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Thorndon tossed back his brandy. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”
“I didn’t want my father to be cast into suspicion if the truth came out another way, as he’s responsible for the logging on your estate. I think they took advantage of his injury to sell for their own profit. And I suspect they’ve been in league for years, and not just undercounting the sale of the timber.”
“This is disheartening. Gibbons is a distant relation and I trusted him completely. I’ll launch a full investigation.” He poured more brandy. “And I won’t blame your father. He’s never given me any cause to doubt his absolute integrity. I like and value him and I like you, Wright. You’re a good man.”
“Thank you. So are you.”
“Even though I neglected my estate.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to... I heard it loud and clear. As I said, I like you.” Thorndon set down his glass. “But if you’re toying with my sister’s affections, if you’ve hurt her in any way, I’ll cheerfully kill you.”
Ford blinked. The transition from amiable to murderous had been so sudden. “Your sister is in no danger from me.”
Was that true? Ford wasn’t so sure anymore. When they waltzed around the ballroom today he’d indulged in the wild fantasy that they might find a way to conquer the barriers of class that stood between them.
And here was her brother making certain that those barriers were solidly in place.
“Good. Then we understand each other?”
“Completely.” Ford was a good man, but he wasn’t good enough for the duke’s beloved little sister.
Thorndon refilled Ford’s glass. “Let’s drink to Thornhill.”
“To Thornhill.”
A tall, fair-haired man with a pronounced limp walked into the study. “Pour me a glass, Thorny.”
“Rafe, you reprobate,” said Thorndon. “Where have you been? We’ve been halfway across Europe searching for your sorry arse.”
“Here. There.” The duke’s brother waved vaguely with his hand. “Hand over that bottle. I’ve a dreadful feeling that I might be sobering up for the first time in weeks.”
“That’s not an answer, and you know it.” Thorndon poured his brother some brandy. “Rafe, this is Mr. Wright, the son of my lead carpenter at Thornhill.”
“Pleased to meet you, Wright.” Lord Rafe nodded his way. “Beatrice is looking well. Must be in love, silly goose. Women only get that shiny look in their eyes when they have some poor fellow in their sights. Who’s the lucky man?”
Ford shifted in his chair. It was probably time to leave now that he was outnumbered.
“Earl of Mayhew, I think I heard mother say?” said Thorndon.
Ford couldn’t stay silent at that. “She’s not marrying Mayhew.”
Both brothers turned to stare at him.
“Oh?” asked Thorndon, raising one thick, black brow.
“That is, Mayhew’s not fit to marry her,” he clarified. “The man’s a heartless debaucher. I know it from a friend.”
“I agree with you there, Wright,” said Lord Rafe. “Mayhew’s rotten, and that’s putting it mildly. Wouldn’t allow Beatrice to marry him.”
“I’ll have a chat with our mother,” said Thorndon. “Tell her to set some other poor fellow up in her sights.”
Ford cleared his throat. “Thank you for the brandy, Your Grace. I’ll leave you and your brother to talk. I believe your mother requires me back in the ballroom for more repairs.”
Thorndon held his gaze for a long moment before nodding. “I’ll see you tonight at the ball, Wright. I’ll send you one of my old costumes. We’re much of a height and build.”
Ford should feel relieved. The duke had taken his warning about his land agent seriously, Ford’s naval career might receive a major boost tonight, and he had completed the renovations on the bookshop.
