Page 68 of Miss Prim and the Duke of Wylde
Drago shifted his gaze to the dukedom’s principal legal eagle and inclined his head. “Crawthorne.”
“No need to ask if you’re well.” Crawthorne waved to one of the armchairs angled before his massive mahogany desk, a good half of which was covered by files. “Please, take a seat and tell me how Crawthorne and Quartermaine might be of assistance.”
Drago obliged, sitting and elegantly crossing his long legs while Thomas drew up a straight-backed chair and sat a little beyond one end of the desk.
Feeling very much in charity with the world, Drago glanced at Thomas, then shifted his gaze to Crawthorne, who now sat with his hands clasped on his blotter, an attentive expression on his lined face. Drago hid a fond smile; over the years, old Crawthorne had extricated him from more than one scrape. While the solicitor transparently disapproved of Drago’s recklessness, he’d never preached. Smoothly, Drago said, “I informed you some weeks ago of my intention to oblige my late father by satisfying the clause in his will requiring me to marry before my thirty-fifth birthday.”
Crawthorne nodded. “I was, consequently, unsurprised to read the notice of your engagement to Miss Cynster in theGazette. Although”—Crawthorne’s gaze flicked briefly to Thomas—“Mr. Hayden informed me that he believed you and Miss Cynster intended to wait until June or so to marry, I have, of course, commenced preparing the information necessary for determining the marriage settlements.”
“Excellent.” Drago smiled approvingly; this was why Crawthorne was the dukedom’s solicitor. “I’ve come to inform you that Miss Cynster and I have concluded that there’s no reason to wait, and we’ve elected to confound society by making next Saturday our wedding day.”
“Next Saturday!” Thomas exclaimed.
When Drago and Crawthorne looked at him, Thomas blushed and cleared his throat. “Sorry.” He offered Drago a bashful smile. “I was just…surprised. Well, stunned.”
Drago smiled back. “To be expected—Meg and I hadn’t really discussed our wedding date as such.” To Crawthorne, he explained, “Earlier today, Miss Cynster and I made up our minds as to when we should wed. I’ve come straight from the Cynster house in Half Moon Street.”
“I see.” Crawthorne had seized a legal pad and pencil and was already making notes. “Half Moon Street. Yes, I believe I know the house.” All business, he looked up and skewered Drago with a glance. “Do you know which firm the family employs?”
“No. I didn’t think to ask.”
“No matter.” Crawthorne scribbled. “I know Montague and Sons manages the family’s business affairs and has for decades. Montague will know who handles the legal side.” Crawthorne sat back and, gaze shrewd, regarded Drago. “Now, as to what I would recommend.” He went on to list various sums, properties, and caveats.
Drago listened attentively and made a few remarks, but when Crawthorne waded deeper into the legal issues, Drago held up a staying hand. “Crawthorne, considering how much the dukedom relies on your wisdom, I have full confidence in your advice. Whatever is required to reach an agreement, do it.” He smiled, deliberately charming. “I place the dukedom’s future unreservedly in your hands.”
Despite his age and revered position in his profession, Crawthorne all but preened. “Indeed, Your Grace. You may rely on Crawthorne and Quartermaine to ensure that a generous settlement is agreed while, of course, preserving all that is the dukedom’s due.”
With that assurance ringing in his ears, Drago rose, bringing Crawthorne and Thomas to their feet. His expression easy, Drago said, “In that respect, I know I can safely place my trust in Crawthorne and Quartermaine. I’ll leave you to it.”
With a nod to Crawthorne and a smile for Thomas as his friend moved to open the door, Drago murmured as he passed Thomas, “I’ll see you later.” Then he left and, in short order, quit the chambers and strode for his curricle.
* * *
Drago and Megspent Saturday evening attending a dinner at the home of one of the ton’s foremost hostesses followed by a select soirée. At neither event did they have even a whisper of a chance to speak privately, and of necessity, they had to keep their decision regarding their wedding a secret. Both had been warned exceedingly strictly by their mothers that on no account was the news to leak out just yet.
Indeed, under threat of all manner of retribution, all lips were to remain sealed until Monday, when a notice would run in theGazette. Until then, their mothers were busy notifying family members, in some cases by courier.
“If we don’t give everyone a chance to get here in time for the wedding, we’ll never hear the end of it!” his mother had exclaimed, a sentiment emphatically shared by Flick.
Apparently, formal invitations would be sent out on Tuesday; his mother, his aunt, and even his sisters had been drafted to help Flick and her familial peers inscribe and address each of the hundreds of invitations that would have to be dispatched.
Drago would have preferred to lie low until next Saturday, but doubted he would be allowed to hide. By midmorning on Sunday, he’d grown restless enough and curious enough to seek clarification as to what he might expect in the coming week. Consequently, he had the grays put to and drove to Half Moon Street.
On being admitted to the front hall, he immediately heard the chatter of female voices—many more than one—and froze on the threshold. Having no wish to find himself dragged like some prize exhibit into a morning gathering of Cynster females, he rolled a questioning eye at the butler. “Miss Cynster?”
The butler understood perfectly. Keeping his voice low, he replied, “Miss Cynster accompanied the Countess of Glengarah and the countess’s son, Master Dougal, to the Zoological Gardens, Your Grace. They departed about a half hour ago. I daresay they will still be there.”
Drago smiled. “Thank you.”
Still holding the door, the butler bowed low, and Drago swung around, went down the steps, and leapt into his curricle. He accepted the reins from Milton, glad that today, he’d allowed the young tiger to come along.
As Drago set the grays pacing, Milton asked, “Where we headed to then, Y’r Grace?”
“Miss Cynster has gone to the Zoological Gardens, and we’re off to hunt her down.”
* * *
Meg heldone of her nephew Dougal’s small hands, and Pru held on to the other as they progressed from enclosure to enclosure, viewing the animals pacing within, much to Dougal’s delight.
