Chapter 5
Chapter Five
When Graeme came down for dinner, he found Lady Hermione Gravelston waiting in the drawing room. Rising to greet him, she dipped her head and smiled.
“I fear you’ve acquired a houseguest in the last hour,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind. Blythe invited me.”
It seemed Blythe had found a more suitable chaperone than her brother.
“You’re most welcome,” he said, and went to fetch her a glass of sherry. “You’re a cousin to the younger Lady Loughton, is that right?”
“Yes, and Mel is very dear to me. She invited me to join her and Lord Loughton for the Season, but as they’ve had an unexpected arrival of other family members, well, Blythe kindly offered me shelter here.” She leaned in and said with a smile, “I assure you, I’m quite respectable.”
“I never doubted it. Is Lady Chilcombe joining us?”
“I’m here now.” With a swish of skirts and a waft of that enticing perfume, Blythe crossed the room, graceful and confident.
“Will is taking a tray in his room,” she said. “I stopped to look in on him and woke him up. He’ll come with us tonight to the rout.”
“Poor dear,” Lady Gravelston said. “Travel has worn him out. Where was he serving?”
“In Africa. I suspect it was dreadful duty.”
“And what of you, my lord?” the lady asked. “I’m told you were resolving a dispute in Western Canada. How did you find your return journey?”
Over dinner, Lady Hermione peppered him with questions, drawing out stories of his various duty posts.
He might have gone into the army like Blythe’s brother, Will, but his aptitude for languages had captured the attention of Sir William Taylor of the Foreign Office.
In various postings, he’d had a hands-on schooling in both good and bad diplomacy—schooling that he hoped to put in use in service to the Crown as soon as he could resolve the problems he’d encountered here.
The crush of bodies was—as was usual at these events—suffocating.
Even more so since Blythe and Hermione had arrived at the Harrington townhouse with two handsome, eligible bachelors in tow. Mamas with marriageable daughters gathered round, even the ones who had previously been less than welcoming to Blythe.
Will had his share of interested young ladies, but it was Graeme they hovered around. And he surprised Blythe with the charming way he made small talk with shy misses whilst almost imperceptibly deflecting the simpering leeches.
While the wave of females carried him away, she mingled and chatted, grateful for her widowed female friends. Neda was often nearby, and Hermione stayed close, her genial good humor a bulwark against the gentlemen cruising by, nibbling at Blythe, seeking to try their luck.
Drink in hand, Will had acquired his own circle of ladies, some of whom she knew to be married.
She would have to tell him which husbands were more likely to duel. Her brother had inherited money but no land. He wasn’t penniless—he had enough income for uniforms and mess fees—yet he wasn’t a prize for an unmarried girl. For the married ladies though…
She turned her head to look for Will and saw Graeme speaking with Mrs. Netley and her daughter, his face politely bland.
He’d been forewarned. While she watched, he looked her way, and their eyes met. His lips quirked and his eyes crinkled, as if he wanted to smile.
Warmth rushed through her, not the swelter from the mass of bodies, but a heat from inside, inappropriate and most certainly unwanted. The only feeling she was after was peace, the sort of blissful peace she’d feel when she could call Bluebell Lodge her own.
She glanced past him and saw another man coming to greet him—a friend of his, by the looks of it.
“Introducing the earl to the ton, are you?”
The sly voice spoke too close to her ear.
“It seems he needs little help from us, Lord Vernon,” Hermione said.
Lord Vernon turned a haughty gaze on Blythe’s companion. “You have the advantage of me, madam.”
The self-centered fool hadn’t noticed Hermione. Of course he hadn’t.
“Lady Hermione Gravelston.” Hermione tapped him with her closed fan. “And we have met before, Lord Vernon. Not that I suppose you should remember me.”
He grinned. “So charming a lady. Of course I remember you.”
She scoffed. “There’s no need to lie. Your father is Diddenton. I’m from Hampshire as well.”
“Ah.” He turned his attention to Blythe. “My dear, Blythe. How do you do tonight? I’m told your brother has descended upon you as well as Chilcombe. A veritable bachelor establishment.”
“No, indeed,” Hermione said. “We have equal numbers, don’t we, Lady Chilcombe?”
“Lady Hermione has joined us too,” Blythe said. “She is a dear friend who just arrived in town. We intend to enjoy the Season together.”
He bowed. “I shall be happy to serve as your escort.”
Hermione laughed. “You will have to join the queue behind Chilcombe and Captain Lynford. They’ve both promised to attend on us.”
Blythe’s lips quivered. That had been a blatant lie.
“I protest. You must help me move to first place in the queue,” Lord Vernon said, “and help me win this lady’s favor. I’ve waited a whole year while she grieved Archie’s death, and now she is free, I’m crushed that she shuns me.”
“Shuns you? You paid a call on me only this morning.”
“In a crowd of callers and only during morning hours. There was a time, Lady Gravelston, when I was welcome at Chilcombe House at any hour.”
Blythe’s throat choked with anger. She looked away and saw that Graeme was watching her while he bent his ear to his gentleman friend. Then he excused himself and walked her way.
“The late Lord Chilcombe was your bosom friend then?” Hermione asked.
“The closest of friends.”
“I see. Yes, I’m sure there were certain callers my late husband would have welcomed at any hour. It is very hard to lose a good friend, but a wise gentleman understands that some things must change in relation to a friend’s widow.”
Graeme arrived in time to hear Lady Hermione’s motherly set down.
He’d seen the anger in Blythe’s face and instinctively come to intervene. She, however, had composed herself. It was the other fellow whose face had reddened now.
“Are you enjoying yourself, my lord?” Blythe asked, her tone polite. “May I make known to you this friend of my late husband?”
He shook his head. “We are already acquainted.”
Blythe quickly excused herself to go speak with a friend of her own. She glided away, Lady Hermione at her elbow.
Gentlemen craned their necks watching her, and he could see why. She carried herself proudly, defiantly almost, and still one could detect a vulnerability and innocence that may or may not refute the scandal spread about her. An intoxicating mix for some men.
Men like Lord Vernon. And if he was honest, himself too.
He caught the villain watching her, his look both predatory and possessive.
Besides wanting to swive Blythe, what was the fellow up to? He was Diddenton’s son, and Diddenton had unearthed a draft of a new will, one very favorable to the Falfield family.
“It’s sweltering in here,” he said. “I’m heading for those open balcony doors.”
Though it wasn’t raining, the brisk night air was dense with dampness. He was a bit surprised to find that Lord Vernon had followed him.
“Cheroot?” Lord Vernon pulled a silver case from his pocket.
He waved it away. “Thank you, no, but don’t let me stop you.”
Lord Vernon lit the tobacco from a nearby torch and blew a big cloud of smoke. “Unfortunate thing, that new will,” he said.
So, they were to have that conversation. Graeme rested a hand on the balustrade and waited. He sensed that the fellow wanted to pick him over for information. He didn’t intend to give any, but he’d learn something from the dastard’s line of questioning.
That was the other thing he sensed: Lord Vernon was up to no good and not a man to be trusted. “How is that?” he asked.
Lord Vernon raised his brows in feigned surprise. “You haven’t heard? Why I suppose not if you’ve just arrived in town, though I’m surprised your solicitor didn’t inform you.”
“Why don’t you tell me about it.”
Lord Vernon’s oily chuckle crawled over his skin before the man quickly sobered. “I suppose it’s no laughing matter, not where Lady Chilcombe is concerned. Left out of the will, she was.”
“Left out?” He watched the fellow carefully. “And just how would you know that?”
“Don’t you know? My father is the one who challenged the old will and submitted the fair copy of the correct one. He and Archie discussed it and agreed on it as a resolution to that property dispute.”
“Hmm. How did Diddenton obtain a copy of the new will?”
Lord Vernon blinked and pressed his lips together. He hadn’t prepared an answer for that question.
“How do I know? I suppose Archie’s man sent the copy along to Diddenton.”
“His man being…?”
The not so wily fellow blinked again then shrugged. “A messenger? A groom? Who knows?” He frowned. “Sir Morris Pierpont was meant to be carrying the signed copy to London.”
Graeme raised an eyebrow. Lord Vernon was leaving out bits and pieces here. Why did Diddenton need a copy of the will? Why was Sir Morris rushing to London with a signed copy of the will? Despite his addictions, Archie was neither dead nor dying at the time the new will was supposedly signed.
Which prompted another thought—was Archie’s death a month later truly due to natural causes?
“He was supposed to deliver it to Archie’s solicitor, settling the business of Bluebell Lodge. Fleming was squawking about title searches and new surveys.”
Well, there was one answer.
Lord Vernon puffed on his cheroot and shook his head. “Morris turned over his phaeton and cracked his head just outside of Risley Manor. No will in his bag. Diddenton was fit to be tied.”
In the room behind them, a young gentleman and lady appeared at the door, looked out, and moved on. “Who witnessed the signing of the will?” Graeme asked.