Page 56 of The Ruin of a Rake
“But Standish knows perfectly well—” Julian couldn’t finish that sentence. Standish knew that Courtenay and Julian were lovers; he knew that Courtenay and Eleanor had never been involved.
“It’s taken Anne and me days to piece this together. I suppose we could have asked you but we really wanted to honor the spirit of convalescence and not bring up anything sordid. However, with this latest news we simply have to keep you informed. As hostesses, you see. Apparently, you discovered Courtenay and your sisterin flagrante.”
“I did?” Julian asked, not sure whether to deny or confirm until he knew what the devil was going on.
“Yes,” Lady Montbray said. “You did. There was a good deal of shouting, which the servants overheard. Then, if Anne and I are right, you left your sister’s house and came here. Your brother-in-law felt that he had to challenge Courtenay.”
“Has this duel taken place?” Julian felt his blood run cold even though logically he found the idea of Ned Standish and Courtenay fighting a duel over Eleanor’s honor to be the most preposterous thing he had heard in his life.
“Not yet. But that’s what’s interesting. Courtenay went to Carrington Hall.”
“What?” Julian was on his feet now, still clutching the piece of wood in his hand.
Julian didn’t doubt Lady Montbray’s intelligence. If her sources said that Courtenay was on the surface of the moon, it meant Courtenay was on the surface of the moon. And even if he were, Julian would find a way to get to him. How long would it take to get to Carrington? One hour? Two? It didn’t matter. “May I borrow a horse?”
He needed to go to Courtenay. If Courtenay was cooking up a scheme with Standish, and—if as he suspected—it was for Julian’s own benefit, he needed to see Courtenay and find out if there was anything salvageable left between them.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Only when Julian was within sight of Carrington Hall did he realize he didn’t have a plan. He didn’t even have the shadow of a plan. After so many years of calculating his every move several steps in advance, he hadn’t the faintest idea what to do or say once he saw Courtenay.
He was spared any immediate decision when the butler who answered the door solemnly announced that his lordship was at Nettle Farm.
“What about the mistress of the house? Is Mrs. Blakeley not present?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Blakely have left for their new home in Somerset rather earlier than expected, Mr. Medlock.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t go with your mistress.”
If the butler thought Julian was being rude, he didn’t let on. “My duty is to whoever Lord Courtenay chooses to invite to live in his house.”
Clever man, to know where his bread was buttered. Julian nodded approvingly and headed in the direction the butler had indicated.
He found Courtenay in a cluster with other men, one of whom was gesturing at the ground, and then at a spot in the distance. He would have bet that one of the men was a surveyor or an engineer, and the other, some kind of land agent. The part of his brain that longed for something to do—interest to calculate, investments to multiply—wanted to know exactly what they were planning and how much it would cost. But this wasn’t his affair, so he slowed his horse to a walk and approached the group.
One of the men noticed Julian’s arrival and said something to the other men that caused them to look up. Julian knew the moment Courtenay recognized him because his mouth twitched into a smile that was replaced immediately with a look of confused dismay. He spoke to the men and approached Julian’s horse.
Julian dismounted. He opened his mouth to make the expected apology—so sorry to interrupt—but he couldn’t cobble the words together. Instead he stood there, gaping, his horse’s reins in one hand and his riding crop in the other.
It was Courtenay who spoke first. “You look well.”
“It’s a new coat.”
Courtenay took off his hat and ran a hand through his coal-dark hair. “That’s not what I meant. You look healthy.”
“Of course I’m healthy.” Julian knew he sounded peeved but that was the only note he could manage to hit. It was either silence or irritability. “I’ve been having those... episodes for a while now, and I’m good at recovering.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” For some reason, Julian’s peevishness seemed to amuse Courtenay, because he smiled. “Did you come all this distance to be difficult?”
No, by God. But he wasn’t sure he could put into words the reason why he had come. “It wasn’t that far,” he said, because he was evidently intent on digging his hole deeper. “I’m staying in Richmond.” He took a deep breath. “I was surprised to hear that you were here, of all places.”
Courtenay cut a glance to where the surveyor and land agent stood, looking at a large sheet of paper. “Drainage ditches,” he said, as if that explained it. And it did, come to think, because if Courtenay was attending to drainage ditches then he must be planning to do something with the property other than let it go to waste.
“Are you still going to let the house to Radnor?”
“Yes. I need the money, as you well know. I’ll stay in the dower house. Then I’ll be near Simon too.”
That was a thoroughly sensible plan. Some of Julian’s surprise must have shown on his face, because Courtenay said, “I went through the contents of that trunk, and—”
