Page 26 of Her Impeccable Scoundrel
“We might have asked you about your travels as well, my lord,” Hermione added.
Especially this bit of traveling. She had walked away from yesterday’s discussion with him and realized later he’d never answered her question: why was he really going?
Her intuition—or perhaps after years of living with Archie, her well-honed protective instincts—told her she ought not trust him. It was to his benefit to resolve the matter of Archie’s will and do it quickly so he could get on with his career.
The worry rose again—he might arrange to find the will.
On hearing the news of their travel, both Will and Hermione had apparently made the same leap of intuition and insisted that Blythe must stay at Risley Manor and not Bluebelle Lodge. How else was she to learn what was going on?
She was almost certain Mr. Stockwell would tell her; at least she hoped he would.
It was a risk though. Stockwell might see that Graeme Blatchfield was a completely different and more reliable article than the late earl. He might decide he didn’t need to trouble the late earl’s widow with the running of Risley Manor; that in truth, it would be an entirely improper course of action now.
And if another search was conducted… She’d checked every nook and cranny of Archie’s suite, of the whole north wing, and even gone through the muniment room. She was almost certain the second copy of the will was not there.
What if it were, though? Or… the nagging worry that ate at her: what if Graeme, in collusion with Diddenton, found a forged copy?
Hermione had insisted she come along as a chaperone. Will wanted to come as her male protector. She’d eventually persuaded him that he’d help her best by seeking out Lunetta. With Hermione as chaperone, she’d be safe at Risley Manor.
“We might as well rest for the night,” Graeme said. “That way I can deliver you to Bluebelle Lodge while there is still light for the coachman to make his way to Risley Manor.”
Perhaps this was the time to bring up her change in plans.
“Since Lady Hermione has been gracious enough to accompany me, I have decided to forgo those plans and stay at Risley. I’ll take the rooms I was using in the south wing, and you may stay in the earl’s chamber in the north wing.”
“I was given to understand that the north wing is in disrepair. Crumbling is the word that was used.”
Alarm made her shoulders tense. Graeme had been gathering gossip. He would only know about the condition of Archie’s rooms at Risley if he’d been speaking with her late husband’s old cronies.
“Lord Vernon speaks,” she said and then bit her lip.
Men gossiped, of course they did. They also made things up to show their prowess, things that might ruin a defenseless woman’s reputation.
Archie had shredded her reputation long ago, long before she’d left him, but she had a defender now in Will. Though the last thing she wanted him to do was challenge one of Archie’s wicked friends.
She swallowed a sigh. Graeme would believe what Archie’s friends said, or he wouldn’t, and it shouldn’t matter to her what he thought of her as long as he acted properly.
She must keep telling herself that.
An inn servant came and cleared the table, and she pushed back her chair, preparing to stand. Graeme reached for her hand.
“Stay for a bit, please. Lady Gravelston, might I have a few moments to speak with Blythe alone? I’ll have the waiter escort you upstairs.”
Hermione’s eyes twinkled. “I can safely climb the stairs on my own, my lord. I bid you both a goodnight.”
Graeme walked Hermione to the door, saw her into the servant’s care, and returned bearing a bottle of port and two glasses.
Chapter Seven
“I have many questions.” He poured a measure of wine into each glass. “And I fear only you have the answers. I should very much like to have a conversation without your brother around glaring daggers at me.”
Though he didn’t smile, the humor in his voice instinctively warmed her, and that sensation instantly tickled her suspicions. Wheedling men had plagued her for too many years.
“Surely the steward, Mr. Stockwell, can tell you everything you wish to know. You’re planning to meet with him, are you not?”
“I am. However, neither Stockwell nor the other man I plan to see was married to my cousin Archie.”
She swirled the wine in the glass he’d handed her, trying to read the future in the sparks from the candlelight. “Who is the other man you’re visiting?”
