Chapter 7
Colin met his man of affairs in the back gardens of Lady Pomeroy’s townhouse. When he’d tasked the man to hire a Bow Street investigator several days ago, Colin had given explicit instructions that he be found wherever he was when news surfaced. Spying Mr. Hunt by the edge of the groves, Colin went over. “Do you have news for me, Mr. Hunt.” he asked without preamble.
His man pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “The investigator you hired only just returned from the country. It seems the Viscount Havisham died a few years ago.”
“Years?” Colin frowned. “Somehow this matter escaped my family’s notice.”
“They were very quiet about it, my lord. The funeral was not well attended, only by family, and then they locked up their country house and went to Scotland.”
“Scotland?”
“Aye,” Mr. Hunt said drolly. “They have only just returned to town these last three weeks with the new viscount.”
This grew even more peculiar. “And who is he?”
“That has not been ascertained to my satisfaction.” Mr. Hunt took a deep breath. “However, he is called Simon Gracely, the 9th Viscount of Havisham.”
Colin rocked back on his heels, a dull roaring in his head. “What of the report that Mr. Gracely had died in the war.”
“Those were my questions as well, my lord, for Mr. Boddington uncovered that old report, and he had been listed as deceased.”
A cold chill touched Colin’s shoulders. “Where those reports falsified or is this man an imposter?”
Mr. Hunt thought for a while then said, “I will speak with the investigator and guide him to what he should dig for.”
“Good,” Colin said. “You will keep me apprised of any new information uncovered. Also recall that discretion is key, and I want any information gleaned. I will be the one to decide if it is important.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Mr. Hunt frowned.
“What is it?”
“The runner had also mentioned there is a rumor the viscount will marry soon and that his wife is already selected.”
Bloody hell. If this man was truly Simon Gracely and planned to marry another while Fanny still loved and missed him every day, it did not bode well. Colin scrubbed a hand over his face and cursed rather viciously. He could not take any of this to Fanny until he understood the full truth of everything. He would not hide it from her, for his sister deserved full closure of the most heartbreaking chapter of her life.
Colin walked back inside the crushed ballroom, noting that his two sisters were already surrounded by a bevy of gentlemen. A prickling along his spine had him discreetly looking about.
Ah, there she was. She was with a lady he suspected to be her aunt. After he had sent his invitation and gifts, the lady had not replied to his letter. Colin had not been certain of her actions, but he had hoped she would attend and dance the night away. Hermina wore the gown he had paid a fortune to have adjusted in as little as a day by one of London’s most popular modistes. It was worth every pound. It was a gown of silver-and-green satin, which hugged alluringly to Hermina’s body and accentuated her trim figure that had succulent curves in all the right places. She wore white satin gloves, and her hair was artfully coiffed with several curls cascading along her cheeks. The lady was astonishingly lovely and looked a little uncertain. It only just now occurred to him that she might have no friends here, considering she did not move in lofty circles.
The eldest of the triplets, Eleanor, who had only arrived from Bath the day before, sauntered over to Fanny and then they walked hand in hand to stand beside Miss Fernsby. Eleanor was the perfect foil to her sister Frances, with hair like ravens’ wings and lush curves that made the men present ache with longing. Yet her evening gown was demure and simple, as if she knew there was no need to gild this particular lily. Mina’s face lit up with a welcoming smile when she saw his sisters.
A few gentlemen stared at Eleanor, and she winked at a gentleman who had been gawking longer than most. That man stumbled over another’s shoe when he saw her reaction. Colin sighed. His sisters were lovely creatures; and, given their propensity for wildness, he hoped he could safely marry them off before the sobriquet of ‘very bad Fairbanks’ gained any more steam. Somehow, he did not believe he would be that fortunate. Things were too unpredictable with his sisters.
Colin watched Hermina discreetly, drowning out the idle chatter and laughter around him. He wondered if she had any notion of how badly he hoped to kiss her again and again. Colin had to forcefully tear his gaze from her, lest he showed the world how much he desperately wanted her in his bed and his life.
“I am very pleased at your reception,” the dowager countess said with a regal nod of approval as she stopped at his side.
“There are perks to being an earl,” he said drily.
“Even your sisters have impressed me. Their dresses are not flamboyant but perfectly lovely, and I just overheard the marchioness saying they are splendid conversationalists.”
A quick glance across the room revealed Fanny holding court with a circle of young ladies and gentlemen. Colin observed the stiffness of her shoulders and the strain in her smile. Despite her commendable performance, his sister was not comfortable. Lizzy danced with the Duke of Ravenswood and Colin cursed. This was the man who was his sister’s lover…a man he knew had a discreet arrangement with her. Rage burned in his belly, and the man must have felt his stare for he glanced up.
For a brief moment, he spied the longing in the duke’s eyes before his expression shuttered. Colin frowned. If the damn man wanted his sister with such intensity, why did he not make her his duchess. The duke twirled Lizzy across the ballroom floor to the envy of many young ladies who stared at him with their hearts in their eyes, and many gentlemen obviously coveted Lizzy’s sensual beauty.
“Your sister must end that…friendship,” the dowager countess murmured, her eyes also on the dancing couple.