Page 65 of Evil at the Essex House
Of course. “And if it hadn’t been for this little excursion, I suppose that’s where you’d be tonight?”
“I’d be in Wiltshire,” Crispin said. “I’m not surprised you haven’t noticed, Darling—you rarely think about me when I’m not right in front of you, do you?” He flicked me a look, “—but I haven’t actually been spending much time in London over the past few months. Father has had me nursing my broken heart at Sutherland instead.”
I snorted. “Your father doesn’t care about your broken heart.”
Although Crispin might be right about the rest of it. Now that I thought back, he really hadn’t been in London much over the summer. Uncle Harold had kept a tight rein on him immediately after Duke Henry’s and Lady Charlotte’s deaths the last weekend in April. It wouldn’t do for the scion of the Sutherlands to appear on the front cover of theTatleror theDaily Yellbefore his mother and grandfather were even in the ground, of course.
After that, there had been his birthday in June, which had culminated in us driving around London in drag, with a dead body in the back of the Hispano-Suiza. But no tabloid reporters had caught us that night, luckily. And he had driven up for the inquest, of course, the week after, but there hadn’t been any carousing on that occasion. Supper with Christopher and me and back to the inquest the following day. And that was it, as far as I knew. We were now into August. Had he truly only been in London two or three times in the past three months?
“See,” he told me, because of course he knew exactly what I’d been thinking. “You’ve misjudged me, Darling. I’m not the philandering playboy you think I am. I spend all my time in my bower in Sutherland, pining.”
“Only because your father keeps you under lock and key,” I answered with a snort. “I should start calling you Rapunzel.”
He shook his head. “Rapunzel didn’t pine, Darling. It was the prince who pined, after the evil stepmother took Rapunzel away and cut her hair and hid her in the desert.”
“Good for him,” I said. “You, on the other hand, would probably just go off and find yourself another princess. You’re not a playboy, you’re a cad. Ready to throw in the towel at the first sign of trouble. It’s no wonder your lady-love doesn’t want you. She could never trust that you would stick around if things got tough.”
“Which is precisely why I won’t declare myself,” Crispin said. “I’m not cut out for garret living. I like my creature comforts, and if I don’t get them, I’m difficult. I’d rather not inflict myself on someone I care about under those circumstances.”
“So you’ll marry Laetitia Marsden instead, and inflict yourself on her.”
He shrugged. “She wants me. She can put up with the difficulty in exchange for the title and money.”
And with her, he wouldn’t have to live in squalor on the Continent. As he had expressed once, his father would be only too happy to give him to Lady Laetitia. It was only if he wanted to marry the girl he said he was in love with, that he’d be disinherited.
“Your father’s a bastard,” I said.
His lips twitched. “Good thing my grandfather didn’t hear you say that.”
I rolled my eyes. I hadn’t meant it that way, which he knew perfectly well. “Have you seen her lately? Or has your father truly kept you secluded from everyone and everything?”
He shot me a look. “Laetitia? Or, as you call her, my lady-love?”
I shrugged. “Either? Both?”
“The Earl and Countess invited Father and me to spend the weekend at Marsden last week. I saw Laetitia then. As for?—”
“Are you engaged?”
I hadn’t noticed a new ring on his finger at any time this evening, but he might have put one on Laetitia and refused to wear one himself. I wouldn’t put it past him.
He shook his head. “Of course not. I would have let Kit and you know if anything momentous had happened.”
“That would be momentous, would it? Getting engaged to Lady Laetitia?” I turned my back on the view and folded my arms over my chest to look at him.
“Getting engaged at all would be momentous,” Crispin said, stuffing his hands in his trouser pockets. “Father would send notices to all the newspapers, and the church would read the banns for three weeks. There’d be sobbing and gnashing of teeth all over London, as the Bright Young Set learned that I was off the matrimonial market. You couldn’t avoid hearing about it, if that were the case.”
I harrumphed. “I really don’t know why we put up with you and your self-esteem issues, St George.”
“Kit loves me,” Crispin said.
“I suppose he must. So Laetitia is still going out of her way to try to tie you down.”
He hummed agreement.
“What about the girl you say you’re in love with? Have you seen her lately?”
There was a moment of silence while Crispin endeavored to look at me, probably to try to ascertain whether I was being mocking or serious or something else. It can’t have been easy, in the darkness of the tower and with the lights behind me. Eventually he decided that I must be asking in truth, because he said, cautiously, “We cross paths once in a while. When one of us doesn’t go out of our way to avoid the other.”
