by Robyn DeHart
“We’re doing well. Continuing to increase in profit,” Justin said.
“I’ll dig into them tonight. By the by, looks as if you might have gotten a love letter,” Mr. Clipps said, nodding to the pile of post sitting on his desk. He took a bite of whatever Mrs. Clipps had packed for him that evening.
Justin inhaled. “Is that roast beef?”
The man nodded and mumbled something with his mouth full. “Want some?”
Justin was tempted, it smelled delicious and he knew Mrs. Clipps was an accomplished cook. “No.” He walked over to see what letter the man was talking about. There on the desk amidst other pieces of post—mostly bank notes and the like paying off debts—sat an envelope addressed, not to Rodale’s, but rather directly to Mr. Justin Rodale. The penmanship was decidedly feminine. He snatched up the envelope.
Mr. Clipps chuckled. “Expecting that one, were you?”
“No, merely curious.” He’d be a liar if he said he didn’t hope that this letter gave him some information about the identity of his mother. He had searched for so long, had sent out so many inquiries and followed so many leads that had, in the end, led to nothing but disappointment. But he wouldn’t need to utter that hope aloud even though Clipps had been with him through most of his search.
Justin went and sat at his own desk and opened the envelope. It was an invitation to have dinner with Marcus and Vivian when they returned to London the following day. A pleasant surprise, but certainly not the one he’d been hoping for. He ignored the surge of disappointment that shuttered through him.
“So what does the lady have to say?” Mr. Clipps asked after Justin dropped the parchment onto his desk.
“It is an invitation for dinner.”
Clipps’ eyebrows rose. “More invitations to join into proper Society. Too bad your damned father isn’t alive to see it,” he said.
“Yes, too bad.” He glanced back at the invitation knowing this meant he’d get to see Clarissa in a more formal setting. But it did beg the question as to whether or not Clarissa arrange for her beau to be there too?
Justin knew, though, that while George did frequent his establishment, he played billiards and the occasional game of hazard, and he was always lucky. He might have debts somewhere else, but certainly not at Rodale’s.
Perhaps that was the truth. Perhaps Wilbanks gambled more heavily at a less reputable hell and he hadn’t wanted to tell her the truth. Either way, Justin would wager Wilbanks never expected Clarissa to attempt to pay his debts on her own.
Over the years, even though he no longer had a connection to her family, he’d followed the gossip about Clarissa Kincaid out of curiosity. Or, more to the point, the absolute lack of gossip. Clarissa’s reputation was as spotless as a chandelier at one of the Ton’s parties. At least, it had been until the moment she’d stepped out of the carriage and onto the doorstep of his gaming hell. No one could have predicted she would do something so reckless. So brazen. But Vivian March, now Vivian Kincaid, had worked her particular form of magic and salvaged Clarissa’s reputation. Of course, that was unless someone had seen her arrive at his townhome earlier that evening. He’d wager not, she’d kept herself pretty well hidden in that cloak.
“Clipps, I want you to find out what you can on George Wilbanks.”
“Interesting,” Clipps said. He absently rubbed at the thick stubble on his chin.
“In what way?”
Clipps shrugged. “I thought we were done with that issue. You see Lady Blue-eyes again?”
Justin couldn’t help but smile. “I did. And she is in that wager book downstairs. If the man lied to her once, he’ll likely do it again. I merely want to uncover any other secrets he might have and give her all the information possible so she can decide to marry him knowing his faults as well as his merits. I’m suspicious that he prefers to spend the bulk of his coin at a different establishment. One not as acceptable as ours.”
“Probably right. There are lots of those places willing to take wagers on all manner of things.”
Justin leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his abdomen. “I want to know everything though. What he plays, who he plays with, how much he wagers, side wagers, all of it.”
“Consider it done.” Clipps nodded, then stood to leave.
“Have you discovered anything about the other matter I asked you to look into?” Justin asked.
Clipps rocked back on his heels. “Another dead end, I’m afraid.”
Justin nodded and Clipps slipped out the door.
“Bloody hell.” Another dead end. This was the third one in the last two months. His father had told him he would never discover his mother’s real identity, and damned if the man hadn’t been right. But Justin refused to give up. The right evidence had to be out there, he merely needed to find it. While he looked into his mother’s identity, he would also do his best to ensure Chrissy was protected from making a huge mistake. Everything Justin knew about George right now indicated he was quite similar to Justin’s father. Selfish and dishonest. The last thing he’d want to see is Chrissy married off to someone like that.
…
The following day Justin decided it was time to pay a call on his half-brother. Some days being the brother of the Duke of Chanceworth had its benefits. The man knew practically everyone in town. While Clipps was looking into what Wilbanks did outside of Rodale’s, Roe might be able to give Justin information as to the man’s reputation in Society.
The ride to Roe’s townhome gave Justin enough time to consider the current situation. What he needed to decide was to what lengths he would go to deter Clarissa’s intent to marry Wilbanks. Distracting her with kisses might only take him so far. It would seem that no matter what the plan it would require him to return once again to proper Society. Ever since Vivian had seen to it that he’d been invited to some parties a couple months before, the invitations continued to arrive. He politely sent declines, but perhaps now he should accept a few.
He glanced up at the townhome before him. Five stories of brown bricks and white arched windows. Justin owned a similar one now, but this one definitely came with memories.
He remembered being a boy in their father’s house. They’d had a ball once when Justin and Roe had been home from school for some reason or another. The duke had coldly instructed Justin to stay upstairs out of sight, since he was not truly a member of their family. The duchess had been mortified, gone to Justin’s defense, but her words had fallen on deaf ears. Justin had spent the evening hiding at the top of the stairs, listening to the music and the party guests laugh. He’d even seen a couple sneak into the darkened spot behind the stairs for some heated kissing.
Normally, he wouldn’t bother to meet his brother here. He didn’t care for the Chanceworth townhome. But, today, they had nothing set up and he needed to speak with him. He knocked and was admitted into the duke’s study to wait for his brother. Justin stood in the room glancing around at all the antiquities their father had collected. The man had been particularly fond of Chinese abacuses, and so there were at least fifteen of them in all different styles and mediums.
The first time Justin had stood in this room he’d been a boy of only twelve, and his mother, or at least the woman who’d raised him, had fallen ill and brought him to live with his father. That had been the same day he’d found out that Eloise Rodale, the woman with whom he’d lived with until that moment, was not his real mother. She’d certainly treated him as a mother would treat a son, loving, yet stern when she’d needed to be.
His father hadn’t been too keen on the bastard son showing up on his doorstep. The duke had been completely prepared to turn the boy out on his own, but the duchess had come in, heard the commotion and come to Justin’s aid. She’d demanded her husband claim him in some capacity and Justin had been welcomed into the home, educated alongside their son, the heir, Monroe. It had taken the death of their father for Roe to be willing to accept him, and Justin couldn’t say he blamed him. He’d be
en so damned angry with their father, he hadn’t been worth being around when they were younger. It was one of the reasons he’d spent so much time at the Kincaid family’s home, to be around what he’d deemed a happy family.
Roe stepped into the room. “Damnation, Rodale, how many times must I tell you not to come this bloody early in the morning?”
Roe was disheveled. There was no other word to describe him. His shirt was undone, he wore no waistcoat, and he hadn’t bothered to put on shoes. Red lines cobwebbed across his eyes indicating he’d once again had an extremely late night.
Justin chuckled. “Dear brother, it is nearly noon, that hardly constitutes as being bloody early. Perhaps if you would go to sleep before sunrise you might be more amenable to the daylight hours.”
Roe tossed himself down on the sofa and glared at his brother. “Yes, but it is in those late hours that the best players come out. I cannot abide to play Vingt-et-un with those who aren’t skilled, you know that.”
Justin sat in the wing-backed chair adjacent to the sofa. “Yes, I do know that. Did you win?”
He stacked his bare feet on the occasional table in front of the sofa. “Of course, I always win,” Roe said with a lazy shrug. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “Now, to what do I owe the honor of your intrusion?”
“What do you know of George Wilbanks?” There was no need to be anything but direct when it came to communicating with his brother.
Roe cracked open one eye. “What do want with him?”
“Curiosity, Roe, humor me.”
“Very well, let me see, George Wilbanks.” Roe puffed out a breath. “His father, the Viscount, is older than Christ, but the man refuses to die thus leaving George to survive on a regulated allowance. The old man must be approaching eighty, yet he still thrives in Parliament.”
“And George is annoyed that his father won’t die?”
Roe chuckled. “I suppose he is. Honestly, I don’t know George well. He doesn’t play Vingt-et-un, prefers billiards, I believe.” Roe was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “Oh, and I believe I heard once that he enjoys boxing.”
“He plays billiards when he goes to Rodale’s,” Justin said.
“You do not offer boxing.”
“True. It’s a risky form of wagering. Giving them permission to beat each other in one room encourages them to do so in the other rooms.” Justin shook his head. “No boxing at Rodale’s.”
“Of course not.” Roe bracketed his hands behind his head and looked at Justin.
“Is that all you know?”
Roe tilted his head. “You know I don’t pay much attention to gossip unless it is about me. That I find infinitely amusing.”
“Think, Roe, people talk, especially when they play cards and drink. You must have heard something about the bloke over the years.”
“Demanding this morning, aren’t you? He likes women,” Roe said. Then he rolled his eyes. “A lot of women.”
“Does that mean he has several mistresses?”
“No, nothing like that. Don’t think he could afford one mistress let alone multiple ones. I meant that he enjoys having more than one woman. I believe I heard that he has a handful of ladies he courts, makes promises to, but has no intentions to follow through with any of them.”
Justin exhaled slowly. “And I’m the bastard.”
“Why the interest?”
“There’s a wager at Rodale’s about whom he’ll end up marrying. Evidently the viscount has made him an ultimatum that he must marry before the old man dies. Clarissa is on that list.”
Roe’s brows shot up. “Should have known this was about a skirt. You marry her first. Problem solved.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t even suggest that.”
“Suit yourself, but it would get you what you want,” Roe said.
Justin didn’t comment. He might want Clarissa, but he could not have her.
Roe yawned, stretched his legs out in front of him. “Anything else of interest in your life right now?”
Clarissa was masquerading as a financial solicitor, but that was her secret he’d agreed to keep. Though Justin knew Roe would merely find it amusing, not scandalous. “Marcus and his new wife invited me to dinner.”
Roe smiled. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay out of Society forever. They lure you in like a worm on a hook.”
“They might invite me to attend parties, but I will never be accepted as anything more than a bastard.”
“Perhaps, but you are a particularly wealthy bastard and the brother of a duke. Certainly my name counts for something in your favor.”
“That is doubtful,” Justin said. “You are far too disagreeable, not to mention vexing and spoiled.”
Roe shrugged. “I do my best. I suppose Clarissa will be at this dinner?”
“I suppose she will be there as well. The invitation did not come with a complete guest list.”
“See you could begin your courtship there, make your intensions known to her brother.”
“I’m certain Marcus would be thrilled with that prospect.” Though Justin could argue that he himself was certainly a better choice than George Wilbanks. Still he could never court her, not with serious intentions regardless of how tempting that suggestion had been. She was a daughter of the Ton, and he would always be nothing more than the boy hiding at the top of the stairs.
…
Clarissa stood in front of the mirror as her maid put the finishing touches on the back of her dress. Ella burst into the room and the maid jumped, clutching her chest and muttering something in Gaelic. “Una, you may go now. Thank you.” Clarissa dismissed the maid who was smiling shakily now.
“I didn’t mean to frighten her,” Ella said. She crossed the room and sat in one of the chairs situated in front of the window.
“She’s a jumpy one, that one.” Clarissa eyed her friend. “You have gossip. I can always tell when you have something you want to say because you purse your lips and smile at the same time. I’ve actually tried to do it in the mirror before. It’s not an easy expression to make.”
Ella gave her a full smile. “I do no such thing.
Clarissa joined Ella and sat in the opposite chair. “Spill it, Ella.”
“Oh very well. So I overheard Victor and two other friends chatting in my dad’s study. Appears there is a wager going around regarding George.”
“About his father forcing him to marry. I only just heard that rumor last night,” Clarissa said.
“Then you know about the wager?”
Clarissa’s heart stuttered. “No, I don’t believe I heard anything about that.”
“Well, the good news, I don’t think you have anything to be overly concerned about because Franny Cooper is, at the moment, at the top of the betting pool.”
Clarissa shook her head. “Wait, you have to start over, I have no notion of what you’re talking about.”
“There’s evidently a wager at Rodale’s about which woman George will marry,” Ella said.
Clarissa’s heart pounded, then she remembered what Ella had said just before. “But they think his bride will be Franny Cooper?”
“Precisely.”
“And why is that the good news? Ella, you know that I want to marry George.”
Ella nodded slowly. “Well, I know that you have wanted that, yes, but I thought once you knew how callous he was being, allowing you to be the object of a wager, I thought you’d change your mind.”
“Why ever would I do a silly thing like that?”
“Because he’s obviously entertaining the idea of marrying a variety of women. Don’t you find that the least bit offensive?”
She did. It hurt, especially after she’d developed such strong feelings for George and she’d thought they’d been reciprocated. “He might not have made the list himself.”
“I suppose that is true.” But Ella seemed unconvinced. “You and Franny Cooper are so very different though.”
“I believe you mus
t know more about her than I do.” Clarissa had met the girl on a handful of occasions and she seemed friendly enough. “What is it about her that makes her so different? Other than the obvious that she’s taller and thinner and more exotic looking?”
Ella’s features scrunched. “She’s more worldly, brazen, bold. My mother’s friends find her a vastly interesting bit of conversation. They’re always exchanging stories about some of Franny’s behavior. There are rumors that she enjoys men stealing kisses in the moonlight, but as far as I know no one has caught her.”
“So it’s all speculation,” Clarissa said.
“I suppose, but you’ve seen her, the dresses she wears. She’s certainly more brazen than either one of us.”
Brazen and worldly. Perhaps that was why George hadn’t yet proposed to her.
“We should probably get downstairs for the dinner party,” Ella said. “I only wanted to discuss this with you beforehand. Though the conversation didn’t exactly go the way I’d planned.”
“Ella, you’ll still love me and be my dearest friend if I become George’s wife, won’t you?”
Ella smiled warmly. “Of course.”
“You go ahead, I’ll be down in just a moment.” Ella left her alone and once again Clarissa stood in front of the mirror. The dress did accent her curves nicely, but the blond ringlets clashed with her womanly figure. There was nothing brazen or worldly about her.
She’d certainly felt both of those things in Justin’s arms, while he’d kissed her, while she’d kissed him back without thought to how her behavior might be perceived. Her dear, late sister-in-law, Rebecca, would no-doubt have been horrified by that, but it had been a different time when she’d met and married Charles. Things were different now, women needed more than a big dowry to catch a man’s eye. Perhaps it was time for Clarissa to start thinking about how she could get George’s attention for good. She might not know how to be worldly and brazen, but she was a quick study.
