Page 92 of It's All About the Duke
He placed his razor on the chest and washed the remaining soap off his face and neck. He then took the towel and threw it to the bed as hard as he could. Damnation, he missed Marlena. He’d told her he loved her. He’d asked her to marry him, and what had she done? Confessed she was Miss Truth. The gossip columnist who had plagued him for almost three years.
That, he could live with. He’d never really been affected by the gossip anyway. She admitted she was only seventeen when she started it. If Marlena hadn’t been afraid of cemeteries and swamps before she went to live with Olingworth, or frogs, snakes, bees, and other things that lived in a garden when she was a ten-year-old girl, there was no way she was going to be afraid of starting a scandal sheet when she was seventeen.
He could see her loving the idea of doing something so outrageous. Especially to three gentlemen she thought had ruined a lady’s life and had never been held accountable for it. All that, he could understand. Hell, he’d already forgiven her. That was easy to do. He loved her. But whoever had started that rumor had put Lady Vera and Lady Sara in danger. She wouldn’t tell him who that was. That was what he couldn’t accept, but it didn’t keep him from wanting to go to her. To see her and be with her.
After the scandal sheet, he could understand her not wanting to betray anyone else. But the two of them wouldn’t be able to live with the matter unsettled between them. They both knew that. So he had stayed away from her and away from the parties where she’d be. Dancing with other gentlemen.
He pulled on his shirt and stuffed the tail of it into his trousers, then reached for his neckcloth. Of course the publisher and everyone who worked there had denied any knowledge of who had started the rumor. He’d realized that this would be the case when he went there, but he’d had to give it a try.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Your Grace.”
“You’re not, Sneeds,” he mumbled, trying to tie the neckcloth.
“Would you like some help with that, Your Grace?”
“No.”
“Very well. There’s a young lady here—”
Rath swung around. “Miss Fast?”
“No, sir. Her name is Miss Everard and there’s a young man with her named Mr. Stephen Bramwell.”
Bramwell had been the young man Mrs. Abernathy had sent to the club to find him. “What the devil are they doing here?” he asked, more to himself than to his butler as he turned back to the mirror.
“They wouldn’t say, Your Grace. I tried to send them away, telling them it was too early for a social call and they would have to send your secretary a letter and arrange an appointment if you deemed it necessary. But the young lady seemed quite adamant that you would agree to see them, and, and—”
“And what?”
“I felt quite sure the young lady might faint right there on your front steps if I didn’t at least agree to come up and make you aware of their presence.”
Rath snorted a laugh. “That’s Miss Everard. And she’s right. I will see them. Show them into the drawing room and tell them I’ll be down shortly.”
“Right away.”
Rath finished his neckcloth and donned his coat. Why were they here? Had Marlena sent them to plead her case? No, he dismissed that idea the moment he thought of it. She wouldn’t do that. If she wanted to talk to him she would have come herself. Maybe something had happened to her? No, more than likely it was Mrs. Abernathy who’d sent them.
“Best I get down and find out,” he said to himself as he walked out of his bedchamber.
Miss Everard and Mr. Bramwell rose and greeted Rath properly when he entered the drawing room. Miss Everard looked paler than he’d ever seen her, and he was sure she was shaking like a leaf in a summer storm. After all the smelling salts and sachets he’d purchased for Marlena’s house, he actually had no idea if he had any in his own house should Miss Everard need it. Mr. Bramwell didn’t look much better but he managed to hold himself up straight, hands behind his back, and give the appearance of being strong. Still, Rath was sure he saw the man’s knees knocking.
“Sit down before you faint,” he said.
They both took their seats on the settee rather quickly. Obviously their legs were as weak as he suspected. “Thank you, Your Grace,” Mr. Bramwell said. “We know it’s early but we needed to catch you before you left for the day.”
His voice was almost as shaky as his legs, Rath thought.
“The first thing I’m going to do is pour you both a drink. I know it’s early, but I don’t know why you’re here. I fear I may never know if you don’t settle your nerves. You both look like you’re about to collapse.”
Rath walked over to a table and poured a little splash of brandy in two glasses. He then opened a cabinet, took out a bottle, and poured a little splash of it into another glass. He walked over to them and handed one to the young lady.
“I’ve never had a drink, Your Grace.”
“It won’t hurt you. It’s sherry. Not as strong as brandy but it will help steady your nerves. Small sips.”
She looked down at the glass and then over to Mr. Bramwell. He nodded and she took a sip. Her eyes widened and she sucked in a deep breath.
“Keep drinking,” he said. “It’ll start tasting better and get easier to swallow.”
