Chapter 16
Peter stepped off the stagecoach in London in the middle of the day on the last day of March. It was both a relief and a source of anxiety to be within the city once again. He had left it more than a year ago to escape some debts of honor, and he had not returned since.
He had missed the endless sources of entertainment that could only be found in England’s largest city. Bath was pleasant enough as a resort town, but it could never hold a candle to London.
Still, he was not here to enjoy himself. He had business to attend to, and then he must leave, before any of his creditors discovered he was even there.
As quickly as possible, Peter hailed a hack and gave orders to go swiftly to the residence of the Duke of Essex.
Then he climbed inside. As he rode along the busy streets of London, he watched it all go by through his window.
He longed to get out and mingle amongst society once again, but he reminded himself repeatedly that doing so would be unwise.
Those he owed money to were notoriously dangerous, and he did not want word to get to them that he was anywhere near London, much less within its borders. He had a single purpose, and once that was accomplished, he would hurry back to Bath and then possibly out of the country.
After an hour, the cab finally arrived in Grosvenor Square, where the Duke of Essex resided in the largest house. Peter disembarked, then after a short moment of hesitation, he went up to the door and knocked.
The door was opened by a butler, and Peter presented his card asking to see the duke. He was pleased to be granted entrance immediately and shown to a parlor where he was asked to wait.
A few minutes later, a gentleman in his mid-forties entered. Peter had never met the Duke of Essex, but he assumed this must be him.
“Peter Smythe, Earl of Ransford,” said the duke. “I don’t believe we have ever met. I thought I knew everyone with a title, but you have taken me by surprise.”
“Ah, yes,” said Peter. “Well, I inherited my title at a very young age, so I have not spent much time in parliament. I suppose that is why our paths have not crossed, yet.”
“Hmm, I suppose that will do as explanation for now,” said the duke. “Now, what is it that you wished to discuss? Surely, it is something important for you to take the trouble of calling on a stranger.”
“Yes,” said Peter, “it is about your daughter, Lady Elizabeth.”
The duke’s demeanor suddenly shifted from wary friendliness to suppressed anger. “What about my daughter?” he asked.
“I spend most of my time in Bath,” explained Peter, a little cowed by such a reception. “I met her shortly after she arrived in that city. I tried to befriend her, but she brushed me aside in favor of a completely untitled man and his cousin.”
The duke clearly wasn’t particularly angry before, though it had felt like it.
Now that he was truly angry, though, it was obvious.
His eyebrows lowered. His stance shifted so that he was clearly and frighteningly menacing.
Even so, when he spoke, his voice was steady.
“And which untitled man has the audacity to socialize with my only daughter?”
“That would be Mr. Darcy,” said Peter. He had planned to explain that he offered himself as an alternative, so that he could have the duke’s support when approaching Lady Elizabeth, but an explosive outburst from the duke forestalled him.
“I knew it!” cried the duke. “I knew I should not have sent her to a different city where I couldn’t see her for myself. That companion of hers has turned out to be completely and utterly useless, and general rumors take far too long to travel from Bath to London.”
The duke speared Peter with an angry glare. “And what is your motivation for coming all this way simply to tell me this?” he asked.
Peter’s intention of asking for Lady Elizabeth’s hand flew right out the window. Something told him he would be taking his very life in his hands if he broached the subject now. “I seek nothing but a little gratitude,” he said.
The duke scoffed. “I’m sure. Very well. Wait here while I fetch your ‘gratitude.’”
The older man left the room, but he returned in less than a minute. He handed Peter a handful of coins. “Here. Though the information is entirely unwelcome, still I thank you for taking the trouble.”
Peter glanced down at his hand. It was ten guineas.
From a certain standpoint, it was generous indeed for a simple piece of information, but as far as Peter was concerned, it was not nearly enough.
It was certainly not enough to discharge his debts, and it would barely be enough to get him across the English Channel.
He did his best to hide his dismay. Instead, he bowed and said, “Thank you, Your Grace. I will take my leave.”
“Yes, you will,” said the duke.
Peter cringed, but he tried to make an unconcerned exit.
Once out on the street, he began walking while keeping an eye open for a free cab. Suddenly, his movement was halted by a large man stepping in front of him. “Peter Smythe, Earl of Ransford,” said the man.
Peter could sense two more men slipping behind him. “How can I help you?” he said, though he was beginning to sweat. He was certain he knew what this was about.
“The Greek sends his greetings,” said the man.
Peter let his iron grip on himself slip a bit and a small groan escaped his lips. “I have only been in this city for an hour. How did he know?”
“Well, my master values certain of his past guests, and he knows that gentlemen, and especially Lords, can’t seem to stay away from London. So, he has someone watching the arrival of the stagecoaches, so that he can be certain to greet old friends.”
Peter looked around himself, wondering if he could run for it, but it was impossible. The man in front of him would catch him in less than a block, and there was simply no cab handy to slip into. “What now?” said Peter.
“Now, you will accompany us to our place of employment,” said the man. “After that, only God knows your fate.
Peter Smythe, Earl of Ransford was found dead in an alley two days later.
His title passed to his uncle who cursed the young man for leaving so little behind.
His passing was not mourned by anyone…except perhaps the owner of a particular gambling hell in Bath who would now never collect on the young man’s debts.