Page 9 of For the Love of Clover (Breaking the Rules of the Beau Monde #4)

CHAPTER 9

H ugo liked a quiet house. Rules made him comfortable. Clear consequences had become his friend. He’d spent his reckless years at university with Winn Markham and Dalton Rochester and made the mistake of allowing drunken, childish shenanigans to drive him to wager three thousand two hundred pounds on the spin of a wheel and the roll of the dice. The dice had been loaded, and the wheel was fixed. But it didn’t matter because after he and Rochester lost more money than he cared to remember, Winn stepped in and won it back. Or stole it back. Winn’s obsession with card tricks made him impossible to play cards with since he could deal from the bottom and count cards like a professional thief. One careless, unforgiving night got them all exiled. Winn’s father would have preferred they leave for the continent for the sake of Winn’s younger sister’s reputation. But they had gone as far as Bath and decided to settle their unscrupulous manners there.

Two years ago, they had all returned, and since then, Winn had married Adeline Priestley, Rochester married Evelyn Markham—Winn’s younger sister and another of Clover’s friends—and Hugo had busied himself in building his name.

His father was no businessman. Philip Darrington spent his time tinkering and building things. He was good at it, too. He loved music boxes most of all, and Hugo’s mother had an entire collection of them. Unfortunately, his father didn’t make money from his projects. He loved the process like a true artist. That’s where his motivation stopped. He sold some, but not enough to keep his sisters in the Season or in school. The inheritance and his grandfather’s assets would eventually dry up, and Hugo felt it his responsibility as the eldest son to provide a future for his family.

This was why he did not pursue permanent attachments. He simply didn’t have time for them. Rebuilding his name and preparing for a serious future had taken every shilling, every moment, and every modicum of energy from him for the last couple of years. The townhouse where he lived while in the city was rented because he knew if business took a bad turn, he could let it go. He didn’t want to, but it was an out. The risks he took were for his family. And he had little to lose. Had he not been eager to invest, his family would be no worse off than they were then. But the impressive contacts he’d made and the sums of money he moved around could make him a very wealthy man and, in turn, secure his parents’ legacy. He owed them. Although they should have, they never blamed him for what happened.

One of the best contacts he’d made was the Duke of Kingsley, Lady Clover’s brother. He’d met the duke at Kingsley Manor two years ago, where he and his friends had attended a Christmas party that Lady Clover had hosted. Kingsley kept to himself for the most part, but Hugo was beginning to feel like a friend.

“Gerard?” Hugo bellowed from the foyer, his voice echoing to the rafters. Just one of the conveniences of living alone. He could yell rather than pull a cord.

His valet came from the back of the house, wiping his hands on a towel tied like an apron around his waist. Gerard had been with him for two years. The fifty-year-old man had brought a love of chemistry and a talent for mixing scents and matching the consumer with them. He had told Hugo that everyone had a chemical reaction to oils and aromatic spices specific to the person who wore them. His favorite mixture was a boot polish such as Hugo had never seen. And to Hugo’s delight, Gerard added the right measure of bay rum and cinnamon to Hugo’s boots, complementing the cologne that Gerard himself had concocted for Hugo alone.

“I didn’t mean to call you away from your aromatics.”

“I’m working on a new wood polish infused with lemon and musk. Very masculine.” Gerard pulled off his temporary apron. “What do you need?” Mr. Gale transformed his demeanor and hand combed his thinning, brown hair back from his face. Mad scientist came to Hugo’s mind.

Hugo looked at his stockinged feet. “Boots for one.” His tone was good-natured. His mood was high because he had an appointment with Kingsley, Mr. Silas Torrent, and Viscount Bastion.

“Ah,” Gerard mumbled as he pivoted on his heel, returning with boots in hand. “I treated them. Can’t plan for winter too soon. The rains will start up again before you know it.”

“Perfect.”

“Let me get you a new shirt.”

“Just the boots. I’ll manage. You finish with your work.”

Gerard bowed and left Hugo to wrangle on his boots. This was just one instance that made Hugo comfortable. His house had order but not the weight of a busy family. It was a well-oiled machine.

Nothing like the Duke of Kingsley’s home. Well-run it may be, but it was uncomfortably stiff.

When Hugo arrived at the duke’s, he could feel the weight of responsibility as he was shown to a parlor. He cast surreptitious glances, wondering if Clover might materialize from around a corner or behind a plant.

“There you are,” Kingsley said.

Hugo turned about and gave a proper bow. “Your Grace.” He had the permission for the informal use of Kingsley but always greeted him with the respect due his title. “What time do Torrent and Bastion arrive?”

“We have an hour. I’ll fill you in on what I’ve discovered, and then you can tell me how the party at Mrs. LaDow’s turned out.”

Hugo frowned, hoping Clover had not been foolish enough to speak of him to her brother.

“Not spying, good man.” The duke offered him a drink like he had read Hugo’s mind. Hugo accepted, then took a seat in the starched room of beige and white. “Lady Clover mentioned she saw you there.”

“I hadn’t known she would be attending.”

“Well, I didn’t tell her you would be there.”

This made Hugo very curious. Why and how did the duke know he would be there? And then it dawned on him what Clover had said about Kingsley and Mrs. LaDow. They definitely had a special friendship.

“Don’t look stunned. I really wasn’t prying. Mrs. LaDow’s husband was an acquaintance of mine, and after his death, I helped her with some of his old accounts. She’s harmless, really. Quite nice, actually. I thought Lady Clover could use a change of scenery, what with her closest friends having tied the knot recently and the Season coming to a close. I asked Mrs. LaDow who was on the guest list, and she told me you might be there.”

Good enough. Hugo nodded and set his drink aside. “May I say I was a little surprised to find your sister there? Don’t misunderstand. It’s only that Mrs. LaDow is a widow.”

“And Lady Clover is not a silly young girl anymore. I thought she could use some polish from someone I trust.”

Hugo cleared his throat. “You mean Mrs. LaDow?”

“Yes. Who did you think I meant? You?” Kingsley raised a glass toward Hugo.

“No. Certainly not.”

“I admit I felt safer knowing you were there. And Lady Clover is so levelheaded as to be timid, so I didn’t worry she’d purposely get herself into a bind. She is appropriately cautious. Thank goodness.”

Lord, she was not timid, although Hugo had the distinct feeling that he may be the only one on the planet to know that much about her.

“Admittedly, I thought Torrent might have shown up despite not being on the list. I take it he wasn’t there?”

Hugo almost lost track. He shook his head absently. “No,” he said, hurriedly readjusting his position in his chair. “Wait, yes. He was there, but we had little time to talk. A short game of billiards and not much else, I’m afraid.” He scratched his brow and thought through how much to tell the duke. “You should know I rescued your sister from a dreary night of whist. We found a chessboard instead.”

Kingsley raised a brow but otherwise didn’t look surprised or concerned. “She failed to share that bit.”

Hugo rotated his glass on the table, the tatted doily underneath spinning like a skirt with it. The brandy sloshed, and an amber drop stained the stark white tatting. “To be candid, I wasn’t sure you would approve. We were the only ones playing, although the room was open to anyone.” When Kingsley didn’t say anything, Hugo glanced from under his brow. The duke was contemplating a speck of dust on his knee. Hugo cleared his throat.

“Lady Clover is good at chess. Lousy at billiards.” Kingsley gave a halfhearted chuckle. “I think I’m not a good replacement for a parent.”

“You’re not supposed to be. I doubt anyone expects it, much less your sister.”

“No, I suppose not.” Kingsley sighed heavily. “Not your problem, though. We need to talk about Torrent and Bastion before they arrive.”

“My sources say they have maxed their funds, so buying more shares in the project should be easy enough to manage. Cubitt is the architect, so there will be many investors. If we’re to make the most of it, we need to move.”

“I agree. The shops alone would be enough to corner.”

“Exactly. Let the small fish whet their appetite on the landscape.” Hugo sat forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers. He and Kingsley were of a like mind. He couldn’t ask for a better business ally.

“Your Grace,” the butler said, standing at attention just inside the doorway. “Lady Clover would like a word when you have a moment.”

Kingsley stood. Hugo stood. And Lady Clover, very ladylike, stepped into view. Her hair was tamed and tucked, her dress conventionally cream-colored. It would have been forgettable except for the turquoise cloak and her blue eyes. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen,” she said to the room, barely settling on Hugo before returning her attention to the duke. “I thought to visit Mrs. Rochester since she’s in the city and so close to us. It’s barely two blocks from here, and I imagine I can handle it alone.”

Kingsley considered her for a moment. “Take Rogers for a driver and Miss Esther for a companion.”

“Of course, you’re right. Thank you.” She turned an ordinary smile, typical of proper ladies, on Hugo. “Excuse me, Mr. Darrington. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Hugo was on the cusp of saying something equally polite when she tilted her head and took a breath. “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Darrington. We seem to keep running into one another.” Then to the duke, “Thank you, Kingsley.” She licked her lips. There was an uncertainty about her. She wrung her hands, and Hugo noticed for the first time they were sheathed in the gloves he’d sent her. Something about it made his heart swell.

She licked her lips. “Stratford. I miss your name.” She smiled uneasily, then left.

The duke looked after her for a prolonged moment, and Hugo remembered her speaking of her brother and his name and how much she missed that time. He could have sworn Kingsley flinched.

The duke started for the door. “We have twenty minutes, Darrington. Would you like a game of billiards?” he asked, ending the uncomfortable formality.