Page 23 of Every Rake Has A Silver Lining

“You could have asked her nicely to keep her questions to one at a time.”

Lady Miranda cleared her throat. Was the woman coming down with something? “Thank you, Mr. Beckham, for coming to my aid. But I assure you, I’m quite accustomed to Charlotte’s bluntness. She’s right, of course. I got carried away.”

In truth, at least it gave him the opportunity for an escape—err, exit—and he rose. “Then, if you can assure me things won’t devolve into a wrestling match, I’ll take my leave and let you discuss things privately. Although if a wrestling match does ensue, I would love to watch.” He flashed a grin at Charlotte and hoped to see the blush of pink form on her cheeks. He was not disappointed.

Standing before Charlotte, he lifted her hand and placed a kiss on her knuckles. “Darling.”

Lady Miranda’s jaw dropped a fraction. Charlotte, on the other hand, continued to glower.

He bowed to Lady Miranda and turned to leave. For effect, he paused and faced Charlotte once again. “Oh. In addition to the marriage contract, I’ve drawn up the stipulations we discussed. However, I wish to amend it slightly. In light of the spurious accusations against Drake, I want you to promise me you will do whatever is in your power to take down the culprit responsible for that gossip sheet.”

As he exited the room, he chuckled softly when Miranda’s voice echoed behind him.

“Heknows?!What stipulations? And he called you darling!”

True, it wasn’t very gentlemanly of him to leave Charlotte to explain those comments herself, but no one would accuse Simon of playing fair, least of all him.

Charlotte wasn’t wrong when she remarked on his return to his usual demeanor. And it felt damn good. He whistled, bounding up the stairs two at a time to retrieve the marriage contract from his desk. He refused to dwell on the more than likely unpleasant outcome of the meeting with Edgerton. Instead, the prospect of getting out of the house filled him with restless energy.

Which he needed. In addition to confronting the high-and-mighty marquess, Simon had written to the vicar of St. James’s and made an appointment to discuss the wedding. Both undertakings were necessary, but he relished neither.

After informing Frampton of his destination, he exited the back of the house to the mews. He would take his phaeton, which would provide a bit of cheer as he performed his less than enjoyable tasks.

A groom rose to attention from where he was slumped in a chair. “Sir.”

Surprised, Simon jerked back. “Didn’t Frampton inform you that you could go home to your family for a few weeks?”

The groom pulled off his cap and nodded. “Yes, sir. But I don’t really have no family close by. And the horses”—he motioned to the few remaining horses—“need feeding and caring for. I don’t mind, sir.”

“Have you been getting something to eat for yourself?”

“Oh, yes, sir. Cook’s had lots of extra food these past few days.” He patted his stomach. “And that’s another reason I don’t mind staying around.”

Simon chuckled. The lad was young, probably no older than nineteen or twenty, and he thought of Drake. “Well, I’ll make sure the duke knows of your loyalty and dedication to your position. Now, if you would be a good fellow, I was going to take the phaeton out.” Simon motioned with his hat to the sleek racing carriage.

The groom hopped right to work, asking Simon if he had a preference of horses. Simon chose two dappled grays. The boy nodded his approval. “They be fast ‘uns for sure, sir.”

Before long, the phaeton was hitched and ready, and Simon made his way across Grosvenor Square the short distance to Edgerton’s mansion. He’d only been by the formidable palace-like structure twice, and Honoria had mentioned in passing it’s where Charlotte resided with her brother.

Funny how Simon remembered that tiny detail.

He pulled the grays to a halt in front of the imposing rose-colored stone building, and a groom jumped to attention from his station by the wall. The lad didn’t look nearly as amiable as the groom he’d just left. “Will you be staying long, sir?”

“I’m not certain.” He hoped not. “Best keep them ready.”For a quick escape.As Simon strode up the steps, he patted the papers in his coat pocket, assuring himself they were still there.

A dour-looking gentleman opened the door a crack before Simon reached the top step. “May I help you?”

“Simon Beckham to see the marquess.”

The man sniffed, peering down his long-pointy nose as ifSimon were horse manure to be scraped from his shoe. His eyes were sunken so deep in his skeletal face, Simon swore he could pour a finger of brandy in the sockets. “I’ll see if the master is at home. A card?” He held out a white-gloved hand.

Lord, didn’t Edgerton feed his staff? Simon pulled out his card and placed it on the man’s extended palm. “Tell him it’s about his sister.”

Rather than usher him inside, the man closed the door in Simon’s face with a curt, “Wait here.”

Simon’s joyful mood was slipping from his grasp faster than sand through his fingers. He turned his face up to the sky, where the sun shone brightly, the warmth and light rejuvenating him.

Glancing back at the groom holding his horses, Simon called, “Perhaps take them around back. It might be longer than anticipated.”

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