Page 8 of To Resist a Scandalous Rogue
“And I doubt the rest of the party will be up until later in the day, considering I heard below stairs that the majority of the earl’s guests, the earl included, didn’t retire until almost dawn.” Norris tsked, smoothing the corner of the counterpane flat.
“And?” Finlay took another bite of bacon and stared at the valet with an arched brow while he chewed.
The man’s eyes darted all over the room, never landing on Finlay. “And the post will be delivered around ten of the clock. I know you’ve been anticipating a letter from Her Grace.”
Taking a sip of coffee to calm himself, Finlay placed the cup on its saucer with more finesse than he thought he possessed at the moment. “And pray tell, Norris, what became of the errand I sent you on earlier?”
“Yes, that,” the valet said, the latter word uttered with all the grace of a curse. “I made inquiries, as I indicated I would, and no one has seen the woman you described.”
“Charlotte,” Finlay murmured, rubbing a hand over his unshaven chin. “Her name is Charlotte.”
Norris dipped his head. “Yes, well, I could find no trace of her. I apologize, my lord.”
“And what of the woman Eliza?” Finlay narrowed his eyes. “Were you able to locate her?”
The man cast his gaze to his feet, which he shifted on in obvious discomfort. “I did. She is still a guest of Lord Belling.” He cleared his throat. “According to the earl’s valet, the woman is still with him.”
“Ah,” Finlay said, annoyance hardening his jaw. “Well, if that’s the case, chances are she won’t know where Charlotte is, either.”
Where could the woman have gone? Was it possible she’d fled rather than talk with him further? It was obvious from her guarded behavior that Charlotte didn’t usually engage in assignations, but he’d hoped she viewed their time together differently.
But why would she? To her, he might just be a spoiled peer with more whisky in his flask than sense in his head. Perhaps she wasn’t as moved by their time together as he’d been. The thought was humbling, indeed.
Or even more damning.
Perhaps she suspected the position he was to offer her, and she’d absconded instead. If she’d been unwilling to accept her cousin’s proposition, why would she possibly be open to accepting his?
He was a dolt. An inconsiderate, crass dolt.
Finlay slowly ate his breakfast, the delicious fare now tasting like sawdust. Finally pushing the tray away, he dropped his head onto his pillow and sighed loudly. Should he wait and question this Eliza? Surely she had an idea of how he could contact Charlotte.
Grunting, he flopped over and punched his pillow into shape. Did he truly want to find her? With the affairs of the earldom now his responsibility, he did not have time for a mistress. With a lump in his throat, he admitted it would not serve his future political ambitions to be connected to a woman of such humble birth, no matter how charming and lovely he might find her.
Bits and pieces of their conversation the previous night, mundane comments she had made about her Jewish heritage and religion, also reminded him that non-Anglicans received intense scrutiny in the current political climate. Many influential members of the majority party still opposed Catholic relief, and if their Catholic brethren had to organize and push for the end of restrictions and prejudice, how then would other religious minorities be treated? Finlay thought the discrimination ludicrous and narrow-minded, but he was painfully aware he was not in a position to alienate his father’s allies in the party. Not yet, at least.
And how did he know if Charlotte had told him the truth of her background? Would the widow of the undersecretary to the governor of India be accepting work as a maid? He snorted. In the light of day, with the haze of drink no longer clouding his judgment, the claim seemed ridiculous.
Exhaling loudly, he understood Charlotte could have been a liability he was not prepared to handle.
Lifting his head, he called to Norris in the dressing room. “Pack my things. We return to Rockhaven Court today.”
Norris nodded, relief evident in his expression. After the man returned to his work, Finlay sat up and lay back on the pillows. He scrubbed a hand down his face and forced himself to mentally bid Charlotte goodbye. Begrudgingly, he conceded her hasty escape was for the best. He wished her well, wherever she found herself.
Chapter Three
Fall 1829– One year later
Had the London air always smelled so…distasteful?
Finlay wrinkled his nose and inhaled reluctantly. The threads of coal smoke and foul city stench filled his lungs, reminding him how spoiled he’d become over the last year with the rich country air at Rockhaven Court.
He blinked several times, allowing his eyes a chance to adapt to the bright morning sunlight. Traffic was sparse, as it was still quite early for the fashionable crowd. But Finlay hadn’t adjusted to town hours, and his body awoke with the sunrise, eager to face the challenges of the day.
For so long, his main challenge had been pulling the Rockhaven estates back from the brink of ruination. His father had squandered the earldom’s once bounteous coffers. His unscrupulous dealings and the horrendous deeds he’d committed were a result.
But that was the past, Finlay reminded himself, swallowing away the memories. Thanks to his hard work and smart, profitable investments with the Darington-Rockhaven partnership, the earldom was recovering. And that was reason enough to look to the future.Possibly a political future, Finlay thought, situating his hat to block out the sun’s blinding rays.
Despite his work with the earldom over the last year, he’d also kept abreast of dealings in Westminster, and his desire to become involved in the shaping of the country’s policies had only grown. But he was unsure of how to proceed. He needed guidance, and until he found someone to provide it, he felt restless. Aimless.
