The note from Etcetera confirmed most of their suppositions. Toad called Blakeley into his sitting room and sent Franks to distract the men milling about the library. He wasn't ready to speak to them yet. He wasn't ready to cultivate hope for a future with Sally. And they would all recite endless reasons to have hope. They were probably making alphabetical lists right now, of a hundred and one ridiculous reasons Sally would never marry Maddox. And Toad had two reasons for every one of theirs that it was even more ridiculous to think she would marry Toad.
Everyone he would ever call upon in the most dangerous circumstance--Piero, Hawley, and Gills, soon to be joined by Etcetera, when he returned from his reconnaissance mission—had gathered at Toad's London house immediately. Excepting, of course, Bey and Zajac, now halfway across the world again, and Longford and Stocke; it would be unfair and ungentlemanly to ask them to take sides against their younger brother. He only hoped they wouldn't turn up against him.
"The duke is in residence at Haverford House, Blakeley. I can walk there faster than a groom can saddle a horse, but you will not tell the gentlemen in the library I have gone for at last half an hour. Is that understood?"
"Your Grace, while strictly speaking, I would never comment... I think your father would wish me to remind you that you have not made your peace with the Duke of Haverford, and you may find a chilly reception when you arrive."
"That is a chance I will have to take. If I must scale the walls and threaten murder, I will learn what he's done with Sal. Half an hour. If they come for me after that, it might be for the best, but I need some time alone with His Grace, and every one of them will say it is unwise."
"Your Grace, I feel I must say—"
"Half an hour, Blakeley, or I will sack you without compunction."
"Yes, Your Grace."
Ten minutes later, Toad took the steps two at a time to the front door of Haverford House and, in the absence of the knocker, used his fist to bang against the door. Someone would be in residence, and he would bang on that door until he was heard.
"Hullo! Is anyone in there? Bindle? Mrs. Finch?" If either the butler or housekeeper was in residence, they might be convinced to help his cause. Both had known him all his life, and neither had anything against him, that he knew of. "Hullo!?"
The butler opened the door. "Your Grace," he hissed, looking up and down the street as he bowed. "You needn't shout. The family is from home, Sir."
"Bindle, thank goodness you are still here. I was given to understand His Grace was in residence."
The butler winced. "Without wishing to be indiscreet, Your Grace... His Grace is... indisposed."
Toad took a step back and felt his stomach drop. "Indisposed. Is Uncle Haverford ill?"
"His Grace will be ill in the morning. Very ill, Your Grace."
"Ah." Toad chuckled. "I see. A trifle disguised, is he?"
Bindle's raised eyebrows held a trenchant opinion of the word 'trifle'.
"Well, I shall leave him to his bottle, if you would be so kind as to confirm Lady Sarah is at Margate and planning to stay for a time."
"It is not my place to say where Lady Sarah stays, Your Grace. If you would care to leave your card..." Bindle sounded doubtful.
Toad sighed. He should have known better than to think he could get information from a Haverford servant, no matter how well they knew him. But there was one singularly perfect source of information only steps away.
"Since the drapes are closed in the front windows, I expect His Grace is in the library or the Conservatory. Am I correct?" Toad felt a slow burn at the thought of Haverford in the Conservatory, which had always, in his mind, belonged to Toad and Sal.
With a deep breath that acknowledged his behaviour might rightly see him dismissed from his position, Bindle stepped aside and said, "He is in the library, Your Grace."
Toad nodded and shut out the emotion inherent in this meeting. It could not serve him well. "Thank you, Bindle. I appreciate your assistance and will never tell a soul."
But three steps into the foyer, he hesitated. A drunken Haverford was an unpredictable Haverford, and he had no idea of his reception. "Will he wish to see me, do you think, Bindle? Will he be pleased by it?"
"His Grace misses your father very much." There was a plea in Bindle's eyes, but Toad could not interpret it.
"My father. Yes. I am certain he misses my father. Me, he can do without." He pulled out his card and handed it to the butler. "Ask if he will see me, please."
He was not sure why he was doing this, when he could as easily be on the road to Margate to find Sal, knowing her father was too drunk to follow closely behind.
***
Toad, waiting in the hall, heard Bindle announce him.
"The Duke of Wellbridge, Your Grace."
"Wellbridge?" Haverford asked, crisp indignation in the syllables. "And you've left him kicking his heels in the foyer? Show him in, man."
Bindle stepped to one side, and Toad stood a moment in the doorway, giving his godfather time to send him away again.
Haverford leaned forward as if to rise, then fell back into his seat and held out both hands.
"Nick, old friend. Have you come to share the last of the Malbourne brandy with me? It was a surprise to find you had left it to me. That you had left anything to me but your contempt. Gads, I was such an arse, Nick!"
What was this? Had Haverford gone senile? "It is I, Uncle Haverford, David, not my father. I am Wellbridge now."
"David?" Haverford shook his head. "No, David would not come here. He looks like you, Nick. He looks so much like you. And I wronged you both terribly. I was hoping you would haunt me, Duke, so I might make my apologies." Tears rose to his eyes. "It has all gone wrong."
Toad wasn't sure what to make of Uncle Haverford's seeming senility. Perhaps it was just drunkenness. Perhaps he should call a doctor. Surely, he should do something. Sally would want him to do something. "Uncle Haverford..."
When his godfather didn't respond, Toad cleared his throat. "Er... Haverford. There's no need for apology, surely. Gentlemen have words sometimes, do we not? It would not lower you in my esteem. You needn't fear haunting."
"I misjudged the boy—we misjudged him—from the start. You came to your senses too late, and now I have, too. I thought we would have time to fix it. But it is too late, Nick. I can't fix it. She will marry Maddox and they will neither have a moment's passion their whole lives, and it is all our fault. He is a fine man, to be sure; it is a good match, and he will keep her well. But Nick... she will never lose her heart to him. And Abersham... what will it do to our boy, Nick?"
Choking on his own swallowed tears, Toad blurted out, "Is she dead set on Maddox, then?" He would go to hell for manipulating a man who was out of his mind.
"Dead set? No. She will speak to Abersham, of course—I made my blessing contingent on it—but we have heard naught in our travels but more tales of him courting princesses and heiresses all over the Mediterranean. It bruised her heart a bit more each time we heard another tale. I cannot fault her for choosing another. Cherry warned me. Bella, too. And Mama. Mama said I would be sorry for being a meddlesome fool. And I am. I am very sorry. I just wish... bah. I am far too damned to be granted a wish. Pour me another brandy, Nick."
Haverford swallowed the last of the drink in the glass, and Toad poured a scant refill slowly.
"Does she love him, Unc—Haverford? Does Sally love Maddox?"