As Marlowe continued to hesitate, Rhys decided subtlety was not going to work. “It took me all afternoon to locate any of Graham’s ‘sixty-two for you,” he confessed with a smile. “You must at least have one drink with us, so my efforts do not go to waste. Besides,” he added, lest the other man continue to fear for the virtue of his sisters, “I am celebrating my engagement to Miss Prudence Abernathy.”
Marlowe sat down in the offered chair. “I heard that was broken off.”
“I seem to be the only one unaware of that particular piece of news,” Rhys replied as he and Wes resumed their seats. “I noticed the Social Gazette devoted their entire society page to the matter of our broken engagement in today’s edition.”
The mention of one of his newspapers made the viscount grin. “Are you denying the story?”
“Oh, yes. Emphatically. I am marrying Prudence Abernathy.”
“The lady seems to feel otherwise.”
Rhys attempted to look apologetic as he poured wine for their guest. “I have never handled rejection well. You may quote me, if you like.”
“Is that why you went to all this effort to acquire my favorite wine and arrange an introduction at my club? A club, I might add, of which you are not a member. Because you wish to tell your side of the story?”
“Not at all. What your newspapers say about me, true or not, is of no concern to me.”
“My newspapers only print what is true,” Marlowe hastened to say. “But if that isn’t your purpose, I must assume you are asking my permission to pay a call upon her at my home, though how you learned so quickly she was staying with us baffles me.”
Rhys blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“You didn’t know?”
“I did not.” He shook his head, utterly fogged. “Why would Miss Abernathy be staying in your house?”
“My wife is a close friend of hers and invited her to stay with us. Her trunks arrived this morning. I thought you’d found out somehow and were finagling for an invitation to call.”
Rhys didn’t know if Prudence staying with the viscount and his wife would help or hinder his plans, but at the moment he didn’t care. He had other fish to fry. “No, I arranged this ‘accidental’ meeting with you, Marlowe, because I wished to talk with you about the business of book publishing.”
Marlowe picked up his glass and leaned back in his chair. “If your intent was to pique my curiosity, Duke, you’ve succeeded.”
“Good.” Rhys smiled and lifted his glass. “Because it may prove quite lucrative for both of us.”
Chapter 17
What is it about being in love that turns an ordinarily rational British gentleman into an idiot?
—Talk of the Town, 1894
William Fane stood opposite number 32 Little Russell Street, his eye on the entrance to the prim, lace-curtained lodging house on the opposite side, trying not to pace back and forth and draw attention to himself. He’d been here for six hours now, his tension growing with each passing moment.
Every time he caught sight of a woman walking along the street, he caught his breath, hoping this time it would be Nancy. The servant at Miss Abernathy’s former lodging house had not known the whereabouts of Miss Prudence’s maid, but that disappointing announcement had been followed by the surprising news that Miss Woddell was actually expected at Little Russell Street. A letter was waiting for her from Miss Prudence, Fane was told, and she was expected to claim it sometime today. But as the minutes crawled by and she did not appear, he began to fear the worst.
Perhaps she was ill, he thought with alarm. He pulled out his watch. Half past three. Surely by now—
He glanced up and saw a woman in a willow-green dress coming along the opposite side of the street. He didn’t need to see the flash of her fiery red hair beneath a prim straw bonnet to know it was Nancy. Her slender figure and the graceful way she walked told him that. Relieved, he put away his watch.
She entered the building and a few minutes later she reappeared, her letter in hand. He waited until she turned to start back the way she’d come, then crossed the street, quickening his steps to catch up to her.
“Miss Woddell?” he called.
She glanced over her shoulder, and when she caught sight of him, a scowl appeared on her freckled face and her pretty green eyes narrowed. But then she turned away as if she hadn’t even seen him.
“Miss Woddell—Nancy, wait!” He walked faster, and so did she, but his longer legs gave him an advantage. He easily caught up and fell in step beside her. “I’ve been waiting all day, hoping for an opportunity to speak with you.”
She didn’t look at him. “We have nothing to say to each other, Mr. Fane.”
“The policeman came by twice on his round while I waited. He gave me quite a suspicious glare the second time, and told me to move along. If he sees me still lingering in the neighborhood on his third round, I shall be probably be arrested.”
“No doubt you would talk your way out of that with some story or other. Perhaps he’ll be impressed by the fact that you are valet to an Italian count. Oh, no, wait.” She shot him a resentful glance. “You’re not really the valet to Count Roselli, husband of Princess Eugenie. That was a lie.”
“You must let me explain.”
“Must I, indeed?” She tilted her nose a little higher in the air. “Who are you to tell me what I must do?”
“You have every right to be angry, but please listen to me, Nancy. Give me the chance to tell you my side of things.”
She didn’t reply. Nor did she attempt to cross to the other side of the street to evade him, and William took that as encouragement.
“I was valet for Count Roselli prior to his marriage. When he wed Princess Eugenie, he wanted me to stay on, but I fancied a change, and that’s when I became valet to the duke. I have been in his employ for five years.”
She stopped at the corner, looked both ways, and crossed the street, pretending to be oblivious to his presence.
William persevered. “I’ve enjoyed my position with His Grace,” he said as they both stepped onto the opposite curb, “and being his valet has given me the opportunity to travel a great deal. I’ve learned many things working for him—” He broke off, thinking perhaps he’d better steer clear of that topic, for not all the things he’d learned were quite aboveboard. “His Grace has been a good employer, very generous—at least, when he’s in funds. He’s easy to please and possesses a fine wit. And he is a duke, and a most affable, courteous gentleman in every way.”
Those words generated a reaction, though not perhaps a favorable one. She made a sound of disdain. “That you would think so highly of a scoundrel, Mr. Fane, does not surprise me in the least.”
She veered sharply to her left and marched into a small, modest dressmaking establishment. Without hesitation, William followed her.
“When I take on a position,” he said, ignoring the stares he received from the ladies in the shop, “I do my duty to my gentleman.”
Nancy glanced at him over her shoulder as she walked toward the counter. “Go away,” she said in a whisper, looking appalled. “This is a ladies’ shop. You can’t be in here.”
“I am a loyal valet,” he said stubbornly, still following her. “When His Grace asked me to find out what Miss Abernathy’s plans were, I did the best I could to fulfill his orders.”
“Orders?” She stopped in the center of the room and turned so abruptly he almost cannoned into her. “You lied to me.”
He looked into her face, and the pain he saw there hurt him, too. “I know, and I regret that, Nancy, believe me, I do. But it was necessary. Miss Abernathy might have discovered that the duke was—”
“Was what?” she asked when he stopped. “Spying on her?”
He swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“So you lied along with him. Did you ever intend to tell me the truth?”
“No.”
She made a sound of derision and started to turn away, but his next words stopped her. “I’ve left the duke’s employ,” he said. “I have resigned my post.”
She paused. “Have you?” she asked, head turned to the side, refusing to look at him. “Why should I care?”
William ignored that question. “Given the circumstances, I feel I can no longer work for him.”
“I don’t see why not,” she shot back. “Birds of a feather do flock together.”
She turned away, and he couldn’t bear it. He grabbed her arms to keep her where she was. “Nancy—”
“Let go of me,” she said, and tried to pull free of his grasp, but William did not let her go, afraid that if he did, he’d never have another chance with her. And he wanted that chance more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.
“Nancy, I resigned because I had to,” he explained, still holding her arms and ignoring the appalled whispers of the ladies. “A valet can’t marry. It isn’t done.”
She stopped trying to pull free. She stared up at him, her green eyes narrowing. “And who,” she asked through clenched teeth, “do you think you’ll be marrying?”