Page 42 of Vying for a Viscount
Making his way down to the entry hall, he greeted his butler. “Good afternoon, Henderson.”
“Good afternoon, my lord. Whisky is waiting for you.”
“Lord Warren is due at three today. If I’m late, have him wait in the drawing room.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Greyson enjoyed the ride on Whisky to Club Knight, but what he and his horse really needed was wide-open space to stretch their legs. That would have to wait. He wasn’t taking Whisky to Bristol. He was taking Thorne. Thorne had better stamina for the long trek to Bristol. Hopefully, they would cover fifty miles a day, with stops every ten miles or so for feed, water, and rest for the horse. Thorne was the better horse for this.
He arrived at Club Knight with several other Black Knights and handed his reins to one of several young stableboys, who would take Whisky to the mews. The four men made their way to the back door, where Greyson knocked the secret knock. The door opened, and they filed in one by one, then down the cellar stairs into the secret room, where, as usual, eight chairs sat in a circle. Four were vacant, but not for long.
“Thank you for coming,” Knight said, handing out brandy glasses. As far back as he could remember, they had opened every meeting with a glass of brandy. Knight was a superstitious fellow. Most sailors were. He had also learned that from Knight.
“Does everyone know their jobs for tomorrow?”
Seven yeses ricocheted through the small room.
“I’m still awaiting intelligence from our spies on the ground in Derbyshire, Nottingham, and Bristol. With any luck, it will all be for nothing, just rumors of more unrest. However, the closer we get to November, when the leaders of the Pentrich Rebellion are due to be executed, the more unrest we may see.”
The Black Knights dispersed to prepare for their assignments. Greyson and Cooke were to meet at Club Knight an hour after dawn the following morning.
Greyson made it back home with ten minutes to spare beforeWarren was due to arrive. He sat at the desk in his father’s study, sipping brandy to settle his nerves, not about the upcoming conversation and negotiations with Warren, but about Letitia. They hadn’t had a chance for a proper goodbye when he’d dropped her off, not with Mr. Henry staring warily at him from his perch inside the entry. He hoped the flowers made up for the hasty way he’d left that morning. Perhaps he should send a note as well.
With a trembling hand, he raised the glass to his mouth and drained every last drop. He wanted another but didn’t think it wise, since he was already feeling the effects of the two glasses he’d had at the Black Knights’ meeting.
Leaning his elbows on the desk, he reflected that he should start thinking of the desk as his. His father would likely never sit at it again. He rested his head in his hands and exhaled, trying to purge his worries about Letitia and his father before Warren arrived.
A footman entered the study and announced, “Lord Warren to see you, my lord.”
“Thank you. Please close the door on your way out.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Warren,” Greyson motioned to a chair. “Have a seat. Since we both know why you are here, let’s get on with it.” He opened the middle drawer, pulled out Aurora’s marriage contract, and slid it across the smooth surface of the mahogany desk.
“Thank you for seeing me,” Warren said as he picked up the sheet of paper. Greyson watched as he meticulously read every detail. He would be disappointed if the man didn’t. This was a binding contract that would affect the rest of the man’s life and his sister’s as well.
“May I use your pen to change a few things?”
“Yes, of course.” Greyson set the inkwell and quill within reach of Warren, watching his every move. When Warren was done, he pushed the contract back to him.
“Please look over the changes and let me know if you are agreeable,”Warren said, looking a little flushed.
Greyson glanced down at the contract and noticed a few changes. So Warren’s wealth wasn’t as large as he had thought. Still, he had plenty to care for Aurora and their children from the income drawn from his estates. “On behalf of my father, I accept the changes and will have a new contract drawn up tomorrow for you to sign.”
“No need to have it redrawn since I know your father is ill and he has already signed this one. I initialed all the changes, so it should be legal and binding.” Warren pulled the contract toward him, dipped the quill in the inkwell, and signed his name.
“Wonderful,” Greyson said. “All you need to do is propose to Aurora.”
He cleared his throat and tugged at his cravat. “We have discussed marriage, and I plan to propose after this Friday’s indoor garden party hosted by the Earl and Countess of Barstow.”
“Perfect. Aurora does love a garden party theme.” He frowned. Had he heard back from his cousin yet? Who would chaperone his sisters at the garden party if she were unavailable? Just another thing to worry about. How he hated leaving his duties and letting the people he cared about most down. But he loved his work with the Black Knights as well. Managing all his responsibilities and obligations was causing him great strain.
Warren stood and bowed. “Thank you again for seeing me, Lord Greyson.”
“Aurora will make you a fine wife. She is kind and gentle, with a big heart. I know you will be a good, kind, and faithful husband in return.”
The man looked ready to lose his lunch. “Y-y-yes,” he stammered. “I will.”
