Affair of Pretense

Fourteen

Despite their efforts to hush up the previous night's incident, it fell in the ears of the Duke of Montmaine in due course. The information was met with a towering rage, not so much as on behalf of poor William having been shot, but by the fact that someone had actually had the temerity to poach on Stanfield's most hallowed grounds. "By God, what damn impudence! That scoundrel! Miscreant! Let me lay my hands on him and I'd deliver him to the devil myself—!" spatted his grace acrimoniously.

The Marquis favoured his grandfather with a gaze of amused irony during this tirade of condemnation to the unidentified malefactor. "I'm afraid you will have a rather hard time to apprehend the culprit, sir," he returned calmly. "More importantly, William's condition gave a turn for the worse last night. Although Mrs Morgan was helpful, I wish we had called for the doctor sooner."

"Hayes is looking after him right now so he should be fine!" his grace told him. "Has the magistrate been notified of this? I should hope they are doing something to prevent these rogues from doing as they damned well pleased! Poachers and smugglers—! Damn them all to hell!"

"I have it all arranged. However, I feel the need to remind you, sir, that your recent quarrel with the Justice of Peace might have prompted a sense of disinclination in his part."

The Duke's eyes sparkled with wrath. "Oh, is it?" said his grace, his lips curling. "Is it, indeed? You may inform that upstart Lincoln that he could not just go about accusing someone to have dealings with smugglers! By God! His effrontery to suggest, bold as brass, that these miscreants have my cove at their disposals certainly beat all the bounds of what was enough! He's a greater fool than I take him for if he would let his pettiness get in the way of his obligations."

"It's certainly unfortunate that he is lacking of tact occasionally," Denver observed. "But I believe him to be a man of judicious nature, however outspoken he may be."

"Well, he need not take offense when I sent him about his business after hurling ill-concealed insults at me! And what maggot had gotten into that young fool's brain, traipsing outside at a very late hour in the night, I should like to know?"

"That," replied Denver, opening his snuff box, "is something I have yet to discover."

"I'm out of patience with him! First, succumbing to illness, and now an accident! Good God! If he engaged in another tomfoolery, I'd throw him out of this house! Hugo's cosseting the boy excessively! Being Isabella's son, you'd think William has enough sense but no—! Must have taken after Langford: a little bit touched in his upper works!"

"On the contrary, I should think he's too rigid where William is concerned. If he would relent a little towards him, he might rectify his brother's er — bizarre habits."

"He damn well should! In any case, it's their affair! I won't concern my head unnecessarily over the Langfords!" Observing his grandson keenly, the Duke demanded, "You have something to tell me, I gather?"

"Indeed I have," replied the Marquis, his gaze meeting the Duke's sharp one. "With your permission, sir, I would like to take Georgie to London soon."

"How soon?" demanded his grace sharply.

"I'm looking towards the end of the month."

Montmaine's withered lips curled. "And if I don't allow it, sirrah?"

"Then I would, by all means, have to appeal upon your sensible self, sir," said Denver coolly. "Do but consider: would you want Georgie to be stuck here at Stanfield for the next two months with nothing but her cousins as company? Whereas if I would bring her to London, she would have time to meet the people she ought to meet long before the Season begins. Moreover, there are still preparations to be made: her presentation at Court should be arranged — "