Amelia Grey - [Rogues' Dynasty 06] (12 page)

“It’s best you not plan a trip, if that’s the case, Lord Snellingly,” Matson said. “The waters can be calm as a stagnant pond for days and then turn violent within an hour.”

“That’s what I’ve heard from others. That settles that.”

Dash jerked his head, and snorted again. He sidestepped restlessly. “I think he’s ready for a gallop down Rotten Row,” Matson said. “It was good to see you again, Miss Hart, Miss Shevington, Lord Snellingly.”

Sophia watched Mr. Brentwood swing into the saddle, place his hat on his head, and gallop away.

She watched him until he was out of sight. When she turned back to Mae and Lord Snellingly, who had resumed their chatter, she realized she hadn’t felt as lonely as she did right now since her mother died, and that was thirteen years ago.

Not the cry, but the flight of the wild duck leads the flock to fly and follow.

—Chinese Proverb

Matson watched dust particles swarming in the late-afternoon sunshine that filtered through the windowpanes. The drawing room was quiet except for the one man talking. Everyone else listened.

Iverson and his lovely bride, Catalina, had already said their vows to each other, but the vicar obviously had more to say. Matson’s older brother, Brent, stood next to him, and Brent’s charming wife, Gabrielle, was on the other side of him. Wedding ceremonies always went on too long, as far as Matson was concerned, and his brother’s was no exception.

Something touched his leg, and Matson looked down. Gabrielle’s dog, Prissy, had gotten bored with the solemn ceremony, too. The fawn-colored mastiff was still a puppy, though you wouldn’t know it by her size. She nudged his leg again, hoping he would take pity on her and take her out to the back garden for a romp. He lowered his arm and patted the dog’s big head, letting her know he was a friend and would play with her later. Right now, he must do his brotherly duty.

Matson never could have imagined when he came to London last autumn that both his brothers would be married within the year. But looking at them now with their wives, he knew they were happy. He was glad for them. That’s what brothers, even twin brothers, did—they grew up and married.

After the last ceremonial word was said and Matson had offered his congratulations and best wishes to Iverson and Catalina, he grabbed Prissy by the neck and led her toward the back door. He supposed the only wedding he would enjoy would be his own, and he certainly didn’t plan on that happening any time soon. He couldn’t see himself enjoying more than an evening or two with any of the uninspiring young ladies he’d met so far. But as soon as that thought entered his mind, so did the lovely Miss Hart. He wouldn’t put her in that uninspiring group. She was far too direct and lively for that long list.

He had to put her in the category where he’d put Mrs. Delaney all those years ago: the unattainable list. Sophia didn’t have a husband in her life; she had Sir Randolph. And that made her just as unacceptable as a married woman. But it didn’t keep him from overlooking that fact whenever she was near. When he’d seen her in the park yesterday, his heart pounded so hard in his chest that it ached for an hour after he left her.

As soon as the door was open, the large dog barked once and scampered down the steps. She immediately loped toward the bushes to scratch and sniff and see what she could find. Matson looked around the well-tended grounds and finally found a small limb he could throw for Prissy to retrieve.

Matson chuckled to himself and tried to remember the last time he’d had a dog. It had to have been before he went to America. Dogs could be good friends. He would get a dog when he found a house of his own.

“So Prissy suckered you into bringing her outside?”

Matson turned around to see Brent coming down the steps. It was good to see his older brother again. He’d been at his estate in Brentwood since before Christmas.

“It was Prissy who saved
me
. I was afraid the vicar might start talking again, and I wanted to get out while I could.”

Brent laughed. “Weddings are so bloody boring, but there’s no other way to get a wife, so what are we to do?”

Matson grinned. “Pay the vicar to make it short?”

“I wish I had thought of that.”

Prissy brought the stick to Brent, and he took it and threw it toward the back gate again. The dog barked and went charging after it. “Would you please remember to do that when you get married?”

“That’s a promise, Brother.”

“Speaking of weddings, have you found a diamond among the bevy of gels that are offered on the marriage mart?”

Matson shrugged casually. “I can’t say I’m looking too hard, but there’s always hope one will be found when you least expect it, right?”

“Iverson told me about Sir Randolph’s ward. Have you seen her?”

“Yes,” Matson answered, trying to keep his interest casual.

“You’ve talked to her?”

“Yes.”

“Danced with her?”

Matson knew where this conversation was leading, and he wasn’t going to be dragged into it. “Yes, and don’t go any further with your questions, Brent. You’ve asked quite enough.”

Brent grinned. “You’ve answered only enough to make me curious.”

“I’ve answered all you need to know.”

“According to Iverson, it appears her arrival in London did one thing you predicted.”

Matson frowned. “What was that?”

“It took you and Iverson off the scandal sheets and out of the gossip columns, and promptly installed her.”

“They’re writing about her?”

Brent nodded. “So I’m told. I don’t know about you, but Iverson is quite happy she came to Town and took that honor away from the two of you.”

Matson remembered the soft taste of Sophia on his lips and the warm feel of her in his arms. Yes, he was happy she came to Town too. He remembered her face in laughter and her trying her best to convince him she would not let him kiss her again. Soon he must show her she was wrong.

“What the devil are my two favorite brothers doing out here in the garden without me?” Iverson said from behind them.

“We didn’t want to take you away from your bride of ten minutes,” Brent said. “You should be with her.”

“I will. I told her I wanted to check on you two and give her and Gabrielle some time to get to know each other. Besides, after that long ceremony, I needed a little fresh air too. I thought the vicar would never shut up.”

The three brothers laughed. Prissy came running up to Brent. He rubbed the dog’s head and took the stick out of her mouth and threw it. The mastiff went loping after it.

“Tell me,” Brent said, “how is the business going? Do you have everything set up yet?”

“Our ships came in about two weeks ago,” Matson said, “but we haven’t started unloading them yet because we’ve been trying to find Gabrielle’s father.”

“Why do you need the duke?”

“That’s right, you don’t know,” Iverson said. “Not long ago we discovered that Sir Randolph owns the space we’re leasing at the docks. The last thing we want is to be connected to him. The further we keep our distance from the old chap, the happier we will be.”

“We certainly don’t want him thinking we need him for anything,” Matson added. “We’ve been holding off in hopes we could get the duke to recant his edict and allow us to lease space from him or someone else, so we don’t have to move our equipment twice. We’ve been to see his manager and his solicitor, but we can’t get either man to talk to us without a letter from the duke giving them permission. And we can’t find him.”

“You don’t by any chance know where the man is, do you?” Iverson asked.

“Not exactly,” Brent said. “Why didn’t you make me aware before now that you found out you were leasing from Sir Randolph?”

“We only found out a few days before our ships came in. By that time, we’d already sent a letter by courier to His Grace’s home. He wasn’t there, nor was he at any of the places our man was told he would be.”

Brent rubbed his chin, and a thoughtful expression settled on his face. “I’m sorry to say he’s not likely to be found any time soon.”

Matson didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“The duke received word that his brother was traveling somewhere along the northern coast of Scotland and had an accident. Apparently it was quite serious, and the duke’s gone to be with him.”

“You don’t know where in Scotland?”

“No. The letter Gabrielle received was vague concerning the exact whereabouts of the accident or how it happened. I’m sorry, Brothers. I’ll speak to her, and I know she’ll do her best to find out for you and let you know.”

“That would be good of her,” Iverson said.

Sometimes Matson felt as if fate was against their moving back to England. Not only had they had the scandalous story of their parentage to deal with, it had been impossible to get their business started. More and more he was beginning to doubt the move back to England was the right thing to do. Not that Iverson would ever agree with him, especially since he had met the lovely Catalina and made her his bride.

Matson looked at his brother. “As much as I am loathing the prospect of it, Iverson, I think we should go ahead and prepare to unload our ships into Sir Randolph’s space.”

“I agree. We have no more time to wait for the duke to reverse his dictates concerning us. We have ships to build, and we need to get started on them. I don’t think we should waste any more time.”

Brent clapped both his brothers on the back. “Enough business talk for today. I should have never brought up the subject. This is a wedding celebration. Let’s get Iverson back inside to the lovely Catalina so we can have a glass of wine and toast the bride and groom.”

***

Matson shrugged out of his coat and handed it to the attendant at the front door of White’s. He’d cursed the Season all the way to White’s. There were just too many damned parties each year. After Iverson’s wedding dinner, Matson had made an appearance at three different parties and couldn’t find Sophia at any of them. He’d chatted with Miss Craftsman at one party, and danced with Miss Slant and another young lady before he said his good-byes and quit the gathering. It was quite frustrating that he couldn’t find Sophia. If he was going to see her, he had to know what events she would be attending each evening.

The place to go when he was in a foul mood was to White’s. He walked to the taproom door and looked inside the packed room. He didn’t immediately see anyone he wanted to talk to or have a drink with. He heard balls smacking together and decided he’d much rather watch a game of billiards than stand elbow to elbow with strangers at the bar, so he headed in that direction to check out who was in the gaming rooms.

All three billiard tables were in use, so he sat on one of the side chairs that lined the perimeter of the room and ordered a glass of port to enjoy while he watched the players. It was good that games were in progress. Matson was too wound up after the wedding and his search for Sophia to play well, and Matson didn’t like to lose.

The gentlemen at two of the tables were passable players and having a good time making their shots. The gentlemen at the third table were very good, and it looked as if a serious wager was going on between the two. Matson recognized one of the men as Viscount Hargraves. Matson had seen him talking and dancing with Sophia on more than one occasion. He didn’t know the other gentleman, but would have to be on his best game to win if he were playing either man. They were both excellent.

The viscount looked to be Matson’s age, and he supposed most ladies would consider him a handsome man. Matson didn’t know Lord Hargraves well. Having spent the winter at his country estate, the viscount had come to town only a couple of weeks ago. Being a young, titled bachelor made him one of the most eligible gentlemen in London. It was no wonder Sophia was giving him due consideration, especially when the other eligible peers were Lord Snellingly and Lord Bighampton. Matson couldn’t see that she had much of a choice, if what Sir Randolph had said about her marrying a title was true.

Matson’s stomach tightened at the thought of her being the wife of either man.

“Good evening, Mr. Brentwood.”

Matson looked around to see Lord Waldo standing beside him, holding a tankard of ale.

“Lord Waldo,” he said, wondering if the man expected him to invite him to sit beside him. The Duke of Rockcliffe youngest brother wasn’t a bad fellow. He simply had a talent for always saying the wrong thing. He’d actually had the nerve to ask Iverson why he looked so much like Sir Randolph Gibson. Everyone was thinking it, even gossiping about it, but he’d been the only one crass enough to ask. He hadn’t liked Iverson’s answer.

“Are you waiting for a game?” Lord Waldo asked.

“Just watching tonight.”

Lord Waldo continued to stand quietly beside Matson, watching the players. After a couple of minutes, Matson said, “Would you like to sit down, Lord Waldo?”

His brows lifted in surprise. “Me?” He smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Brentwood, I would.”

Lord Waldo made himself comfortable in the opposite chair, and they talked about the three games in progress. Matson didn’t really pay attention to his prattle until he caught the words “his pockets are always light.”

“Whom did you say?” Matson asked.

“Lord Hargraves. I suppose it’s not widely known yet, and I really shouldn’t be talking about it. My brother is always telling me I talk too much and I should watch what I say.” He took a drink from his ale.

Lord Waldo’s brother was right, but this wasn’t the time for Lord Waldo to be judicious with his words. Matson wanted to hear more about the viscount and his money problems.

“Does he have high gambling debts?” Matson asked, trying not to sound too interested.

“From what I’ve heard, he wins a lot but loses more. Some say he hasn’t paid all his debts from the winter house parties.”

That wasn’t acceptable gambling principles. “What about his income from entailed property?”

“His estates are not as large as one would think, given the title. Whatever acts of valor his forefather did for the King to earn the title and lands must have been slight. His holdings are considered some of the smallest of all entailed properties. From what I hear, as soon as the profits come in, they go out.”

Matson watched as the man the viscount was playing handed him a small velvet bag, clearly filled with more than a few coins. They shook hands, and another gentleman picked up a cue stick and joined them. Obviously he’d been waiting to play the winner.

Half an hour later, Matson’s glass was empty, and he’d gotten all the useful information he could from Lord Waldo about the viscount, Lord Snellingly, Lord Bighampton, Mr. Parker Wilson, and a few other gentlemen Matson had seen with Sophia. Most of them had called on her, so he could only assume she had some interest in each of them. It didn’t add up that if Sir Randolph was going to insist she marry a title, that she accept the attentions of men like Mr. Parker Wilson, who was merely a poor relation of the Duke of Norfolk. She had to be seeing them for her aunt’s benefit.