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Page 11 of How to Court a Rake (Wed Within a Year #1)

C aine escorted Mary to the Earl’s carriage under the glowering gaze of Carys himself whose countenance made it clear he would have preferred it if the Marquess of Barrow had made his goodbyes at the box. But Caine was determined to stay with Mary as long as possible and to offer her all the assurances of safety he could, including the promise of calling on her the next day. He helped her into the carriage with a covert squeeze of her hand while the Earl glared over her head.

‘If you do call tomorrow…’ the Earl said coolly once the women and Amesbury were inside.

‘ When I call tomorrow,’ Caine corrected with a wolfish smile, prepared to go on the attack. He’d been waiting for Carys’s warning since the moment he’d arrived.

Carys cleared his throat and then proceeded with his customary sternness. ‘As you say, when you call tomorrow, I would appreciate a conversation. In private, Barrow.’ It was probably all the politeness he would get from Carys. That was fine. He wasn’t looking to be friends.

‘I would welcome it,’ Caine returned with a steely gaze to match Carys’s tone. For many reasons. He would bring his persuasion to bear any way he could to champion Mary’s cause of freedom, or at least freedom from Amesbury’s attentions. It seemed that the modern world had not moved on from medieval arrangements when it came to marriage. Such arrangements were alive and well and just as barbaric as ever.

Oh, he wasn’t an idealist by any means. He didn’t think the aristocracy would stop marrying for money and power any time soon. They couldn’t afford to. But he had thought the arrangements were made on slightly more amicable, consensual grounds, that blatant force had dropped out of the equation. Mary’s case suggested otherwise. This was outright coercion. Subtly managed, certainly. Mary would have no case to plead. Society would say Carys was doing what any good father would do: finding a suitable match for his daughter who’d been out several Seasons.

No one would think marrying a daughter to a duke and all the benefits that came with it was coercive. But Caine had seen the look in her eyes at the theatre tonight, felt the tightness of her grip on his arm, seen the trembled construction of her words in the short note she’d sent. Amesbury frightened her—a woman who did not frighten easily. That was intolerable in Caine’s estimation. Yet the duality of his own situation was growing intolerable, too. Soon he’d have to act on behalf of the Horsemen and that would possibly change everything.

You’ve become quite invested in Lady Mary Kimber’s situation, more so than your own circumstances warrant , his conscience nudged. Remember why you started this: To repay her for a social debt, long before you suspected Carys’s involvement in the Greek business. But now that debt is paid and you need to think of your own cause. You need entrance to Carys House for Stepan.

Tomorrow, he’d get a first-hand look inside Carys’s study, which would be useful for conducting a more in-depth look through that study later in the hopes of finding paperwork that might connect Carys to the sabotage. Or perhaps in hopes of not finding anything at all even if meant they would be back to step one in finding the saboteurs.

His own carriage pulled to the kerb at last, having made its way through the post-theatre traffic and Caine gave instructions to go directly to Parkhurst House. He wanted to talk to Kieran. Between the two of them, perhaps they could figure out who Amesbury was.

For a man like himself who lived in town more often than not, it was strange to run across someone so entirely new. Even newcomers had reputations that preceded them so that they were known, expected, before they arrived. But Amesbury had materialised as though from thin air.

Lights stilled burned in the drawing room windows of Parkhurst House, but the tenor was much more subdued than when he’d left. Westin’s party had moved on and only a few men remained, playing a quiet game of cards at a corner table, Kieran keeping them company. Jackets had come off; sleeves were rolled up. Caine recognised the men, all of them involved in some level of diplomacy. Such men came to Parkhurst House often. It was a place where deals could be unofficially discussed, information unofficially learned and passed.

It was moments like this when Caine felt the loss of Stepan even more keenly. Stepan was usually the one who saw to the guests in their drawing room club, who signalled for more drinks to keep a man talking or a fresh pack of cards to keep men playing. When men were enjoying themselves, tongues loosened intentionally or unintentionally. Kieran looked up and caught his gaze. Caine gave a jerk of his head, indicating the study down the hall before he disappeared, knowing his brother would follow.

‘Well, how was the theatre?’ Kieran drawled, sprawling on the leather sofa in the study and accepting a tumbler of brandy. ‘Good enough for drinks, eh?’ he joked.

‘It was enlightening. Worrisome.’ Caine took the chair opposite his brother and rested his feet on the fireplace fender. ‘The good news is that I have been asked to have a private word with Carys tomorrow at the house.’

‘Let me guess.’ Kieran swirled his brandy. ‘The bad news is the reason for it?’ He took a long swallow and let out a satisfied sigh.

‘Lady Mary’s situation is untenable. Which makes me suspicious. She is an attractive, intelligent, well--dowered, titled young woman. She does not need to be manhandled—for lack of a better word—into a marriage. There are plenty of suitors she could choose to make an appropriate match with. I saw them first-hand. The drawing room was crowded with them. Yet, her father is forcing the Duke of Amesbury on her.’

‘So you’re wondering—’ Kieran took up the thread of thought ‘—why does he need Amesbury badly enough to override his daughter’s desire to choose a match from an acceptable, well-vetted pool, which would meet both their needs.’

‘Yes, exactly. Surely you and I are not the only ones to see how this situation could be remedied amicably with both parties getting what they want. Yet Mary says her father has already decided on Amesbury.’

Kieran studied the liquid in his glass. ‘She is entirely opposed to the Duke? It’s not just stubbornness because he is a duke? Perhaps she’s feeling a bit rebellious after the last two.’

Caine flashed his brother a strong look. ‘I believe her words were, “he is vile”.’ There’d been no time for details, but her words and the way they were delivered had raised Caine’s hackles to be sure. Had the man importuned her in some way in her own home? Had he spoken to her crassly? A man’s vocabulary indicated much about his thought patterns and behaviours.

Kieran grimaced. ‘That bad. Hmm.’

‘Do you know the name? Amesbury? I have to admit the man was a stranger to me.’

Kieran shook his head and sat up. ‘I don’t know, but Debrett’s will.’ He set aside his glass and strode to a bookcase. ‘And Lucien would know, of course, but he’s not here.’ The brothers exchanged a look of mutual concern.

‘Father’s with him, helping him sort the library.’ And, no doubt, helping Lucien sort his feelings, his grief along with it. Father was good at things like that. He knew how to come alongside a person in their time of need with a story or a piece of advice. ‘I miss him, too. It’s been a long time since it’s just been the two of us.’ He gave Kieran a rueful grin and swirled his own brandy. ‘Thirty-four years, in fact.’

Kieran laughed. ‘Do you remember the time we bundled up Stepan and took him sledding? It was only the second time we’d ever seen snow ourselves, but we were convinced we were experts.’

Caine nodded. ‘We sent him down the hill behind the stables all by himself. He must have been…four? But he had no fear. He laughed the whole way down. He was still laughing when we pulled him out of the snowbank at the bottom. I thought Mother was going to kill us. But Stepan just wanted to go again.’

‘I remember looking up at the nursery window and seeing Lucien glaring at us. He hated being left out even when he was a toddler. He could hardly wait to join us.’ Kieran returned to the sofa, book in hand. ‘I wonder if he feels that way still?’

‘Once a Horseman, always a Horseman. He knew the commitment and the risk,’ Caine said gruffly, although it had galled him that Lucien hadn’t stayed in town with them to see it all through—the titles, the marriage agreement that went with them, the search for Stepan, and the search for the traitor. Instead, Lucien had decamped.

Kieran flipped through the pages, coming to the listing for Amesbury. He turned the book so that Caine could read. ‘“Born, 1783; Died, 1823”. The fellow wasn’t incredibly old.’ Old was Grandfather in his eighties. ‘He died without a direct heir, though. There’s no spouse listed. He’d not married.’ Caine thought for a moment. ‘Perhaps that’s why we haven’t heard of this new fellow. He’s a distant cousin.’ So distant, in fact, that no one had heard of him. Yet.

‘It might be nice to know how the previous Duke died,’ Kieran posited.

Caine agreed. ‘Seems to me that a man who hadn’t married was either irresponsible with his duty or hadn’t planned on dying. The latter means his death was likely an accident. I think I’ll call on The Times archives tomorrow morning. I’d like to know before I see Mary and Carys.’

Kieran gave a low chuckle. ‘That’s the second time you’ve called her by her Christian name in this conversation. It’s not Lady Mary?’

Caine tried to dodge the probe. ‘You know I’m never one to stand on ceremony.’

‘When you’re seducing,’ Kieran amended. ‘Is that what you’re doing here? Do you intend on seducing the most proper Lady Mary Kimber? I didn’t think virgins or ruining them were your style?’

‘It’s not.’ Caine infused the two words with a tone of finality, resisting the temptation to argue in his defence that Lady Mary was not helpless or quite as proper as she made out. She’d turned docile propriety into an excellent facade over the years. But he was staunchly a gentleman who kissed, but did not tell. News of his exploits always leaked out from the female quarter, never his.

‘Then what are your intentions?’ Kieran queried, only half joking. ‘Don’t tell me they’re the same as mine with Lady Elizabeth Cleeves because she’s not sending me notes begging for my attendance at the theatre or asking me to rescue her from unwanted suitors. Nor am I buying out florist shops’ worth of red roses. It seems like this has gone beyond a useful attraction.’

‘I owed her for deserting her on the dance floor at a very inconvenient time for her,’ Caine deflected.

Kieran raised a disbelieving brow. ‘I should think the debt paid by now. But perhaps interest rates are higher than I understood.’ He gave a shrug of his shoulder and rose, preparing to depart, but Caine knew how to read his brother. Kieran wasn’t done informally probing. Caine braced.

‘She wouldn’t be the worst choice for a wife if you mean to fulfil the King’s bargain. I mean, she does ride, after all. She’d fit in with the Parkhurst clan if she ever let her hair down, although I’m not sure how we feel about the Earl of Carys as an in-law.’

‘You have that horse well ahead of the cart, Brother,’ Caine cautioned. ‘You know I’m not exactly wedded to the idea of marrying to save the title.’

‘But you do like to save people, Caine.’ Now it was Kieran cautioning. ‘Whatever you’re doing with Lady Mary, make sure it’s for the right reasons.’

‘What other reasons would there be?’ Few people could put him on the defensive, mostly because he didn’t give them the chance to get close enough, but Kieran was one of them.

‘Atonement. You feel guilty you couldn’t save Stepan, so you think to save her instead. Only, now you might not be able to. Her family’s business is her family’s business.’

‘Unless her family’s business becomes my family’s business and right now there’s a possibility the two may intersect,’ Caine answered smoothly.

‘If Carys is not involved in the sabotage attempt, you will dissociate yourself from Lady Mary, then?’ Kieran was not shy in his argument. But they both knew the situation with Mary was not solely about investigating her father.

‘There is no crime in helping a damsel in distress,’ Caine countered.

‘Until you help her right into your bed, then neither of you has choices no matter your intentions.’

‘Weren’t you going to bed?’ Caine speared his brother with a look. Kieran saw entirely too much. And he was right. Should Carys turn out to not be connected to the sabotage effort, Caine would not abandon Lady Mary to Amesbury’s affections, such as they were. And he knew very well where that could lead. But that was a bridge to cross another time. For now he was still collecting puzzle pieces.

He collected that first piece the next morning, up early for a ride on Argonaut in the park and a breakfast that lasted long enough for him to see that his attendance at the theatre in the Carys box had been noted by many under the guise of lines like ‘it seems the new Marquess of Barrow is taking his responsibilities seriously when it comes to courting…’ followed by a chronology of his efforts—dances, roses, now the theatre, and competing with a duke for the dukeless Lady Mary. Well, he’d expected as much. He did not think the article terribly damning to her since he’d been able to keep the focus on him. She was merely the victim of his attentions. It could have been worse.

He was at the front door of The Times the moment it opened, the receptionist rising nervously at the sight of him striding in, great coat flapping at his legs, and stammering an anxious, ‘If you’re here about the article…’

‘I’m not here about the article,’ he dismissed the concern abruptly. ‘I need to find an obituary. Is there a staff librarian or an archivist who can assist me?’

Relieved, the receptionist was all brisk helpfulness. ‘Yes, my lord, right this way.’

It turned out to be a relatively simple process as he had the date of death, which narrowed down the newspaper issues that would have carried the notice. ‘A carriage accident?’ He glanced at the archivist, a small slim man with spectacles in a dark suit. ‘Is that all we know? It’s not very descriptive.’

The archivist gave a frown of disdain. ‘My lord, obituaries are not gossip columns.’

‘Because gossip is for the living?’ Caine couldn’t resist the jab. ‘Is there a story? Was there news coverage of the accident? It seems like a duke dying in an accident in town would be newsworthy.’ Certainly gossip worthy, although he dare not say as much.

The archivist was chilly. ‘We can look. We’ll check the issues up to two weeks after the accident.’

‘And prior,’ Caine suggested, earning a stern stare. He was not making friends here.

‘Why would we do that?’ the archivist questioned.

Caine offered a meaningful stare in return. ‘Sometimes accidents are not accidents.’

He managed to shock the starchy slim man. ‘You don’t mean to imply the Duke met with…misadventure?’ The man clearly couldn’t bring himself to say the other ‘M’ word—murder. Or heaven forbid, suicide.

‘The Duke died in an accident. He most certainly met with misadventure.’ Caine chuckled at the man’s ridiculousness. ‘The question is what kind of misadventure, self-inflicted or otherwise.’ There were a hundred things Caine would like to know about that carriage accident. Had it been a race? Had the Duke been driving? Was the Duke a regular racer? A reckless driver in general?

All he found was a short story that mentioned Prince Baklanov of Kuban had pulled the Duke from the water too late to save him. Caine smiled to himself. He knew that name. He made a few notes, tucked them into his coat pocket and said farewell to the archivist, mentally checking off another item from his task list. Next stop, the florist’s, where he’d send a note with the roses: Wear a riding habit . Then, over to Mary’s. Thanks to that one name, he knew how they’d spend their afternoon.