Chapter Thirty-four
At first light, the Earl of Southerby set out on horseback for Hampstead.
Skirting a pretty woodland pocket, the crisp dawn air hung heavy with the earthy scent of wild garlic, and birds twittered gaily in the hedgerows.
Bursts of colour from wildflowers dotted the woodland verge, and Southerby let Drummond amble along slowly, enjoying the serenity away from the bustle of the city and the cloying air that its inhabitants shared.
He was in no particular rush, though his stomach begun to grumble a mild protest.
It was still early when he arrived at Southerby Manor, and after informing Peters he would be staying the night, enquired as to whether Lord Westland had yet made an appearance.
Smiling at the answer, he made his way directly into the breakfast room.
Within minutes, a pot of tea and his favourite breakfast of dippy eggs and buttered soldiers were set before him, alongside the morning papers.
Content, he settled in and began devouring both his breakfast and the latest news before he was discovered.
“Valentine,” came a familiar voice, half-amused, half-accusing. Angus, shaking his head, sauntered into the bright, sunny room. “Why am I surprised? It is your house, after all.”
“Special delivery,” Southerby mused, lowering his paper and drummed his fingers on a package sitting alongside his teacup.
Angus’s eyes narrowed as he suspiciously regarded the item wrapped in brown paper, then lifted his brow in question.
A faint smile touched Southerby’s lips. “A touch late, I’m afraid,” he said mildly. “I believe I promised you what you sought by last night, but, there we have it.”
“Promised?”
“Indeed, the name you sought… your wife’s intimate, her nom de plume. I brought you a copy of her novel. Not a pamphlet, mind… an actual book. It seems to be becoming highly popular.”
“Hmph.” Angus turned to the sideboard and poured himself a coffee. “Then I am sorry to say I have wasted your time, as it is no longer of any consequence.”
“I disagree.”
“Not surprising.”
“You are still married, are you not?”
“Hm.”
“And I have never known you to dishonour an agreement.”
Angus shot him a sidelong glare, but Southerby merely shrugged good-naturedly and returned to his paper.
“Oh,” he chuckled moments later. “Rossforth’s in trouble. It appears Lady Penelope Cabbot-Leigh has set her sights on him, now Luci, her favoured Duke, is out of the picture. Poor fellow. One would think the man has more sense.”
“What on earth are you reading?”
Southerby peered over the page as Angus sat down. “The society columns in The Lady Chronicles, they tickle me something wicked, I never miss a week.”
“You can’t be serious?”
“Absolutely. Our mysterious ‘Lady Quill-He-Or-Quill-He-Not’s wry observations and sharp witticisms are sublime and awfully close to the bone. One need never venture out and still be abreast of the latest goings-on. You should hear some of the things she says about our dear Sebastian.”
“Did I hear my name being mentioned in vain?” boomed the very man as he strolled through the door.
Both looked up — but only Southerby smiled. “Ah, speak of the devil. Surprisingly, our Lady Quill has made no mention of you this week. You must be slipping from favour, old friend.”
“Hardly, I have been a little busy elsewhere,” said Humber lightly, though his jaw twitched and a slight furrow appeared on his brow. Snatching the paper from Southerby’s hand, he scanned the page. “Ha! Not even a line about my heroic recovery from a gunshot wound? Shocking neglect!”
Angus rolled his eyes. “So much for a quiet escape and a little solitude,” he mumbled to himself.
Southerby’s smile widened. “Really? With friends like yours?”
Angus leaned in, his voice low. “You summon him?”
Southerby’s lips twitched. “Summoned? Not exactly. Though I may have mentioned…”
“Penelope, you dirty dog!” crowed Humber, still buried in the paper.
Southerby abruptly rose and strode past Angus, pushing the brown paper package towards him as he went. “Get your own,” he teased, snatching back his paper from Sebastian. “I was just in the middle of discovering what your replacement is up to.”
“My replacement!” snorted Humber.
“Mm, it seems the young Earl of Dartmoor is fast becoming Lady Quill’s new favourite. He appears to have mastered your flair with the young ladies, and even rivals the absentee Lord Humber on the dance floor.”
“Give me that!” Humber gasped. “Dartmoor? That young whelp is…”
With Southerby still teasing and Humber playing the outraged deposed hero, Angus used the distraction to slip away unnoticed.
Both he and Southerby knew that Sebastian Humber revelled in his place as one of Society’s darlings — yet it was a position he worked hard to maintain.
True, his looks went a long way towards achieving such status, but he put in immeasurable time and effort wooing society.
Every ball, every salon, every whispered conversation served a purpose.
His light-hearted charm and easy wit were an artful disguise.
Beneath that laughing, carefree facade lay a man who cultivated favour with precision and gathered more of London’s secrets than most would dare to know.
Striding outside, Angus wandered across the manicured lawn toward the ornamental lake abutting a pretty woodland pocket.
The morning sunlight glimmered on the water where two swans glided together.
White, silent, graceful. Sitting himself down and the wooden seat, a sorrowful smile touched his lips as he watched them nudge their heads in quiet communion. Companions, he thought. Mates for life…
Shaking his head slightly, he took a deep breath, then tore open the package.