“I heard she arranged for Lady Katherine to run away to Paris to study painting.”
“What?” Henry actually paused in reaching for another sandwich.
“Yes, Lady Katherine was a painter.”
Henry nodded. “I saw a stain on her hand and asked if she was a great writer. She said she paints.”
“Not anymore. Her father forbids her from having anything to do with art. No sketching, no painting. She’s not even allowed to go to museums. Her plans to go to Paris to study with a great master were discovered, and she was sent to Carlisle Hall as punishment.”
Henry raised his brows. “And, I imagine, to keep her away from whatever artistic influences weighed upon her in London. But she must be of age. Her father can’t keep her from traveling to Paris.”
His mother sighed. “Henry, how little you know about the ways of the world. Men have myriad ways to control women. In any case, her former companion was part of the scheme, and when she was let go, Mrs. Murray was brought in. She is a kind woman, but I have no doubt Shrewsbury made clear to her that her loyalty is to him. She undoubtedly sends him updates on Lady Katherine daily. Be careful not to make it into those letters, or the marquess will whisk her away again.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“Good, and do us all a favor and kiss her tonight.”
“I will not—How is my kissing Lady Katherine a favor to you? Or me, for that matter?” Henry realized the direction of that question and raised a hand. “Wait. Do not answer that. I do not want to know.”
“Well, I’ll tell you anyway. No, don’t stand up. You may not take your leave.”
Henry sighed and gripped the arms of the couch.
“My legs bother me at night,” she said. “They tingle and burn and ache. I find I must walk about to ease the sensations. If it’s not too late, I have Burns come in and massage some cream into my legs. That often helps.”
“Have you seen a physician?”
She waved his words away. “Oh, they give me tonics and all sorts of powders. All of it hogwash. My point is, I am often awake late at night, and I have noticed, these past few days, that you are too.”
Henry nodded. “It’s not easy to sleep when one has a curse hanging over one’s head.”
“Is that all that’s keeping you awake? Ellsworth tells me you pace back and forth. Indeed, I’ve heard you walking to and fro.”
Henry wondered how the devil Ellsworth might hear such a thing, but he didn’t question his mother’s hearing. “Isn’t a curse enough to keep from sleep?”
“You’re avoiding the question by asking one of your own. To answer, you miss gambling.”
“Rubbish! I don’t miss it at all. Not even a little.” Henry was quite pleased by how convincing he sounded.
The duchess raised her brows. “Is that so? You are content never to touch a pack of cards or a handful of dice again?”
“Perfectly content.” But Henry’s mouth had gone dry at the thought of the sleek feel of cards in his hand, or the rattle of the bones before they thudded on a green baize table.
“Because you know you must never touch either again. You mustn’t put your name in that infernal betting book at White’s, either. You are not the sort of man who can play a game of whist to pass the time. One game and you will be right back where you left off. And now you have gambled everything you had away, and God knows what you will wager next.”
Henry thought of his coach and horses. He could wager those. He could sell them for coin to wager. He had clothes as well. These were the considerations keeping him up at night. He fought himself, fought the urge to ride to the nearest tavern and find a game—any game.
“I have not gambled since the night I lost the town house,” he said through gritted teeth. His hands clenched the couch so hard they ached. “It’s been a fortnight at least.”
“And you are becoming restless. You need a distraction. Finding out the reason Shrewsbury hates you is a good one. I suppose, if we are desperate, you might pursue this idea of a curse. Lady Katherine is another distraction.”
“I hope you are not suggesting I seduce her.”
“Not at all. But you might see what you can do to assist her improving the lives of the tenants. She might not have been born at Carlisle Hall, but she is certainly earning the title of its mistress.”
“Assist her? You mean manual labor?”
“Exactly. That sort of labor will make you too tired at night to even consider sneaking off to a tavern to look for a game of chance.”
