Page 13 of West End Earl
“Unless theWilhelminashows up soon, yes.”
“Why don’t you marry her?” Cal shook his head with disgust. “A marquess is a better title than an earl. Or renege on the bet. You wouldn’t be the first gentleman to do so.”
“I can’t go back on my word. A gentleman’s word is sacred.” Eastly placed a hand over his heart as he made that entirely hypocritical declaration. “Rosehurst thought she’d fancy you more, since you’re closer to her age. Just wants the best for his daughter, after all.”
The first instinct battling for action demanded Cal punch his father in the nose, march out of the house, then have a stiff drink or five while repeating his determination to never speak of his sire again.
To the marquess, the title was God-given destiny, and since he hadn’t done anything to earn it, he didn’t see any reason why he should exert effort to safeguard it. But what Eastly never seemed to grasp was that this was about more than the title. Their homes and tenants were full of people who depended on them. If Cal simply refused, the estate and those families who relied on them would feel the impact.
Not only that, but Emma’s marriage prospects, and eventually Cal’s own, reflected Eastly’s rank in society. Containing his father’s scandals—and now paying off an inappropriate suitor of Emma’s—had always been more about protecting their futures than Eastly’s personal reputation.
What a mess.
“I’ll have them announce the banns.” His father rose from behind the desk and had the audacity to clap a hand on Cal’s shoulder as if they were partners in this ridiculousness.
“Don’t you dare,” Cal said, plopping his hat on his head while his brain whirred, searching for a way out of this.
“Sorry, what did you say, Son?”
“Tell the baron you’ll settle the debt when theWilhelminareturns with your investment. That will buy me some time to find a way out of this coil. I’m not making a decision right now.”
“There’s no decision. You have to do this. You can’t ruin me, Calvin.”
“And yet you think nothing of ruining me.” With that, Cal stormed out, slamming the library door behind him. He climbed into the carriage, his chest tight with an acrid mix of worry, frustration, and red-hot fury.
The city passed by. Buildings with dirty doors on packed streets, only blocks from gleaming townhomes with tidy gardens surrounded by ornate ironwork fences, like elaborate cages of their own making. Thousands of those people would think he lived a blessed life. Bet they didn’t have family members who traded their sons like livestock. Hell, he’d been tradedforlivestock. Granted, matches in thetonhappened all the time for reasons that had nothing to do with affection and everything to do with finances, connections, and politics. Yet the marquess hadn’t even pretended there might be some higher noble purpose at work.
Just a horse. What a mess, indeed.
Chapter Five
The evening was warm with a breeze that made her cravat flutter against her chin. Normally, she’d never venture into this part of Town in her evening wear, but Phee was due at Vauxhall in an hour. Behind her, a lantern hanging beside the door to the tavern offered enough light to see the hands on her watch. She snapped the case closed and tucked it away.
Laughter and shouted conversations made their way through the window to the street where Phee stood. She could make out Peggy’s sharp cackle as the barmaid went about her rounds, refilling drinks and greeting customers by name. Not only did Peggy keep company with one of the sailors on theWilhelmina, but she could read and write. A steadfast devotion to her sailor beau meant a letter waited for him in every port, and he sent a reply before returning to sea. During their interview, Peggy hadn’t voiced concerns about whether her lover was alive or dead, which spoke well to the fate of theWilhelminaand her crew.
Frankie, one of the street children Phee often worked with, would be back from the docks any minute. That grubby little girl saw and heard everything and could make herself invisible at the drop of a hat. As long as Frankie’s report didn’t conflict with Peggy’s, Phee would consider the information she’d gathered tonight reliable.
“Coin first, as usual.” Frankie appeared around the corner with palm outstretched.
“Of course.” A flash of money from pocket to tiny hand, then Phee stepped with the child beyond the circle of the lantern light.
“Ship hit weather at the Cape and took on damages. They’ve gone to port in Africa to make repairs,” Frankie said.
“Peggy told me something similar. Any word on the cargo?” On that topic, Peggy hadn’t been helpful. Her focus had been understandably on her man, not the contents of the hold.
“No. I left messages asking around. It might take a bit to find someone who knows, but I’ll send word when I hear anything.”
Phee slipped the child another coin. “Well done, Frankie. Send word when you get it.”
Without another sound, the urchin melted into the darkness, and Phee turned toward the nearest cross street. Keeping alert for unsavory characters, she ducked around the building and jogged between the traffic toward a hack parked across the road.
“Vauxhall, please,” she called up to the driver, then settled on the seat. Opening her pocket watch, Phee checked the time again and smiled. She might not be late after all.
A short while later, the smells and sounds of the docks were another world away as Phee met Cal’s carriage outside the gates, then paid her admission.
“I spoke with Frankie,” she said in a low voice, for Cal’s ears only, as they made their way toward the dining area.
“TheWilhelmina?” he asked.
