The Marquis’s Misstep by Kathy L. Wheeler
Twenty
L
ady Maudsley, how delightful to see you again. And so soon. I hope you don’t mind. I ran into your father at White’s this morning. He invited me to luncheon.” Griston handed his hat and walking stick to Kipling. His eyes moved to the young daughters standing behind her, then back. Lady Maudsley’s surprise was an annoyance. The baron had assured him she would be present.
“My apologies, my lord. I am unavailable to luncheon with you. The girls were promised an outing, and I only just learned of my father’s invitation.”
“Yes. With me.” The Marquis of Brockway appeared at the top of the landing.
A soft blush tinged Lady Maudsley’s cheeks, but she held her chin up and her shoulders back. How proud she was.
She drew the girls farther behind her in another less than subtle move, and Griston’s irritation spiked. She would pay for such insolence. Now was not the time, however, as the baron moved into the foyer. The marquis was welcome to her. Loren just wanted one little thing from her, he thought, eyeing the five-year-old.
“Griston, there you are, old man. Come, join me for a brandy before lunch.” The baron’s gaze sharpened, spotting his daughter and grandchildren on the stairs, poised for departure. The parasols the younger girls held in their tight grips told the story. “Virginia—”
“Lady Maudsley, you’ve a missive,” the stately butler smoothly interrupted. “I was just about to send it up.”
“Thank you, Kipling.” Lady Maudsley tripped down the rest of the steps and snatched the velum from a silver tray on the entryway table. The girls remained halfway up the staircase with Brock. Ginny snapped it open.
Her expression was a fascination of storytelling from haughty confidence to concern to astonished horror. “Kipling, call for the carriage right away.”
Loren could not believe the gift he was about to be handed. In a decidedly unladylike manner, Lady Maudsley dashed back up the stairs to the trio and spoke quietly to them.
Her father’s lips tightened, and his irritation saturated the atmosphere. “Come, Griston, about that brandy.”
“Please excuse us, Lady Maudsley, Brockway,” he said, and followed the baron to the late Maudsley’s study. He surveyed the room with a sharp eye. It didn’t appear as if anyone had stepped in it since the man’s death. Still, Loren didn’t see blood on the carpet or against the wall behind the desk. “Whatever was that about?”
“I’ve no earthly clue. My daughter shows no poise or grace whatsoever,” he said, his exasperation clear. The baron shot him a speculative glance. “She needs a man who knows the importance of keeping her unwieldly ways in line. Someone to give her sons. Not merely two girls.”
“She had a husband, and I know for a fact that he ruled her with a heavy hand.” Griston took a cheroot from an inside pocket and lit it from a nearby sconce. “But the clod had the unmitigated gall to take a ball to the chest and drop dead.” He tipped his head to the far side of the desk, smiling slightly. “Right in that very chair, I believe.”
Wimbley grunted, handing over a tumbler of brandy. “Yes, well. Perhaps Maudsley was a bit too harsh. It’s not as if I wanted the gel injured.”
“The man deserved his fate.” Griston took a long drag on his cheroot and held in the smoke before exhaling, hiding a grin behind a large gray cloud. “I may be just the man you are looking for, Baron.”
The baron’s brow furrowed. “In what way?”
Griston considered his words carefully. While he didn’t wish to overplay his hand, having Brockway in the mix threatened Griston’s goals for Cecilia considerably. “I hesitate to derogate one of my own class; however, I feel obliged to speak up. Lord Brockway is a well-known reprobate.”
Wimbley’s mouth turned down.
He gave the end of his cheroot a thoughtful look and measured out his words. “There was an article in the Gazette a few days back regarding children being abducted and used for nefarious purposes. I fear the marquis may somehow be involved.” He met the baron’s shocked eyes. “I am, of course, looking into the matter.”
The baron downed his brandy then swiped his mouth with his sleeve like a commoner; slammed his glass down on the desk. “I don’t like the sound of that. Those are my granddaughters. A man like that should be locked away or hung.”
Griston inclined his head. “I’m doing all I can for the situation, sir, I assure you.”
