Page 28 of The Song of the Siren (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #2)

Fortune favours the brave.

Stonehaven turned the small pebble in his hand, his fingers moving restlessly over the smooth sides.

He had felt nothing but confusion when Sally had pressed it into the palm of his hand.

What did it mean? But after investigating the shape more closely, he had smiled, warmth expanding inside him as if she had gifted him something of infinite value. Which, of course, she had.

He heard footsteps moving steadily across the gravel path, but did not call out, having become used to the rhythm of the house.

It wasn’t Sally, for the steps were too heavy and slow.

At this hour, it would be George delivering vegetables from the garden to the kitchens.

He could just hear the clatter of pots and pans and the occasional laugh or remonstration from Mrs Adie.

Upstairs he could make out Mrs Mabbs' soft voice through an open window, playing a game of some sort with Caspar while Daisy sang a nonsense song and banged something with monotonous perseverance.

His mind drifted, taking him from the sheltered spot on the terrace, away from the domestic sounds and the pleasant breeze carrying the scent of autumn with ever-increasing insistence, and back to his room.

He felt the weight of Sally’s warm behind nestled in his lap, the soft undulations of her feminine shape that gave so sweetly as she pressed against him, the honeyed temptation of her lips that had set his entire body aflame with so little effort.

How easy it would have been to beg her to stay, to ease the pain and loneliness he felt gnawing at his insides like rats worrying a discarded bone.

He imagined taking her to his bed, his hands roving boldly over a figure he now knew was perfection in every curve. How delicious it would have been —

“My lord? Beggin’ your pardon—”

Stonehaven turned, recognising the maid Polly’s voice, wondering why she sounded so agitated.

“What is it, Polly?”

“There’s a gentleman, his lordship, d-dukeship—”

“Your grace,” corrected a stern voice. “The correct manner in which to address a duke is ‘your grace.’”

“Begging your p-pardon, Lord Stonehaven, your grace is here and—”

There was a sigh. “Yes, yes, close enough.”

The voice evinced a trace of impatience now, the precise, clipped tones enough to warn Stonehaven who had deigned to visit him. Hurried footsteps told him Polly had wisely taken the opportunity to bolt. Stonehaven envied her.

“Hawkney,” he said, not exactly relishing the munificence the duke’s call.

He knew Hawkney, obviously, but they were not friends.

Barely even acquaintances. Hawkney was a humourless bastard who thought Beaumarsh and Stonehaven gave the aristocracy a bad name.

He was all about his own consequence and a more stiff-rumped, cold fish Stonehaven had never met.

“Well, my cup runneth over. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m here visiting my grandmother. She told me of your… er… misfortune. Bad luck, old man.”

“Wasn’t it, though?” Stonehaven said, smiling and showing too many teeth.

Hawkney cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “Yes. Difficult for you.”

Stonehaven toyed with the idea of asking him what he thought was difficult about it, but decided he wasn’t that much of an arsehole.

“Stop looming and sit down,” he said gruffly. “Assuming you’re staying, and you didn’t just come to gawk at the invalid.”

“No. Good God, no!” Hawkney replied, sounding appalled. He sighed, a weary sound that made Stonehaven curious about what had brought him. “To tell you the truth, I’m escaping. I know we’re not exactly friends, but if I had to stay in that house a moment longer, I might have done murder.”

“Aha!” That made more sense. “I hear the dowager is in residence.”

“You hear correctly,” Hawkney replied tersely.

Stonehaven grinned. He knew the dowager duchess well and liked her immensely.

“Yes, yes, I know. You think she’s a game old bird, full of verve. Well, and so she might be if she’s not your grandmother. If she was about to expose your sister to a world, she ought never to set foot in, however, you might feel differently,” the duke muttered darkly.

“Oh?” Stonehaven asked, suddenly thoroughly intrigued.

“There’s some god-awful club in this town.

The reckless ladies, or some such nonsense.

Her grace has become their patroness, which is her own affair, for she’s too old and cantankerous for me to force her to my will, should I be fool enough to try that again.

But I will not let her make a spectacle of my sister and ruin her reputation into the bargain.

Damned if I will,” he added, such icy rage behind the words that Stonehaven pitied the sister.

“The Venturesome Ladies,” he corrected, struggling to keep the smile from his voice.

He wondered if Sally was a member, and hoped she was.

He admired Anne for her part in the club and wondered if she would grow to resent him for taking her away from that too, as well as the hotel. Likely she already did.

“You’ve heard of it?” Hawkney asked, outraged.

“Yes, Beaumarsh’s new countess began it,” he remarked, wishing he could see the man’s face. He could just picture his look of affront at this news. “Both the Honeywell sisters are members, too.”

“Honeywell? The vicar? He’s still here?” There was a different note to the duke’s voice now. He sounded almost pleased by the notion, but it did not last. “I would think a vicar might know better than to let the women of his congregation act in such a ramshackle manner.”

“Well, you must take that up with him, and I wish you luck. Honeywell is the kind of fellow who could persuade you black was white if he put his mind to the task.”

“You admire him,” Hawkney replied, sounding unsurprised.

“I do. He’s been remarkably kind, and is remarkably wise, even if he has a rather rosy view of the world that I cannot share.”

“Oh?”

“He thinks I should forgive the fellow who did this to me,” Stonehaven said, gesturing to his face.

“Good God! You can’t let the man off scot-free after entirely ruining your life! Where would society be if there were no punishments for crime?”

Stonehaven almost laughed at the easy way in which the duke assumed his life was nothing but dust and ashes. He was hardly in a position to disagree. Yet Hawkney’s certainty that he must punish the man who had injured him made a small, bloody-minded voice inside him react.

“He’s not a man, not much more than a boy, and a soused one at that. He thought I’d murdered his friend. I suppose in his position I might have acted as idiotically. I was hardly a model of sobriety myself at that age, you might remember.”

“You’re defending him?” Hawkney asked, stunned.

“No,” Stonehaven replied, feeling irritable himself as he realised that was exactly what he was doing. “Just giving you a correct estimation of the event.”

“Well, you’re a deal more forgiving than I would be,” the duke said, his tone grim. “You’re no ordinary man to be so attacked. The French Revolution is still a lively memory in many minds, and I’d prefer to keep my head, thank you very much.”

Stonehaven considered what he knew of Hawkney.

He was a solitary figure who moved through society but did not appear to be a part of it.

He kept at a distance via his relentless respect for his own consequence and Stonehaven could not think of a single person who actually liked him. What a miserable state of affairs.

There was an increasingly uncomfortable silence as Stonehaven racked his brain for something to say to the man. The duke was apparently having no better luck himself as the silence stretched thin.

“Well. I shall leave you to… to your morning,” Hawkney said awkwardly, at a loss to imagine what a blind man might find to occupy himself.

To be fair, Stonehaven didn’t know either.

“If there’s anything I can do, please do not hesitate to ask.

I would be pleased to send my own physician to take a look at you.

He’s an excellent fellow, the best in London, actually.

I imagine you’ve consulted your own rather than risking the local quack. ”

Stonehaven resisted the urge to smile. “No, actually, the local quack is an excellent fellow. Young and progressive. I’ve received first rate treatment. You ought not to write off the locals quite so easily, Hawkney. People won’t like you for it.”

Though he could not see the man, Stonehaven felt him stiffen at the criticism. “Ah, yes. I always take great care to consider what people think of me,” he said, his tone dry. “Good day to you, Stonehaven. I wish you all the best.”

Stonehaven thanked him, wondering what the duke’s best would be for him.

A safe little padded room where he could do himself no harm, perhaps?

The idea terrified Stonehaven, a fear so profound that it cast his terror of falling down the stairs or making a fool of himself in public in a very different light.

“Bugger that,” he said out loud, tucking the small stone carefully into his waistcoat pocket and pushing to his feet.

Using his hands stretched out around him, he moved toward the back wall of the house, finding it rather closer and at a different angle to that which he’d expected.

Reorientating himself, he kept his fingers against the wall, moving until he found the door frame.

With one toe, he tapped the steps, assuring himself of their position and height, before going back indoors.

“Anyone there?” he called, cautiously making his way back along the corridor. “Polly?”

Hurried footsteps sounded from downstairs. He recognised them, he realised, and the opening of a door had him turning back towards the servant’s stairs.

“My lord? You wanted me?” Polly sounded out of breath, and he smiled at her eagerness to be of help.

“Yes. Would you be so good as to fetch George for me?”