A Noble Masquerade (23 page)

Given the choice, he'd attend the card party again, but that didn't make him look forward to the coming confrontation.

“So. You are here.”

Ryland looked up into a face so familiar and yet so altered that it sent shock vibrating down his spine. He'd kept up with news of his cousin, Mr. Gregory Montgomery, through the years, but he hadn't actually seen the man since hauling him out of a burning building in France. The years were evident on his face.

They looked similar, had always been mistaken for brothers growing up. Gregory's grey eyes were a little wider set. His ears were a touch bigger. Having continued to lead a posh lifestyle while Ryland risked his life for England had created a more rounded face and thicker middle.

And then there was the limp.

Ryland studiously avoided looking at his cousin's left leg. That the man was alive at all was a miracle. That he walked was unbelievable. The fact that he blamed Ryland for all of it was ludicrous. Ryland was the only reason Gregory was breakfasting in England instead of the afterlife.

Ryland turned his attention back to the paper. “Yes, I am here.”

The clink of china and the rattle of the paper were the only sounds for several moments.

“Are you staying?”

“Yes. I've decided it's time to come home.” A story about the discovery of the body of King Charles I drew his attention. While the one-hundred-and-sixty-year-old mystery of where the old king's body was didn't keep him awake at night, Ryland always enjoyed when questions got answered. It was rather amusing that they'd found him tucked in with Henry VIII. A tomb was the perfect place to hide a body.

“Mother is livid,” Gregory said.

“I don't see why. My being here shouldn't change her life overmuch. I have no intention of restricting her comings and goings, and my room and office have never been used by either
of you.” Ryland took a moment to glance up and judge the veracity of his statement. He saw no signs in his cousin that would indicate a breakage of the rules, so he went back to his paper. “The house is large enough we can all avoid each other.”

Gregory grunted. “That doesn't seem very familial of you.”

“I didn't stop the purchase when you overspent your monthly allowance to buy that hunting horse last year.” Ryland met Gregory's eyes with a hard glare. “I'd say that was quite familial of me, wouldn't you?”

Gregory fidgeted in his seat, looking more like an eight-year-old boy than a man twenty years older than that. “Er, yes, I suppose it was.”

“It's a fine horse, by the way. You chose well.” In truth he had been manipulated. Ryland hadn't stopped the purchase because he wanted Gregory to buy the horse. Ryland had been working at the time and was unable to buy the steed himself, but with plans to return to his former life soon, he'd desired the grand hunter to be part of his own stable. Setting up a man to convince Gregory to buy it had been easier than Ryland anticipated.

And if it made Gregory think he'd gotten away with something or that the duke had extended the hand of generosity . . . Well, Ryland considered that a positive as well.

“Thank you. I've always had a good eye for horseflesh.” Gregory visibly relaxed as he shoveled bacon into his mouth.

Ryland barely avoided snorting. Gregory had a terrible eye for horseflesh. He lost more money in a single visit to Ascot than Ryland paid the butler for an entire year. And Ryland paid his staff very well.

“Mother is still livid, though.”

Ryland debated repeating his answer, but decided that would be childish. So he ignored the repeated statement instead.

“She told everyone that you weren't back. That the rumors
were wrong, as always. She is furious that you made her look like a fool.”

Ryland finished the news and money sections, but if he set aside the paper he'd have to talk to Gregory, so he moved on to the society section, where half of the articles made mention of his return.

Gregory finally got the idea that Ryland wasn't going to engage in welcome-home chatter. He ate quietly, and Ryland could almost pretend he had his home to himself.

And then another voice ripped through the morning air.

“Good morning, Ryland. Pardon me if I don't welcome you home.”

Ryland kept the paper raised, blocking him from his aunt's view. “I don't mind at all. I trust you will pardon me as well if I don't tell you how good it is to see you.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a footman scurry to pull out Aunt Marguerite's chair. There was a clatter of china and then the muffled sounds of his family eating. The crinkling of the paper as he turned the page echoed through the room.

“You should have informed us of your return. We would have had a proper celebration.”

Ryland grinned behind his paper shield. He had wondered how long his aunt would be able to keep silent. “I arrived exactly as I wished to, aunt.”

“Everyone is going to want to know where you've been.”

Ryland read an article about a horse race through Hyde Park.

“What should I tell them?”

It was quite irresponsible to race through Hyde Park. Much too crowded. Regent's Park would have been a better choice.

“Ryland?”

Of course it wouldn't be as convenient since the racers were
probably coming from one of the gentlemen's clubs along St. James's Street. Hyde Park was considerably closer.

“Ryland! I am speaking to you!”

Ryland folded his paper and stood, scooping up the additional correspondence sitting on the corner of the table. He looked at his aunt for the first time, noticing how much the years and bitterness had aged her. The once effortlessly elegant and stately woman now looked haggard and desperate. Unexpected pity rose within him.

This was the woman who had spent her entire life trying to belittle him. As the only mother figure he'd ever known, she should have been special, even loved. But he'd spent his entire childhood hiding from her diatribes on how much better his cousin was.

Pity was the last thing he'd expected to feel in connection to her.

He looked from his aunt to his cousin. Ryland's mother had died in childbirth and his uncle had passed a few months later. He and Gregory had been raised like brothers. Gregory was only seven months older. They should have been close.

If the disgust on the faces of his aunt and cousin were anything to go by, Ryland was the only one who even slightly mourned the lost opportunity.

“Tell them what I've told you.” He rounded the table and headed for the door.

“But you've told me nothing!”

He paused to smile at her over his shoulder. “Precisely.”

Eighteen. Eighteen men had come to the house to offer their attentions to Georgina that afternoon. And eighteen men had all gone away befuddled, no doubt wondering why they'd given their flowers to the spinster sister instead.

“Lady Raebourne is here,” Gibson announced.

Miranda sat a little straighter in anticipation. A visit from Amelia was always welcome, today more than ever. She hadn't had a chance to speak in much depth about the situation with Ryland, only a rushed whispered conversation the day after the confrontation in Griffith's study.

The necessary pleasantries seemed to take much longer than normal. At the first lull in the conversation, Miranda sprang from her seat. “Amelia, have you seen the new roses in the conservatory?”

Amelia's eyes widened briefly before she too got to her feet. “They sound lovely.”

“Oh yes,” Miranda gushed. “You simply must see them.”

She grabbed Amelia's hand and pulled her from the drawing room before Mother had a chance to speak a protest.

Amelia tripped along behind Miranda until they entered the conservatory, then she wrenched her arm from Miranda's grasp. “That was very subtle.”

Miranda's eyes narrowed at more evidence of Amelia's newfound sarcasm, but she couldn't maintain her ire. It had been a rather ungraceful exit from the room. She shook her head with a groan.

“Are there even roses in here?” Amelia asked as she wandered the room.

“I believe so, over in the corner.” Miranda led the way so they would be in the appropriate location should Mother come looking for them. “He was at the card party last night.”

“He's interesting.” Amelia grazed a finger along a small, pink bloom.

It was not the response Miranda had expected. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Amelia said with a sigh as she lowered herself onto a curved stone bench, “that I'm going to be of little assistance beyond that of a sympathetic ear.”

Miranda's thoughts deserted Ryland and the myriad of problems he inspired. Amelia had been raised by her guardian's servants. Local maids had been her playmates, and she'd grown up visiting with half the aristocratic servants in Mayfair. Those same servants had been instrumental in pairing Amelia with her husband, the Marquis of Raebourne. If anyone could find out what was going on in someone's home it should have been her.

How dreadful if her old friends had stopped talking to her now that she was an aristocrat herself. Miranda sat next to Amelia on the bench and covered Amelia's small hands with her own. “None of the servants will speak to you anymore? Oh, I'm so sorry.”

Amelia clasped Miranda's hands and laughed lightly. “Oh no, nothing like that, although Mrs. Harris thought it strange when I asked for the local gossip,” Amelia said, referring to the housekeeper that had practically raised her. “I mean that none of them know anything about the Duke of Marshington or his household.”

“Well, he's only now returned to London. It will take time, surely.”

Amelia shook her head. “He moved into his family home on Pall Mall. That's all anyone knows. His servants don't mingle much with the others in London, and when they do they don't share anything about the household.”

“Nothing?” Miranda was mystified. Gossip was currency in London for every class from servant to peer. How was it no one knew anything about what went on behind the walls of Ryland's home?

“Nothing.” Amelia gave a slow shake of her head. “It's as if the man simply dropped from the sky.”

Miranda couldn't hide her disappointment. She'd been hoping Amelia would be able to give her some insight, some secret information about Ryland to help level the playing field. After all, he knew so much about her private life after living as a servant at Riverton.

It was Amelia's turn to reach out to Miranda and grip hands. “Why don't you tell me how the card party went? You said he was there.”

“It all started to go wrong when I sat down to play a game of whist with him. . . .”

Account books spread across the desk surface, requiring so much of Ryland's attention he almost didn't hear the knock on the door. “Enter,” he barked.

Price, the butler, opened the door, his wide torso filling the doorframe. Ryland glanced up at the man and grinned. He wished he could have seen his aunt's face when Price had come to work here. With arms the size of ham hocks, a nonexistent neck, and scars along the side of his face, he was no one's idea of an aristocratic butler. Ryland had seen him throw a grown man fifteen feet through the air. The man might have kept going, but the wall stopped him.

“What is it, Price?”

“Mr. McCrae is here to see you, sir.”

Colin clapped the giant on the shoulder and sidled around him into the room. “You'll have to start using
Your Grace
instead of
sir
if you want to be a proper butler, Price.”

Price grinned as he backed out of the room. It made his face look eerily boyish. “I think that's the least of my problems, Mr. McCrae.”

Colin made a show of looking over the butler. “You may have a point there.”

Price pulled the door closed as Colin threw himself into one of the Chippendale wing chairs that flanked the cold fireplace. He stuck out his booted feet and crossed his ankles. “Didn't expect to see you at the card party last night.”

Ryland shrugged as he came around the desk to settle into the other chair. “I couldn't bear to hide out in my room any longer.”

“Is your aunt delighted you're home?” That Colin had managed to say that with a straight face was a compliment to his composure. It must be a considerable asset during business dealings.

“Hardly. I think she coddled the eggs with her glare this morning.”

“And your cousin?”

Ryland shrugged, and wished he'd had a fire set, even though it was too warm to need one. It would have given him something to look at. He wasn't sure how Gregory felt. Their past experience should have brought them closer, but Ryland knew the other man had attempted on two separate occasions to have him declared dead. While he was certain Aunt Marguerite instigated the attempts, Gregory had agreed to carry them through.

His family was not something he felt comfortable discussing. He had to protect them, he was supposed to love them, but in reality life would be considerably easier without them. A change of topic was in order. “Have you found anything more about that mine investment inquiry?”

“I thought you were off the case. You said you turned everything you had over to another agent.” Colin frowned.

Ryland dropped his head onto the back of the chair. “I don't like leaving things unfinished.”

Silence stretched.

“You're supposed to be moving on with your life,” Colin finally said.

Ryland rolled his head to the side so he could look at Colin. “What do you know?”

“You first. Are you truly getting out of the spying game or is this all some elaborate ruse?” Colin's blue eyes were hard and flat. Ryland didn't often see the side of Colin that made him such a shrewd and successful businessman, but at times like
this he was reminded why he'd given Colin so much money to invest over the past five years.

Ryland turned his gaze back to the ceiling. “Out. As soon as this mission is actually completed.”

“You wouldn't be the first man to use that lie on himself.”

“I've given enough of my life to king and country. But I can't leave this undone. Despite what they say, the Office is counting on me to finish this. No one else knows as much as I do. So I need to know what you know.”

Colin sighed. “Not a name. I was able to learn that all of the men in the mining venture are small fish. A title or two, some lower sons, even a few gentry. Your man may think he's got some considerable prestige to protect, but it's not enough to save him from the gallows.”

Ryland sighed. He thought of the two men in the tea shop. Sketching had never been his greatest skill, but he grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil and did his best to draw the men's faces.

Colin waited in silence.

“Do you know these men?” Ryland shoved the drawings in Colin's direction.

“You're not serious. Look at those. Do they look anything like the men you're trying to identify?” Colin laughed and tossed the paper into Ryland's lap.

Ryland cringed as he admitted that even he wouldn't recognize the drawings as the men from the shop.

When Ryland asked no more questions, Colin moved on to another topic. “How fares your latest project?”

“I assume you refer to my courtship of Lady Miranda.”

“Aye. Unless you've decided the younger sister is more appealing after all.”

Ryland's lips curved into a half smile. “Not at all. Are you intrigued by the younger—”

“Are you daft, man? It takes only a moment to tell her head
is filled with fashion and frippery. I'd rather court your parlor maid.” Colin shuddered.

“Jess is actually quite fetching. She likes to read Shakespeare.”

Colin laughed. “Maybe I'll take her for a drive.”

Ryland leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. “I was wondering if you would take Miranda.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You didn't reveal last night that we know each other.”

“Old habits, you know. I never knew what you were up to on the rare occasion that I saw you. Seemed safer to pretend I didn't know you.” Colin leaned forward as well, mirroring Ryland's posture. “Please don't tell me you want me to spy on this woman.”