Good Earl Gone Bad (16 page)

Ophelia's eyes grew wide with astonishment.

“And what has your father to say for himself?” she demanded, angered on Hermione's behalf. Ophelia was nothing if not loyal. “I hope he groveled at your feet.”

“Oh, he thinks he's well within his rights,” Hermione said with a scowl. “And at this point, I'm not sure I'm not pleased with his loss of this particular wager. He's left me to clean up any number of messes this week. And none of them has exactly caused me a great deal of happiness. This one will, at the very least, put me under the care of someone who has a sensible head on his shoulders. I wasn't on the lookout for a husband, but as they go I could have done worse than Mainwaring.”

“That's a relief at least,” Ophelia said with a twist of her lips. “If you were thoroughly opposed to the match I'd have done what I could to ensure you were well out of it. But this means that we can end the week with our encounter with poor Lord Saintcrow as our biggest scandal.”

“I suppose it will be a relief if there is no mention of a trio of veiled ladies leaving Lord Saintcrow's town house in tomorrow's papers.” Hermione said with a wry smile.

“If that happens I will need to flee the country,” Ophelia said with a speaking look. “As it is, I am often stuck at home listening to Mama tell me that the reason I haven't taken is that I've not been making myself agreeable to the right gentlemen. I can only imagine her response to this morning's adventure.”

“I should think it's more a case of the right gentlemen not making themselves agreeable to you,” Hermione said with a frown. “I vow, I don't think I've seen one man with the least bit of sense approach you at a ball all season. And you know that I am the soul of forgiveness when it comes to male stupidity.”

This made Ophelia laugh, as Hermione had intended it. She didn't like to see her friend brought low by her mother's harping. Ophelia was a smart, sensible lady whose beauty was not immediately apparent to those who didn't bother to look. But she was a dear friend and Hermione didn't wish to see her spirit broken by a parent with little understanding of her daughter.

“Oh, yes,” Ophelia agreed with a snort, “as forgiving as can be. When I think of how many men you've allowed to live rather than cutting them down with the single word it would take, I cannot help but consider you as the soul of kindness.”

“So, your mama is beginning to turn her attention to you now that Mariah has become betrothed?” Hermione said after they'd stopped giggling.

“Indeed,” Ophelia said with scowl. “I had hoped she'd take a well-deserved holiday from such matters now that her life's ambition has been realized.”

Mariah Dauntry had become engaged to a marquess only one month earlier, and seeing her eldest daughter happily settled had been Mrs. Duantry's main purpose in life. Unfortunately, now that one daughter was taken care of, she wanted to do the same for the next eldest, Ophelia.

“Well, I shall be sure to introduce you to any number of handsome gentlemen once Mainwaring and I begin to host social events,” Hermione said, thinking it sounded odd to mention herself in the same sentence as Mainwaring. And yet, there was a certain rightness to it.

“When will you wed?” asked Ophelia with interest. “I presume it will be by special license. Will you have any guests, do you think? May I attend?”

“So many questions,” Hermione said mildly. “I don't quite know the answer to all of them. Though he did say he'd like to do the thing by the end of the week. So definitely special license, and I daresay you might come if you wish. I shall need someone to stand up with me. And though I suppose one of his sisters would be happy to do the honors, I should prefer it to be someone I know and love.”

Ophelia clapped her hands. “I should be delighted to attend. Have you considered what you will wear?”

They spent a pleasant two hours discussing nothing more pressing than fashion, and Hermione found she was able to relax for the first time in two days.

And, to her relief, she even found something acceptable to wear to her wedding.

If only she could think of the wedding itself with such calm.

 

Twelve

The next morning, after another night spent in sleeplessness, Hermione went downstairs to find, to her surprise, her father seated at the breakfast table as if nothing much had happened in the last few days.

Staring for a moment at him, or rather at the papers which he was skillfully employing to hide his face from her, she was struck by just how detached from him she now felt.

They'd never been particularly close. Even when the death of her mother might have brought them together. But she'd never realized just how unreliable Lord Upperton was until these last couple of years. She had made her debut from her aunt's house, along with a cousin the same age. And when the cousin had married and moved away, Hermione had gone back to live at Upperton House with her father.

They'd managed to get along well enough, she supposed, but then Lord Upperton had begun to behave with the recklessness that had characterized his actions of the last few days. He gambled frequently, was drunk more often than not, and as evidenced by his loss of her grays, in his desperation for the next game, he'd grown callous. He would do whatever it took to ensure his continued access to the gaming tables.

Even betray his only child.

“I am surprised to find you here,” she said, before crossing to the sideboard and filling a plate with more food than she could possibly eat. “I thought perhaps you had chosen to take rooms elsewhere.”

When she turned to take a seat, he lowered the paper to the table.

Hermione bit back a gasp. Lord Upperton looked dreadful. His eyes were shadowed by dark circles, his skin tone was sallow, and he looked as if he'd not slept in weeks.

Taking a seat in the chair the footman held out for her, Hermione glanced down at her plate unseeing. She was unable to look back in her father's direction for a moment, so she took a deep breath.

“Why would I take rooms elsewhere when I've only just leased this place?” he asked querulously. “Doesn't make any sense, daughter.”

Finally able to school her features, Hermione looked up at him again. This time noting the details she'd missed earlier. The burst blood vessel on his nose, the spot where his valet had missed with that morning's shave. She wished she could feel some sort of affection for him. But all she felt now was a sickly cocktail of disappointment, sadness, and nostalgia for the days when he'd been her beloved Papa.

“I suppose not,” she said, taking a piece of toast from the rack just to have something to do. “I suppose you've learned about what happened to Lord Saintcrow?”

For a moment the question hung in the air between them like the sickly sweet perfume of an aging beauty.

“I don't know what you would have to say about it,” he said finally, taking a slurping sip of tea. “An unmarried chit like you should have no dealings with a man like that.”

Hermione sighed. “Cut line, Papa. I know it's to him you lost my grays. He told me as much when he came to collect them just before my first promenade with the Lords of Anarchy.”

Lord Upperton winced. “I told the fellow to talk to me before he took the horses. He wasn't supposed to take possession of them until after you'd done your bit of folderol with that damned driving club.”

She knew she shouldn't be touched by the knowledge that he'd not deliberately set out to humiliate her, but she was. At the very least it meant he had some feeling for her. And that was better than nothing.

Even so …

“The point is not when he arrived to take possession, Papa,” she said, remaining firm despite her angst, “but that he came to collect my horses at all. You know full well that they belonged to me, outright.”

But he waved that objection away. “You know as well as I do, daughter, that what's yours is mine. A father must be able to dispose of a daughter's belongings. Especially if they are leading her into activities that could endanger her.”

“My horses weren't leading me into anything,” she said, her voice rising with indignance. “If anything they were keeping me sane. I certainly would have run mad if all I had to occupy my time with was listening to other ladies prose on about needlework, or the latest fashion. And besides that, I purchased them with my own money. I believe that makes them my personal belongings.”

“We won't quibble about technicalities, Hermione,” her father said coolly. “What's done is done. What I wish to know is if you've settled things with Lord Mainwaring yet.”

And just like that she went from being mildly annoyed to angry.

“If by that you mean to inquire whether he has told me about the card game you lost to him, thereby giving him my hand in marriage,” she said through gritted teeth, “then, yes, I have settled things with Lord Mainwaring.”

“But what's this?” he asked, looking as disappointed as child whose ice has melted. “I thought you'd be pleased. Fine, strapping man like that? You couldn't have done better yourself. And I do know how you dislike parading around the marriage mart. This way you don't have to!”

“That's not the point, Papa,” she nearly shouted. “You might as well have offered me up to the highest bidder! I am well aware that you're within your rights to give my hand to whomever you wish, but did you have to do it in such a blatant spectacle?”

“Do not raise your voice to me, Hermione,” Lord Upperton said sharply, all traces of childishness gone. “I did what I thought best for you. As your father that is my right. If you do not like the way I went about it, well then, you will simply need to get past that. I feel sure Lord Mainwaring will be more than adept at polishing away the tarnish of how the betrothal happened.”

“It's not a betrothal, Papa,” she said, pressing her fingers over her eyes to keep the tears that threatened from falling, “it is a marriage, which we will undertake at the end of the week at the very latest. I suspect Mainwaring will come here today to discuss the settlements.”

Instead of looking chagrined at her disappointment, he singled out the thing that would most impact him and his plans. “Oh, I cannot possibly meet with the fellow today. My head is aching like mad. And I promised the Countess of Amberley that I'd take her for a drive in the park this afternoon.”

He would have gone on further, but a footman appeared and announced that his lordship had a visitor in his study.

“That is likely him now,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. She would have liked to be a fly on the wall during these marriage negotiations. For she had little doubt that her father would do what was best for himself and that Mainwaring would instead try to do what was fair. “I'll come say hello.”

If her father thought it odd that she wished to see the fiancé she'd just upbraided him for securing for her, he didn't say anything about it. Instead, with a groan of unhappiness, he stood up from his chair and followed Hermione into the hallway in the direction of his study.

But when Hermione stepped over the threshold, it wasn't Mainwaring who lounged comfortably in the chair before Lord Upperton's desk, it was instead Mr. Rosewood.

Removing his hat, which he clearly had not given to Waverly upon his entrance, Mr. Rosewood said, “Lady Hermione, it is a pleasure. I hope I find you well.”

“As well as I could be after two consecutive visits from the authorities,” she said without heat. “I do not believe you've met my father, the Earl of Upperton?”

As her father stepped farther into the room, she noticed that he had a bruise on his upper cheek. Perhaps Mainwaring had not been able to keep his cool with him after all. For some reason, the notion buoyed her.

“Lord Upperton,” said Rosewood, bowing deeply to her father. “I cannot tell you how happy I am to find you here. I feel as if I've been searching all over London for you.”

“As you can see, sir,” Lord Upperton said with an unreadable expression, “I am here in my own home.”

“I can see that, my lord, but you weren't here yesterday. Or at any of the other places where I tried to search you out.” Rosewood shrugged. “Any other man I'd have suspected of absconding. But no, you're here. Which will make my job so much easier, let me tell you.”

“I'm sure I am as interested as the next man to see your job made easier,” Lord Upperton said sarcastically, “but why don't you tell me why you were looking for me. Then you can be on your way.”

“Ah, of course,” said the Bow Street runner with a smile that didn't meet his eyes. “I came to ask you a few questions about Lord Saintcrow. I'm sure by now your daughter has told you all about it.”

Taking a seat behind his massive desk, Lord Upperton nodded. “She made some mention of it, yes.”

“Then you are also aware that Lord Saintcrow's death has been deemed suspicious. I know you will do your best to help us learn what truly happened to his lordship.”

Hermione took a seat in the far corner of the room, wanting to hear what was said, but not wishing to be seen.

“What can I possibly do?” Lord Upperton's tone made it clear that he thought an investigation into the death of Saintcrow was a waste of time. “I only met with the fellow once and that was before his murder. I don't like to speak ill of the dead, but he was involved in any number of business dealings with less than scrupulous men who would not think twice about murder.”

“But you see, your lordship, I have heard from more than one source that you were involved in some rather nasty business with Lord Saintcrow only days before he died.” The big man's brow furrowed. “I don't mean to say that you killed the man, just that you might know who did.”

Relaxing slightly, Lord Upperton pulled a bottle of brandy from his desk drawer and poured a hefty glass. Then glancing up, he offered Mr. Rosewood a glass. But the other man declined.