Page 23 of A Reckless Courtship (A Chronicle of Misadventures #3)

23

SILAS

A unt Eugenia’s visit, while somewhat baffling in its purpose, served as a sort of catalyst for Silas. As promised, he shaved his threatening mustache, cleaned up the remaining papers, and readied himself for the day.

What precisely he was readying himself for was unclear. Never had it been more dangerous for him to venture from the townhouse. Even being in Town was a risk, for if Arabella had told Drayton about him, he would know precisely where Silas was.

Every time there was a knock on the door or the bell rang, Silas hurried to the window to verify the identity of the guest, his heart pattering quickly in the event that it was a constable.

That fear began to dissipate as the days went by, however. If Drayton knew he was in London, he would have acted as swiftly as possible rather than giving Silas time to flee.

Being restricted to the townhouse made it difficult to pursue any possible routes toward securing his liberty—not that he had any ideas. Without tangible proof of Drayton’s misdeeds, Bence was convinced any accusation against him would be quashed. Silas agreed, as did William.

Despite that, William was willing to use the influence he had garnered since coming into the dukedom to try to sway opinion against Drayton—or even launch the charges against him in public. But Silas had argued against this. If they had but one chance to take Drayton down, it needed to be done with confidence of success.

But what, then, was Silas to do without any evidence? Surrender to a life in hiding?

After the freedom he had experienced in London—freedom he had enjoyed with the woman he would do anything to spend his life beside—the mere thought of returning to France or even going into hiding was enough to make him wish to yank the window hangings closed, drop onto his bed, and allow his mustache to grow as thickly and wildly as it wished. Perhaps it would oblige him by consuming him entirely.

Three days after Aunt Eugenia’s visit, he received a note from her requesting—nay, demanding—he come visit his “poor ailing aunt” at four o’clock that afternoon. Any refusal, she made clear, would have disastrous results.

Silas had no intention of refusing, however. He was impatient to leave the confines of the townhouse, and a visit to Aunt Eugenia was as safe as any outing could be. He took particular care for a close shave and to dress so that she would have no reason to criticize his appearance.

Hat pulled low over his head, he hailed the first hackney he came upon to avoid being spotted. He did not bother knocking when he arrived at Aunt Eugenia’s. The presumption would gall her, but if she did not wish for him to do such things, she should not make it so amusing to provoke her.

“Aunt?” he called, shutting the door behind him and removing his hat.

“Jackanapes,” he heard her mutter from the sitting room on the left of the entry hall. “In here!”

With a low chuckle, he hung his hat on a hook, smoothed his sleeves and waistcoat, then strode into the room with a smile on his face.

It disintegrated as he stopped short on the threshold.

Aunt Eugenia sat in a chair, sipping from her teacup, a distinctly self-satisfied glint in her eye.

Beside her, hands clasped in their laps, sat both Arabella and Miss Fairchild.

All of the bravado with which Silas had entered completely deserting him, he tore his eyes from Arabella and centered them on his aunt.

Her smile grew, and she set down her teacup. “I believe you know my guests, Silas.”

“The question,” Miss Fairchild said, “is rather whether we know him .”

Aunt Eugenia laughed. “ Touché .” She stood. “Will you join me in the other room, Miss Fairchild? I believe you will enjoy one of the paintings there.”

“Oh, yes,” she agreed enthusiastically, rising to her feet.

Arabella grabbed her hand in a seemingly involuntary movement, and Miss Fairchild stopped, covering it with her own and offering a reassuring smile.

Arabella nodded and released the hand.

Aunt Eugenia waited for Miss Fairchild, then they proceeded toward the door where Silas stood.

He stepped to block their way. “Aunt,” he said in a warning voice. If Arabella did not wish to speak with him, the last thing he wanted was for her to be forced to do so.

“She was the one who requested to speak with you,” Aunt Eugenia said. “Now, out of my way, upstart.”

Silas hesitated, then moved aside, and the two women passed through the door.

Aunt Eugenia turned back toward them, her hand on the doorknob, ready to pull the door closed. She pointed a stern finger at him, then at Arabella. “No funny business, you two. I do not aspire to start a brothel here.”

Silas’s eyes widened, but before he could remonstrate with her, the door closed.

He stared at it, waiting for the heat to dissipate from his neck and cheeks, but it lingered stubbornly.

“You will have to forgive my aunt,” he finally said, turning toward Arabella. “She is a bit of an eccentric.”

“I like her,” Arabella replied. “She is refreshingly clear and frank. One knows one is hearing the truth when she speaks.”

Silas made a pained expression, taking her point clearly.

“Let me be clear, Mr. Yorke,” she said. “I am not here because I believe you. That is far from determined. I am, however, willing to listen. You have your aunt to thank for that. She sought me out at the opera and pled your case.”

Silas’s gaze fixed on her. “She did?”

“You mean to say you did not know?” She looked skeptical.

“Perhaps I should have expected something like that from her, but I confess I did not. She is easy to underestimate.”

“A family trait, I think.” From her clipped tone, this was not meant as a compliment in Silas’s case.

He let out a little sigh. “I know you will find it impossible to take anything I say and believe it, but I must express my profound apologies despite that. I never meant to mislead you or hurt you.”

Her lips pressed together. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” he insisted. “It is. More than once, I have been on the cusp of telling you the truth?—”

“And yet you did not.”

“Your father is a powerful man, Miss Easton. To offer you the truth would have been not only to taint your view of a father you love but to put my very life in your hands.”

She was quiet, her gaze fixed on his but her expression unreadable.

They stood across the room from one another, Silas unwilling to force his presence upon her. She was too angry with him to want such a thing, no doubt.

“I have been in hiding for more than two years,” Silas continued. “Trust no longer comes naturally to me. My family are the only ones I know for certain I can rely upon, and even that has not always been the case.”

Silence followed this confession for some time as they regarded one another from afar. How had it come to this? The woman he had once held and kissed, standing so far away like a statue?

“You say you were searching for a piece of evidence,” she finally said. “What sort of evidence?”

“A ledger. Langdon kept the books for us, which is why I suspected him first. But your father was keeping his own private ledger.”

The way her jaw tightened gave him to think she had not yet accustomed herself to slights against her father’s honesty. He felt for her. Indeed, he wished he could cross the room, wrap her in his arms, and tell her how sorry he was that the man who had raised her was not the man she believed him to be.

But he kept his feet planted where they were.

“And what else do you know about this supposed ledger?” she asked.

“Precious little,” Silas replied. “It should contain entries relating to Seamark Trading. That is all I know for certain, for they were our competitor, and after things fell apart following Langdon’s death, your father joined forces with them.”

Her eyes held his. It was strange to see the guarded sheen they had taken on since the last time they had been together. The change saddened him deeply, but there was nothing he could do about it.

He wasn’t even certain why she was asking him any of these questions, for she had made it clear she did not believe him.

But she was here, and that was not something he took for granted.

Her gaze dropped to his wrist, then flitted back to his face.

He was not wearing the bracelet. It had felt wrong to do so given the change in her feelings toward him, not to mention that the bracelet was the reminder of her he never needed. But he had fiddled with it almost constantly for the past few days before setting it on his bedside table.

“I should return to my cousin,” she said.

Silas nodded, though some primal part of him wished to guard the door and prevent her from leaving, for there was no knowing whether he would ever see her again.

She made her way to the door and reached for the doorknob, but his hand beat her to it.

He opened the door, and she looked up at him. For a moment, the guarded look retreated as they stared at one another from so near. Her eyes explored his, then she broke her gaze away suddenly.

“Thank you, Mr. Hay—” She stopped, her lips pressing together. “Mr. Yorke.” She left the room without a backward glance, and all Silas could do was watch her.