gritted his teeth, taking a deep breath.
“Very well. Send him in, Smithers,” he said.
Smithers bowed and moments later the Duke of Redwood strode into the room as though it were his own. He saw Simon, still standing behind his desk, hands on the top. Harold did not break stride or exchange pleasantries. He stopped a few feet from the desk, locking eyes with Simon.
