Page 50 of A Body, A Baron, and Miss Mifford
The uncomfortable truth of his last remark made Rob uneasy. If Lord Albermay was telling the truth that he had not killed his father, then his poor manners and surly demeanour toward his fellow guests were somewhat warranted. If Rob was ever unfairly blamed for a murder he hadn’t committed, he’d probably be just as boorish in his manner.
“Why did Mable not wish to tell Lord Crabb that she had spent the night with you?” Rob pressed.
“Her reputation,” the viscount spat, rolling his eyes, “Though why she believed it worth saving is beyond me—most men can spot a harlot from three feet away; with Mable, you’d spot her from a furlong.”
Though Rob’s instinctive reaction was to defend any woman from being insulted, he kept his counsel. It would not do to argue with Lord Albermay about chivalry when he was being so forthcoming.
“So Mable refused to help you,” Rob summarised, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “And then, someone else just decided to murder her?”
“Nobody murdered her,” the viscount snarled, his face now so red that Rob was worried he might take an apoplectic fit, “She deliberately staged a murder scene to throw more suspicion on me.”
“And why would she do that?” Rob asked, genuinely curious.
“She was afraid that I would out our union to Lord Crabb, and then she would lose her position,” Lord Albermay replied before hurriedly adding, “And she was angry that I would not marry her.”
“Did you give her reason to expect that you would?” Rob raised his brows in disbelief.
“I did say that she’d make a lovely wife,” the viscount replied, suitably shamefaced, “Though I never specified for whom.”
Rob felt a brief stab of pity for Mable; cruel though she had been to Flora, Lord Albermay had been crueller to her again. Rob guessed that the viscount had talked the green girl into parting with her maidenhead in exchange for nothing more than vague murmurings of marriage.
“Hell hath no fury,” Rob commented, earning a doleful nod of agreement from Lord Albermay.
“I’ll think twice the next time before dipping my wick with a maid,” the viscount finished crudely. “Lud! Let this ruddy snow melt so I can return to London and celebrate my new title with some proper light skirts.”
Rob closed his eyes briefly as he willed away the image of Lord Albermay celebrating his new title in a brothel. It was too close to dinnertime to have such visions unwillingly forced upon him.
“You will have to settle a sum on Mable if she reappears,” Rob instructed once his nausea had passed, “When I inform Lord Crabb of this, Mable will lose her position, so you will have to offer her compensation.”
“That seems rather unfair,” the viscount protested. “I only took what she was willing to give.”
“You made the girl think that you would marry her,” Rob countered, “Besides, you already offered her a bag of coin so she’d ruin her reputation to save your skin. You’ll only pay what you already promised.”
For a moment, Lord Albermay looked as though he wished to put up a quarrel, but his bravado soon deflated.
“You will inform Lord Crabb of my innocence?” Lord Albermay clarified, his shoulders sagging with relief as Rob nodded he would. “Then I will pay the girl whatever you like. Thank you, Delaney.”
“I would not like to see an innocent man accused,” Robert deflected his thanks, then offered the viscount a brief bow to indicate that the conversation was over.
He left the room quickly, glad to escape the fetid air. Mable would be wise to reappear sooner rather than later if she wanted to be paid. Robert did not imagine the bloated viscount would see out the year.
In the hallway, Rob debated returning to his room to mull over matters until dinner. Though he usually preferred hisown company, his pride still smarted from earlier, so seeking reassurance, Robert decided to hunt down his oldest and closest friend.
“You did what?” Freddie groaned, covering his face with his hands to hide his despair.
“It’s not that bad,” Robert countered, aggrieved at his friend’s response to the tale of his woes.
“It’s worse,” Highfield snorted, “There’s no one a Mifford girl detests more than Mrs Canards—and you made her party to your intent to marry Eudora before Eudora herself.”
Rob thought back on Mr Mifford’s earlier advice that gossip was a currency for some people and groaned. He had gifted his intended wife’s greatest enemy a proverbial pot of gold by letting her know that he and Eudora would be wed. Little wonder his intended wife wasn’t as intent on marriage as he.
“I will find a way to make amends,” Rob answered, refusing to meet his friend’s sceptical gaze.
“Might I ask how?” Highfield queried with a raised brow.
“I don’t yet have a plan,” Rob peevishly replied, “But I will make amends. Now, as much as I know you enjoy watching me squirm, I have other urgent matters I need to discuss.”
“You’ve had a busy day,” Highfield noted as he sat on the edge of his bed to wait for Rob to continue. “I can’t imagine having more pressing matters than a failed marriage proposal. Do tell all.”
