Page 27 of I Never Forget a Duke (The Night Fire Club #1)

H ugh walked into his club and was so relieved to see Lark and Owen in their usual spot that he nearly cried.

“Where is Fletcher?” he asked as he sat down.

“Obligated to take Lady Louisa to the opera,” said Owen.

There was something here that Hugh had once known, but he couldn’t quite recall it now.

“He’s making that face,” said Lark.

Owen nodded knowingly.

“What face?”

“You get a wrinkle in your forehead whenever you are struggling to remember something you think you should know.” Lark leaned forward and pressed his thumb against Hugh’s forehead, presumably where the wrinkle was. “What is it you cannot remember? Who the Lady Louisa is?”

Hugh closed his eyes for a moment. “She is… sister of the Marquess of Landsdowne. Whom we know from school. What is Fletcher’s connection beyond that?”

“The Landsdowne siblings were his childhood friends,” said Lark. “Lady Louisa is not yet married, but she loves the opera, so she asks Fletcher to take her when her brother is not available.”

That piece of information clicked into its proper place in Hugh’s brain and he nodded.

“Yes, I recall that now. Lady Louisa’s father was a prime minister, which is how he came by his title.

And Fletcher has no romantic designs on Lady Louisa, but enjoys her company in a friendly way.

And he likes the opera, though he will never admit that. ”

Owen chuckled. “Precisely.”

“Well, regardless, I am glad to see you gents. I need some… subterfuge.”

Lark sighed. “Which secrets am I to keep now?”

“You know secrets?” asked Owen. “Any you have not told us?”

“Several.”

“We must rectify that swiftly.”

Lark shook his head. “I’d be a terrible secret keeper if I went around divulging all I knew to whomever would listen. What do you need, Hugh?”

“I’d like to find out where Lady Adele is now that the Countess of Sweeney has died.”

Owen sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “You should let this go, Hugh.”

But Hugh was tired of having this argument. “Can any of you tell me what flaw Adele has? Not her father, not her income, but what grave character flaw she possesses that makes everyone so certain I should stay away from her.”

Owen looked taken aback. “It’s… it’s not done.”

“What isn’t?” asked Hugh.

“These sentimental novels the women are reading, they show this world where aristocrats who own these grand estates fall in love with their governesses, and that’s just… it’s not how our world works.”

Hugh didn’t quite follow. He turned to face Lark, who looked stricken.

Then he recovered and said, “I believe what Owen means is that the marriages of titled gents are generally strategic, not romantic. You’re a duke, so you marry the daughter of another duke so that you can produce future dukes.

And if you’re a Duke of Swynford, you do nothing that may bring shame or scandal to your family, because your father was one of the most respected men in England and you aspire to his legacy. ”

“Right. It doesn’t matter if you love her,” said Owen.

The Marquess of Beresford appeared then with a snifter of whisky in his hand, which perhaps explained the expression on Lark’s face. He walked over to Lark’s chair and leaned on it with one elbow resting on the top of the chair. “If you love who?” Beresford asked.

Hugh was not comfortable speaking about Adele with a relative stranger. He opted to ignore Beresford and said, “You do not need to explain it. I understand the circumstances. I am just expressing frustration is all.”

Beresford narrowed his eyes at Hugh.

“None of you have married,” Hugh said, genuinely angry now. “What right have you to lecture me?”

“We aren’t telling you anything you don’t know is true,” said Lark.

“I take it you are not discussing Miss Sackville,” said Beresford.

“Who?” said Hugh, although he recalled her from the Wakefield ball. He’d just temporarily forgotten in his single-minded focus on Adele.

Beresford laughed. “You should know, Eugenia Sackville has told her mother who told the Duchess of Claybourne who told everyone in London that you were quite taken with her and will make your intentions known by the end of the week.”

Hugh balked, hardly believing what he was hearing. “ I was taken with her ?”

“Indeed. As I heard it from Claybourne, you waltzed with some mysterious wallflower who may or may not have been Canbury’s daughter, but everyone knows you would never marry such a chit, so the fact that you also waltzed with the Sackville girl is practically a marriage proposal.”

“Oh good lord,” said Hugh.

“Do not blame the messenger,” said Beresford. “I find Miss Sackville horrid.”

“You are practically the same person,” said Lark. “Like you, she also survives mostly on judgment and gossip.”

Beresford grinned. “Aye, but I drink more whisky,” he sipped his drink. “Also, I have a sense of humor, which I assure you, Miss Sackville does not.”

“I barely know her,” said Hugh. Asking after her parentage felt a bit like asking after a horse he was interested in buying, but he plowed forward. “What is her pedigree again?”

Beresford fielded this question, too. “Her grandfather was a banker who made a great deal of money fleecing London’s most gullible out of their money, and her father is absurdly wealthy and also, I think, cheats at cards, although I have not been able to prove it. Yet.”

“You disgust me,” said Lark, shaking his head.

“You love a scandal as much as I do,” said Beresford. “If you’d saved all the coins you spent on scandal sheets, you could buy a house.”

“ Anyway ,” said Lark. “The Sackvilles donated some of their money to a few of His Majesty’s urban improvements, so Lord Sackville is much in Prinny’s favor at the moment, and I can imagine your mother smiling upon your courtship, but I do agree with Anthony. She is wretched.”

“I don’t disagree,” said Hugh. “She has spent nearly all of our acquaintance either complaining or saying cutting things about her social peers. I have no desire to court her.”

“Because you love Canbury’s daughter,” said Beresford as if it were fact.

“Did you tell him?” Hugh asked Lark.

“I inferred it,” said Beresford. He crossed the space and took the fourth chair usually occupied by Fletcher.

“You and I are not friends, not really. But Lark is my friend, and he has been concerned for your welfare since the night you disappeared. So he told me about the head injury, and you may not believe me, but I swear I have told no one that you convalesced at the Sweeney house. I saw you dance with Lady Adele at the Wakefield ball and concluded that you may have developed some fondness for her during your recovery. Am I far off the mark?”

“No, that is accurate.” Hugh supposed it couldn’t hurt to tell Beresford the rest. “And I was considering formally courting her but had made no decision because everyone keeps trying to talk me out of it. But now that option is taken away, because the Countess of Sweeney has died and I do not know where Lady Adele is. I went to the Sweeney house today, but the butler knew only that Sweeney intends to close down the house.”

“I imagine he’ll sell it,” said Lark.

“So,” said Beresford, “you want to make some discreet inquiries as to her location or where she intends to go next.”

“Precisely.”

Beresford nodded. “Leave it to me. I am very good at finding people.”

“How’s that?” asked Lark.

“I find you all the time, do I not?” Beresford shot Lark a pointed look before turning back to Hugh. “I will find her without raising suspicion.”

“How will you do that?” asked Hugh.

Beresford shrugged. “I am used to operating in the shadows.”

Hugh wanted to ask what he meant by that but thought better of it. “All right. And please find out if she is all right. She must be devastated by the countess’s death.”

“I have some time tomorrow. I shall endeavor to learn what I can and report back with all possible haste.” Beresford grinned and stood up. “I must be off, but try not to have too much fun without me.”

When Beresford was out of earshot, Owen said, “Why do you like him?”

Lark shrugged. “That is a difficult question to answer.”

*

Adele was nearly packed, although she had no particular destination. She knew not what John Sweeney intended to do with the house, but she figured he’d sell it. He’d been keeping it mostly for his mother and did not spend enough time in London to justify the expense of its upkeep.

John was kindly letting her stay, but she understood he wanted her to move out just as soon as she could find another position. Or sooner.

She’d written to everyone she could think of inquiring about possible places to work or live but had received only negative responses so far.

Her father was renting a small room at an inn on Haymarket Street and had no room for her.

Her Aunt Martha, the only other family she had in London, was not in town because her home was currently undergoing a significant renovation after it had flooded during a rainstorm a few months before.

Her options were starting to look like either moving back to Canbury House in the country—where she would at least have a roof over her head, although nothing to do and no purpose to her life—or find a position or lodging in London.

She did not have enough money for a long stay at an inn, and that was not a sustainable solution anyway. So she had no idea what she would do.

The glare John’s wife, Eliza, shot Adele as she sat down to breakfast one morning was harsh enough to make paint peel, and Adele knew she needed to leave soon.

“I say,” said John, oblivious to the daggers in his wife’s eyes, “it was Swynford who stayed here for a few days, was it not?”

“Yes,” said Adele. She’d had time to practice the story without a whiff of impropriety. “He’d hit his head and stayed here while he recovered from his injury.”

“It says here in the paper that a Duke of S is courting a Miss S. Swynford is the only S duke I can think of who is not married.”

“Is that the paper or the scandal sheet?” asked Eliza.

John shrugged. “What’s the difference?”

Eliza sighed. “There are other S dukes. Somerset?”

“His wife just gave birth.”

“Sussex?”

“Married. You met his wife at Covent Garden just yesterday.”

“Then I suppose we’ve used process of elimination. But who is Miss S?”

John scoffed. “You care more about this nonsense than you pretend, wife. I do not know about this Miss S. There are probably a hundred women in London with a name like that.”

It was clearly not Adele Paulson, however. Adele’s heart sank. Hugh was courting someone. Not that Adele had any right to him, and of course he would find another woman to court, but she had not imagined he would move on so soon.

Eliza leaned toward her husband, though she shot Adele another scathing look before she said, “I had heard he paid Miss Eugenia Sackville a lot of attention at a recent ball. Bethany mentioned that to me yesterday.”

“You were gossiping about Swynford yesterday?”

“No, we were gossiping about Miss Sackville, if you must know. Bethany went to the Wakefield ball and said Miss Sackville’s behavior was positively ghastly.

I’ve run into her a few times, so this news did not surprise me.

She is the daughter of Baron Sackville, but she hardly seems gently bred.

No one ever taught that girl manners. But I suppose she is pretty if you squint. ”

Adele’s mind had swirled through this entire conversation. She connected the name to the woman Hugh had waltzed with at the Wakefield ball. That woman had been quite pretty. That Eliza didn’t like her hardly signified; Eliza didn’t like anyone.

Regardless, it was likely Hugh had found a potential bride who was far more favorable to his family than Adele would have been.

Adele’s father held a higher rank than Baron Sackville, but a much weaker reputation.

Adele knew of Baron Sackville and knew the Crown had given him the title for some good deed he had done.

He was also absurdly wealthy, which likely also boosted Miss Sackville’s prospects; her father was likely offering a generous dowry.

Eliza went on at some length about various young women in the ton and how much she disliked them. John mostly flipped through the newspaper while saying, “Mmhmm” at appropriate intervals to make his wife think he was listening.

Adele focused on her breakfast and willed the rest of the meal to pass quickly. She did not want to betray her emotions where Hugh was concerned, and she chastised herself for feeling so gutted that he was giving attention to another woman.

John set the newspaper aside. “Oh, Lady Adele, I nearly forgot. The Marquess of Winchester is looking for a governess for his younger children. I can secure a meeting for you if you’re interested.”

Adele understood implicitly that she had no choice in the matter. “I am much obliged, my lord.”