Page 68 of Dick Stone, Regency Stud
He looked at the broadsheet with the words “Morning Gazette” printed in block letters right on the front. He was tempted to avoid answering the question because it was so silly.
But in truth, he was lonely. For six long weeks, he’d slept under an open window, hoping for his friend to swing in as he always had. That bolthole office with a stool for Tobias felt suffocating with no promise of a visit and news of the outside. In the largest city in the world, he was so desperately alone.
“It’s the morning paper, yes,” he said at last, resigned to civility.
“They print lies,” sniffed Lady Millicent. “If the article weren’t so ludicrous, Phily would have grounds for a libel suit.”
Lady Philadelphia De Courcy, now Duchess of Chevaliermont, had once been Edward’s fiancée — until he caught the Duke of Chevaliermont balls deep in that ravishing heiress sometime around the supper dance at Edward and Phily’s engagement ball.
“The gazette mentioned the duchess by name?” asked Edward, astonished that a publication would take such a risk.
Lady Millicent fluttered her hands to dismiss the notion. “No, but it was clear enough who they meant. Insinuating that she’s been playing so deep as to run through her allowance and then some! It’s ludicrous! The duke is most generous with her, most satisfied with the match.”
Interesting. Phily wouldn’t be the first wife to lose sizeable sums of money at the tables, but how much did a duchess need to surrender before it became newsworthy? And if Phily were as happy with the duke and his growing tree of offspring as everyone always claimed, why was she gambling so heavily?
“Lemon drop?” asked Lady Millicent, offering him a candy from a paper cone that seemed to have a good deal of dust on it.
He took one and recalled that they were a favorite of Tabby’s. He licked his lips and gazed pensively at the horizon.
“It doesn’t get easier,” said Lady Millicent, her voice for once quiet.
He didn’t respond, just watched the treeline in the distance.
“It doesn’t get easier, but if there were a way to bring someone back, I wouldn’t be moping about the park,” she said. She withdrew papers from her reticule, bent and bearing traces of hay seeds. “I was sent to give you this.”
And with that, she thrust something into his hands and rose decisively to disturb the peace of a nearby open carriage of picnickers.
Edward took a drink from Tabby’s silver flask. He’d filled it at many pumps around the city, but it never tasted quite right.
Chapter 2
It was only whentreating himself to a meal at the chophouse he favored — when his purse was flush — that Edward recalled the missive in his pocket. He set aside the mutton chop he was trying to enjoy, took a swig of porter, and broke the seal on the letter.
The wax bore the Chevaliermont crest, a great swirling thing no doubt enhanced endlessly since the time of the Conquest. Inside, on fine paper folded intricately, was a note bearing the handwriting of Lady Philadelphia. Well, these days, she was the Duchess of Chevaliermont.
Edward’s head ached. Why must everyone he knew change names? Even his own had changed upon his brother Horatio’s death. Sometimes, when Edward wound the small clock in his office, he was tempted to turn the key the wrong way to see if he could put everything back in its correct place. He’d tried once,on a particularly desperate day, but after a few turns, the gears crunched and he had to give up the experiment.
He unfolded the letter.
I am at home on Wednesdays. -P
He turned the paper over, but there was nothing written on the reverse. The missive wasn’t even addressed to him; Phily must have trusted Lady Millicent to do her bidding exactly as instructed and not lose the message among her hay and lemon drops.
And she expected him to do her bidding, too, if that brief order was any indication.
Edward dug into the mashed turnips with uncharacteristic anger.
Damn her, he thought, recalling her modest smiles when he’d courted her as a debutante. Why, he’d once ridden to Highgate Hill to gather wild roses and bluebells for her when she claimed to dislike hothouse flowers. Meanwhile, she’d been a hothouse flower in bloom herself when he’d stumbled upon her and the duke at their engagement ball within his mother’s conservatory.
He set the letter aside, resolving to leave it at the chophouse with the gristle on his mutton.
***
Two Wednesdays later, Edward, attired in his best afternoon clothes, made his way to the Chevaliermont townhouse on Grosvenor Square.
It was nearly five o’clock, a suitable time for a man to call. At the front door, he handed his hat and gloves over reluctantly, wishing he could keep the dear things with him in case he wished to flee without waiting for their return. Lessons had been learned.
A gaggle of ladies exited the drawing room, comporting themselves with dignity and grace until they spotted Edward. Curtsies mixed with giggles and whispers as they made their way out.
