Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
He met Townsend’s eyes across the table, and Jane’s, which were clouded with concern about the situation. Wescott had not joined the dinner, though his wife sat with Elizabeth. Marlow tried to keep the mood light despite the passing whispers, but August was relieved when dinner ended and the men could retire to the smoking salon.
He accepted a glass of Cairwyn’s famous whiskey and huddled with his friends around a small table adjacent to the fire. They attempted several conversations unrelated to the day’s drama, only to find themselves back on the fraught topic.
“I don’t like to see Elizabeth so worried,” said Marlow. “She’s always been so light-hearted.”
“I remember her and Rosalind as children at their tea parties,” said Townsend, “talking about the handsome, dashing princes they’d marry one day.”
Marlow snorted. “He’s no prince.”
“She wishes so badly to be married.” August thought of her hurt expression earlier that day, beside the cliff. “But to him?”
“It’s a terrible situation,” said Marlow. “I don’t know the answer for it, gents. Part of me feels the duke should send him packing. It might be difficult for her in the short term, but if the marriage proceeds…”
“Better to be alone than with that uptight, righteous arse,” said Townsend.
August cautioned his friends to speak more quietly, but they were only saying what everyone thought.
“There must be someone better,” said Marlow beneath his breath. “She’s Arlington’s daughter, for God’s sake. That means something.”
“More whiskey, boys?” asked Townsend, tilting his empty glass.
“Not for me.” August stood, feeling unsettled.
He turned down their invitation to cards and wished his friends a good evening, needing some time away from the speculation and tension in the air. When he entered his parson’s chambers next to the church, a hardy fire was already set, warming the cozy space. His valet came from the adjoining room and August loosened his cravat pin and undid the knot, handing over the silk item to be pressed. He removed his coat next, then pulled off his leather boots to be polished after the day’s foray into the snowy woods.
“Shall I turn down the bed for you, my lord?”
Marston hovered at his elbow, looking at him sharply. August knew his valet well, knew he had gossip to share should August invite it.
“What are they saying in the servants’ quarters?” he asked.
“Oh, nothing, my lord. Lisburne’s servants aren’t the sort to linger about and gossip.”
August rolled his eyes behind the valet’s back. “Nothing, then, about the duke and Fortenbury’s noisy discussion in the library?”
The elderly retainer scratched behind his left ear. “Well, my lord, they say the Duke of Arlington threatened to cancel the wedding. He told Fortenbury he wasn’t to speak to his daughter again, could he not do it with respect. Fortenbury says back—and I don’t know how he had the gumption, my lord, to do it—he says back that the duke’s daughter wasn’t mannerly as she should be, that her children would be born demons did she not pray at God’s altar to be saved.”
“Born demons? Really? Bless the man for a fool.”
“Yea, my lord, as you can well imagine, the duke wasn’t having that sort of talk. The footman said he grasped Fortenbury by the collar and gave him a shake, and told him to wise up, or he’d…”
The servant paused, reddening.
“Or he’d what?” asked August.
“Or he’d kick him in his cursed bollocks and throw him from the manor’s east tower.” He cleared his throat. “Or something like that, with an extra word or three that I won’t repeat since I’m sure His Grace was only forgetting his dignity due to his anger.”
“In his position, I probably would have said the same or worse.”
“Indeed. The marquess changed his tack then and tried to placate the duke. Promised he’d do better, that he wanted the wedding to proceed.”
“He can talk sweetly when he needs to,” said August. “When he sees his entree to the powerful Arlington dynasty is in peril.”
“Forgive me,” said Marston, shaking his head, “but that marquess is a rotten man to speak ill of such a bonny spirit as Lady Elizabeth Drake.” His normally reserved valet had grown emotional in his recounting of the story. “Last thing I’ll say on the matter, is that the man had better mend his ways before he takes her in marriage, for the duke won’t have his daughter talked down to, especially by her husband.”
“He won’t tolerate it,” August agreed.
Marston’s chin wobbled the tiniest amount. “The servants have been suffering at his hands, too. Fortenbury treats his valet and chambermaid right shabbily, from what they say belowstairs.”
Fortenbury wouldn’t be the first aristocrat to treat his staff badly, but it was another strike against him. The more August learned about Elizabeth’s fiancé, the more concerned he became.
“Lady Elizabeth won’t stand for their mistreatment once they’re married,” August said. “They’ll be glad when she joins the household. If she joins the household.”