Chapter 20
Keaton located the decanter of brandy on the sideboard.
He missed on the first contact, cursing and taking a deep breath, searching for equilibrium.
Georgia filled his mind. He would not be able to be alone in a room with her now without listening intently for the telltale swish of skirts.
Without wondering if she was choosing to tantalize him again.
The brandy sloshed over the rim of the glass and wet his fingers—he’d accidentally forgone his usual method of measuring how much he was pouring. He cursed and let the glass shatter to the floor.
My mind is in fragments, and it is all her doing!
“Do you require assistance, Your Grace?” Rutherford’s voice intruded on his thoughts.
Keaton had not even heard the butler approaching.
“What the devil is going on?” Edric exclaimed.
Keaton threw up his hands in exasperation.
“Open house, Uncle! Open house! Come one, come all!”
He found a chair without knocking against any other furniture, thankfully, and sat, raking his hands through his hair.
“Do I have any mail, Rutherford?” he asked absently.
“Dash the mail!” Edric boomed, “I find you dropping glasses, spilling good brandy, and clearly in a state of some agitation. What is going on?”
“Your Grace,” Keaton corrected, pointing to the source of his uncle’s voice.
“Of course!” Edric barked, “Your Grace.”
“I am merely out of sorts. It must happen to us all from time to time.”
“And this being out of sorts has nothing to do with your wife?”
Keaton laughed. “Is it not the case that most of a husband’s moments of discomfiture stem from his wife?”
“Yes, well, I have heard the talk of the Duke and Duchess going for a swim in their clothes…”
“That is an exaggeration. We were caught in a storm,” he waved away.
“Which is something you have never done before, Your Grace. I am merely pointing out unusual behavior.”
“Different, certainly, but not necessarily bad,” Keaton challenged.
“That remains to be seen. This marriage was for the purposes of saving your reputation. Which she put at risk in the first place.”
“She?”
“You know whom I speak of, Your Grace.”
“I do, and she has a name.”
He heard his uncle snort and begin pacing the room. He frowned, wondering at the man’s attitude.
He seeks to protect Westvale. I do not think that loyalty extends to me were I to put the Westvale name at risk. It certainly does not to Georgia.
“Let me deal with this brother of hers, and then she can be off your hands,” Edric said.
“You have one item, Your Grace,” Rutherford finally answered from Keaton’s left.
Keaton turned to him. “What is it?” he asked.
“An invitation from Lambeth Palace. The Archbishop is pleased to hear of the Duke’s recent nuptials and invites Their Graces to the palace for a ball to be held in seven days. Is there a reply, Your Grace?”
“The very thing, eh, Uncle? First, your little soiree, now something much more public.”
“Capital. This might just be enough to seal your married status in the minds of the ton and enable us to bring on the end of this arrangement, post haste,” Edric agreed.
“Reply with an acceptance,” Keaton aimed at Rutherford.
“Yes, Your Grace. I will draft the appropriate response. There… was another missive, but it no longer appears to be in my possession.”
Keaton frowned. “Are you saying you have mislaid a letter?”
“My apologies, Your Grace, but that very much is what I am saying. I collected an invitation and a letter to bring to you, both were on my tray, but now there is only one.”
“You have obviously dropped the letter, Rutherford,” Edric added impatiently. “Paper is light, it blows away. Kindly retrace your steps and find it.”
“Yes, Your Lordship. My apologies again, Your Grace.”
The door closed behind Rutherford.
“Dash it all, there it is,” Edric exclaimed, “lying by the door. Well, the wild goose chase will teach the confounded man to be more careful in the future. Here.”
Keaton held up his hands. “That confounded man is my butler, need I remind you. Besides, it is no earthly use handing me a letter, Uncle.”
“Of course! Silly of me.”
Keaton heard the letter open and waited to hear what it contained.
“It is from a Mr. Aloysius Thorne of Cheapside, London. An acquaintance?”
“What does he say?” Keaton asked.
“Nothing. He regretfully reports no further progress on the matter and questions if there will be after the elapsed time.”
Keaton raised an eyebrow. “Curious. He has never been so pessimistic before.”
“Well, the fellow seems to have given up now. Whatever it is he’s about.”
“A project on my behalf,” Keaton answered vaguely.
There was a moment’s silence, and Keaton knew that Edric was waiting for an explanation. Keaton didn’t intend to give one. He had long ago discussed the employment of an investigator to look into the circumstances of the accident, and Edric had always been against the idea.
“You aren’t going to elaborate?”
“I am not, Uncle. I will have Rutherford draft a response in good time.”
“Surely, I can…”
“No, Uncle. It is Rutherford’s role to be my pen and my eyes to read. Let him do his job. I would like to know exactly what you have against Georgia,” he asked, bluntly.
“We have discussed this.”
“And now we are discussing it again.”
“She imposed herself upon you and now burrows deeper and deeper into your life. I am merely playing the devil’s advocate and wondering as to her motives.”
Keaton scoffed incredulously. “To protect herself from a marriage to a beast of a man. I do not condone what she did, but I do not think she is actively conspiring against me or Westvale. She is just trying to survive.”
He surprised himself with his earnest words. They were not what he had expected to say. Or even to think.
Do I actually trust her? Do I have no doubts about her? Think how we came into contact. Think of her actions and her motives.
Keaton did not know if he was coming to trust Georgia or if he wanted to because of his attraction to her. That was dangerous and insidious. His primal self, his animal instinct, would attempt to co-opt his reason to serve its own base needs.
Edric was silent, and Keaton could feel his Uncle’s appraising gaze upon him. He felt the need to defend himself and gritted his teeth.
I owe explanations to no one.
“I will take your silence as agreement,” Keaton muttered.
“Of course. I would not question you. It is my role—”
“To support my decisions. Or not, but only one of those paths results in your continued proximity to Westvale,” Keaton said harshly.
He was not angry at his Uncle but at himself. For a moment, he had been reveling in sensuality and forgetting rationality. Georgia was still an unknown quantity, and just because she was attractive did not make her trustworthy.
I should task Thorne to look into her disappeared brother, and that will end her need for me. Provided we are out of the mouths of the gossips, that should bring an end to our relationship.
He told himself that his decision was the most pragmatic, the most likely to bring about a return to the former status quo. He also told himself he would be happy with that outcome. It did not ring true, however. There came a rapid tap at the door, one that did not match any of the servants.
“Come in, Georgia!” Keaton called out.
Edric snorted a laugh as the door opened, doubtless considering Keaton’s awareness of who was there to be a circus trick performed for his entertainment.
Georgia’s scent reached Keaton as he tracked her light footsteps into the room.
Rapid, purposeful. The swish of her skirts told him she had dressed, for which he was both thankful and disappointed.
They had been interrupted by Sally, bringing in refreshments for her mistress, and part of Keaton yearned for the completion of what they had begun.
“I received a note from Mrs. Pewter—she is the housekeeper at Silverton. Amelia was taken to a house in Bethnal Green, not the seaside as my Aunt and Uncle said. The driver was instructed to remain away from Silverton for two days to simulate a longer journey,” she announced.
“Then how do you know of it, if the man was ordered to disguise his destination?” Edric queried before Keaton could speak.
Keaton gritted his teeth at the interruption, taking it as presumption on his Uncle’s part. Edric was a guest after all, a blood relative, but still a guest.
“Years living among servants has given me a strong relationship with them. Stronger than their employer,” Georgia countered.
“You wish to go to this house,” Keaton began, not questioning her.
“Of course. There is something very suspicious about all of this,” Georgia replied.
Keaton had not heard her sit. She paced the room before him.
“Well, I do not think it is your place to interfere, nephew, but I do not wish to interfere myself. It is merely my opinion,” Edric said, stiffly.
Keaton suppressed a sigh of exasperation.
Edric had been an invaluable advisor and ally since Keaton had been a boy.
That explained his tendency to tread on toes.
He meant well, Keaton thought. It was just that he forgot that Keaton was a grown man and a Duke besides, not the confused and frightened young man who had woken sans vision.
“I do not ask Keaton to interfere in my family affairs. I am more than capable of driving a trap to the house where Amelia is being held,” Georgia said.
“Being held? You make it sound like she is a hostage!” Edric scoffed.
“I do not know that she is not. Only that my Aunt and Uncle, her parents, lied to me about where she was.”
“Perhaps because they did not want you near their daughter,” Edric pointed out.
“Uncle!” Keaton snapped before he’d had time for conscious thought, “That is uncalled for.”
“I merely voice what you must be thinking, if I know you at all,” Edric replied.
“Apologize.”
Edric stood. Keaton heard him straighten his coat with a sharp tug and clear his throat.
“If my words have caused offense… I apologize.”
“Your Grace.”
“Your Grace,” Edric echoed—the words sounded as if they came from between rigid lips.
“N-no apology is necessary, Lord Swinthorpe,” Georgia stammered, sounding surprised.
“It was. And you will not go to this house alone. I will come with you.”