Garrett rubbed his side whiskers as he read Miss Marlowe's note. Then read it again. Not sure what to make of it, he placed it on the table next to the pile of correspondence he was in the midst of attending to. He'd come back to it again after everything. He picked up a report regarding his tenants from his land steward. His eyes ran across the words but they made no imprint on his mind. He had to re-read the first sentence twice before he understood what Quail was saying.
His eyes drifted to the letter from Miss Marlowe. He shook his head. Later. He went back to reading Quail's report. But after a paragraph, he glanced at the other letter again. After a moment of indecision, he gave up fighting himself and let go of Quail's report in favour of Miss Marlowe's letter.
She was enquiring into his schedule as she wanted some company to Vauxhall Gardens the evening after next. The famed Madam Saqui was performing on the tight-rope and she wished to see it with him.
Under different circumstances, he'd have write back immediately with an affirmative. But after what had happened yesterday, he was hesitant to agree.
Flinging the paper onto the table, he pushed himself up and went to the side table to pour himself a glass of whiskey. Taking a swig, he stared at the shelves in front of him as he turned his mind over the problem of failing to have a reason to apologise for upsetting her. He rubbed his brow. He'd turned their conversations inside out and still he couldn't determine where the fault lay.
Swivelling back to his table, he stared at the sheet. Should he simply brazen it out? Admit that he knew not what the problem was but he was still apologetic for having caused her pain? And that he'd strive to know her better so that he'd not upset her again.
He nodded. Yes, that was the most logical thing to do. He couldn't avoid her completely. He still had to convince her to marry him. Draining his glass, he replaced it in its spot and moved back to his desk. With the fire from the whiskey surging through his body, he'd write his reply and send it off so he could be done with it and return to other matters of his estate.
Scribbling his reply down before he had the chance to second guess himself, he sanded it and waited impatiently for it to dry before sealing it.
After handing off his letter to a footman to have it delivered, he picked up Quail's report again and got down to the business of concentrating on the matter at hand.
He got as far as the bottom of the page before Mrs Brookfield took centre stage in his mind. Her behaviour yesterday was an enigma. It was possible she wasn't all that she claimed to be. But why the need to lie? What was she hiding? And where was Lieutenant Brookfield in all of this? He'd seen hair nor hide of the man yesterday while in the house. Was he that sickly? It'd been eight days since he heard of the man being indisposed. Should he not have recovered by now?
Tapping his pencil against the top of his desk, he recalled that in an alcohol-soaked conversation, Dover had offered to enquire into the man. Although he'd initially wanted to cancel that request, he'd forgotten. And with the circumstances of now, it seemed a good thing it'd slipped his mind. Maybe he should press the earl for an answer. He dashed off a note to meet Dover tonight at the club if the man was free. Hopefully he'd get some answers tonight.
He was about to summon a footman when there was a knock on the door. "My lord."
"Yes?" The door opened to reveal a footman. "Excellent timing, Matthew. I need to have this delivered."
The footman bowed and took the note. "There is a Mr Arthur Shearing who is calling. Will you be receiving him?"
Although he was not expecting the man, but there was no reason to turn him away. Garrett nodded. "Send him up here. And have one of the maids send up some tea."
"Right away, my lord."
Garrett tidied his desk as best as he could but it was still messy. The footman announced Shearing and when the man entered, he gave up and directed Shearing to take a seat at the chairs that were nearby his bookshelves.
They shook hands. "Thank you for agreeing to receive me, my lord."
"I've no reason to turn you away. And I'm curious as to the reason for your visit. Tea is being sent for, though if you wish for something strong, I have brandy and whiskey."
"Tea is fine."
"So, Shearing," he leaned back in his chair, "might I enquire as to what the purpose of this visit is?"
He wondered at the nerves and stiffness of his visitor. "I...I...my request might be a bit impertinent, hence I will apologise for it in advance."
"I promise I will take no offence. Please, continue."
Shearing inclined his head in thanks. "I have come to ask if you could aid me in making a bid for a seat in the Commons." He squeezed his hands that were laid atop his thighs. "You mentioned it when we were first introduced. But beyond that, as there has been no news from you...I wondered if you were merely jesting." Nervousness poured from every inch of his being. "Moreover, we were not well-acquainted. But after yesterday's chess game, I decided it was time I made my move."
The maid entered then and they were silent as she arranged the tea tray. His housekeeper had the foresight to have it poured out already. "Alice, thank Mrs Privett for me, will you? For pouring out the tea for us."
She nodded shyly as she quit the room. He picked up a cup and saw the other man looking at him strangely. "Is something the matter?"
"No, I," he picked up his own cup and took a sip. "I merely find it unusual that you would thank your housekeeper for this."
"I thank my housekeeper for many things. For one, it makes for a much smoother running of the household. And I have happier staff on hand. That means fewer of them will quit or be lured away by higher pay, not that I don't pay them reasonably. It isn't easy to find good help, I'll have you know."
"I've often heard the same refrain from Mother."
"But those aren't the main reasons why I express my appreciation to all my staff, not just the upper servants. Or why I take the time to know all the names of those in my employ."
Shearing's eyebrows shot so high up they all but disappeared into his hair. "So the maid's name is really Alice?" At his nod, Shearing couldn't hide his disbelief. "I doubt my parents even know the real names of any of the servants apart from our housekeeper and butler. They merely call them whatever they like."
"As is the ton's practice. But this simply demonstrates that they are not people in our eyes. We give our horses names yet we do not give the people in the labouring class the dignity of finding out their names when they ensure that our houses are well-kept and well-run. Is it not ironic?"
Shearing rubbed his chin. "I never saw it that way, my lord. It is indeed...humbling to know otherwise. I will endeavour to emulate your ways, my lord."
"No, don't. Not if you do not truly believe in the principles behind it." Garrett leaned forward. "You said you wanted to be elected in the Commons. Before I assist you, you have to tell me your reason for it."
If Shearing was surprised, he hid it well. "It is the same as yours. To change things."
"Yes, but what kind of change do you want to bring about? Do you have a vision of how you want things to be?"
"I..." The lost look on Shearing's face told Garrett all that he needed to know.
"Come back when you know what you want, Shearing."
"Wait!" The other man looked up at him where he stood and then got to his feet as well. "There is another matter I wish to speak to you about. A matter that is more...personal in nature." Garrett cocked an eyebrow in silence. Shearing shifted his feet. "I...uh...might we sit?" He finished weakly.
"Do you wish to have something stronger before we begin?" Shearing started to shake his head then changed it to a nod. "Help yourself then."
"Would you like one as well?" Shearing said from where he was pouring.
"Would this personal matter require for me to have one?"
"I wouldn't presume anything, my lord."
Garrett sighed. "I will have one as well."
Shearing returned and after handing a glass to Garrett took a healthy swallow from his own before sitting down.
"What is this personal matter then?" Garrett sipped, enjoying the way the peaty flavour from the whiskey lingered in his mouth.
His visitor turned the glass this way and that between his hands. "It is about...about..." he sucked in a breath and blew it out. "It is about Ju...Miss Marlowe. Do you really intend to marry her?" His words were said in such a rush that it took a few heartbeats for Garrett to puzzle out what Shearing had said.
"Did you just ask if I was going to marry Miss Marlowe?" At Shearing's nod, Garrett frowned. "Why is everyone so concerned if I marry her or not? First, my mother, then Mrs Brookfield, and now you." Shearing only stared at him. "I...why are concerning yourself with this?"
"Because....because I...whatever your intentions are, they will determine what I do next."
"Do not speak in riddles, Shearing. Just spit out whatever you're trying to say. Stop hemming and hawing."
Emboldened, Shearing straightened, sticking out his chest. "We could very well be romantic rivals, my lord. I thought it gentlemanly behaviour to inform you first of my intentions to court Ju...Miss Marlowe."
Garrett blinked twice then let out a sharp bark of a laugh before he could stop himself. "Do as you please, Shearing. You do not need to inform me. If every men in the ton did that every time they vied for the same woman's hand, they'd not have time for anything else."
Shearing gawked. "Then you do not care if we become competitors."
"Should I be wary that you might win? If Miss Marlowe's actions and words are anything to go by, I'd say she hates you."
"As you previously suggested, I intend to be honest with her about what has happened. Mrs Brookfield urged me to do the same as well, and gave me her blessing that she'd assist me. And I believe that would turn the tide in my favour."
"If that is what you think, then who am I to naysay you?"
Shearing's eyes narrowed. "You do not believe me."
"Miss Marlowe is a discerning lady. Only she alone can decide what she wants in the end. If she so determines that you make a better husband than I, then do you not think it would be beyond my control to force her to think otherwise?" At the other man's reluctant nod, Garrett's lips stretched. "But I will say this," and lifted his glass in the direction of Shearing, "may the better man prevail."
Garrett stepped into the hallway of his club, the sacred space of the gentlemen that held the power of British society. The interior hadn't changed much in the past two decades though it smelled much nicer now that beeswax candles lit the area. Handing over his hat and gloves to the waiting footman, Garrett passed by the gambling rooms where loud raucous shouts could be heard. The gambling had begun in earnest for the evening, though he knew that for some of the men, it'd hadn't stopped.
Usually, he'd pop in for a bit, play a few rounds of hazard just to test his luck before he had his meal. However, tonight, he ignored the rooms in favour of his meeting with Dover, which he'd been counting down the hours ever since Dover had acceded to his request to meet.
He spied the older man seated in one corner, food laid out on the table. Scattered around the dining area of Brooks's were similar sights, with some men seated alone while others in groups, tucking into the fare. As he weaved in between the tables, he nodded to some of his acquaintances, stopping by other seats to greet those he couldn't ignore. He kept those interactions short for he was eager to greet his brother-in-law.
Dover gestured for him to sit when he was near enough and ordered him a whiskey. "I'm not sure I'd like one." He said as he took his seat.
"I doubt you'd feel this same way after I'm going to share what I learnt about Lieutenant Brookfield."
He didn't like the tone Dover had used. "What about Brookfield?"
Dover's vague expression only served to heighten his wariness. He'd known the man to have an unreadable face. But to have it being used on him...it didn't bode well. The whiskey arrived and Dover raised his glass in his direction, indicating he should take a sip. Garrett heeded the unspoken requested. After he'd swallowed the smooth, amber liquid, he asked once again, "what about Brookfield? Is it good or bad news?"
Dover looked at him steadily. "That'll depend on whose perspective you're taking. There is no Lieutenant Brookfield."
"I...I must have heard you wrongly. There is no Lieutenant Brookfield? Whatever do you mean by that? The man doesn't exist?"
The earl nodded. "Not in the flesh at least. Lieutenant Brookfield passed away in 1816."
Garrett's inside started to churn. And a roaring sound began in his ears. "What..." his voice sounded muffled, like there was cotton stuck into his ears. He shook his head once to try to clear the sensation. "I don't understand. She said last week her husband had been indisposed but was recovering...she's been lying all this while." The noise in his head grew at that. And he began to feel quite queasy, as if he were on a ship caught in the middle of a bad storm. Where he didn't know up from down, left from right. He took deep breaths, letting them out slowly. When that didn't work, he drained his whiskey. And signalled for another one.
"I'm sorry I couldn't bring you better news."
Garrett shook his head. "'tis fine."
"Is it?"
"I had my suspicions." He related the incidents that had triggered his misgivings to Dover. "But none of this makes sense. Why would she lie about her martial status? What purpose would it serve?"
"It is puzzling indeed. The womenfolk attend a Season in the hopes of snaring a husband. If she's deliberately hiding her widowhood, I assume she's not here to do the same."
"Precisely. But why then come to London?"
"For the entertainment...?"
"I suppose. But that still does not explain her deliberate attempts to prevent me from knowing that her husband had passed! Lady Leyland was certainly shocked by my lack of knowledge." Dover shrugged his shoulders. "Do you suppose my sister might know? Should I write to her to find out? I should."
"It is worth a try. Though she might not want to bother Adelaide with this matter. Your sister has her own family now, after all, and is quite far from London."
"But what if she intends to do something dangerous? The deception she's engaging in does not bode well for matters."
Garrett could see Dover suppressing the need to roll his eyes. "She is hardly a spy. Even if she did keep your sister abreast of whatever she intends to do, would she truly had made known her real intentions? Also, if Adelaide had been aware of something nefarious going on, knowing her, she'd have not sat on her hands at all. She'd have made haste for London! Calm down, Healey. There is no need to alarm her."
Dover's words had some sense to it. He slumped in his chair, rubbing the sides of his head as he closed his eyes. They were beginning to pain him.
"Might anyone else be privy to this information?" He glanced at the man who was slowly and methodically cutting up his food. "Someone else who might know what Mrs Brookfield is up to."
"I can't very well march up to Sir John and Lady Leyland and ask them 'Pray tell why is your niece hiding her widowed status from me?' They're likely in on the deception since Lady Leyland did not attempt to correct me in the least."
Dover rolled his eyes then. "Stop letting your emotions control you and think for a second. Who else could she tell? Does she have any other friends or acquaintances?"
"Right." Garrett stabbed the beef on his plate and began sawing it vigorously. "I suppose Miss Marlowe would be considered her friend. They have been quite friendly lately it seems."
"Miss Marlowe? Your Miss Marlowe?"
"She isn't mine. Not yet. But yes, that Miss Marlowe whom I'm courting."
"I can't believe this! The woman you love and the woman you want to marry are friends." Dover shook his head. "It's like one of the Bard's comedies. Which one would that be?" He snapped his fingers. "Twelfth Night! Then you must be Duke Orsine...Your Grace," he bowed low over his plate. "I'm deeply honoured you've decided to have dinner with me tonight." He narrowly dodged the piece of cheese Garrett threw at him and then wagged his finger. "Your Grace, surely that is behaviour unbefitting of a duke."
"Go ahead and laugh now at my expense, Dover. One of these days, I'll have my retribution."
Dover grinned. "If that day should ever come." He skewered a piece of chicken. "But back to the matter at hand. I think you should approach Miss Marlowe."
"But what if she's reluctant to surrender that information? I've seen how secretive my sister and Mrs Brookfield can be."
"I'm confident you'll succeed. Use your charm. Surely you possess some. Otherwise, you wouldn't be able to persuade Miss Marlowe to marry you. If that is what you still want."
"Of course I still want to marry her! She is sweet and kind and-"
"A woman who will open political doors to you."
"Exactly."
"So she is the right woman for you."
"Most certainly."
Dover nodded, as if he were convinced. But Garrett wasn't so sure anymore.