CHAPTER FOURTEEN #2
Oliver bid Burns a good day right outside Greenwich House, mounted Wind, and headed home.
There was much to muddle over. He believed that a visit to the Lyon’s Den that evening was in order.
And with any luck, Greenwich would be in attendance.
Between Burns, Mrs. Dove-Lyon, and himself, he hoped they would uncover some secrets or past indiscretions.
Anything to help in the search for Miss Windham.
He rubbed the stabbing ache in his chest at the thought of the lovely, vivacious Miss Windham out on her own, fending for herself.
Or worse, at the mercy of some vile creature without a heart.
Miss Windam, in such a short time, had burrowed into his heart. He needed to find her.
That evening, Oliver and Hudson went to the Lyon’s Den.
They stepped into the main gambling room, and Oliver’s eyes stung from the smoke.
His nose wrinkled at the stench of sweat, whisky, money, and overall desperation.
One glance around the tables, and he could pick out the gentlemen winning and those on the verge of losing it all.
When his eyes fell on Lord Greenwich, he wasn’t surprised.
When he had gotten home that afternoon, there was a letter from Mrs. Dove-Lyon waiting for him saying she was going to talk to Greenwich.
She intended to threaten him that if he didn’t pay his debt to her, she would ruin him unless he told her what she wanted to know.
With any luck, she would get answers. If he didn’t work his magic with Greenwich and discover things for himself first.
The seat next to Greenwich was empty. “I’m joining the earl at the Faro table,” he said to Hudson.
His friend was studying the room. Hudson loved to gamble and was quite skilled at it.
What he had that many members of the ton didn’t was self-control.
He never bet more than he could afford to lose.
Oliver didn’t care much for gambling, but he did on occasion and took Hudson’s advice: Never bet more than you can afford.
Oliver sat down beside Greenwich and nodded at him.
“Deal me in,” he said to the dealer. Faro was a fast-paced game that left little time for conversation.
Because Oliver was more focused on talking to Greenwich, he paid little attention to his cards and lost several hands.
Frustrated, he left the table, found one of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s footmen, and asked to be taken to her office.
He found her standing, facing the back wall, the curtains parted to reveal a large glass window overlooking the main gambling room. “I’m glad you came,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said. “Come stand beside me.”
Moving across the room, he stood on her right and whistled. “Nice view. You can see everything.”
“Exactly. My dealer will make sure that Greenwich loses a significant amount tonight. That, along with what he currently owes me, should get him to talk.”
“I’m curious about the past between the brothers and their wives,” Oliver said, as there was so much to look at that he had trouble knowing where to focus. He finally watched Hudson demonstrate his finesse with cards.
“I see you watching Lord Hudson,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said. “He’s good. I’m waiting for the time he finally loses. I could make him a nice match.”
Laughing, Oliver said, “Good luck with that.”
“Indeed. When I need luck, I always find it.”
They were interrupted by Burns’s arrival. Puck showed him in. “I’m a popular lady this evening,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said with a soft laugh. “Would you gentlemen care for some brandy?”
“None for me,” Burns replied.
“Yes, thank you,” Oliver said.
“Please take a seat.” She poured two glasses of brandy, handed one to Oliver, and sipped from her own as she sat on the settee facing him and Burns.
“Do you find out anything new?” Oliver asked.
“A marquess who owed me a favor had an interesting story to tell about how the current Lord Greenwich was once engaged to Lady Mary Hayward, Miss Windham’s mother.”
“So my intuition was right," Oliver said with a sigh. “This really goes back a ways.”
“According to the marquess, Lady Mary fell in love with William, and they ran off to Gretna Green. However, he also mentioned the abduction of Mary and how she went missing for a time.”
“Hmm, interesting. How did the current Lady Greenwich get involved in the story?”
“She was Lady Mary Hayward’s best friend. When Lady Mary was gone, she didn’t waste time claiming Greenwich for herself.”
“Your Grace, Mr. Burns,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said. “I'll let you two continue your evening and finish the investigation into Miss Windham’s whereabouts. I believe it’s only a matter of time before the truth comes out."
Oliver and Burns stood outside Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s office. “I’m impressed,” Oliver said. One day, and you uncovered so much.”
“We still don’t know where Miss Windham is,” Burns said while stroking his chin. “But I’m confident we’ll find out soon. Good night.”
“Good night, Burns.” Oliver watched Burns leave, trying to decide whether he should join Hudson in the gaming room or go. He chose to go. Hudson could hire a hackney to take himself home.
When Oliver arrived home, he secluded himself in his library, sitting in a comfortable wing-backed chair with his bare feet resting on an ottoman.
He’d taken off all his clothes except for his breeches and linen shirt.
Leaning back with a glass of brandy in his hand, he reviewed what Burns had discovered in his mind. Quite an achievement for one day.
The brandy relaxed him, but it didn’t reveal his true feelings.
Deep inside, where the alcohol couldn’t reach, he was terrified.
The only thing he focused on was that if Lady Mary had been taken, she had also been found.
That gave him hope that they could locate Miss Windham.
Naturally, his mind was a jumbled mess because he’d overindulged in brandy since returning home.
It was necessary to numb his mind and heart.
He woke up sometime during the night to find his valet covering him with a blanket and tending the fire. Too comfortable to get up and go to his chambers, he closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep.
Morning brought a headache and terrible thirst to Oliver. He stood up from the chair and stretched his tight muscles. Leaving the library, he went upstairs and entered his chambers to find Byron tidying up. “Please prepare a bath and have breakfast brought up.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Byron said. “Will there be anything else?”
“No.”
After he bathed, ate, and dressed, he felt like himself again.
Today, he had a meeting with his solicitors to discuss the purchase of the country estate he wanted to live in with Phoebe and, hopefully, their children.
Even if, God forbid, she was never found and they never married, he still wanted the estate as a retreat where he could spend his old age alone with his thoughts.
Melancholy wasn’t something he needed today, so he tried his best to push it away.
Yesterday, Burns had uncovered encouraging information.
So why the melancholy? He hadn’t a clue.
Nothing went as planned that day, so he found himself reaching out to Lady Emma. He needed someone else who cared for and loved Miss Windham.
A footman announced him into the drawing room, “Your Grace, the Duke of Weston.”
“Your Grace,” Lady Greenwich rose from her seat and curtsied. “What a lovely surprise. Please have a seat. Would you like some tea?”
“No.” He sat on one of the settees next to Lady Emma. “I’ve come to call on Lady Emma.”
The countess beamed. He didn’t bother to correct her mistaken belief that he was interested in courting her daughter, as it worked better if she believed it.
“How splendid.” She stood and shooed her other daughters out of the room. I’ll give you a few moments to visit. I’ll be right outside the open doors.”
When she left, Oliver glanced at the doors and saw, true to her word, Lady Greenwich standing there but looking at the floor. He spoke softly and told Lady Emma what he learned from Burns.
“It’s so strange that we believe we know our parents, yet we really don’t.”
“I’ll send word or return when I know more,” he said as he stood and bowed. Making a show of kissing her hand and saying loudly so it would carry, “Until next time, Lady Emma.”
“Yes. Until next time,” Lady Emma said, playing along and blushing.
As he left the drawing room, he bowed to Lady Greenwich and hurried out the door. He kept thinking he would never set foot in Greenwich House again, yet there he was . . . again.