A Suitable Replacement (2 page)

His thoughts stuttered as he saw a familiar wooden box, black and with his initials in ornate script. Shoving everything else out of the way, he dragged the box forward and released the catch, flipped the top open—and broke into a grin. On top of everything was a note in his sister's tidy hand: 
Welcome home, good-for-nothing.

Tucking the note away, he admired the contents of the box:  miniature tables, shelves, bottles, beakers, and countless other items that would fill one of the last rooms in his dollhouse. She'd finished the library for him before he left and promised him the laboratory upon his return. All that was left was the master bedroom and the greenhouse. He could not wait to set it up.

He started to close it again when a flash of white caught his eye—and he saw that tucked into the velvet lining of the lid was a slip of paper. Suspecting the mystery of the vanishing sister was about to be solved, he pulled it out. The paper had been folded, closed with his sister's magnolia seal, and his name was written across it in her familiar bold loops and curls.

Max,

I apologize for my absence and all the trouble it will bring. I hate myself for the triteness of it, something right off the scandal sheets, but I've run away with a man I love dearly but cannot yet love publically. I'm sure it shan't take long for you to deduce his identity.

Do give my love and condolences to Kelcey; he's a bit gruff but has a good heart, and I did not mean to leave him floundering. I trust you will do well by him per the runaway clause.

All my best to you. Enjoy the miniature laboratory, and I hope your latest experiment in blowing things up proceeds well. I shall return to see you given that award you go on about.

Kisses,

Mav

The moment he was saw her again, he was going to mock her relentlessly. Scathing tone and everything.
Ninny
. His mouth quirked; he could hear her strident
Good-for-nothing
as clearly as though she were standing beside him.

Homesickness washed over him. That was the part he hated the most. He could handle the scandal and a furious fiancé. But not knowing when he would get to see his sister, when she was the reason he had pushed so hard to arrive early, the only person he had truly missed while he had been gone three years?

Sighing, he tucked the second note away with the first and closed the lid on the box, tucking it under his arm. "Barrington, I do not suppose you have a handful of people I could borrow for a couple of weeks while I attempt to get my new house in order?"

"Certainly, my lord. Leave me the address and I will send them over this evening, unless you want me to select them immediately?"

"No rush at all. The address is Nineteen Hemlock Circle. Take until tomorrow if that's easier. Thank you. If you receive further word from our troublesome duchess, let me know at once."

"Of course, my lord."

"I shall be off then, but send someone if you've need of me for anything. If Master Moore comes by, send him straight on to me for answers."

"Yes, my lord."

"Thank you again, Barrington. Have a good night."

"You as well, my lord."

Outside, Max climbed into his waiting carriage and bid the driver take him to his club. He wanted food, but there would be no having it at home, and he had no desire to inconvenience his sister's staff. Resting his head against the heavily padded cushions, he let his mind wander—

And jerked upright, nearly dropping the box set carefully in his lap, as something he had read finally struck him. Pulling out the note Mavis had left, he swiftly reread it, and promptly groaned.
Runaway clause.

Damn that woman. Runaway clause—he did not have time to go about finding a man he did not know a new fiancée. Why was it his problem?

Buggering fuck.

Chapter Two

Max had just sat down to breakfast when he heard the knock at the door. Lifting his eyes to the ceiling, because he could not imagine who else might be calling so damnably early in the morning, he set down his fork and said, "Best set another place, Ellen."

"Yes, my lord," she said, and briskly left to see it done.

Eschewing food in favor of draining his tea, Max waited, listening as the door was opened and Hugh spoke to whoever was at the door. There was no mistaking that deep rumble. A couple of minutes later, he heard the tread of Hugh's feet—but not, strangely, Master Moore's. Had he gone away, then?

Max dared to hope, but it was quickly dashed by the opening of the door and the barreling in of a handsome, scowling figure. Moore appeared to have a talent for moving silently. "Good morning, Master Relentless. You may sit and have breakfast if you can behave yourself, but make no mistake—if I have to draw my pistol today, I shall see a round or two is put to work."

"I wanted only to know if you had located Mavin," Moore replied. "I've been
worried
about her, damn it. She was meant to go hawking with me two days ago, and it is not like her to miss such an event. She even had her peregrines sent to Walchester Estate. I had to return them to her country estate before returning to the city. Mavin is ever inclined to vex every person who crosses her path, but I've never known her to risk any harm coming to the animals under her charge."

Max thanked Ellen as she poured him more tea and set a plate of food in front of Kelcey. When she had slipped away again, he said, "I found a note from my sister when I paid a visit to her home last night. She has run away, and been vague as to her reasons, save past saying she is marrying someone else. I am sorry."

He had expected ranting and raving, perhaps the dramatic throwing of something. He'd hardly blame the man for such a reaction. Instead Moore looked unsurprised, as though he were finally hearing the bad news for which he had long been waiting. "I'm glad she is well. Thank you for letting me know, my lord."

It was, near as Max could recall, the first time Moore had bothered to address him properly. "Are—are you well, sir?"

"I am fine," Moore replied. "Disappointed, of course, but what am I to do? Throw a fit and drag her back? If she has chosen to marry elsewhere, that is her choice. I simply wish she had told me, instead of leaving me to run frantically about like an imbecile."

Max set his fork down again, quietly mourning the lovely eggs that would grow cold and unpleasant—but some things were more important than eggs. "The very least I can do is show you the note." Standing, he waited until Moore joined him before heading across the hall to his study—such as it was, with most everything still in crates, and he mostly used the study for receiving and going through the post, anyway. All his real work was done in the lab.

Going to his desk, he opened the top drawer on the right side and pulled out the note, handing it over.

Moore read it and after a moment handed it back, mouth pinched and eyes decidedly downcast. "The ambassador's son—the one from Fermo. Lord Frances Ridley was the ambassador, the Duke of Hamilton Crossing. The son's name was … Gerard, yes. Lord Gerard Ridley. She struck up a friendship when we were introduced to them a few months ago. She is clever, but I had noticed the scent of her cigarettes had changed. I had assumed she became fond of the brand Lord Ridley favored after he gave her a few to enjoy. But now this and a couple of other things make much more sense. Your sister is brave."

"She's a reckless ninny," Max said, dropping the note back in the drawer before slamming it shut. "She said I would likely be able to figure it out; I am surprised you did."

"You and everyone else," Moore muttered, hurt flickering across his face before it was buried beneath a scowl.

Max narrowed his eyes but let the matter drop for the moment; it was too bloody early for arguments. "Well, as my sister has run off and I am her only remaining relative, minus a rather alarming aunt who by this point is likely running naked through some hillside, I will undertake to locate a new fiancée per the agreement in the marriage contract."

"What?" Moore's head jerked up, eyes widening. "How the devil would
you
locate me a new spouse? You know nothing about me—we have only barely met! And quite frankly, my lord, I've had all I can take from your sister. I see no reason to continue my association—"

"A contract is a contract, and I shall keep to it to the best of my ability," Max snapped, slapping a hand down on the desk for emphasis. "My sister has run off, there is nothing I can do about that, but I will select a new fiancée for you. It is the very least I can do, sir. As to hardly knowing you—well, that is nothing that you sitting down and telling me about yourself, and what you desire in a spouse, will not solve. Do stop being so petulant and dramatic, I promise you such behavior causes more problems than it solves."

"Someone should tell your sister that," Moore said sourly. "I've had enough of this rot. Good day to you, my lord." He turned sharply on his heel and strode off, and Max winced as the front door slammed hard enough to shake the house.

Well, that had gone both better and worse than anticipated. Max sighed and returned to the breakfast room, eating the cold eggs, mushrooms, and sausages patiently awaiting his return. When he was finished, he requested a pot of tea be brought to him in the study and returned there to work.

If Moore was not going to cooperate with him then he would have to find another method of gathering information. Pulling open another drawer in his desk, he pulled out the portfolio where he had already started collecting information to compile a list of fiancée candidates. It would have been useful if Moore had at least bothered to tell him if he preferred men or women, children or no children. Well, he would give Moore a few days and then call upon him—what a change that would be to their encounters.

Bother it, he was likely going to have to put his experiments on hold until the matter of Moore's marriage was settled. Ah, well, it was not as though his latest paper was going to be ready in time for submission. He would have to have another go at the Gorson Award next year.

Max finished his tea and stood, carrying the portfolio with him upstairs to get properly dressed for going out. He would visit his clubs, make discreet inquiries without arousing suspicions. Ideally, he could run a few other errands as well and return home in time to prepare for whatever parties he wound up agreeing to attend while he was out. They would be the best places to gather the information he required, as much as he loathed them and wished he could avoid the whole mess a little longer.

Speaking of social obligations and duties he preferred to avoid, he was going to need a secretary. One more aggravation. He would have to throw himself upon Barrington's mercy and convince him to locate one; if Max interviewed them, he would scare them all away.

In his room, he stripped down and washed up, then pulled on brown breeches, cream and brown clocked stockings, a cream shirt with a brown and gold waistcoat, and a dark amber coat. His neck cloth was not as well-knotted as he would like, but he was lucky if he could ever tie the damned things at all.

After stepping into his favorite pair of shoes, brown leather with gold buckles, he made certain his hair was respectable. Max chose amber studs for his ears that matched a cravat pin he finally dug out of the mess of jewelry he had collected only because his sister was never content to buy only for herself.

Finally ready to face society—or at least out of ways to delay the matter—he retrieved the portfolio from his bed, paused briefly to retrieve his coin purse and card case, and ventured downstairs to have the carriage brought round.

"Carriage is waiting sir," Hugh said from the foot of the stairs.

"If you keep being this good at your job, Hugh, Master Moore will be hard-pressed to match my bribes to keep you."

A smile briefly ticked up the corners of Hugh's mouth. "He is seldom home long enough to either require me or miss me, my lord. It is nice to have something to do."

"You will change your mind when I am able to resume the lab work, but I appreciate your assistance. Send for me should you require anything. I am going to the Starr Club, about town on a few errands, and then the Hocus Club before I return this evening. No need for supper, but I will need evening clothes unearthed from my trunks if you can find someone to do that."

"Of course, my lord," Hugh said, handing over his coat, hat, and gloves. "Have a good day."

"Thank you. The same to you and the rest of the staff." Outside, a cold wind was blowing and the skies promised something unpleasant—snow, possibly, but more likely sleet. Damn. "To the Starr Club, Willow, and have a care. I don't like the look of those clouds."

"Yes, my lord."

Settling into his seat, Max opened his portfolio again and pursed his lips. He had written out twenty profile sheets, modeled after those he had used to interview people pertinent to past experiments. He wondered if selecting marriage candidates would be more or less trying than arguing magic theory.

He worried his bottom lip as he tucked the profile sheets away and drew out blank sheets of paper meant for general notes, that brief moment from their conversation in the study replaying in his mind. Moore was definitely sensitive on the matter of his own intelligence, which was an insecurity not easily overcome in the presence of Mavin, as Max knew all too well.

The carriage came to a halt and the driver rapped on the window. A moment later, the door swung open and a man in the club's livery helped him out. "Welcome home, my lord."

"Thank you," Max replied as he climbed the stairs and slipped into the familiar, tidy comfort of the Star Club. Many thought his studies of magic theory were crazy science, but the Starr and Hocus clubs had always been places of welcome.

"Lord Max!"

Max looked up from handing off his coat, smiling at the woman who came striding down the hallway toward him. "Lady Bella, it's been a long time."

"Scoundrel!" She stopped just short of running into him and reached up to smack him playfully on the cheek. "Finally returned to us, then? About time, I say."