Henry grinned right back. “I told you. Worth every penny.”
Robert assessed him with a shrewdness few knew he possessed. “That begs the question why you steered her my way. I know you can handle the expense.”
Henry shrugged and looked out the window. “The skills of a practiced courtesan only go so far. I just couldn’t bring myself to like her.”
Robert was familiar with the sadness in Henry’s eyes and hoped someday soon Henry would find a woman who could be a true companion to him, not just a momentary distraction. But as long as he couldn’t bring himself to trust a woman, the viscount knew that hope to be futile.
Both men were grateful the waiter chose that moment to deliver their meal. The roast beef was pink just as they liked it, the Yorkshire puddings plump, and the roasted turnips crisp. They assembled their plates and doused them with gravy before resuming their conversation.
“How was your trip north?”
Henry answered between bites of succulent beef. “Productive.”
Robert shrugged dismissively and shoveled a forkful of gravy-soaked Yorkshire pudding into his mouth.
“Profitable,” Henry offered with a glint in his eyes, knowing full well Robert had no interest in knowing how much his estates had brought in this year.
Robert just glared at him and returned his attention to his beef.
“Informative,” Henry said, and waited for Robert’s lips to twitch with amusement.
The viscount did not disappoint: he pinned Henry with a curious stare. “Do tell.”
Robert’s voice had been low, but Henry threw a quick glance at the gentlemen being seated at the table behind them, gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, and launched into a description of how crop rotation had doubled his profits over the past five years.
By the time they finished their meal, they were discussing Prinny’s latest excesses, but when the waiter offered them port, they opted instead to enjoy a brandy in the smoking room. Henry stood and bowed deeply to the two gentlemen at the table behind them. “Your Grace. My lord.”
Robert turned as well and made an equally respectful bow. “Your servant, Your Grace. Jennings.”
Bowing again, they made their way to the smoking room, where they situated themselves in a corner opposite the entrance, both looking out into the room as they relaxed in the comfortable leather chairs set at an angle so no one would be able to stand behind them.
The smoking room was easily the most comfortable room in the club. The high ceilings let the smoke dissipate somewhat, the burgundy drapes and dark walnut paneling rendered the room cozy despite its size, and the leather armchairs were supremely comfortable.
The two friends ordered brandy and cigars and settled in.
“So you still think Elridge is involved?”
The din in the room was moderate so early in the evening. Henry let his eyes travel lazily across the room, making sure no one listened in on their conversation. “More likely someone close to him. I have never had any personal dealings with him, but I doubt a peer of the realm as politically active and powerful as he would knowingly resort to treason.”
He paused as a waiter approached with a box of cigars and lit them both. Henry puffed fragrant blue smoke in the air in front of them, the very picture of genteel contentment.
“You know we narrowed the leak down to Elridge or Davenport. Well, the Old Man sent me north to investigate the latter, and although the fool definitely talks too much, he is not a traitor. Neither do any of his cronies fit the description we got in France.”
Robert’s voice was grave, in total contrast to the nonchalant pose he presented to any onlookers. “Back to the drawing board then, so to speak.” He elegantly sipped his brandy. “It is a perpetual mystery to me how the bastard has managed to elude us all this time.”
Henry grunted, the rough sound the only evidence that he agreed with Robert. “We would have got to him by now if we didn’t have to tiptoe around major titles. But patience, my friend. He will slip up sooner or later, or perhaps he already has and we just haven’t found the evidence yet.”
Robert was about to reply, but deftly changed the subject when His Grace, the Duke of Elridge, appeared in the doorway and stopped to survey the room. Henry scrupulously avoided looking at the duke, but could feel the man’s eyes on him and wondered at the sudden interest.
THE FOLLOWING DAY BROUGHT PALE sunshine and clear skies. Henry sent word to Eliza to get ready for their drive in the park. Eliza donned her blue wool gown without delay and came downstairs, but left her cloak draped over the banister to follow the faint strains of music to the music room. There she found Henry at the piano, looking intently at his sheet music while his fingers played the tune.
Eliza stopped at the open door and enjoyed the music. He was in his shirtsleeves again, having carelessly discarded his hunter green jacket on a nearby chair. Tall boots and buckskin breeches and waistcoat marked him as a sportsman, not at all the kind of fellow you might expect to play the piano with some skill. But there he was, absorbed in studying this piece of music.
Henry played his way through the entirety of the song, humming along as he went, and didn’t turn around until he heard the soft rustle of Eliza’s skirts as she moved away from the door.
“Good morning, Eliza.”
She smiled brightly, walking farther into the room. “Good morning to you too, Sir Henry. That was lovely. What’s the song called?”
Henry turned back to look at the sheet music. “Heidenröslein.”
Eliza’s entire expression was a question mark as she waited for him to elaborate.
Henry’s face split into a wide grin, enjoying her reaction to his tease. “It’s German and means ‘little rose of the field.’ Don’t ask me how Germans get that much information into one word.”
“Oh, that of course explains everything.” She nodded wisely, which made his lips twitch again.
“It just came in the post. My cousin Anton sent it to me. It’s by a man called Franz Schubert, who is apparently all the rage in Vienna at present.”
She dropped the game, curiosity getting the better of her. “So you have a cousin in Vienna and you can speak German?”
His smile turned rueful. “Yes, well, my grandmother is German, and Grossmama insists we all speak German in her presence. And believe me, you do what my grandmother says; after all, she is the Dowager Duchess of Avon.”
Eliza’s intake of breath was audible as she let herself flop onto the piano bench next to him. And then, for the first time in his hearing, she fell into a broad cockney accent. “Christ a’mighty! Your grandma’s a duchess?”
Henry chuckled at her loss of decorum and couldn’t resist prodding her just a little more. “Oh, she is more than that. She started off as the Princess Ruth of Prussia before my grandfather took her down a peg or two and made her his duchess. The Avons are not royal dukes, you see.”
Eliza shook her head in bewilderment. “A duke’s a duke from where I stand.”
Henry gave her a quizzical look and decided he needed to put her at ease again. “Eliza, even a duchess is just a woman in the end. As it happens, you would like her, and she would like you.”
Eliza’s eyes went wide. “She would, you think?”
Henry repeated a few chords of the song he had just played, mostly to give Eliza time to compose herself. “She likes strong women, and she has no time for men who think they can bend her to their will, to my cousin—the duke’s—chagrin, I assure you.”