Page 45 of The Rogue's Last Scandal
Chapter 13
Graciela clutchedthe firm arm of the large man at her side trying to see through the heavy netting of her veil. All she could discern was that McCollum’s Bank was an imposing edifice.
“Mr. Gibson. Mrs. Gibson.” The clerk who came to greet them bowed as though she were a duchess or the queen herself.
Or perhaps not the current queen since her husband was famously trying to divorce her, the pig.
A royal duchess then. “Good day,” she whispered. Mr. Gibson had recommended she speak very little until they had insured her safety.
“I need a word with Mr. McCollum on a matter of some urgency,” Mr. Gibson said.
Through the dark netting, Graciela could only admire Mr. Gibson’s command of the bank clerk, who trotted away to find his master. A by-blow Mr. Gibson might be, but he acted just like one of his brothers.
In fact, he acted with more dignity than either of them. Lord Bakeley had arrived in the early morning and she had met him briefly when she’d intruded upon a dispute in the very library where Charley had kissed her a few hours before. Lord Bakely had wanted to come along to the bank, in addition to Mr. Gibson and Charley, or in place of Charley.
Two additional Everly brothers were too many, Mr. Gibson said. Charley insisted thathemust go, and he would not waver on the point. Lord Bakeley had opened his mouth to protest and then they’d all finally seen her in the doorway. After the introductions, and many sly glances by Lord Bakeley at her and his younger brother, he’d acquiesced to this plan and promised she would meet Lady Sirena who, due to the lateness of their arrival and her delicate condition, was still abed.
The last was shared with great congratulations and brotherly backslapping.
It was all very interesting. She’d been the outsider before on many occasions, Graciela, in the shadows, privy to men’s celebrations. Aside from the absence of both alcohol and the most colorful of language, the celebrating had not been so very different among these aristocrats.
And the lord and heir bowing to the wishes of the bastard son—but of course Mr. Gibson was the eldest. She wondered if their father had retained the mother as a mistress after his marriage. It would tell her much about the mysterious Lord Shaldon.
Now, she clung to Mr. Gibson’s arm, for in fact, today she was not playing a groom but Paulette Gibson. On her other side, Charley squeezed nearer, close enough that she could smell his soap. The air hummed between them.
Mr. Gibson sighed and muttered, “You are crowding my wife, Charley. Any closer and I shall have to thrash you.”
She wondered if there were others within hearing. It was difficult to see through these ridiculous weeds.
Charley laughed and took one step away. “I beg your pardon, Paulette. I am so very grateful to you is all.”
It was enough to imply that Paulette was giving him money. There must certainly be others listening.
This money that the Gibsons had at the bank was actually Paulette’s. It had been another intriguing bit of information this morning, especially since it was news to Mr. Gibson’s brothers also. The Kingsleys had made it clear to her, she needn’t concern herself with the money left in trust for her because a wife’s money was her husband’s. Yet, regardless of legalities, Mr. Gibson talked as if Paulette had money of her own, and he recognized it as such.
The clerk returned, and they followed him into another room. Through the shadows of her veil, she could see that it was an office with a stately carved desk. The man who greeted them stood not much higher than herself.
Mr. Gibson introduced Charley to Mr. McCollum, the proprietor of this bank, who greeted them formally. His English was not like that of the others, and she struggled to understand.
“We are here on some business that involves Charles,” Mr. Gibson said. They had agreed to that story for all but the banker himself, which meant that the man’s clerk must be lurking. They’d worried that Kingsley or Carvelle might have agents here. They would have no choice but to trust McCollum, once the door to his private office closed.
Mr. Gibson trusted him, as did her papa, who had left his accounts with the man.
“I see,” the banker said.
“And how are our funds, McCollum?”
“Well invested, I assure you. Shall I call up the account for your review?”
“Perhaps in a bit. We would like to discuss another matter with you first.”
The banker bowed. “I see. Or rather I do not see. Please take a seat. Get us another chair.”
The clerk carried over another chair, and she allowed herself to be seated between the two brothers.
“Our discussion must be private,” Mr. Gibson said.
The banker made a shooing motion, and she heard the door behind themclick.
