Capturing the Devil (Stalking Jack the Ripper #4)(62)
The Duke of Portland, Lord Richard Abbott Cresswell, reminded me of a slightly older, more cunning version of Thomas. He was intimidating not only in stature but in the intelligent gleam in his eyes as well. A flutter of unease settled under my skin. His dark hair was a shade or two lighter, but the structure of their faces was unmistakable. He eyed me as if I were a vase full of freshly cut flowers. Pleasing, but not worthy of much attention aside from a cursory glance.
I tried not to fidget on the settee Thomas had guided us to. My father and
grandmother were fanned out to either side of us, sitting regally in two high-back chairs. The duke was on the settee directly across from us. Sir Isaac, unimpressed by Lord Cresswell, curled up near Thomas’s feet. All we needed was a painter to capture this most uncomfortable joining of our families. I must have been close to hysterics, because the thought almost made me laugh.
“Was all of this”—the duke motioned around the room—“truly necessary?
I’d have thought you’d outgrown your theatrics by now. Miss Whitehall’s family certainly won’t approve of such behavior. Private matters do not require an audience. You ought to have some couth. It’s a wonder Miss Wadsworth’s family have tolerated you thus far.”
“On the contrary.” My father set his tea down. “We find your son to be most agreeable, Your Grace. He’s been a pleasant addition to our household and has brought out the best in my daughter.”
“As she has in me, Lord Wadsworth,” Thomas said, the picture of impeccable manners. I imagined by his use of “lord” he was reminding his father that my family was also part of the peerage. “Which is why I’m so thrilled you traveled all this way, Father. Now you’ve had the pleasure of meeting your soon-to-be daughter-in-law, Miss Audrey Rose. Shame you’ll miss the wedding. You’re leaving for England when?”
The duke adopted the regretful look of someone who hated that they had bad news to share, though a certain glint in his eyes belied the fact that he might enjoy delivering it. He turned that calculating gaze on me. “You’re exceptionally lovely, Miss Wadsworth, and I wish I could welcome you into our family. I truly do, but I’m afraid Thomas is already promised to another. Most unfortunate—
and embarrassing—to drag your family into this, though I’m sure you understand I cannot deny the marquess’s wishes. It would be most…
impractical.”
I drew in a breath, hoping to leash myself before I sprang across the parlor and strangled the duke in front of too many witnesses. How impractical indeed to marry for love. Were my title that of a duchess or marchioness, I was sure he’d welcome me quickly enough.
It was my grandmother—who believed leashes were meant for mutts, not people—who spoke first. “I trust you’re knowledgeable about the peerage system in India,” she said, lifting her chin in challenge. “The very one Her Imperial Majesty was so kind to implement after that messy war business between our countries.”
Thomas clutched my hand in his. Grandmama’s tone was cordial enough,
though the way she sat taller in her chair and clicked her walking stick when she said “war” hinted otherwise. Lord Cresswell blinked slowly, realizing he was approaching a trap of some sort, but unable to locate an escape. “Indeed. Her Majesty was right in knighting a few deserving families.”
“Mm. Were you aware she also granted a baronetcy to a select few?” she asked, a catlike purr in her voice. The duke shook his head. “Ah, well. I suppose foreign affairs are quite boring to a man such as yourself. You must be extremely busy, ordering people about.”
“When I’m not traveling the Continent, I spend most of my time in London.”
He smiled wanly. “I find the city air suits me more so than the country. Sadly, there are too many pig farms for it to be pleasant in the summer.”
“I imagine keeping company with pigs would be loathsome,” Grandmama said.
Thomas held my hand so tightly I nearly lost feeling in my fingertips. I stole a glance at him, noticing the unencumbered glee on his face. He might have just fallen in love with my grandmother. My father called for another tea service, looking like he wished for brandy instead.
“Well”—Lord Cresswell clapped his hands together—“this has been lovely.
I’m afraid I must take my leave with my son and—”
Thomas pulled out the letter he’d received from the barrister, passing it over to his father with smug satisfaction. “Apologies, Father, but I’m afraid you’ll be traveling back to England alone. Unless you’d prefer to stay here. I could always send this information to the House of Lords. I’m sure forgery and blackmail aren’t qualities they openly enjoy in the peerage.”
I watched Thomas’s father closely, expecting to see an outward sign of defeat. Or fear. Thomas had practically declared him a criminal in front of my family. The scandal alone could cause quite a nasty issue for him. He calmly folded the letter back up and slid it across the table, his expression neutral.
“Oh, Thomas. You really ought to pay better attention to detail.” He stood, straightening his suit jacket. “That letter was no forgery. You left a curious amount of signed sheets in your room prior to leaving for Romania. I simply filled out the rest according to your verbal wishes.”
“That’s a lie! I never—”