Page 105 of Never Beguile a Duke

“Because we need to collect pebbles, and I’ve sworn not to allow you from my sight while Mr. Braddock is away.”

“You swore to protect Miss Braddock’s innocence.” Lennox trudged after Mansfield.

“A feat made much simpler by keeping you with me,” Mansfield replied as he opened the front door.

“I’m not sleeping in your chamber.”

The door slammed, cutting off Mansfield’s retort.

“Father?” Juliette’s soft voice came from Silas’ right.

When he turned, she held out the missing letter from her mother.

“Mother wrote that you were her savior.” Juliette paused, her mouth working. “She also stated that if something should happen to her, she expected you to find a suitable mother to replace her.”

Silas took the missive, unfolded the page, and scanned the words, his throat constricting as memories overwhelmed him. After several minutes, he lifted his gaze, finding Juliette.

“I cannot guarantee your choice of mother,” he said, his hollow voice lacking any optimism.

“Who does she want?” Roxburghe asked, appearing on the other side of Silas.

“Miss Fernsby-Webb.”

Roxburghe snorted. “Convenient.”

“Complicated.” Silas widened his eyes, attempting to silently convey his concerns.

“Only if you allow the situation to become so,” Roxburghe replied, winking at Juliette.

“Father,”—Juliette clasped her hands together and lifted her eyes, pushing her lower lip into a slight pout—“if you fail to convince Miss Fernsby-Webb to stay, I’ll never speak to you again. But I will follow you everywhere, to simply stand and stare… as though I am a phantom haunting you.”

Silas growled. He should throttle Roxburghe, for he was the only one of them who’d find it amusing to share the story of Mr. Philbert’s ghost and the attempted exorcism at Lennox’s residence with Juliette.

“Miss Fernsby-Webb,” Silas ground the words in his teeth, “has stated, on more than one occasion, that she’s not interested in marriage.”

“Neither were you,” Roxburghe said, a soft crunch of snow pulling his attention to the parlor window. “Warwick’s coach has returned.”

“With an explanation, I hope.” Silas exited the room with Roxburghe and Juliette on his heels.

They met Warwick at the front door.

“An escort to your parlor is unnecessary,” he said as he shed his greatcoat and hung it on the coatrack. “I’m quite capable of finding my way.”

“Where did you go?” Silas asked, yanking his shoe out of the path of Warwick’s cane.

“To my residence,” he replied as he limped across the foyer.

Roxburghe hastened around Warwick and stopped, blocking Warwick’s progress. “For what purpose?”

“Money.” Warwick frowned, his gaze sliding between Silas and Roxburghe, and shoved his hand into his coat pocket, extracting a mid-size sack. “Did you think I would abandon Miss Fernsby-Webb to Mr. Curtis’ whims?”

“It was suggested?—”

“By whom?” Warwick growled.

“Mrs. Webb.” Roxburghe took the sack, opened it, and issued a low whistle. “Where did you find this amount in such a short time?”

“It’s the purse for our wager.” Warwick edged around Roxburghe, hobbled into the parlor, and took a seat beside the fireplace.