Page 64 of Her Rake Fiancé

Calliope’s gaze broke his heart. “I expected more from you, Richard. Preston trying to marry me off…all right. But you?”

Richard winced from the jab of her words. She was right—they had always been close, always true friends. Had he just betrayed her? He should take more of an active role in searching for a husband for her. Preston didn’t know her like he did.

Penelope threw a worried glance at Calliope. “It goes without saying that you don’t have to say yes if you don’t like him. Meet him at the ball, that’s all Preston is asking.”

“You said it better than I did,” said Preston with a soft chuckle. “Yes, sister. Just meet him. Of course I won’t drag you to the altar without your consent.”

Calliope folded her arms over her chest. “Hard to believe sometimes.”

Richard came to stand before his family.

“We’ll go for lunch shortly,” said Richard as Penelope, Calliope, and Grandmama took their places on the sofas and Preston came to stand by his side with a cup of tea he’d just poured himself. “But before we do, I have some important news.”

The three ladies stared at him, and Preston froze with the cup to his lips.

“I knew there was something,” said Calliope. “What is it?”

“I found out where Spencer may be.”

Gasps went around the room. Preston put his cup and the saucer on the fireplace mantel with a clatter. “Where?” he demanded.

“It is quite likely Spencer was press-ganged that night.”

“Press-ganged?” gasped Grandmama. “Into the navy?”

Richard nodded, his gut churning at seeing her shocked face. He himself recognized the shock, the outrage, the fear at the news.

“How do you know?” demanded Preston.

“I found a witness. He told me there was a press-gang operation that happened that night at Portside. One of Thorne Blackmore’s men thought the dead man wasn’t a nobleman, even though he was wearing Spencer’s clothes. And one of the servants in Portside told him they saw a handsome, clean, and unconscious gentleman being dragged onto one of the navy ships in his smallclothes.”

Silence fell over the room. Richard felt the weight of their gazes on him.

“So it wasn’t Blackmore’s men that press-ganged him?” asked Calliope.

“No,” said Richard. “Blackmore’s men had nothing to do with this. When they arrived, he was already gone, and that poor half-dead man was dressed in his clothes.”

“We need to verify this information!” cried Calliope, standing up. “How likely is all of this true?”

“It’s quite likely,” said Richard. “And you don’t need to verify anything.”

“Richard’s right,” said Preston. “You should stay away. I already see the sparkle in your eyes that shouldn’t be there.”

“Forget the sparkle!” cried Calliope, her cheeks red. “Our brother, the duke, press-ganged? Taken onto a navy ship against his will, unconscious? Who would do that, and why?”

Grandmama, who’d always been so collected and such a proper lady, paled and clutched at her chest. “Which war?”

Penelope shifted closer to her, taking her hand. Calliope, with a worried glance, dropped to her knees in front of the dowager. “Grandmama…”

“Which war?” demanded Grandmama louder.

“No one knows,” said Richard, walking to the servants’ bell pull. “Should I call for some sherry, Grandmama?”

“No, I am all right,” she said. “Someone must know.”

Preston nodded. “This didn’t just happen by chance,” he said through gritted teeth.

“You’re right,” said Calliope, turning to Richard.