“Don’t be bloody ridiculous,” Knight said. “Your affairs are your business. Certainly, I know of worse offenses.”
He appreciated the loyalty, especially because he’d never told them the truth about his affairs. The fewer who knew the better. “Being seen with me could tarnish your own reputations.”
“Don’t make us take you outside and beat some sense into you,” Rook said.
“As though any of you can match me when it comes to fisticuffs.” At an early age, he’d learned the value of being able to deliver a decisive blow. He glanced over at the man who had become his first friend at Oxford. “You have a wife to consider, King.”
“Penelope will be the most loyal of us all. She never sits in judgment, doesn’t even peruse the gossip rags.” He grinned. “She prefers scouring through financial reports.”
He’d married a woman who, like them, excelled at investing. Anxious to turn the conversation away from gossip, Bishop asked, “How is marriage suiting you?”
It was a ridiculous question because they all knew the duke was madly in love with his wife, had been long before he’d realized he was.
“I find it very much to my liking. You should give it a try.”
“I’m not sure marriage is something one should try. Rather, I think it requires a commitment, one I’m not willing to make. Unlike you, I have no title, require no heir.” Even if his current reputation didn’t make him unsuitable as a husband, he had a past he wouldn’t wish to inflict on any woman or offspring. He’d leave his fortune to various charities.
“It’s good that your wife lets you out occasionally,” Knight teased.
King scowled. “I’m not a pet to be let out. Besides, Penelope took a friend to the theater.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll leave in half an hour to pick them up. With my short duration here in mind, has anyone heard of any good investments lately?”
The talk shifted to various opportunities they’d heard about or been invited to join, but Bishop listened with only half an ear because his thoughts began to wander back to the maid, and how she’d looked somewhat forlorn when he’d first clapped eyes on her sitting in the hallway waiting for him to finish up with Mrs. Mallard. Then she’d appeared incredibly alert and a tad guilty. He wondered if she’d been engaged in naughty musings about some gentleman, because surely a man played a role in her life. Servants were not usually married, so she had no husband. But perhaps she fancied someone. Regardless, she was not for him. To flirt with her at all would be a disservice to her. She was in his employ. However, it was more than that.
He’d always enjoyed women. The discovery of what they offered was one of the reasons he’d decided to forego a career in the church. A man of God shouldn’t be a sinner.
However, as someone who grew easily bored, he couldn’t envision himself being content with one woman for the remainder of his life. As a result, he’d never pursued a lady with the notion of anything permanent. He wasn’t certain how one even went about it, which was perfectly fine as he had no plans to go about it.
Chapter 2
The following morning, with a heavy sigh, Bishop glanced at the reports spread out over his desk, the reports he’d been studying for the past hour, striving to determine if he should invest in any of the companies asking for an assist. His neck and shoulders ached. He knew better than to spend so long in one position. He needed an interruption. Perhaps a walk in the park or—
Reaching back, he yanked on the bellpull and then began rubbing on his neck as he waited for his butler to appear. A few minutes later, Perkins entered the room.
“You rang for me, sir?”
“I could set my watch by your punctuality, Perkins.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, sir.”
“As well you should. Have some tea brought in.”
His brow furrowed, Perkins glanced around before leveling his dark stare on Bishop. “Are we expecting company?”
“No, why?”
“You don’t drink tea, sir. You have gone so far as to threaten to have me dismissed should I ever have it served to you.”
“Unless I request it. Now I’m requesting it. Have that new girl, Daisy, bring it in.”
Normally at this point, Perkins issued a quick, “Yes, sir,” and dashed off to tend to whatever business Bishop required of him. Now he opened his mouth, closed it, blinked. An odd movement of his jaw followed, and Bishop could have sworn he heard teeth grinding. “Is there a problem?”
“She is rather innocent, sir.”
“However, she knows how to pour tea, does she not?”
“Yes, sir, but perhaps”—he glanced around again at the room devoid of visitors—“a footman should bring it up?”
Ah, he was worried about the young woman’s reputation in light of his employer’s. There were times when his willingness to help a woman escape her tyrannical husband’s clutches did place him in a bad light. As his servants were sometimes called upon to serve as witnesses, he let them believe the worst of him so they could tell the truth as they saw it, rather than have them risk perjury. “Have you ever known me to take advantage of a female staff member?”
“No, sir, but neither have I ever heard you call for one by name.”
Bishop released a long, drawn-out sigh. He paid this man good wages, more than some earned working for the nobility, and he shouldn’t have to put up with his actions being questioned. Nevertheless, he had to admire Perkins for his protectiveness toward the staff. “The door shall remain open, and you can stand guard at the threshold to ensure I’m on my best behavior, if you like. My head is aching, and I thought perhaps some tea might help.”
He gave a short bow. “Very good, sir. I’ll include a dash of cook’s powder that is known to relieve one’s head pains.”
Then he was gone, and Bishop refrained from getting up and pouring himself a scotch. He didn’t know why he wanted to see the chit again. For some ungodly reason, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. It wasn’t her pretty features that occupied his thoughts, but her mannerisms. She had seemed to be taking in the tableaux of the room, to have been studying him and his guest. Every servant he’d ever known, including the few in his father’s residence, had gone about their business without appearing to care about anyone else’s. She cared. He’d been able to detect the questions fairly running through her mind. Who is the woman? Why is she here? What’s she to you? He wondered if he should advise her to never play a game at a card table.
In the distance, he heard the soft tinkling of porcelain dishes. Even as his heart gave a hard thud against his ribs, he opened his ledger, dipped his pen in the inkwell, and hoped to give the impression that he hadn’t been anxiously awaiting her arrival. To ensure she understood he recognized her as a servant and not someone to be wooed, he would not stand.
Then she was walking into the library, no Perkins in her wake, thank goodness. He didn’t need his butler to serve as his guard or her chaperone. He was fully capable of controlling his desires. It wasn’t as though he yearned for her. She’d merely aroused his curiosity. Although knowing what curiosity did to the cat, calling for her could prove to be a regrettable mistake.