Read Online Grace Gibson by The Lost Heir of Devonshire - Free Book Online

the kitchen and fetch my nephew.”
    “My Lord Denley is here?” Mr. Quinley asked, in no small surprise.
    “So it would seem. You will know him — although I am sure he has affected some disguise?”
    This last he addressed to Mr. Brinkley, who said, “Sure enough, sir. We would not be bringing him right past Bow Street without making him look like he ain’t like no Marquis who’s a person of interest.”
    To Quinley, Eversham said with asperity, “No doubt he will look like the hurley-burleys with whom he’s been keeping company.”
    So the Marquis was ushered into the breakfast parlour, where his uncle sat waiting for bad news.
    “I thank you, uncle,” Denley said, brushing past Quinley in a rush and discarding his rough coat in that worthy’s extended arm, “for seeing me. I believe you will not like me being here, but allow me at least to explain myself.”
    “Indeed, I am agog,” professed the uncle while poring himself a cup of tea. “But, pray tell me first: how much this will cost? So that while you are ranting on about your side of the story I can be deciding whether or not I shall rescue you this time.”
    “Cost?” Denley exclaimed in surprise. “I should dare say very little, although there is the money I owe Brinkley for the expenses of travel — you have left me without a feather to fly with!”
    “I find I do not care for you as a high flyer. Now, are you quite out of your mind to be coming to London where you are known to be adrift from the law for duelling, indebted to a criminal degree and hunted by a dozen enraged fathers that we know of? Not to mention the trifling matter of the moneylenders who do not care to operate within the boundaries of common law?”
    “Sir, I felt it worth the risk to escape Margill,” Robert replied with conviction.
    Lord Eversham stood up and glared at his nephew. “Good God, you have not…”
    “No!” cried Denley. “Are you suggesting I would seduce a daughter of such a scheming mercenary as Mrs. Bromley? She set many a trap, I assure you, but my conduct was quite Christian and above reproach. You yourself witnessed me going there with every honourable intention! Then Miss Bromley revealed herself to be the most intolerably witless creature. And Miss Catherine- A shrew! A temper like that of a sea witch over some little trifle or other, and all of them trying to contain her so I wouldn’t hear her screeches and her mama telling me that she is prone, but very rarely, to the megrims, but nothing that a few hours in seclusion with the hartshorn and smelling salts won’t cure.” He caught his breath after his tumbling oration, and glared at his uncle. “I am insulted you would accuse me of intrigue in such a wretched quagmire of characters. Indeed! And I am quite enraged that you thought to introduce me there, and to leave me quite friendless in such a coil.”
    “Ah,” Lord Eversham said, retaking his seat and picking up his newspaper again. He placed the paper between his flushed and panting nephew and himself, and after a moment, bent the corner enough to peer over it. “I infer that the Miss Catherine is no longer an object of pursuit?”
    Lord Robert let out a deflated, exasperated snort in reply.
    “Then may I also infer that, upon reflection, the evils of Miss Mary Fanley are not so very insurmountable?”
    Lord Robert stared at the newspaper, behind which his uncle sat quite at his ease. After a moment he took a chair, and began to laugh; a low, mirthless chuckle.
    “Pray, what has amused you sir?” Eversham asked from behind the commodities page.
    “Oh, I see how you have played this hand — and touché , I am pinked.” Denley made a mock bow from his chair.
    “Then I suggest you prepare to travel to Greenly at week’s end, for I cannot like to harbour unsavouries of your ilk.” Eversham rang the bell. “Quinley, Lord Robert and I will travel on Friday morning to Yorkshire. See that the arrangements are made.”
    “And my