The Irresistible Miss Peppiwell(54)

Anthony froze at Calvert’s sudden stillness.

“Miss Phillipa Peppiwell?” he asked.

“Yes, what of it?”

Calvert gave him the most curious stare. “Why do you want to speak with her?”

Both Sebastian and Anthony measured Calvert carefully. Anthony’s heart stalled, wondering how Orwell had embroiled her in whatever schemes he had set in motion. “The lady and I have an understanding. I will be speaking to her father this afternoon. At least, I’d planned to. I shall, after sorting out this mess.”

“Damnation.” Calvert raked his hands through his too-long hair.

“What is it?” Anthony growled, fearing the worst. Had Orwell started rumors of Phillipa’s abduction, as well?

“Lord Hoyt was at that investors’ meeting. He announced to everyone there his imminent engagement to Miss Peppiwell.”

Betrayal shafted his insides, and he fought against the emotions that swamped him.

The lady had every right to beg off, but he could not credit that she would do so in such a cowardly manner, without speaking to him first.

“There is more,” Calvert said sympathetically. “My mother had morning callers, and I heard whispers that some of the ladies plan to give your sister, Constance, the cut direct.”

The curses that came from Sebastian were some of the most virulent Anthony had ever heard. He struggled to keep a calm facade in the face of them and his own rage. “Thank you, my friend, for letting us know.”

Calvert rose, shook his hand, and departed.

“I must go to Constance at once.” Anthony’s mind churned as he gathered the piles of paper from the report and shoved them into the file jacket. “You say she is with Mother?”

“I will come with you.”

He looked into the hard, angry face of his brother, shocked at the offer. Sebastian had not spoken to their mother in over a decade. Anthony wagered now would not be the best time for that first meeting. “Not necessary. Constance knows you adore her. But I really need to speak with her first.”

Anthony saw Sebastian’s disapproval, but he gave a short nod. “So, you made Miss Peppiwell an offer, after all,” Sebastian growled, addressing the matter Anthony had determined to avoid. It must wait until after he’d dealt with his sister.

“I sent a note to Sherring Cross to let you know.” He dismissed the concern in his brother’s gaze and fought against the rage at how easy she’d deserted him.

The first hint of rumors of his illegitimacy, and she’d crumbled? Good God. She had seemed so fearless, so disdainful of Society. He’d actually believed she would wed him even knowing he was a bastard. He had planned to tell her everything this afternoon, before speaking to her father. What a gullible fool he had been.

He turned his mind from his rioting thoughts and focused on Sebastian.

“Humboldt arrived with news that Lord Orwell’s lackeys paid him a visit.” Humboldt was their family lawyer, and a powerful man in his own right.

“Why?”

“Orwell wanted the papers father left. Humboldt refused, of course,” Sebastian said.

Which explained why Newport’s offices had been ransacked, and the papers forcibly taken from Anthony’s own attorney instead.

The brass balls of Orwell stunned Anthony. “Lord Orwell is growing too bold.” He relayed to Sebastian about Phillipa’s abduction and his rescue of her and about Newport’s break-in.

“The hell, you say!” Sebastian snapped in outrage.

Anthony pushed the report across the table toward him. “It’s all here. There is no doubt who is responsible for spreading the details of my illegitimacy.”

If possible, Sebastian went colder. “I will crush him,” Sebastian swore.

Anthony laughed mirthlessly. “You will need to get in line. Unfortunately, he has closed his houses and fled. He was last seen boarding a ship for the Continent.”

“The bloody coward.”

Anthony blew out a long, long, calming breath. “I find that I am more affected by Phillipa’s desertion than Society learning I am a bastard,” he said, meeting Sebastian’s gaze unflinchingly. It took a hell of a lot to admit that.

“You love her?”

Anthony filled his glass with more port. “It is not like you to talk of love. I thought you did not believe in the notion.”

“I do not believe in it for myself. That doesn’t mean I don’t want you to find love,” Sebastian growled.

Anthony nodded. His brother had endured a bitter betrayal at the hands of a woman who’d claimed she adored him, so he could understand his cynicism. “I do love her. She is intelligent and passionate and finds the whirl of the haute monde tedious, the people lacking sincerity. Sentiments I agree with. However, it seems the lady has fallen prey to those same faults.” The words tasted bitter.