Midnight Marriage: A Georgian Historical Romance (Roxton Series) by Lucinda Brant

passing through. There are always the inns. What do you think?” He addressed the raised newssheet and as it did not answer him he said with a laugh, as if reading Martin Ellicott’s thoughts, “My convalescence has turned me into a great bore! If you hadn’t found me bound up with makeshift bandages I dare say you’d think I’d seen an apparition to be forever boring on about my fiddler.”
    “Whether this young lady exists or not, my lord, I am grateful to her for aiding your quick recovery,” Martin answered diplomatically. “Your determination to solve the mystery has got you out of bed quicker than any medicinal.” He put the newssheet aside. “However, a week of sitting about the house with only my humble self for company, and the lack of physical exercise, has magnified your little mystery into—forgive me—an obsession.”
    “Thank you for being frank,” Julian muttered.
    “As for pursuing all avenues of inquiry,” continued the old man, “I am confident all the usual channels have been exhausted. That is, only persons relied upon to remain discreet were approached. You told me once, you believe this female to be in some sort of trouble. Carrying a loaded pistol would indicate she may be in more trouble than is worth your while. Playing a viola in the forest at dawn with only her young nephew for chaperone and a loaded pistol for protection is hardly ladylike behavior.”
    Julian’s eyes danced. “Martin, just because you spent a lifetime steeped in my father’s vice doesn’t mean that every female who crosses the path of the son is fit only to grace his bed. I am hardly worthy of the Duke’s reputation. After all, he did not meet Maman until well into his third decade. And it must have been a most shocking reputation at that, because, even after all these years, it’s stuck.”
    “The Duke has been devoted to your mother since the day they met!”
    “All right. All right,” the Marquis grumbled good-naturedly. “Don’t get nettled. Why shouldn’t he be devoted? Her loveliness is matched by her sweet temperament. Sometimes I wish—No, don’t build up steam under your cravat; just because I was going to wish her a little bit of age and ugliness. I know you’re as besotted as my father.”
    Martin Ellicott’s face changed color. Julian had never seen the old man blush and it embarrassed him as much as it did the blusher. He picked up the letter and fiddled with the seal, giving his godfather an excuse to retreat behind the pages of his newssheet. Although the letter’s direction was written in his father’s elegant fist, the contents belonged to his mother. As always with her it was written in French, with only a sprinkling of English. He read the two pages of closely written script, saying without looking up, “They are staying in London until the end of the month and then taking Harry down to Treat for the holidays. It seems Tante Estée is unwell yet again. When isn’t she coming down with something? Poor old Oncle Lucian! Maman has persuaded them to spend a few weeks at Treat; says the country air will do Tante good. She tells me she wrote to you in mon père’s letter. She ends by hoping I am well and to see me at Treat on the -th.” He folded the parchment and slipped it into his banyan pocket. “No hint she knows of my latest folly. And your missive from my esteemed pater? Well! You needn’t pretend he doesn’t know because I am persuaded he must, just by the look on your face.”
    Martin refilled their dishes. He looked pensive as he liberally sugared his coffee, and he did no more than glance at the Marquis. “When your fever broke, the first question you asked was if your parents knew if you were injured and the circumstance of your injury.”
    “And you assured me you did not tell them.”
    “I did not. Yet, your father knew—”
    “Damn!”
    “—and was here—”
    “ Parbleu . No.”
    “—for one night,” continued the old man. “He would have stayed