Page 19 of A Reckless Courtship (A Chronicle of Misadventures #3)

19

SILAS

S ilas picked at his food, unsuccessfully suppressing a look of distaste. He pushed away his plate and reached for his glass. “I shall be driven to drunkenness if I am obliged to eat much more of this food. I shall go to William’s for dinner from now on, I think.”

Frederick’s only response was to cover his half-uneaten plate of food with his napkin. Fairchild and Drake had chosen to seek sustenance elsewhere, but after the events of the previous day, Silas had felt it incumbent to show some degree of penance by remaining at home.

He took a sip of his drink and stared at his brother. “Still punishing me, are you?”

“Someone certainly should.” Frederick shot him a look of reproach, but despite the way he had been behaving since Silas had come to Town, the role of chastiser did not come naturally to the youngest in the family.

“You are suffering more than I, Freddie. You should have joined Drake and Fairchild. I give you my word I shall not leave this townhouse tonight.”

“Unless you develop a sudden fascination with flowers, as you did yesterday?” He stared in challenge at Silas. “Just one particular flower, though, wasn’t it?”

Silas tipped the little of his drink that remained, watching the candlelight catch on it. The corner of his mouth tipped upward. “ Arabella dulcis. ”

“You are unbearable,” Frederick said, though there was a hint of a smile at one corner of his mouth. “You would have been wiser to kiss a bouquet of wolfsbane. What on earth possessed you to kiss Drayton’s daughter? In public?”

Silas did not respond immediately. His mind was at the orangery. How long might he have kissed Arabella had Frederick not arrived and put a stop to it?

Forever, he imagined. He would certainly be thinking about it for that long.

That realization was both happy and lowering.

“Have you ever been in love, Freddie?”

“Who has time for love when they are occupied keeping their brother from the noose?”

“As I have told you a hundred times before, Freddie, you are not responsible for my choices.”

Frederick held his gaze, his brow gently creased with worry.

“I am capable of taking care of myself,” Silas said, “and I do not intend to allow anything more sinister—or less fetching—than this cravat to be tied around my neck.”

Frederick smiled reluctantly. “Your cravat could hardly be less fetching.”

Silas smiled in appreciation at this jab. “Focus your efforts on attaining that place in Parliament. I will manage, little though it may seem that way.”

Frederick let out a sigh and sat back in his chair. “For what it is worth, I like Miss Easton. How a devil like Drayton came to raise such a daughter is beyond my capability to understand. What do you intend to do?”

Silas shrugged. “What I came to do. Clear my name. I am meeting with Bence tomorrow.”

He hoped whatever news Bence had would be welcome.

Bence poured a drink for Silas. “It is in Town.”

“What is?”

“The evidence you need.”

Silas met his gaze fixedly, trying to control the hope trickling through his veins. “What evidence?”

He handed the glass to Silas. “A secret ledger Drayton kept. I saw it once on a visit, but I wanted to be certain it still existed.”

Silas’s heart beat more quickly. Was freedom truly within reach? The evidence was not, as he had feared, at one of Drayton’s other properties or, heaven forbid, destroyed.

“Where?” Silas asked, trying to control the urgency he felt as he took a sip.

Bence met his gaze with the hint of a grimace. “In his townhouse.”

“His townhouse.” Silas thought of the night he had dined there before realizing who Arabella’s father was. Just how near had he unknowingly been to the key to his exoneration? “Do you know where precisely?”

“No, but I know where I saw it last. And I know Drayton.” He frowned. “That is less of a concern than how you intend to gain access to his townhouse.”

But it wasn’t gaining access that concerned Silas; it was living with himself if he did so—and not being caught by Drayton in the act. If he was, the same thing would happen to the ledger which happened to the diary when Anthony had been found searching for it: Drayton would destroy it.

“You are certain it is there?” Silas asked.

“As certain as I can be. I had it from a former servant of his.”

Silas nodded slowly, taking in this information. But he was admittedly puzzled. “Why would he keep such an incriminating piece of evidence?”

“I told you, did I not, that Drayton has an obsession with amassing anything he might use against others if the need arises? That ledger contains leverage over his associates.”

Silas watched Bence carefully. “Including you?”

“Do not concern yourself over that. This is an opportunity we cannot afford to forgo. I shall come about.”

It did indeed seem the perfect opportunity. And yet, all night, Silas stewed over it. No matter how he reasoned, he could not feel anything but wretched at the thought of trying to elicit an invitation from Arabella or the Fairchilds to Drayton’s townhouse.

But what, then, was he to do?

Was breaking in like a thief in the night any better?

When a letter arrived the following morning with the penny post, inviting them all to join the Fairchilds for dinner the following evening, Silas could only scoff at the way fate insisted on tempting him.

But dinner at the townhouse with Drayton present was out of the question.

“They offer a fine meal and a rousing round of charades afterward,” Fairchild said, reading the note. “Miss Easton’s father is in Brighton and will not be present, and he sends his regrets.”

Silas laughed out loud.

All three of the others looked a question at him.

Silas cleared his throat. “Excuse me. I was thinking of something…else.”

He had been thinking of how it felt very much like fate wished for him to steal that ledger—and of how Fairchild still insisted on calling Drayton “Miss Easton’s father.”

“I shall respond in the affirmative, then.” Fairchild rose from his chair and made his way to the escritoire near the window.

“Not for me,” Silas said.

Frederick’s gaze whipped to Silas, who gave a subtle grimace in response.

“Nonsense,” Frederick said. “Tell her that all of us accept her kind invitation.”

Silas gave him a pointed glance with the slightest shake of his head, but his brother seemed not to understand. Apparently, the talk they had had last night had made an impression upon Frederick, and he was now determined to be supportive of Silas.

There was no way to make him understand with the other men in the room, however, so he said nothing when Fairchild said, “So be it.”

When they left the room presently, Silas pulled Frederick aside.

“I cannot go, Freddie.”

His brother gave an airy, incredulous laugh. “I tell you not to see the Easton girl only to find you kissing her. You tell me you can manage your own affairs, so I come out in support of you seeing her, and now you tell me you cannot. You”—he jabbed Silas in the chest—“simply take pleasure in being a contrarian.”

“Undoubtedly. But that is not what this is about.” He glanced around to ensure they were alone, then pulled Frederick into the window alcove nearby. “Bence confirmed that the evidence I need is at Drayton’s townhouse.”

Frederick’s brow wrinkled. “Then surely that is the place you must go.”

“How could I use Miss Easton or her family in such a way?”

Frederick grimaced. “Silas,” he said softly, “you cannot let such scruples keep you from the freedom you deserve. Have you not said from the beginning that you would let nothing stand in your way?”

Silas met his eye but kept quiet.

“If Miss Easton is as wonderful as you believe her to be, she would not wish for you to remain captive to her father’s malicious choices.” He gripped Silas’s arm tightly and stared at him intently. “You deserve liberty, Silas. Do not surrender this opportunity, for there is no saying you shall have another.”

Silas held his gaze for what felt like hours. Finally, he let out a sigh. “You are right, much as I hate to admit it.”

Frederick clapped a hand over his shoulder and squeezed. “Better accustom yourself to it. I am always right. That is what it means to be a politician.”

Silas’s heel bounced on the floor of the carriage on the ride to Lord Drayton’s townhouse. At war within him were eagerness to see Arabella again, fear that Lord Drayton might unexpectedly be present at dinner, and an overwhelming anxiousness to lay his hands on the evidence and take it somewhere safe.

They were let in by the butler, and Silas’s eyes darted around the entry hall, his ears alert for the sound of Drayton’s voice.

“Thank you,” Frederick said as the butler took his hat. “A pity Lord Drayton could not be here this evening.”

“Indeed,” the butler said in a formal, quelling voice.

Frederick smiled slightly and winked at Silas, as if he had known precisely what reassurance was needed.

“Mrs. Fairchild and the others await you in the drawing room,” the butler said once the gentlemen had been divested of coats and hats. He led them up the stairs, and Silas’s eyes fixed on the door to the study where Bence had told him to focus his efforts. When he would have the chance to make a search, he had no idea, but he trusted an opportunity would present itself. If not, he would have to create one. Frederick had agreed to help facilitate it if needed.

They reached the drawing room, and the butler opened the door to allow them to pass through. Fairchild and Drake went through first, then Frederick, and finally Silas.

His eyes found Arabella with neither prompting nor permission, and hers found him with equal swiftness. All thoughts of Drayton and the ledger faded as she smiled tentatively at him.

How was it possible he had been kissing her the last time he had seen her?

His mouth stretched into a smile, and hers grew in response, a hint of relief in her eyes.

He greeted Mrs. Fairchild and her daughter, then proceeded to Arabella as the others discussed Lady Fenton fainting at the opera the night before.

“Good evening, Miss Easton,” he said in a calm voice belied by the response of his heart. He wanted to take her hand and kiss it. He wanted to kiss more than her hand, frankly, but he restrained himself. “How have you fared since I saw you last?”

Her eyes held his, and he knew she was thinking of their kiss just as surely as he knew he was more handsome without a mustache.

“Better now,” she said, her eyes full of such patent affection and soft admiration that he did not notice he had been spoken to by someone until Frederick nudged him with an elbow.

“You remember?” Frederick asked.

“Remember what?” Silas asked.

“When that fellow fainted at that assembly?” Frederick asked with a hint of impatience.

The opportunity for further conversation had passed, and Mrs. Fairchild soon led them through to the dining room.

Silas couldn’t help but appreciate how deftly Miss Fairchild managed things so that he and Arabella were seated beside each other. Aside from offering them desired proximity, however, with such a small number at the table, there was simply no way for them to converse between themselves on any meaningful topic.

Perhaps that was for the best. Silas’s thoughts and feelings were a jumbled mess. He was reluctant to do anything to take advantage of her trust in him, but had he not already done that? He had masqueraded under a false name for the entirety of their acquaintance. He had kissed her under that false name, for heaven’s sake.

What a cad he was. A selfish, lovesick cad.

“Miss Easton,” Mr. Drake said, “this has been your first time in Town, has it not?”

“It has,” she replied.

“And what do you make of it? Has it been everything you had hoped for?”

Her gaze darted to Silas and away again almost so quickly he might have imagined it. “It has. I miss my sisters, of course, but I can hardly imagine leaving London now.”

“ Are you leaving?” Silas couldn’t help himself. She had said her father wished for her to become engaged soon. What if she was on the cusp of that and the plan was to spirit her away to the man’s parish to be married post-haste?

“No,” she said, “but Papa has been known to change his plans without warning.”

“He certainly has made a habit of coming and going,” Aunt Louisa said as the first course was laid before them.

Arabella pulled at the fingertips of her glove, and Silas caught a flash of the butterfly pendant.

His gaze flicked to hers, but she was too busy removing her other glove to notice. She fiddled with the bracelet, however, once both gloves were sitting upon her lap. She must have sensed Silas’s eyes on her, for she looked up.

“Are you admiring my bracelet?” she asked in a low voice while everyone served themselves from the available dishes.

“I am,” he said with a little smile. “Where did you come by it?”

“I was obliged to take it by force.”

Silas’s brows shot up. “Were you now?”

“Yes. Are you surprised?”

She was captivating. He could still remember how she had looked the night he had met her at Vauxhall, her eyes framed by that enchanting mask. Looking back, he was nearly certain he had already begun to fall in love with her then.

“What surprises me is that someone would find it possible to deny you anything you wanted.”

Her clear eyes held his, a glimmer of intensity behind the amusement. “Anything?”

His fingers tightened around his fork, for her meaning was clear: she wanted him .

And gads, how he wanted her! But it was not in his power to give her what she wanted—or what she thought she wanted.

He broke his gaze away and reached for a platter of peas. “Would you care for some peas?” He waited for her answer, mixing them together for an excuse to avoid her eye, for the choices he made when she was in his sight were not the ones he should be making.

She did not respond, however, and he was obliged to look at her.

“Did I speak amiss?” she asked in a soft, subdued voice.

“No.” He glanced around to ensure no one was paying them any heed. “ You have not said or done anything amiss.”

This did not have the effect of reassuring her as he had hoped. Indeed, her brow knit more closely. “You mean to say that you have.”

They were interrupted by Mrs. Fairchild, however, and had no further opportunity to speak before the women rose to go to the drawing room.

Miss Easton did so in a more subdued manner than usual.

Silas suppressed a sigh once the door closed behind the women.

The covers were removed and the port brought in, and Frederick pinned Silas with a speaking glance.

Now was the time. The moment he had been waiting for. And yet, there was a heaviness over him as he cleared his throat. “Will you excuse me a moment, gentlemen? I must attend to a private matter.”

“Does the matter’s name begin with a Miss and end with an Easton?” Drake asked with a wink.

“No,” Silas said with less good humor than usual. He forced himself to offer a grimacing smile and put a hand to his stomach as he rose to his feet. “I feel a bit unwell.” It was true enough. His stomach was swimming with nerves, his hands becoming clammy, and his heart beating at a clipping pace as he left the room.

The corridor was lit by a half-dozen sconces, but it was otherwise quiet. The servants must have descended belowstairs, no doubt eager to partake of their own meal.

Silas made his way with soft feet toward the study and put his hand on the knob, turning it slowly. He pushed open the door, and the light from the nearest candle illuminated the otherwise dark room.

He looked down the corridor, then went to a table against the wall, took the candle, and lit it using the nearest sconce.

Protecting the flame with his hand, he hurried into the study and closed the door softly behind him.

The room was lined with shelves of books, their gold lettering glinting in the candlelight. He strode straight for the desk and set the candle upon it. There was a large drawer on either side of the tall wingback chair, and he gently pulled open the first one. A sheaf of papers sat on top, and after glancing at the first two sheets and finding them to be letters, he set them on the desk and continued searching. Beneath was a leather folio, and his heart skipped.

He pulled it out and eagerly flipped it open, his eyes searching the neat text.

His chest deflated. It was a ledger, but it seemed to be the one for the townhouse.

He flipped through it to see whether there were any abnormal expenses—or any mention of Seamark Trading, the competitor he had secretly helped, then joined. After a dozen pages and finding nothing out of the ordinary, he set the ledger down atop the papers on the desk to continue his search.

He was too late to catch the sealing wax stick as it toppled over, rolled, then fell off the desk.

He cringed at the sound, freezing in place and clenching his eyes shut until the ear-shattering sound had dissipated. Not moving a muscle, he listened for any other noise.

When none came, his shoulders slowly relaxed.

A sheaf of letters was beneath the ledger, and he gave them a cursory glance just as the door opened, and a silhouette appeared in the doorway.