The Marquis’s Misstep by Kathy L. Wheeler

Thirty-Three

Y

ou’re determined to create a scandal, aren’t you, my lord?”

“Only with you, my dear.” Brock swung Ginny into an expert turn. “Only with you.”

Unable to mask a grin, she shook her head. “Did you see my mother’s face?”

“I believe I did witness a throbbing vein at her temple. I thought it would burst.”

“You realize she’ll be your mother too, should we marry?” She’d truly died and gone to heaven. In Brock’s arms after all these years. His insistence they marry. Nothing could go wrong this night. Absolutely nothing.

“Should we marry.” He snorted. “You think I should cry off, then? Not a chan—” He surveyed the perimeter of the parquet floor. “Good heavens. Lady Alymer is trying to get someone’s attention.”

Ginny spotted her and frowned. “She’s acting oddly. That isn’t like her at all. Perhaps we should see what she is about.”

Brock maneuvered them until they had stopped directly in front of her. “Lady Alymer, is there something—”

She grabbed Ginny’s left hand a little too enthusiastically, and Ginny flinched. “Oh, forgive me.” She didn’t let go, rather tucked it in the crux of her elbow. “I must talk to you both.”

Their escape lacked grace, with Ginny practically running to keep up. Maeve led them back out to the terrace. The first thing Ginny noticed was the lack of wind, then the lack of the jumbled and constant phrases that hummed earlier. She glanced over at Brock and noted the downturn of his firm lips. So he’d noticed as well.

“What is it, Maeve? Has your mother secured your next nuptials?” Ginny teased her.

Maeve led them to an isolated corner away from the few stragglers. “I heard Harlowe’s name mentioned.”

Her words paralyzed Ginny in place.

In the silvery moonlight, Brock’s expression stilled to carved stone. “Tell us everything.”

“I was… um… avoiding my mother, having just returned from the ladies’ retiring room. I had to maneuver around Welton, Wimbley, Shufflebottom, and Faulk. They were blocking the stairs. It was quite rude. Anyway, they were speaking of Harlowe, and Welton said he thought he recognized the viscount near the docks. The thing was, he said he couldn’t be sure it was him, because the man was too thin.”

Ginny’s stomach took a nervous dip, her eyes sliding to Brock. He hadn’t moved, not so much as a twitch of his finger, or a blink of his eye.

“What the devil was Welton doing at the docks?”

“That’s what Shufflebottom asked him, and sharply, I might add. Welton said he was meeting Maudsley”—her eyes shot to Ginny’s—“apologies, the new earl—at the earl’s invitation to tour his vessel. Then talk turned to how Harlowe had disappeared the year before, and that’s when Griston strolled in from outside. At first, I thought the two of you had followed him, because you appeared a little later.”

Heat crawled up Ginny’s neck, but no one was likely to notice. It was dark. “Go on.”

“Griston was outside while we were?” Brock said. His granite profile in the silvery light appeared pensive. “Then he walked in, and we were still outside.” He pinned Ginny with a message she could not decipher.

Brock pushed a hand through his hair. “I don’t suppose they happened to mention which docks?”

“I’m sorry, my lord. They didn’t.”

“Yes, that would have been too easy, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t understand,” Ginny said.

He didn’t answer her. He spoke to Maeve. “Lady Alymer, is it possible for you to compose a note to Kimpton telling him exactly what you told me? Tell him to meet up posthaste at Maudsley House.” His underlying urgency sent a shiver of alarm coursing through Ginny.

“Of course. I’ll speak to Lady Faulk right away.”

“Don’t mention this conversation to anyone.”

She nodded then hurried away.

“What is it?” Ginny demanded, her shrill tone returning with a vengeance. She rubbed her hands over her sleeve-covered arms.

He slipped out of his coat and set it across her shoulders. “Find your parents. Let them know we are leaving.”

“Virginia!” The baroness had the nose of a bloodhound when it came to finding her.

“We do have all the luck,” he said under his breath.

“Over here, Mother.”

“Two waltzes in one night with the same man?” Her mother’s fan worked furiously. “That is unconscionable.”

“Lady Wimbley, how fortuitous to see you.” Brock instantly took charge, and Ginny was glad for it. “Lady Maudsley and I need to leave immediately. There’s no need for you and the baron to leave. I’ll see her home.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” she responded, outraged.

“I’m going with him, Mother.”

Her mother looked them over in a long silence. “Your father and I will follow shortly.” She eyed Brock’s long tailcoat covering Ginny. “I’ll get your wrap for you. No need to wait. It appears you won’t need it. The two of you can exit from here.”

“Lady Wimbley, perhaps you could see if you can learn where Maudsley’s vessel is docked? Quietly, of course.”

“Is that all you need? His ship is the White Dove. It’s docked at the Southwark docks. He trades in timber.” She sniffed, her disgust evident. “That shall have to change if he is to take his rightful place in society.”

Dumbfounded was the only way to describe Brock’s expression. “You’re certain, Lady Wimbley?”

“Certainly,” she returned, affronted. “You don’t think I’d push my daughter into another match without learning all I could about an eligible suitor? Once was quite enough.” She turned on her heel and strode away.

Amusement tipped his lips. “She’s quite, er, formidable, isn’t she?”

“Quite.” Ginny stared after her mother’s straight spine as she disappeared inside, reflecting on her words. “Something tells me she’s forgotten I’m no longer some green innocent fresh from the schoolroom.”

He held out his hand. “Shall we?”

She grabbed it. “Of course.”