Page 17 of A Lady's Beastly Duke
“The Duke of Willowick,” Sidney introduced himself swiftly. “My cousin, Viscount Camberwell, and the Earl of Barrydale.”
“Please enter, Your Grace,” the man said instantly.
Sidney stepped inside, supporting Giles, who seemed to have become suddenly more afflicted with whatever he had drunk. He leaned heavily on Sidney, swaying as Henry stepped forward to take his other arm. They supported him as they stepped into the room.
The scent of tobacco hit Sidney first, mingled with coffee, strong brandy, and the leather of the chairs. The club always smelled like that. He was hardly ever there. It was not pleasant because people tended to avoid him, afraid, no doubt, of thefearsome scars on his face. He was nonetheless glad to be a member, as nobody questioned him as he led Giles and Henry through the tables towards a corner table. He sat down on the leather-padded seat and Giles and Henry slid in across from him.
“Drink...” Giles stammered as the proprietor of the club appeared.
“Water,” Henry said swiftly. Giles glared at him.
“What a lot of damnable nonsense,” he slurred. “A drink!” He addressed the proprietor with a grin. “A proper drink. Brandy.”
Sidney shut his eyes. He did not say anything, though, and the proprietor bowed and hurried off to get the drink. Sidney and Henry looked at one another. Neither of them said anything. Giles had never drunk like this before. This was something new.
“Sidney will keep you company a while,” Henry said, stretching his legs out under the table.
“I must return to the ball. It would be unseemly to leave Amy unattended, would it not?” He beamed at Giles.
“Look after Amy,” Giles told him, his gaze barely focused as he stared at him. “And get me a drink.”
“Your drink is coming,” Henry assured him gently. He stood up. He cast a sorrowful look at Sidney. “Keep him safe, eh?”
“Of course,” Sidney said at once. He glanced at Giles. Theman was barely able to sit upright, and he looked away. Giles had always been so full of life. Seeing him like this made him sad. He had always felt safe, knowing that Giles, who was older than him by two years, was Papa’s second heir. If he himself had no sons, Giles would take over. But that thought was no longer reassuring, and he felt as though Father was there, urging him to have sons soon.
“Brandy, my lord,” the proprietor said, appearing at the table a few seconds later. He cast a worried look at Sidney even as he placed the drink on the table.
“If he should faint, will you ensure his safety?” Sidney said to the proprietor as the fellow straightened.
“We have a room set aside for that purpose,” the proprietor promised.
Sidney nodded his thanks and leaned back. It was going to be a long evening. Giles sipped his brandy and made a face.
“Hateful stuff,” he murmured. Sidney shut his eyes.
Giles leaned back in the chair, looking around.
“Not very lively, is it?” he declared. Sidney shrugged.
“Not really, no,” he agreed. The club was mostly empty, though he noticed two men come in and sit down at the table just beside them. One was older, with gray hair and a hard, squarish face. His eyes were hazel, Sidney thought, but they had a hard, unkind expression in them and he instinctively shrank away. The other man was young, with prominent eyes of a paleblue and a soft oval face. He also had an unpleasant air to him, though, and Sidney kept an eye on them, listening to their talk even as he focused on Giles and his one-sided conversation about the customs in China. Giles’ father had been an envoy with the East India Company, and the Far East was a constant source of interest to him.
“...and that is all I can say right now,” the graying man said to the plumper, pale-eyed man at the other table.
“Ten thousand?” The pale-eyed man asked.
“Mm.” The gray-haired man inclined his head. “Not more than a trifle for you, I expect, my lord. But a fortune, nonetheless. A fortune,” he repeated, as though the word was a word that bore repetition.
“Mm.” The pale-eyed man had sounded eager, but now he leaned back, as if ten thousand pounds was indeed a trifling amount. “I suppose.”
Sidney tensed. They were discussing some sort of transaction—he just couldn’t guess what. He nodded to Giles, giving his cousin a friendly smile, then turned to listen to the two men.
“Well, it’s all I can spare for Anastasia. I have another daughter, you know. They both need dowries.” He grinned, but the smile did not lighten the hardness of his gaze.
Sidney tensed. He could not—did not—mean Lady Anastasia, did he? His stomach tied itself in a knot. He felt sick.
“I understand, Lord Graystone,” the younger man agreed.
Sidney pushed back his chair. His stomach roiled. He felt as though he was going to be sick. This man, this hard-eyed creature with all the apparent honesty of a corrupt merchant in the marketplace—this was Anastasia’s father! And the man sitting across from him, he recognized now. He was the man he had seen Anastasia dance with!
