Page 108 of Rakes & Reticules
“Yes. Reeves and I went to Shrewsbury together along with Stonelake here—”
“Yes! I remember the connection. You were a solicitor then,” the viscount said, suddenly rearing back. “Extraordinary. I had no recollection that you were acquainted with an earldom.”
Stonelake patted his shoulder. “Fitz never was one to brag about his familial connections. He was first cousin to the former Earl of Killingworth.”
Viscount Hightower shook his head, his eyes closing for a moment. “Tragic, tragic story. Is it true he went looking to be killed?”
Fitz froze in place; he loathed discussing his cousin’s death. John shouldn’t be defined by his grief; he should be remembered for the man he was. To Fitz, his cousin was all things good in the world. John had been blessed with the rarity of a love match, but the loss of that love destroyed him.
Hightower looked over Fitz’s shoulder. “Ladies! Allow me to introduce the Duke of Stonelake and I believe you all are familiar with the Earl of Killingworth.”
Fitz turned around, coming face to face with the woman that had ruined all his hopes and dreams of a love match.
Mrs. Jane Miller.
She hadn’t aged at all, but she still had the same pinch at the corner of her lips as if she was eating something unpleasant. Her eyebrows were still knit together, her eyes judging and assessing always.
He hadn’t liked the woman then, and he could surmise by the look she was giving him that he would not like her now.
Both Fitz and Stonelake bowed to the three women. They were all as stunning as he remembered, but none of them was the one person who had his heart beating in anticipation at seeing her again.
One look, that was all he needed, and then he would excuse himself and go in search of the reticule. The sooner he left Brighton, the safer his heart would be.
“Your Grace, may I introduce the family of my closest friend, Ensign Phineas Grant?” Hightower held out his hand waving between Stonelake and the three women who stood beside him. “His mother-in-law, Mrs. Miller; his wife, Mrs. Grant and his youngest daughter, Mrs. Mary-Anne Grant.”
“Your Grace it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Mrs. Miller curtsied and held out a wrinkle-free hand.
It had been five years since Fitz last saw the elderly woman, but she had not aged a day. Mrs. Miller did not appear to be a woman with a married daughter and two grown granddaughters.
Taking her hand, his friend bowed over it. “Enchanted.” Stonelake rose, bowing to the other two women who had curtsied to him.
“The Earl of Killingworth?” Mrs. Grant asked, her eyes bewildered.
There was a small bit of pride that swelled in Fitz’s chest. He was not the young man who courted her daughter all those years ago. He was titled now, important in their eyes, but that did not matter. To him he was still the same man who was shunned and looked down upon by them five years earlier.
“Fitz, please, Mrs. Grant,” he said, looking at the older woman. It wasn’t that he refused to be addressed by his title; it simply was not who he was.
It had been nearly a year since his cousin’s death, yet he still could not accept the title. It didn’t feel like his. The Earl of Killingworth was John, not him.
“Forgive me. Killingworth here prefers to go by his surname, still,” Hightower informed the women. “I suppose it would be rather difficult to adjust.”
“Indeed, especially if you have been one name your entire life,” Stonelake replied beside Fitz, always on his side.
They had been friends since Fitz’s first day at Shrewsbury. Instantly connecting over their love of literature, math, and horses. It was a relationship that he cherished, as they were more like brothers than friends.
“How very interesting to see you again,” Mrs. Miller said looking at Fitz with contempt. She turned her attention back to Stonelake who appeared bored with the entire conversation. “How long will we have the pleasure of your company, Your Grace?”
The older woman focused her attention on his friend, and Fitz could perceive that she intended him for the younger Miss Grant.
Five years earlier, Mary-Anne Grant had been a young innocent girl who idolized her older sister. She was young and vibrant then, but now, she was distant and reserved.
“Not long at all. Fitz and I should be leaving by the end of the week. We only came to enjoy the sea air,” Stonelake answered easily, a triumphant smirk on his lips.
Fitz couldn’t help his own glee at his friend’s expense. It served Stonelake right to have to face the stern woman after the way he acted with Fitz in the carriage. He’d spent the entire journey to Brighton questioning Fitz about Miss Patience Grant, a subject that he had rarely spoken of in years. He found that some things were better left in the past.
After his return from Brighton five years ago, Fitz informed his friend of his short courtship with Patience Grant and Reeves involvement. Stonelake had never trusted Reeves; though both men attended Shrewsbury, they had barely spoken in all the years they were there together.
“What a shame. We would’ve liked to have you over for dinner, wouldn’t we, Mary-Anne?” Mrs. Miller said, her keen gaze boring into Mary-Anne in challenge.
