Page 11 of The Scandalous Deal of the Scarred Lady
Of course, the girl would know her father well enough to pen a letter that could easily be construed as having been forgotten. It had been cleverly worded too, inviting them both to focus on the one thing that would help him most right now.
A partnership in shipping but this time to the Americas.
“With the war declared over, it seems it might be a good time to test the boundaries of the new peace,” James said, pressing to bring home the point made in the letter. “In fact, you did seem rather interested in the port of New Orleans, as well as trade in the West Indies.”
“And you have had ships travel those routes with success?” Barrington asked, raising his head from his papers long enough to look at him.
James considered how to answer. “To some extent, I have,” he said carefully.
“But not of late.”
James winced. “I see my reputation has preceded me,” he said and rose to wonder where his hat and coat had been placed so that he might leave.
“Sit down, sit down! My heavens, man, there are few enough I can talk to as an equal. Do not make me chase you down. Truth be told, before my daughter penned this letter pretending to be me, I had been considering inviting you to a conversation at my club. But you have the most annoying habit of hiding from the public eye.”
“I would hardly call living a quiet life hiding,Sir!” James responded with a particular offense, lifting his chin somewhat.
Barrington waved that off. “Well, you are hardly taking part in the social circles currently, or I would be sure to hear of it. My wife’s sister sings your praises rather regularly, though I suppose you would not know her. Phoebe Barlowe? No, I suppose not. All the same, I would appreciate it if you would sit, that we can discuss this matter further.”
James sat cautiously, studying the thickset man behind the desk as he shuffled through the documents scattered hither and yon. He still had a full head of hair, like that of his daughter’s only a slightly darker red-brown, rivaling only his mustache in thickness. When he looked up, his dark eyes sparkled with humor and no small amount of intelligence.
James had thoroughly underestimated the man. “So, what makes you think that your daughter wrote the letter?”
“Small things. She writes my hand better than I do myself, more ‘me’ as it were. But her language missed on some of this. Close though, very close. I suspect she had her heart set on meeting you for some reason, though perhaps not quite in the manner that she introduced herself today. Good God, did you ever see such a thing?” He roared with laughter. “But that’s my Helena. Very like her mother that one.”
“Then if you knew, why not send me on my way?”
Barrington’s mustache lifted as he grinned, showing a glimpse of his teeth. “Two things,lad. First, never question Providence. The loss of your ships is a dastardly thing, though the captains paid for it, did they not? That partner of yours had tempted them where they should have trusted their instincts. Giving coin as a bonus for ignoring a storm warning is foolishness only matched by those who take it.”
James actually flinched at this. “I had hoped that such news was not public knowledge.”
“My boy, there is very little I claim ignorance in. What I do not know, I find out. There are no more than five souls in the world who likely know what happened, and I have paid enough coin to three of them that such things will be taken to the grave before they are revealed. The other two are in this room.”
James stared at him. “Why would you do that?”
Barrington leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying drawing this out. “For the second reason that I wished to meet you. My daughter, Helena.”
“Your daughter! What has she to do with this?”
“Duke, you truly need to learn how to hold your emotions in check. You are a terrible liar, which is a shame because this is a skill you need to cultivate if you expect to survive. I realize you have only held the title of duke for little more than a year or two, but ’tis time you learned how to play the game.” Barrington shook his head seriously. “If you can. I am not sure such a thing is possible after meeting you.”
James drew himself up. “You, Sir, are out of line! I am not a liar, nor do I wish to become one.”
“Good!” Barrington leaped to his feet. “Then you should not mind explaining to me why my daughter has not only sent for you but has in fact arranged for you to visit this household five times. Are you here, dear Duke, to court my daughter, or not?”
Chapter 7
He had been played as a fool.
James Campbell, the Duke of Durham, had been manipulated from the start and was only just coming to realize it now.
Lucy had come back from her day off ill at ease and clearly not herself, but all his questioning had left him with few answers. She’d apologized profusely for having had to take the extra day, having been caught in the storm, but had said little about where she’d gone. Only to see a ‘friend.’
When the letter had come nearly a week later, the whole thing had unraveled.
Lucy usually had little to do with James’ correspondence. He had a man who handled the more mundane tasks regarding the care of his wardrobe and the answering of invitations. So, to find Lucy in his office, trying to tuck a letter within the pocket of her apron had been shocking, to say the least.
She’d cried then and begged him not to open it, that it had been sent in error. Would that he had listened then, for even now as he thought back on it, he realized that he’d felt the sticky spirals of the spider’s web forming around him. But he had been moved by Lucy’s tears. Had she not been his nurse since childhood? Had he not devoted himself to her care now that he was grown?
