“Besides, you are not the main topic being talked about and haven’t been for some while. Evidently it is someone rather different who is.”
“And who, pray, might that be?” Eammon asked. He did not keep up with the broadsheets and scandals around town. Nor did he attend balls or social gatherings unless it could be avoided.
“Charity Pembroke, the daughter of the late Viscount Pembroke is the one who is talked about by anyone, I hear.”
“You just returned from Ireland, how can you know that? And what are they saying about her? She lives in the country and never comes into town, how can there be anything to talk about?”
Thomas cleared his throat. “Ireland is not out of this world, Eammon. People talk even there. And on the boat. And I had a rather talkative travel companion who attends Hanover Square Rooms regularly and was a fountain of information. As for Lady Charity, she no longer lives in the country seat. They relocated to London last month.”
Eammon’s eyes grew wide. In all the years his father and Lord Pembroke had been friends, he’d only met his daughters, Charity and Eleanor, a handful of times and not at all since …well, it had to have been ten years. Lord Pembroke had not liked venturing into town and had avoided it when possible. On the rare occasion he had been in town for important votes or matters he could not delegate, he’d come alone. Still, Eammon had heard of Charity and Eleanor from time to time, given his father’s close connection to them. He’d been surprised not to have met either daughter after their father’s funeral six months ago, but he’d assumed they were being hidden from the world due to their grief.
But now, Charity was here? In town? And the topic of conversation?
“She is to be married,” his cousin informed him. “Rumor has it that Gabriel Marting, Viscount of Markham will propose. My travel companion overheard him at Bootles talking about his intentions to propose. Today, in fact, at Stafford House.”
Eammon was stunned. Charity, married? It seemed rather fast.
“The mourning period for their father is hardly over, does that not seem hasty?”
“They’ve gone into half-mourning. I suppose they were rather in a rush.”
“I’ll say. It seems rather hasty,” Eammon said.
“I agree. But I suspect it has something to do with the will.”
“The will?” Emmett asked, feeling as though he had wandered into a play after intermission and had no idea of the plot.
“I’ve been back and forth to Ireland no less than three times in the last six months, and I know more about what’s going on in society than you do.”
“I’ve had to tend to my mother and my sisters,” Eammon said. This was not a lie. Nine months had passed since the death of his father, and his mother had struggled, and he had spent much of his time caring for her and settling family matters.
He had taken time to attend Lord Pembroke’s funeral up north because his father would have wanted him to, but otherwise he had been occupied with matters of the estate.
“Well, do not keep me in suspense. What is being said about the will?”
Thomas cleared his throat. “There is some clause in it stating that Lord Pembroke’s daughters must be married before they receive their inheritance. And that the inheritance might include Pembroke’s infamous Book of Confidences.”
Eammon rolled his eyes. He had heard of Pembroke’s Book of Confidences all of his life, a book that supposedly contained dirty secrets of various influential families which had afforded Pembroke the luxury to live a more comfortable life than most viscounts could afford. He supposedly blackmailed an assortment of people to get what he wanted be that business, or votes in the House of Lords, or favors. Whatever it was, his book could make it so.
Eammon knew this to be nothing but gammon.
“If such a book existed, why would Pembroke risk it getting into the hands of interlopers or those looking to marry up? He would not put his daughters in that position, surely,” he said.
“Unless he was being blackmailed. Someone might have blackmailed the blackmailer. Perhaps someone knew something about Pembroke and he agreed to add such a clause to the will. Or perhaps he had someone in mind to marry his daughter. Someone who has not yet come forward?”
“It is all rather peculiar,” he said and shook his head.
“Your father never mentioned anything? They were friends, he and Pembroke, were they not? Papa always says that Uncle Alexander did not keep friends outside the family outside of Pembroke,” Thomas said.
“Uncle Edwin is right; Father did not keep many friends. He and Pembroke were friends, but they did not see one another all that often. Sometimes only once a year, whenever Father went shooting with Pembroke in the highlands as they did every year. But he never mentioned anything about a will.” He narrowed his eyes. “Pembroke came to Father’s funeral, you remember, do you not?”
“I do, yes. He was one of the few who came back to the house after the funeral. A peculiar fellow,” Thomas said.
“He was. He spoke to me for a time. He …” he waved a hand, dismissing the thought. “He said nothing about a will or a demand that his daughter get married to receive her inheritance. But then, I was not in the mood for idle gossip.”
For a little while, the only sound was the grandfather clock in the corner, but then Thomas cleared his throat and rose.
“Anyhow, I shall go. Mama is awaiting me with a most delicious dinner, I am certain. Say, are you going to the ball at Stafford House this evening?”
