Page 20 of Her Impeccable Scoundrel
“Archie had a nurse?”
Lord Vernon sent him a sly smile. “He called her that. She tended to his, er, medicine and, er, other needs.”
In other words, Archie’s mistress had lived there in the family home, dosing him with opium and servicing his carnal needs. Damnation. Why had Blythe tolerated it? he wondered… Had she found a way to retrieve that new will? Would she tell him, the new earl, if she had, or would she lie?
“Devil of a thing.” Lord Vernon stubbed out his cheroot, leaving a dark circle on the stone balustrade then tossed the butt into a bush. “Suppose I ought to tell you. Archie felt bad about leaving Blythe nothing.”
“Then why didn’t he leave her another property or an income?”
Lord Vernon shrugged. “He asked me to take care of her. Good friends for years, you know. I promised him I’d marry her.”
Heat rose in him, blood pounding into his ears. The urge to throw this dastard over the balustrade to join his cheroot butt was overwhelming.
“And what does Lady Chilcombe say to that?”
“She’ll go along with it. It’s the best possible choice for her, isn’t it? She’s been desperately trying to repair her reputation—hid away for months at some countess’s estate that only allows widows in, and now this reappearance. Shunned all of us who were Archie’s friends even before he kicked up his toes. But I’m afraid there’s still gossip. It’ll be the best thing for her, and I’ll get her out of your hair.”
And if the old will holds, she’ll bring that property into your marriage. Either way, the Marquess of Diddenton would get that property he wanted so desperately.
“Lady Chilcombe is not in my hair, as you say. She is my cousin by marriage, and the Chilcombe estate will support her as long as is necessary.”
Graeme recognized another figure in the doorway.
Lord Vernon’s eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth, but Graeme spoke first.
“I should not like to hear that you’re one of those spreading gossip. I’m sure her brother will feel the same way.”
“I say.” Will Lynford appeared at his elbow. “Been looking for you, Chilcombe. What’s this about gossip and my sister?”
Lord Vernon shot Graeme an angry look and dipped his head to Blythe’s brother. “Lord Vernon Falfield at your service.”
Blythe’s much taller brother stared down at Lord Vernon. “I’m Captain Lynford. Thought I’d left the fighting behind.”
Falfield held up his hands, palms out. “No gossiping on my part, Lynford. I have the highest regard for Blythe.”
Will’s jaw moved. “You mean Lady Chilcombe.”
“Yes, Lady Chilcombe. I say, Chilcombe, you ought to bring this fellow along to White’s tomorrow. Lynford, I’ll introduce you to some of the fellows there. But now I must bid you adieu and go and mingle.”
Falfield scuttled away, and Will turned an angry gaze on Graeme.
“Who is he?”
“A close friend of the late Lord Chilcombe. He says he means to marry your sister.”
“Over my dead body. I don’t know much yet about what she’s gone through these last fifteen years but… Blythe was made to marry one donkey’s arse; I’ll not have her forced to marry another. Anyway, I’m pretty sure Blythe don’t want him.” He bit his lip. “She sent me to ask if she and Lady Hermione can take the carriage home and send it back for you.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Graeme said. He’d had enough for one evening. “I’m coming too.”
Sir William Taylor's clerk greeted Graeme with a nod and then ushered him to an interior door, opening it without knocking.
“He’s here, sir.”
Graeme had sent a note arranging this time and was gratified that he wouldn’t have to wait. A good sign probably. He meant to answer any questions about the report he had sent, and more importantly, let the Foreign Office know of his interest in another assignment.
He passed through into the room lined with dark wooden shelves and paneling.
Sir William was not alone. A man in perhaps his sixties sat in a well-padded armchair angled to view both the man behind the desk and anyone entering. Graeme had a quick impression of fine tailoring over a fit frame, white curly hair, sunken cheeks, and amber eyes, under the austere mien of a man looking down from a high place in the world.
