Page 6 of When the Marquess Was Mine
Sir Algernon handed it over. “If I can be of any assistance in the matter, my lord, I would be delighted to do so.”
And no doubt report it in great detail to my mother, thought Rob. “Of course.”
The lawyer remained in his chair. “May I inquire how you plan to proceed, sir?”
Rob peered at him. He could almost feel his brain sloshing gently from side to side in brandy from the night before. Another of Heathercote’s ideas, last night. They’d gone to the opera with Forester and some of his mates, who could apparently drink their weight in brandy. One had to keep up, of course. If he were less tired or less drunk, he might have made a more intelligent reply to Sneed, but as it was, he could only manage to say, “I’ll work it out.”
Sneed was not impressed. “My lord, this is a matter of property. It cannot be papered over with a handshake and an apology.”
“No?” Rob ground the heel of one hand into his eye. “Ballocks, that was my entire plan.”
“Was it really?” asked Sneed dryly.
Rob snorted. “Of course not. I don’t even recall this Winslow fellow—”
“Winston.”
“—and I do not recall winning any deed from him, and most especially I do not recall, in any degree, telling him I would commit immoral acts in his house.” That had been what set off his mother the most, he knew; someone had told her he’d not only swindled this poor Winslow person of house and home, but declared that he meant to set up a brothel on the premises.
Since the house in question was reportedly located in Derbyshire, Rob couldn’t imagine wanting it, let alone going to see it. As for the brothel, who would visit a brothel in Derbyshire? It might as well be in China.
Sir Algernon removed his spectacles. “I understand Sir Charles Winston is a young man, and this property is his sole holding. He must be mired in regret and anxiety about this affair. May I suggest, if you do not recall winning this property, that you approach him about giving it back?”
Rob could not remember the slightest thing about Charles Winston. That didn’t stop him from hating the fellow, though, for being so stupid as to wager his house and then so careless as to lose the bloody thing. Now Rob would have to do something, to placate his mother if for no other reason. “Mired in regret, my arse. He’s gone about blackening my name, Sneed, telling people I cheated him and stole his house, and you thinkIshould apologize and beg him to take it back?”
“It would be the most discreet solution to the issue.”
Rob let out a crack of laughter, which made his head ring. “Would it? Winslow has painted me a cheat and a scoundrel before all of London to the point where my mother heard of it all the way in Lancashire. I don’t take that sort of thing lightly.”
“My lord,” said Sneed severely, “I do not advise retaliation.”
“Duly noted,” replied Rob. “Fortunately for all, you are not my solicitor.”
“His Grace your father would agree with me,” warned Sneed.
Rob held up one finger. “We do not know that. Firstly, because this letter is from my mother, not His Grace. We both know there is a chance His Grace hasn’t heard a word of this.” Rowland was generally indifferent to gossip, even if his wife was not. “Secondly, she only instructs me to rectify matters. I assure you, I have no intention of keeping Winslow’s house,” he added as the solicitor drew a disapproving breath. “But I’ll be damned if I’ll let him slander me before thetonand then beg him to take back his property like a whipped dog. If he couldn’t stand to lose it, he ought not to have wagered the bloody thing.”
“I quite agree, my lord,” said Sir Algernon, “however—”
“I’ll deal with it.” Rob got to his feet, keeping his balance with some difficulty. “If you are under orders to report to Her Grace, you may assure her that I will devote my entire attention to the matter.”
The solicitor pinched his lips together. He was not pleased but knew his place. “Of course, my lord. If I can be of assistance—”
“Yes, yes.” Rob waved one hand, already turning back toward his bedroom. “Good day, Sir Algernon.”
Once on the other side of the door, though, he toppled face-first into bed. The temptation to go back to sleep was overwhelming, but the thought of his father arriving was a sobering one. His mother did not bluff; she would drag the duke back to London, and then Rob would be in the fire. God almighty. What was he going to do now?
After some thought, he decided there were three questions. One, had he actually won a property? That ought to be relatively easy to verify. There should be a note or the deed itself somewhere in his belongings. If none turned up, why, he could claim the whole thing was a tissue of lies and there was nothing more to be done about it.
Two, had this Winslow fellow really made those slanderous charges against him? Again, an easy thing to discover. His friends would be sure to know, and eager to help plot his revenge.
And third, presuming the answers to the first two questions were both yes, how could he exact the most fitting vengeance upon the man? Because Rob was no saint, but neither was he a cheat, and he wasn’t about to be called one without protest.
He lurched out of bed again, cursing as his head threatened to explode, and staggered to the bell rope and pulled hard. He was still clutching his temples when Hobbes appeared. “Why was Sneed admitted?” he demanded. “I gave firm orders about visitors...”
“It was an impossible choice, my lord. Defy your orders, or refuse a man from Her Grace.”
“I ought to sack you on the spot.”
