A Love Laid Bare by Constance Hussey Page B

lordship sent word he was delayed
and that if you cared to wait for him, there is an assortment of
refreshments available in his office anteroom.”
    “Thank you,” Halcombe said. “No need to see me up. I
will serve myself.”
    He poured himself a generous measure of brandy,
removed his coat, and settled into a comfortable chair, the bottle
on a table beside him, and stared into the flames while his
thoughts drifted to that fateful conversation with Nesbitt.
     
    ***
     
    “You’ve done nicely with the sale of these books and
maps, Lord Halcombe, but I venture to say it isn’t enough to bring
you about.” Nesbitt gave him a keen look that challenged him to
deny it, but he was hardly in a position to do so, as much as it
might gall him to admit it. The earl had a feeling the canny man
seated behind the desk knew to a penny how much he was worth—and
owed. He waited, not sure where this was leading. Was the man going
to offer him a loan? The last thing he wanted was more debt.
    “Frances is a considerable heiress.”
    For all his suspicions that the quiet and unassuming
Nesbitt was more than he seemed, the flat statement shocked, and
Halcombe stiffened, still unsure of Nesbitt’s intent.
    “You could do worse, my lord. She comes of good
stock. Her mother was the daughter of an earl. Her family never
forgave her for marrying a lowly baron’s son, but Anne had no
regrets and we had a happy marriage.”
    For a moment Halcombe doubted his hearing, but one
look at Nesbitt’s expression told him the man was serious.
    “She could do better,” he said shortly. “She needs
the chance to try her wings, meet other young people. Not plunge
into marriage with the first man she meets.” It pained him to admit
that it had crossed his mind, but however fair and charming, she
was so damn young, and not only in the eight years separating them
in age. A wealth of experience out in the world lay between them as
well.
    “It does you credit, my lord, but the time for that
is past. I’ve been selfish, keeping her with me, not taking her
into society. Now it is too late.” Nesbitt paused, laid his hands
flat on his desk, and leaned forward. “I’m dying, Halcombe. It’s a
matter of months and I want my daughter settled before I go.”
    “Frances doesn’t know?”
    Nesbitt shook his head, suddenly appearing as ill as
he claimed. “That I am ill? Yes. That I am not going to get better?
No, although she may suspect. Frances is no fool, but in this she
wants to pretend otherwise.” He raised a hand before Halcombe had a
chance to reply. “Consider it. That’s all I ask. I think I can
trust you to care for her and make her happy.”
     
    ***
     
    Neither of which you did very well. The
admission left a bitter taste in Halcombe’s mouth and he refilled
his glass.
    “Your evening went badly, I take it.”
    Roused from his memories by the sound of Colin’s
voice, Halcombe looked up as his host strolled into the room. The
viscount held up the bottle and lifted a brow.
    “From the level on that bottle, I’d say you were well
on your way,” he said with a grin. “You’ll have a head on you in
the morning if you keep this up, my lad. Perhaps I should remove
the temptation and drink the rest myself.”
    The earl raised his glass and shrugged. “It’s your
brandy.” He studied the spirit in his hand as if it held some
long-sought answer, then his mouth twisted. “Although I’d rather a
bout with a sore head and sour stomach than face today again.”
    Summerton stirred up the fire, dropped into the chair
opposite, and cocked his head. “You have made some plans, then, if
you are thinking about tomorrow. Did Lady Halcombe explain what she
has been doing in Portugal—and how she got there? I must admit to
an unseemly curiosity.” Amusement flickered in his eyes. “Sea
travel being so chancy these days.”
    “Lady Halcombe is quite sparing with explanations,”
Halcombe said bitterly. “I know nothing more now than I