Page 80 of What's an Earl Gotta Do?
“Oh, dear,” his father said. “Keep telling yourself that, son.” He laughed at Michael’s glower. “I do know a thing or two about having a wife. And I can tell the three of you that a woman has a way of altering even your best-laid plans.”
“Harrington and I know a little bit about that,” Fauconbridge said. “We do have four sisters, after all.”
“Yes, you do,” the marquess returned. “Unlike Michael here, who’s accustomed to ruling the roost. But trust me when I tell you that if you find yourself a love match, your wife will be a hundred times better at bending you to her will than any sister.” The marquess’s eyes took on a faraway look. “It will be worth it, though.”
“See, my lord?” Harrington said encouragingly. “You have nothing to worry about. He’s not going back to Canada. There’s no way he’d leave Anne behind. He’s been besotted with her since he was twelve years old.”
“That is not true,” Michael said.
He attempted to spear another bite of meat, only to discover that his plates were already empty. Scowling, he glanced up to see that everyone at the table was regarding him with bald skepticism.
“Only since I was fourteen,” Michael grumbled, reaching for his drink.
“Oh,” Harrington said, rolling his eyes. “Well, in that case.”
Michael glanced at his pocket watch. “As much as I’m enjoying this delightful conversation, I’m due at the tailor. You’ll have to amuse yourselves as best you can by mocking me behind my back, rather than to my face.”
“That will suit us perfectly,” Harrington said cheerfully.
Michael stood, then turned to his father. “I promised to dine with Anne tonight. I hope that won’t be a problem.”
His father waved him off. “Not at all, my boy, not at all. Don’t worry about me.”
“I hope you’ll dine with us tonight, Lord Redditch,” Fauconbridge said immediately. “We’re just having a quiet family meal, but you would be most welcome.”
“I should be delighted,” the marquess replied.
“Mother is planning something a bit more elaborate for tomorrow night, and I hope you’ll join us for that as well,” Fauconbridge said. “You and Anne too, Morsley.”
Michael nodded. “I’ll tell Anne.”
He took his leave. The last thing he saw before he left the room was Harrington lean forward and say something that caused his father and Fauconbridge to burst into laughter.
Michael hurried outside, eager to get out of the firing line of Harrington’s razor-sharp wit.
He shuddered.
He was looking forward to going to the tailor. Surely this was one of the signs of the end times.
Chapter 29
Anne spent the morning paying fundraising calls and arrived at her lodging house just after noon. She’d hardly settled down at her writing desk when Samuel came bursting through the door.
“Mr. Branton,” she said, rising. “Good afternoon. Would you like some tea or—”
“They’ve stopped investigating,” he declared.
“Stopped—who has stopped investigating? You don’t mean Bow Street?”
“I do mean Bow Street,” he said, wrenching off his hat and plunking it down on the tea table. He started to pace the room. “I received your note, and when I got a break at midmorning, I went down there to speak to the runner I’ve been working with, Charles Hoskins.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Lo and behold, Mr. Hoskins had just been assigned a private murder investigation and was packed off on a mail coach bound for Cumberland before dawn.”
“But… but surely someone else can take over for Mr. Hoskins.” Anne paused, noting Samuel’s grim expression. “Can’t they?”
“You would think so, yet the clerk refused to let me speak to anyone else. Another runner I know, George Higginbotham, walked in while I was arguing with the clerk.” Samuel shook his head. “I thought Higginbotham was one of the good ones, but he blanched when he saw me and hurried by.” Samuel paused in his pacing, turning to face Anne. “Someone’s paid them off. I’d bet anything.”
Anne sank back into her seat. “Paid off? But… if Bow Street won’t investigate, how can we—”
The door flew open, and Mrs. Godfrey rushed in. “My lady, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’ve been awaiting your arrival.”
