“I shall make you a list,” Gaunt said, beaming.
A list. Bloody hell.
Vander turned to leave. But something nagged at him, and he paused to look back at the butler. “Gaunt, I take it you were acquainted with my duchess’ former intended?”
The butler inclined his head. “Indeed.”
“Send a couple of footmen—or hire a Bow Street Runner—but I’d like you to make absolutely certain that the man still lives. It strikes me as exceptionally convenient that she was jilted. He referred to ‘my estate.’”
Gaunt’s eyes widened. Clearly, the idea had never occurred to him.
Vander was a great deal more cynical; a life spent in and around the stables had taught him that men like Sir Richard Magruder felt that they had a right to effect change wherever they wished, and the devil (and the law) could take the hindmost.
Quite likely, Mia’s fiancé had actually fled the responsibility of a wife and child. A vision of Mia came into his head, lips rosy after his kisses, breast heaving.
Or not.
Chapter Twelve
NOTES ON PLOT
1. Flora left 100,000£ by the ancient but kindly Mr. Mortimer. Proviso she spend it on herself (a struggle, bec. of sweetness of her nature). Torn between Count Frederic, who wants none of the money & Mr. Wolfington.
2. Gives up bequest; Count Frederic jilts her.
3. She ends up nearly dead in countryside, rescued by the evil Lord Plum, who has designs on her virtue.
4. Although Lord Plum offers her a castle, she cannot forget her first love. Bec. he is wild and reckless and has a devil’s heart (and an angel’s form).
5. Escapes from castle. Lord Plum wld. rather she die than marry another. No: Boring.
6. Evil Lord Plum has a pet tiger! Trained to attack. Excellent!
“I’ll take my ward home with me to Rutherford Park,” Vander told Gaunt, after Sir Richard had been dispatched. “Have my carriage brought back around in thirty minutes. You can send over all personal belongings at leisure.”
At that, Gaunt took on the air of a stern yet attentive grandfather. “Is Her Grace aware that you are fetching Master Charles Wallace?”
Vander was not accustomed to being questioned by servants. He gave Gaunt a look. “Show me to the nursery, if you please, or must I find it on my own?”
The butler didn’t even twitch at this set-down, but began pacing up the stairs, keeping Vander behind him by dint of walking in the middle of each step. “The young master has faced challenges in his short life,” he said, pausing on a stair as if to catch his breath. “Yet he has all of his father’s courage and forbearance. He is a Carrington to the bone.”
“Good to hear it,” Vander said. The disquisition was irritating, but he admired the butler’s loyalty. It was good that the amphibious child had supporters.
When they reached the nursery door, Gaunt gave him yet another inappropriate look, saying without words that he had better be kind or else.
It seemed to Vander that everyone he’d met in recent days was challenging the hierarchy that underlay all society. It was unsettling. “I’ll introduce myself, Gaunt,” he said.
With obvious reluctance, the butler bowed and retreated down the stairs.
At first, the nursery seemed empty. It was a large chamber, bright and cheerful, though it could use repainting. Its walls were covered with lumpy-looking paintings on foolscap, which he assumed must be the artistic efforts of young Master Charles.
Vander had never seen anything like it. His nanny hadn’t allowed paints, and if she had, his crude efforts would surely not have been displayed.