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Let it be known only to God and her spirit, was my attitude. That was before I knew there were people out there in the world who blamed me for it.
He began to take the stairs two at a time but had only reached the first landing, where the stairs turned, when there was a knock at the door. Harold stopped, one hand on the banister, one foot on the next step. The knock came again, three raps of the knocker, sharp and insistent. Harold remembered Simon’s desire to see him arrested for assault.
Has the fool paid the Runners to look into the supposed offense? If he has, I will not surrender to the accusations as I did in that absurd duel. They will hear me.
A maid appeared, hurrying to the door.
“I will answer it, Mary. Thank you,” Harold said. “I expect the Hathway’s forgot something. Carry on with your duties, there’s a girl.”
Mary dropped a curtsy. Harold always tried to be warm and paternal to his staff.
With the exception of that jackanapes, Harris.
He had learned in the army that men responded better to a carrot than a stick. None of the troops under Harold’s command had ever had to be flogged to impose discipline. And he liked to think he inspired just as much loyalty from his household troops. Harold strode back across the hall and opened the door. Gordon Warmsley stood there, hat perched on his head at a jaunty angle.
“Mattingley. Did you forget something?” Harold asked.
“Yes, Your Grace. An important matter. Was just discussing it with the wife there and we decided to strike while the iron was hot.”
Harold raised an eyebrow and stepped aside, allowing Gordon back into the house.
“Shall we go to the smoking room again? I trust your bowels aren’t troubling you,” Harold said, icily.
This did not bode well. He could not think what matter this buffoon could be referring to but it smacked of a plot.
“Yes, that would be fine. And a cigar, if you have one,” Gordon said, leading the way.
“Liberty Hall, Mattingley,” Harold said drily. “Liberty Hall.”
Entering the smoking room, Harold went to a drawer and took out a Thermidor, using a knife kept beside the box to cut the end from two cigars. He presented one to Gordon and then took a taper from the mantle, held it over the fire, then offered it as a light. Gordon puffed on the cigar with a look of concentration. Then barely suppressed a cough. Harold smiled grimly.
“They are imported from the United States. Now that the war is over, there is a lucrative trade in tobacco and other things to be had. I imagine you are well aware of this,” Harold said, lighting his own cigar.
“My man in the City keeps me abreast of the commodity market, Your Grace,” Gordon said. “Lindley has not been so well advised, I fear. Or perhaps he has fallen foul of ruthless competition.”
Harold settled himself in an armchair, crossing his legs and regarding Gordon through a cloud of blue smoke.
“Not from me, old man. I let my agents take care of my investments. I am neither merchant nor banker. That was my father’s game.”
Gordon leaned back against the billiard table, cautiously sucking on the cigar again and covering the spluttering cough by clearing his throat.
“Excuse me, I think I have a cold coming on,” he excused himself lamely.
“Take a lungful then, Mattingley. My doctor recommends tobacco smoke to loosen the chest and ease breathing,” Harold replied.
Though I believe the fellow has invested heavily in tobacco himself, so his advice may well be prejudiced.
“Would you care to tell me of the matter which you would like dealt with, while the iron is hot?” Harold asked.
“Yes, well, straight to the point. I’m afraid you’ve rather slipped up, Your Grace. And you’ve exposed Lady Hathway to the potential for a terrible scandal. I know that the two of you were…intimate with each other. Last night and probably on other occasions too. Just one is damning enough for the young lady if it gets out.”
Anger surged in Harold, driving him to his feet. He cast the cigar aside, uncaring of where it landed, and stormed to within inches of Gordon. To his credit, the other man just stood there, unflinching, though slightly pale.
“Repeat that. I dare you,” Harold hissed.
Gordon swallowed and looked away.
“I have spoken to a servant. For now, he has agreed to hold his tongue. Pending appropriate recompense. Not for him, I am assured. But as a donation to his church.”
