A Marquis to Marry (13 page)

Race uncrossed his arms and leaned forward. “I’m worried about you. Damnation, Gib, you had me dreaming that you were getting pummeled by a rotund, balding man named Prattle while his spinster sister stood by and laughed. So you’re damned right something is wrong with me.”

“Hell’s bells, Race.” Gibby laughed good-naturedly. “I didn’t know you were given to nightmares. You need something to put you in a better disposition. What are you drinking?”

“Something strong,” he muttered, trying to hold on to his annoyance, but with Gibby, that was a hard thing to do. He was just so damned likable.

Race looked down and saw a glass in front of Gibby that looked like it had milk in it. It must be some new concoction the club had come up with. “What are you drinking?”

“Milk.”

Race couldn’t think of any drink that would be good in milk except a very sweet, very strong liqueur. Given his bad humor, that would work for him.

“I’ll have whatever it is you are drinking.”

Gibby motioned to the server, pointed to his glass, and then held up two fingers.

“Now, tell me why you didn’t inform me the Duchess of Blooming was after your grandmother’s pearls? I thought you two were just out for an afternoon stroll.”

Race was taken aback by Gibby’s terse question. And was that anger he saw in Gib’s dark brown eyes?

“We were just out for a stroll until we met you, and I couldn’t very well introduce her to you as the duchess who wants my inheritance from Grandmother, now could I?”

“No, but you could have told me about her when you told Morgan and Blake. Why am I always the last one to know what goes on in this family?”

Race felt his own ire rise again. “What I’d like to know is why everyone in this family is suddenly feeling left out if they don’t know everything about my affairs before I know it?”

“Well, I do feel left out,” Gib said. “I don’t like being the last one to know what is going on with you three guardian fools.”

Something told Race this conversation was going the same route as when Blake found out he hadn’t been told about the duchess and her quest for Lady Elder’s pearls. Race hadn’t come to talk about that. He wanted to discuss Gibby’s outrageous stunt in Hyde Park.

“Listen, Gib,” Race said, trying to stay calm. “I’m not any more concerned about the duchess than I was about Prinny’s representative, the one-armed antiquities dealer, or that arrogant buccaneer who’s trying to worm his way into every titled man’s home in London. In fact, I’m probably not as worried about her as I should be about the other three.”

Gibby’s eyes narrowed. “You know that all three of the men who want the pearls are still in London, don’t you? Four, if you count Her Grace.”

“I know Spyglass and Winston are inserting themselves into Society, and I know the antiquities dealer has a shop on the other side of Town,” Race said, refusing to acknowledge Gibby’s remark about Susannah.

“Spyglass is attending every party he gets invited to, and Winston is making his presence known at the parties and in all the clubs.”

“That’s not surprising about either one of them. With Prinny’s backing, Winston can go wherever he wants. And I’ve heard rumors Spyglass intends to host his own party before the Season ends.”

“I’ve heard that about Spyglass, too. Everyone wants to get in good with the prince, and every young lady wants to say she’s danced with a handsome buccaneer. Smith is another story. He doesn’t have the heritage to ease his way into Polite Society, but he’s been seen at a few places in the Hells recently.”

“That’s probably where he belongs.”

The men’s presence in London didn’t worry Race, but he was beginning to get tired of being pursued because of the necklace. It was true that the pearls would be worth a fortune in any market, but that’s not where their value lay as far as Race was concerned. The pearls were his grandmother’s most prized possession, and she had left them to him. He wasn’t about to give them up to anyone.

“Gib, do you know where or how our grandmother got the pearls?”

“Sure I do. I don’t think there was much about your grandmother’s life I didn’t know.”

Race waited, and when the old man didn’t say more, Race sighed and said, “Do you mind telling me where?”

“Not at all. Her second husband, Sir Walter Hennessey, gave them to her shortly after they married.”

Race thought on that a moment and frowned. “Are you sure it wasn’t Lord Elder?”

“Of course, I’m sure. She already had them when she married the earl.”

“The pearls would have been very costly, even twenty-five years ago. Did she question how Sir Walter could have afforded such an extraordinary necklace for her?”

“Probably not,” Gibby said. “I don’t think she cared how he got them. I know of only one other thing that ever made your grandmother as happy as receiving those pearls.”

“What was that?”

Gibby leaned back in his chair and smiled. “When she became Lady Elder. She wanted to have a title attached to her name more than she wanted to live.”

Race smiled, too. “I do remember that. After she married the earl, she always signed her letters to us as ‘Your loving Grandmother, Lady Elder.’”

Gibby leaned back in his chair and laughed lightly as a faraway look glistened in his eyes. The man never changed. Gibby’s countenance always softened whenever he talked about Lady Elder.

“Yes, I remember. She didn’t even want me to call her by her name anymore. I had to call her Lady Elder.”

“She certainly was an unusual woman. What else can you tell me about the pearls?”

“Nothing, I suppose. Why?”

“When I was talking to Morgan and Blake, we couldn’t help but wonder about them. It just seems odd that four different people are suddenly after the necklace.”

Gibby tilted his chair on its two back legs and said, “My thoughts would be because not many people knew where the Talbot pearls were until it was written in Society’s Daily Column that they were left to you by your grandmother.”

Hearing Gibby confirm what he and his cousins had considered brought Race up short. Cautiously he asked, “Tell me, did you ever know of Grandmother wearing the necklace outside private dinner parties in her home?”

Gibby seemed to study on that. “Not that I can remember, but she might have. Keep in mind, the pearls were irreplaceable. I can’t say for sure, and it’s only a guess, but she must have worn them when she was married to the earl and they attended Court.” Gibby ran a hand through his thick silver hair. “It’s never a good thing to let everyone know what valuables you have in your possession.”

“True,” Race said, turning pensive.

“Are you sure you’re not worried about these people who want the pearls?”

Race shook his head as the server put two glasses on the table between them. “They are safe.”

Race picked up his glass and took a big swallow. He screwed up his face and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “Blast it, Gib, what is this stuff?”

“Milk. I told you I was drinking milk.”

“I know, but I thought there must have been some kind of sweet liqueur in it.”

“It is plain milk,” he said with a cunning smile.

Race looked closely at Gibby. The old man looked fine, yet Race asked, “Are you sick?”

Gibby leaned back in his chair again and puffed out his chest. His lips tightened together for a moment. “No, I’m not sick. I’m in fine shape. Why?”

“Why do you think?” Race said, exasperated. “Bloody hell, you’re drinking milk, for mercy’s sake.”

“Of course I am. I’m in training.”

Race stuck a finger down his collar, trying to loosen it. The muscles in his neck and shoulder had begun to ache. Gibby could heat his blood to boiling. “In training? What the hell does that mean?”

“It means I’m not drinking anything but water and milk. I’m not eating anything but fish, vegetables, and fruit. I’m not taking my carriage. I’m walking everywhere I go until after my fight with Prattle.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing. Not drinking ale or wine, and walking everywhere? That’s insane, Gib. You’ve lost your mind, and you’re taking this too far.”

Gibby placed both his hands on the table and leaned forward. “All the winning pugilists train, Race. I’m good-sized for a man my age, but did you notice that Prattle is built like a tree trunk?”

Race swore under his breath. “Yes, I did happen to notice that, Gib. Why do you think I’m trying to stop you from meeting him in Hyde Park a month from now?”

Gibby waved his hand as if brushing away Race’s comment. “It’s less than a month now. You just want to mind my business. That’s all you and your cousins ever do.”

“It’s full time employment, and somebody needs to. You aren’t doing a very good job of it.”

“Don’t worry about me, Race. I can beat Prattle once I get in shape. I’m sure of it. And I would like to hear that one of my favorite people in the whole world had some confidence in me about this.”

How could he let Gibby know he and his cousins were worried about him and didn’t want him to take the chance of getting hurt? The old man was just too stubborn to admit he had made a mistake in encouraging Prattle.

“Let me tell you what I do have for you—an answer. I discussed this with Blake and Morgan a couple of days ago. We want you to give us permission to offer Prattle and his sister money to end this farce.”

Gibby threw his shoulders back and bowed up his chest. His eyebrows wrinkled together, and his lips pursed into a sneer. “That’s an insult.”

“Not if money is what Prattle was after in the first place.”

“I’m not talking about Prattle,” Gibby exclaimed. “I don’t care what he wants or doesn’t want. It’s an insult to me. My honor is at stake here.”

“So is your life.”

“What kind of life would I have without my honor?”

Race softened. “Gib, we don’t believe for a moment you did anything to his sister, and I don’t want you fighting and possibly getting hurt over something that didn’t happen.”

“You don’t know what did or didn’t happen, because I’m not talking.”

“You don’t have to. We know you. We know you are an honorable man and would never push a lady into something she didn’t want.”

“It’s unforgivable what her brother did to her by his blathering in the park, but I can’t change that. I can only answer his challenge,” the old man said, shaking his head.

“We can do what Prattle didn’t do and settle this quietly.”

“No, I’ve given my word now. Besides, every gentleman, no matter his station in life, loves a good, fair fight.”

“Not when one of the bruisers is a member of Polite Society,” Race argued.

“Tell that to Figg, Broughton, Jackson, Mendoza, and all the other great pugilists who have been welcomed by the ton. Even that sap, Lord Byron, enjoys a good match and writes about them. He has been known to go a few practice rounds at one of the fight clubs in Town.”

“Most of us have, Gib, but it’s always been in private, not public,” Race emphasized. “Besides, we use gloves in practice. You’ll be expected to bare-knuckle it. Look, my job was to talk you into letting me offer them money. If they don’t take it, we’ll go from there.”

Gibby leaned forward. “Do you realize there are already hundreds of wagers at every club and gaming hell in London about this match, and I’ve heard betting has spread to outlying towns?”

“I’ve been to White’s and The Rusty Nail, looking for you. I know the furor this has caused.”

“And I can’t believe you want to take this away from me. You tell your weak-kneed cousins I’m going through with this, Race. And I’m going to win.”

Gibby picked up his glass and drained it. Race’s stomach tightened. Gibby’s hands were red and chaffed. His knuckles were swollen, too. No doubt he was in the process of toughening his hands with some harsh concoction like all prize fighters used.

“I’ll finish this for you,” Gibby said and reached over and pulled Race’s glass toward him. “Now tell me, what can I get you to drink?”

Eight

My Dearest Grandson Alexander,

I hope you will remember these sobering words from Lord
Chesterfield. Take heed, dear one, he is seldom wrong about
anything and never wrong about a man. “That great wit,
which you so partially allow me, may create many admirers;
but, take my word for it, it makes few friends.”

Your loving Grandmother,
Lady Elder

R
ACE WAS IN A QUANDARY AND FILLED WITH
frustration as he entered his house late in the afternoon.

He’d had a frustrating and unsuccessful meeting with Gibby at the Harbor Lights Club a couple of days ago, and he’d just come from another long, heated discussion with his cousins. He was beginning to feel as if he was going in two different directions at the same time. Gibby had been absolutely giddy with excitement over his duel—if this travesty could be called that. And Blake and Morgan still thought Race should talk to Prattle and find an amenable way to settle his accusation against Gib, even though the old man was dead set against him doing it.