Chapter 9 #2
“I am very well acquainted with the Duke, in case you have forgotten,” the gentleman Jonathan presumed to be Lord Trafford replied.
“He shared with me what he had done when we met last Season. We had dinner recently, and he shared with me the progress his investments have made as well as the return he has received.”
“And is it a substantial return?” the third gentleman asked, as Jonathan’s frown deepened. “You would say that it was a wise investment?”
“Oh, most certainly!” Lord Trafford sounded more than confident. “I would say that if you ever require some advice as to what good investments are to be made, then the Duke of Somerset would be an excellent gentleman to speak with.”
Jonathan rubbed at his forehead, his frown returning heavily.
This was not at all what he had been warned against!
Lord Blackwood’s letter and his own discreet enquiries had told him that the Duke of Somerset was a gentleman who had invested poorly and who had gained no return.
There was also the question over the Duke’s debts – so how could it be that these gentlemen spoke so well of the Duke of Somerset’s financial standing?
“I see.” The first man spoke again. “I am not certain I should have the strength to go to speak to him about such a thing, especially when I am already in debt to him!”
“Cards?” the third man asked, as the first grunted.
“I do not think that such a thing should prevent you from asking for his thoughts. I have given the Duke a vowel or two before, and he has never pressed me for it. It is not as if he has any financial concerns! He does not need your coin, my friend, though it is quite right and proper that you give him what you owe.”
“Oh, undoubtedly,” said the first, as Jonathan closed his eyes tightly, his whole body tingling with a sudden chill. “I shall think about it. I do have some investments that are serving me rather poorly at present, and I should like to know what the Duke of Somerset thinks of them.”
“I am sure he will be more than generous with his advice,” Lord Trafford remarked as the door to the library opened again, with Lord Kettering coming in alongside another gentleman. “Good evening, Lord Kettering, Lord Coatbridge. Come, we were just discussing –”
“Do excuse me for a moment.” Evidently spying Jonathan, Lord Kettering came to join him at once, a broad smile on his face. “Good evening, Lancashire! Are you going to come and join the conversation? I am sure that they would all be glad to have you.”
Blinking rapidly, Jonathan tried to speak, only to shake his head when the words would not come.
Nothing made sense. How could it be that these gentlemen were speaking so well of the Duke of Somerset whilst at the same time, he had his letter from Lord Blackwood and his own enquiries going solidly against it all?
Those things did not align, and Jonathan could not understand it in any way.
Lord Kettering frowned. “Something is the matter.”
“I – I cannot explain it all now.” Jonathan scrubbed at his eyes, then shook his head. “Not here.”
“Then shall we make our way to Whites? I have not been here long, but could easily take my leave without any great concern.”
Jonathan hesitated, then nodded slowly. “I will take my leave now,” he said, as Lord Kettering’s eyes searched his face. “Come join me when you are ready. I think…” He paused, then looked away. “I think I would benefit from a short while alone.”
Without any further explanation, he walked out of the room and made his way towards the front of the house.
The conversation had unsettled him, had turned everything he believed to be true entirely on its head, and now he did not know where he stood.
Surely it could not be that Lord Blackwood had been wrong in his warnings?
That did not stand to reason, since the fellow was known to have such a trustworthy reputation.
If he were to say something without reason or substance, then that could ruin his reputation of trust and respectability, so why would he say such a thing as that?
With a sigh, Jonathan rubbed at his forehead, meaning to step outside – only to come face to face with Lady Susanna. Her eyes widened, her cheeks flushed pink, but then she quickly dropped her head, looking away from him.
“Do excuse me, Lord Lancashire.” Making to step past him, he reached out and caught her hand, a gasp escaping her.
“Susanna.” His voice was rasping, his hand burning where his fingers held hers.
“I think…” The words tangled in his throat.
He wanted to tell her everything — that the ground beneath all his certainties had shifted, that the conviction which had driven him away from her might have been built on lies, that he had never stopped caring, and the pretense of indifference was destroying him by degrees.
But the sounds of the house pressed in around them, and the words would not come.
She was staring at him, her eyes rounded, her breathing quick and fast, but Jonathan could not move away.
Nor could he find words to explain what it was he meant, to explain the confusion that was now tearing at him.
It was only when the sound of footsteps caught his attention that he was forced to step away from her, making his way directly outside and breathing in the cool evening air.
The night was sharp and clear; the smell of coal smoke and damp stone rose from the London streets.
He stood on the step for a long moment, letting the cold settle against his heated skin.
Not daring to even look over his shoulder at her, Jonathan did not even think to call for his carriage.
Instead, striding forward into the night, he walked with quick steps, his head lowering and his thoughts weighted.
Surely it could not be that he had turned his back on Lady Susanna for nothing?