Deceiving the Viscount

Chapter 12B

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."