Page 35 of The Duke's Forbidden Bride
Furthermore, I must express my curiosity regarding my bride-to-be’s whereabouts. She has not written since she arrived in London, nor did she visit me. Do let me know if she is safe. Absent family can be a hard thing to forgive, both for Lady Charlotte and Lady Eleanor.
Regards,
Henry Lewis, the Earl of Follet.
Spencer read the note, trying not to crumple it as alarm bells rang in his head. So many threats. Threats he wondered how often he had read and overlooked.
The casual mention of the Quinleys’ crest, the slight jab at Spencer’s absence during his sister’s upbringing, and then theknowledge of the Quinleys’ abandonment of Eleanor—it was all deliberate.
A phoenix…
Spencer knew he could not have kept their wedding secret for very long. He had expected word to spread sooner, but he still wished he’d had more time. If Lord Follet was already enquiring about Charlotte’s whereabouts, then he had already begun searching for her.
How many times had Spencer let his sister meet with Lord Follet, thinking him respectable? Thinking him trustworthy?
The possibility of what could have happened had he not been warned would continue to haunt him at night.
It only made him more determined. He had to uncover the darker truth that both Lord Belgrave and Lord Follet had managed to hide for so long.
They knew their game, but Spencer knew how to play just as well.
“If you are dragging me out several miles out of town for mysterious purposes, only to tell me that I was not invited to your wedding, then the least you can do is buy me a drink.”
Theodore Jacobs was one of Spencer’s closest friends, and it was for that very reason—and that reasononly—that Spencer allowed him to keep glaring for as long as he had.
Around the two of them, the tavern was crowded and brightly lit, even as darkness fell over the village of Thornshead.
Spencer looked back at his friend coolly. “You may buy your own drink. Or does becoming the Marquess of Avington not pay you well enough?”
“Ha,” Theodore huffed. “It pays well enough… if you understand my meaning.”
Spencer sighed. “Not a lot has changed about you, then.” His mouth twitched in amusement.
In truth, a lot had changed about his friend.
The same age as Spencer, Theodore still held the boyish charm he had possessed back in their Cambridge days. He used to charm ladies who walked past the gates of their university, daring to bat their eyelashes at the boys strolling out in their fine clothes.
His dark curls were swept back with pomade, and his bright blue eyes sparkled when he caught the eye of who he swore would be the next Marchioness of Avington. According to the gossip sheets, every lady in London was rumored to be her, for the man was known for jumping from one woman to another.
“Regardless, I put off business in Avington for this. Do buy me a pint of the Talbots’ finest ale and tell me why I was not invited to your wedding.”
“It was scarcely a wedding,” Spencer muttered, but he eventually nodded, flagging down the barman.
As soon as they were served, he pulled Theodore to a quieter corner, ignoring his protests.
“What in the?—”
“I need you to listen,” he said in a low voice, looking around them.
Theodore swallowed his mouthful. His expression went from teasing to confused to serious. He had his moments, but he often knew when to sober up.
“You’ve heard about my wif—you’ve heard about Lady Eleanor. You know of her scandal.”
Spencer waited until Theodore nodded in confirmation.
“Her ruin was a setup. She uncovered a dark ploy involving Lord Belgrave and Lord Follet. They are shipping off—” He looked around, once again ensuring they were not overheard. A rowdy, drunken man in the corner wailed loud enough to drown out their conversation anyway. “They are shipping off women to offshore places. Mostly the Caribbean.”
“The Caribbean?” Theodore echoed, surprised. “I’ve heard there are underworlds over there, but I have never given it much thought.”
