Page 57 of Death of a Courtesan
Chapter Twelve
Riley left Celeste half an hour later, with the information she had given him still rattling around inside his head. He tried to make sense of it in so far as it applied to Adelaide’s murder but was no closer to arriving at any answers when the cab dropped him outside his residence.
Tired, in need of a bath, a good meal and decent bottle of wine, he was irritated but not surprised when Stout informed him that his brother was in the drawing room.
‘What did she say?’ Henry asked, standing the moment Riley walked into the room.
‘Good evening, Henry.’ Not a hint of irritation was evident in Riley’s tone. The same could probably not be said for his expression. ‘Is there a problem? I thought we had agreed to meet at White’s later this evening.’
Riley shrugged out of his coat, passed it to Stout and took a chair in front of the fire, opposite the one Henry had just risen from. Stout put Riley’s coat aside and poured him a large glass of burgundy without bothering to ask if he would like one. Henry, he noticed, had already made significant headway into Riley’s best vintage. He looked pale and distracted, a shadow of the brother who had always taken such pleasure in pulling rank over Riley—disapproving, pompous and dictatorial. Riley was unable to decide if he liked the changes in him, wrought by a woman who was unimpressed by the status upon which Henry set such stock. If he had been a vindictive man…
Hopefully it was simply a midlife crisis from which Henry would eventually recover and revert to his normal bombastic self. Riley had neither the energy nor the will to dwell upon the possibility of Celia, Henry’s marchioness, having noticed the changes. She, if anything, was even more self-aware than Henry. She wouldn’t care about her husband engaging in a discreet affair but she would have a great deal to say upon the matter if she even suspected that the female in question had actually engaged Henry’s affections. Celia would never be able to hold her head up in society again if Henry made such an almighty fool of himself.
Riley was tempted to smile at the images that possibility conjured up. He and Celia had never enjoyed a cordial relationship, especially since it became apparent to Riley that she had little or no interest in her eldest child, the delightful and spirited Sophia who, against all the odds, showed signs of maturing into everything that her parents were not. Riley was inordinately fond of Cabbage and, for her sake, would try to ensure that Henry didn’t do anything rash. He didn’t mind if Celia’s credibility was affected but would mind very much indeed if Cabbage’s future was blighted as a result of her father’s stupidity.
‘Sorry, Riley. Forgive me.’ Henry rubbed the side of his hand along his moustache. ‘I’m on edge, you see. Can’t seem to settle to anything. Besides, I thought we’d have more privacy if we met here.’ He glanced around the room, as though he’d not seen it before. Since he had only ever set foot in it on one or two previous occasions in order to rail against Riley for his inappropriate conduct or lack of familial responsibility, his reaction didn’t surprise Riley. ‘Decent set up you have here,’ he remarked. ‘I envy you your bachelor status. Far less complicated that way.’
Riley almost choked on his wine. ‘Are you sure you’re my brother and not an imposter?’
Henry waved a hand. ‘Perhaps I’ve always been secretly envious of your freedom to do as you please and damn the consequences.’
Riley crossed one foot over his opposite thigh and leaned back in his chair, studying his brother over the rim of his glass. ‘You love being a marquess and wouldn’t have it any other way,’ he said.
‘Never had a lot of choice in the matter.’ He paused. ‘Unlike you.’
‘We can none of us help what we are born to be and just have to make the best of it,’ Riley replied briskly. ‘Anyway, I saw Celeste, which is what you really want to talk about, and she told me things that will help with my enquiry.’
‘How is she?’ Henry sat forward, his eyes coming alive with anticipation. ‘Did she mention me?’
‘Naturally, your name came up during the course of conversation. She is well, and very lovely, but I hardly need to tell you that. I can’t repeat what we discussed but there isn’t the slightest chance of her agreeing to your terms, if that’s what you were hoping to hear.’ Riley dealt his brother a sympathetic glance. ‘She is settled in London now.’ He paused. ‘I’m sorry but you would be better advised to forget all about her.’
‘I could come to the capital more often and see her here,’ he said, sounding so desperate that Riley felt awkward. It wasn’t as though he and his brother had ever been on intimate terms. Too many years and three sisters separated them. When Riley started at Eton, Henry had already moved on to university and their paths seldom crossed. But now Riley was seeing a side to Henry’s character that he hadn’t realised existed. The raw emotion in his expression and the uncharacteristic lack of confidence defied Henry’s customary stiff upper lip persona and was in danger of embarrassing them both. ‘I know I can’t tie her down but, damn it, I’ll take as much of her as she’s prepared to offer me.’
‘Henry, stop humiliating yourself,’ Riley said gently. ‘She won’t see you.’
‘She will! It’s just a case of—’
‘She’s married.’
‘Married!’ Henry laughed, looking suddenly more like his old self as he downed a hefty gulp of Riley’s wine. ‘Don’t be absurd.’
‘You, I fancy, would have married her in a heartbeat, were you in a position to do so. Why do you find it so hard to believe that someone else actually did so?’
Riley regretted being quite so blunt when Henry looked to be on the verge of passing out. He stood, poured his brother a substantial measure of brandy and forced the glass into his hand, suspecting that he was in dire need of something stronger than burgundy. ‘Here, drink this.’
Henry took the glass and Riley turned away from him, pretending not to see the tears trickling down his brother’s face.
‘Whom did she marry?’ Henry asked in a glum tone.
‘No one you would be acquainted with, but someone who is connected with my investigation, which is why your Celeste wanted to speak to me so urgently.’
‘He ain’t a murderer, is he?’ Henry asked, brightening at the prospect.
‘Unlikely. I shall know when I have spoken with him. He wasn’t there tonight but I anticipate interviewing him in the morning.’
‘It’s typical of Celeste that she would want to help you, when she would be better advised to keep her head down.’
‘The woman who was murdered was a friend of hers.’
