Royal Regard

Chapter Twenty-Five, Part 1

"Making myself bosky won't accomplish anything, will it, Blakeley?"

The stillness of the darkening library was mirrored in Nick's impassive factotum, who had consented to sit, but abstained from the drinking, citing the need for at least one of them to retain all his faculties. Blakeley had no objection to acting as a clearheaded companion, if only to keep Nick from seeking out his former associates in the low-class hells.

"Drunkenness is most often the beginning, rather than end, of one's problems, Your Grace."

At Blakeley's prim look, Nick thought perhaps he should go to White's to make himself bosky there.

"May I have Cook send up dinner?"

Nick set down his half-full glass, aiming for the tray, but hitting the table, almost upsetting the decanter. The smell of gin rose around them, taking Nick back, inescapably, to a time in his life when he could still rail against the unfairness of his responsibilities.

"No, I have to go after her." Under influence of the drink, his certainty took only a moment to wear thin. "Do I not?"

"You are a duke, Your Grace. You do not have to do anything the king has not ordered."

While he knew this to be true, his sense of duty reemerged. "No, I have to go." He shook his head to try to clear it. "If I would take her to wife, I must be of use as a husband, whether she likes it or not."

"Being of use is better than the alternative, I find."

"Call 'round the curricle, if you please. And quickly."

"I've already done so. With a driver who is not in his cups." Nick turned his head and stared. "I have been in your employ almost twenty years, Your Grace. I'd like to believe I understand something of your disposition."

"A pay rise when I return."

"My wages can be settled with your new duchess. I might suggest you allow me to tidy your person, but I believe that would put too great a strain on your patience. I think the countess will forgive the lapse."

Nick took the stairs two at a time, threw himself out of the front door and onto the seat of the one-horse conveyance, next to the driver, his momentum almost oversetting the man, if not the carriage. "As fast as you can to Russell Square."

The driver whipped up the horses, and did his best to weave through the London traffic, staying mostly to side streets where he could pick up speed, at least for a few minutes at a time. Finally, however, when they reached the turn to Bella and Myron's town house, carriage traffic jammed in both directions, impeded by a horse that had balked. With drivers screaming invective from all sides, the coachman of the stalled hack seemed further and further from calming the rearing horse that had broken from the traces.

Rather than wait, Nick jumped down and ordered his groom to meet him at the Huntleigh house and wait. By sheer luck, the brisk drive had cleared his wits enough to keep him from tripping over his own feet, so he ran, if clumsily, the last quarter-mile.

When he arrived at the front door, breathing hard, he banged with his fist until Watts opened the door.

Breathing hard, bent with one hand on his knee, Nick demanded, "I must see Lady Huntleigh immediately."

"I'm afraid, Sir, there is no—"

Charlotte flew into the vestibule at the sound of his voice. "Wellbridge! What is it?" She looked around and spoke in almost a whisper, "Is Bella with you?"

He looked at her in puzzlement. "With me? She's here."

"No. No one knows where she's gone. I knew she had intended to... well, of course, I said nothing. Michelle told the doctors she must be shopping, but neither was anywhere to be found when I arrived."