Page 17 of Her Impeccable Scoundrel
Graeme shrugged and left, making his way to Chilcombe House, wondering what Lord Vernon was implying about Blythe, wondering how he should deal with the lout. It wasn’t just her reputation at stake, but his as well.
He could handle a pistol and sword and he was good with his fists. But he was even better with his brain.
Blythe was a widow, and widows were free to take lovers. Despite his first impulse to think the worst of her, his instincts were telling him that Blythe wasn’t seeking an affair. Perhaps she hadn’t even been a participant in Archie’s depravity.
Diddenton was claiming Chilcombe property and pushing forward a will that disinherited Blythe.
He needed to find out more. Someone at the Foreign Office might know what this was all about.
He’d call on Diddenton after he’d armed himself with more information.
And there was an additional option—he could hire his nosy friend Manus Morley to supplement the solicitor’s inquiries. That property dispute ought to be thoroughly investigated.
Chapter Five
When Graeme came down for dinner, he found Lady Hermione Gravelston waiting in the drawing room. Rising to greet him, she dipped her head and smiled.
“I fear you’ve acquired a houseguest in the last hour,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind. Blythe invited me.”
It seemed Blythe had found a more suitable chaperone than her brother.
“You’re most welcome,” he said, and went to fetch her a glass of sherry. “You’re a cousin to the younger Lady Loughton, is that right?”
“Yes, and Mel is very dear to me. She invited me to join her and Lord Loughton for the Season, but as they’ve had an unexpected arrival of other family members, well, Blythe kindly offered me shelter here.” She leaned in and said with a smile, “I assure you, I’m quite respectable.”
“I never doubted it. Is Lady Chilcombe joining us?”
“I’m here now.” With a swish of skirts and a waft of that enticing perfume, Blythe crossed the room, graceful and confident.
“Will is taking a tray in his room,” she said. “I stopped to look in on him and woke him up. He’ll come with us tonight to the rout.”
“Poor dear,” Lady Gravelston said. “Travel has worn him out. Where was he serving?”
“In Africa. I suspect it was dreadful duty.”
“And what of you, my lord?” the lady asked. “I’m told you were resolving a dispute in Western Canada. How did you find your return journey?”
Over dinner, Lady Hermione peppered him with questions, drawing out stories of his various duty posts. He might have gone into the army like Blythe’s brother, Will, but his aptitude for languages had captured the attention of Sir William Taylor of the Foreign Office. In various postings, he’d had a hands-on schooling in both good and bad diplomacy—schooling that he hoped to put in use in service to the Crown as soon as he could resolve the problems he’d encountered here.
The crush of bodies was—as was usual at these events—suffocating.
Even more so since Blythe and Hermione had arrived at the Harrington townhouse with two handsome, eligible bachelors in tow. Mamas with marriageable daughters gathered round, even the ones who had previously been less than welcoming to Blythe.
Will had his share of interested young ladies, but it was Graeme they hovered around. And he surprised Blythe with the charming way he made small talk with shy misses whilst almost imperceptibly deflecting the simpering leeches.
While the wave of females carried him away, she mingled and chatted, grateful for her widowed female friends. Neda was often nearby, and Hermione stayed close, her genial good humor a bulwark against the gentlemen cruising by, nibbling at Blythe, seeking to try their luck.
Drink in hand, Will had acquired his own circle of ladies, some of whom she knew to be married.
She would have to tell him which husbands were more likely to duel. Her brother had inherited money but no land. He wasn’t penniless—he had enough income for uniforms and mess fees—yet he wasn’t a prize for an unmarried girl. For the married ladies though…
She turned her head to look for Will and saw Graeme speaking with Mrs. Netley and her daughter, his face politely bland.
He’d been forewarned. While she watched, he looked her way, and their eyes met. His lips quirked and his eyes crinkled, as if he wanted to smile.
Warmth rushed through her, not the swelter from the mass of bodies, but a heat from inside, inappropriate and most certainly unwanted. The only feeling she was after was peace, the sort of blissful peace she’d feel when she could call Bluebell Lodge her own.
She glanced past him and saw another man coming to greet him—a friend of his, by the looks of it.
