Page 40 of The Ambiguous Enigma of the Hunted Lady
“Oh, come now.” the Marquess kicked his chair out to sit at a leisurely lean. “It is all the talk of London.”
“Which is why, Winchester, I do not live in London.” Kenneth drained his pint and made to stand.
“Wait, come now, Worthington, I apologize, I mean no offense.” the Marquess stammered. “I meant only to say you're a bit of a celebrity.”
“It has happened before,” Kenneth dismissed. “Everyone will forget about it when something else occurs.”
“True enough.” the Marquess admitted. “May I inquire as to the wellbeing of the young woman?”
“Why? So, you might dawdle at the printers?”
“My dear Worthington you do me no credit.” the Marquess was clearly offended, or at least appearing to be.
“It is yet my turn to apologize.” Kenneth let out a long sigh, idly poking at his empty flagon. “Of late I have been most occupied in my mind, and I have felt weight like never before.”
“Is business well? What has you so distraught, my friend?”
Kenneth pondered the thought for a moment, and realized, much to his disgust, that he and the Marquess were indeed, friends. Out of all the rich men in London with a desire to play the game of galas and dining rooms, he hated the Marquess the least. In fact, he spent more time with the Marquess than any of his peers, initially only due to the man's political support. Yet the more time they had spent with each other, the more they had come to know each other's company, and the Duke realized that he could trust this person before him.
“I have an East India claim to hear today,” Kenneth began. “And the woman, her name is Miss Benson, she is recovering well. She is attended by a doctor of good repute. Yet I cannot help to feel as if I am wrong in everything I set to. The vote approaching on the bill is also a cause for concern. In truth, I have never had so much to think about at once.”
“Ah, I know these troubles.” the Marquess acknowledged, drinking from his pint. “It can all be too much for a man. One must simply put one thought before the other.”
“How so?”
“You hear a claim this afternoon, you mentioned?”
“I do, a merchantman out of Kolkata.”
“Then think of nothing but that. Allow it to dominate every aspect of your thought, push everything else aside. When you have dealt with it accordingly, move to the next thought.”
“You speak as if it is so simple to catalog one's own mind.” Kenneth raised his eyebrows. “I am not so sure.”
“It is practice and discipline, nothing more.” the Marquess replied. “Control over one's emotions, or at least, the expression of them.”
“Are you a practitioner of such methodology?” Kenneth challenged playfully.
“I confess.” the Marquess chuckled over his ale. “Never could I master the art.”
“Ah! The truth wins out!” Kenneth laughed, and the two toasted their flagons, then downed them.
The two lingered in the new alehouse, ignoring the looks of other reputable gentlemen who filtered in and out of the Ten Drums. They shared pleasant conversation, and the Duke found himself pleasantly distracted from the turbulent thoughts that troubled him. For near an hour, he thought not at all of Leah and her striking eyes, her indomitable wit, and her rough charm.
Finally came time for him to make his way back to the office for the hearing, and so he bid the Marquess a fond farewell. Exiting the Ten Drums, he turned right and began to stroll down Piccadilly, but he was halted in his tracks in front of Hatchard's, the bookseller.
He peered into the windows at the shelves of intricate leather spines, and once again Leah came tumbling back into his mind the way she had initially collided with his person. Kenneth entered the bookseller.
The small bell jingled overhead as he pushed through the glass-paned double doors. The shop was not busy, and he found a glimpse of peace in the quiet.
The room smelled of paper well cared for, lauded over with meticulous precision.
“Is there anything I can help you with, Your Grace?”
Kenneth turned to see the gentle old book vendor approaching from behind the counter.
“You know who I am?” Kenneth asked, surprised. He took a nervous look around the room but saw that besides the merchant, he had retained his anonymity.
“Oh, don't you worry, Your Grace, I know everybody about town,” the old man said. “Was there something I could help you find, or were you just here to browse?”
