Page 3 of Lady of Providence
Redmond settled back into the folds of the forest green leather chair, lighting a cheroot as he fixed his gaze on Gabriel, though his expression soon turned serious, his eyes narrowing and his brows settling low overtop them.
“Something the matter, Clarence?” he asked. “You do not typically look so somber. Calculating, yes, but somber? Never so.”
Gabriel sighed, taking another sip of his drink.
“I am bored, Redmond,” he said and tipped his head back to look up at the ornate ceiling and the intricate chandelier hanging from the middle of it.
“Bored?” Redmond nearly snorted. “Whatever do you have to be bored about?”
Gabriel shrugged. “This life. One party after another, one woman after another — none who are any challenge. While I do not dally with married woman, it seems as though I could have nearly any I choose. The people who frequent said gatherings are the same, night after night, telling repeated stories, bragging about their acquaintances, most of whom are standing across the room. What’s the point of it all?”
Redmond stared at him incredulously. “Are you serious?” He asked. “You could have anything you’d like, Clarence. Bored at a party? Go to a gaming hell! Bored with one woman? Find another! Bored with riding? Take up a fencing match! I hardly see what you have to complain about it.”
“And that is the biggest issue of them all,” Gabriel said with a nod of his head.
“Besides,” Redmond continued, “I had been expecting you to return from Newmarket a few months ago with a fiancée on your arm after I heard all the gossip that came flying back to London on the wings of little birdies. But no, the great Duke of Clarence seems to have been bested by a jockey!”
“I was never bested,” Gabriel said indignantly. “My intent was never to actually court nor wed the Lady Julia.”
“Then whyever would you pursue her?”
“Call it a puzzle, if you will, Redmond,” Gabriel responded. “One to which I already knew the solution, yet my help was required in order to reach the conclusion.”
Redmond shook his head.
“You speak in riddles, Clarence, but so be it. And how is Parliament these days?”
“A bore. Grown men squabbling because they feel as though they should when the answer is plain and simple, mattering not whether one is a Tory or a Wig, but whether one has common sense — which none of them do.”
Redmond steepled his fingers together and rested his chin upon them.
“Your estates?”
“I stay abreast of the business within each of them, certainly,” Clarence agreed, “But I have trusted, loyal stewards in place who seem to do a brilliant job in overseeing them.”
He stared out the window, his gaze landing upon a small lad hustling down the road, his cap pulled low over his face in an attempt to shield himself from the rain falling in earnest. His clothing was rather tattered, and clearly, he had not a great deal in this world. In fact, he very likely found himself here on James Street in order to pick a pocket or two, but there were none to be found as most made themselves scarce in such weather.
He looked back at Redmond, shaking his head. "This is a ridiculous conversation regarding the plights of one of the richest men in the land, whose bank account holds more funds than most would ever see in their entire lifetime."
Redmond seemed slightly confused for a moment, but then he tilted his head ever so slightly as he studied Gabriel.
"I've heard you are a partner of a bank — is there any truth to that?”
"Yes, if you can believe it — Clarke's. Although I'm not altogether sure that I want to hold such a position. It is rather unusual, for a duke. I was named a few years ago, when ... circumstances seemed to point to me becoming even closer to the family. Then everything changed, except for the partnership. I didn't take an active role, so Clarke seems pleased to keep me on board, and I appease him by voting with him when necessary."
"You are not interested in the affairs of the bank?"
"Of course not," he responded incredulously. "And like everything else in my life, I do not see that changing anytime soon."
* * *
One week later
Elizabeth sat stifflyon the edge of her bed, gazing at herself in the mirror above her vanity. Black, she decided, did not suit her. It made her skin so white she looked practically translucent, which would have been fine did it not make the few freckles upon her nose become much more prominent. She resembled a witch of sorts, with her hair red enough to seem not quite proper, despite the fact that it was pulled back into a smart chignon, without a wisp of curl escaping it.
Elizabeth pulled herself out of her thoughts, berating herself for her vanity as she looked down at her hands in her lap, clenched so tightly together that they were nearly white.
Her grandfather was dead. The man who had meant so much to her, who had shown her what it was to be responsible, loyal, trustworthy, and honest, was gone, leaving a hole in her heart. It was one that certainly would not be filled by her parents, she thought grimly as she stood and forced herself out the door, gripping the banister of their townhouse staircase as she descended the steps to the cold, austere drawing room, where her parents awaited her.
