Page 45 of When a Duke Loves a Woman
“To be honest, I thought he’d been shipped off to Australia.”
“Not the good sort then.”
The earl dropped into a nearby chair. “No.”
Thorne took the one opposite him. He couldn’t imagine Lavinia with a possible criminal, but as he’d recently acknowledged, he knew so very little about her. “Her previous letter indicating she is safe seems to bear out.”
“As though she has the good sense to judge her well-being properly. I think the fact she left you standing at the altar is a testament to her bad judgment. Unfortunately, the two men I hired have failed to find her or any hint of where she might be hiding out.”
“I’ve been continuing with my search as well.” Although based on her latest correspondence he wondered if he should give up his quest. But giving up the hunt meant giving up time with Gillie. “Why didn’t you tell me she had a history with someone?”
“I didn’t think it would make any difference. It was years ago, and he was entirely inappropriate. A commoner or worse, from what I was given to understand. I didn’t know much about him, except that she fancied herself in love. Father put an end to it.”
Thorne took a sip of the whisky. It was good quality, but again he didn’t enjoy it as much as that served by Gillie. “I won’t marry her now, even if she returns here.”
“Then she is destined to be an old maid.”
Was that such a bad thing when the alternative was to spend the remainder of her life with one man while longing for another? He wasn’t quite certain he could claim his decision was based solely on her not wanting him. He was no longer convinced he could be happy, or even content, with Lavinia, not when he, too, would find himself thinking of another. “She could already be wed.”
“Dear God, I hope not. Father will be rolling over in his grave if she’s with that fellow from before.”
And his father would be rolling over in his grave because Wood’s End would not be coming into his hands, but suddenly that all seemed unimportant when compared with a woman’s happiness. “The missive she sent me came without an address. Can you have these blokes you’ve hired spread the word that she is free of me?”
Collinsworth nodded. “I shall see it done. I was looking forward to having you as a relation.”
“But Lavinia wasn’t. Shortly before the wedding, she’d grown remarkably solemn, distant even, whenever we’d have an outing to the park. I assumed it was nerves regarding the approaching nuptials. I didn’t question her. My lack of concern leaves me to believe she was quite right not to go through with the ceremony. I wish only that our relationship had been such that she’d been able to confide in me before a church filled with people witnessed my humiliation.”
Now he needed to let Gillie know that his need for her had come to an end. Strange, though, how he feared his need for her was only just beginning.
She was an idiot, continuing to help him search for the woman he would marry, willingly spending additional time with him when nothing could come of it. She didn’t like that he intrigued her or that she thought about him so much. But her interest in him was no doubt simply because she’d nursed him back to health. That sort of thing created a bond.
Just as tending to all these folks who visited her tavern night after night created a bond. She’d come to know them well, could tell when life was treating them kindly and when it wasn’t. She knew when Jerome was taking refuge here because his wife was in a foul mood, when Pickens had no luck finding an odd job for the day, when Spud had lost at the gaming tables. She recognized when Canary sauntered in with a full belly and when he was hoping she might set a bowl of soup in front of him and forget to collect for it. She knew when babes were born, children took ill, and misdeeds were done for good causes—to put bread in tiny bellies. She’d poured them drinks, cleaned up after them when they overindulged, and listened to their worries. They were as familiar as the back of her hand.
So standing behind the bar now, while darkness shrouded the streets, she recognized when something was amiss with one of her regular patrons. “Roger?”
Polishing a tankard, her barman wandered over. “Aye?”
“How long has Charlie McFarley had that swollen jaw?”
He narrowed his eyes, puckered his mouth as though those actions made it easier to recall memories. “A while now. Ever since he came in flush. Might have been that first night you were indisposed with the female curse.”
Rolling her eyes, she almost snapped that he had the wrong of it, but it wasn’t worth the breath needed for an argument. Besides, something else had caught her attention. “Flush?”
“Aye. Came into some money. Told me where he got it but I couldn’t understand his mumbling. He paid off what he owed so I poured him a drink. He’s been back a couple of times since, but always has coin, so I serve him.”
“Right. Keep an eye on him. If he starts to leave, stop him. I want to have a word with him.” Turning, she headed into the kitchen. Hannah was done for the night, everything put away except for the myriad of glasses Robin was washing at the sink. “Robin, I need you to fetch a constable.”
The boy swung around, his eyes wide. “I ain’t done nuffink.”
She ruffled his hair. “I know that, lad. But I think someone else has. Tell him to come into the tavern and find me. And be quick about it.”
While common sense told her to wait for the constable’s arrival, memories of the malice done behind her establishment had her charging across the taproom toward the corner table where Charlie sat with three of his mates. Four chums, all looking a bit weathered, with fading yellowing bruises marring their faces here and there. Charlie had obviously gotten the worse of it, but then she recalled a crack echoing through the alleyway had first garnered her attention to the misdeeds being carried out. It was quite possible that swollen-looking jaw was going to be a permanent addition to his face. “Hello, lads, everything all right here?”
There were some mumbled ayes, but Charlie merely studied his tankard as though he might be required to create a duplicate on the morrow. “Your jaw looks painful, Charlie. What happened there?”
“Mam intu a dure.”
“I beg your pardon?”
