Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

M organ’s eyes swept across the lounge at White’s as he stepped in the door. The familiar atmosphere should have soothed him, but tonight, the cacophony did little to quell the turmoil brewing in his chest. He strode toward a secluded corner table, nodding curtly at a few acquaintances along the way, and dropped heavily into a chair.

His hand closed around the decanter of brandy waiting at the center of the table, and he poured a generous measure into a tumbler. As the amber liquid warmed his throat, the weight of his decision settled further onto his shoulders. He’d done it—offered to take another woman under his care, despite knowing how thoroughly he had failed before.

Morgan stared into his glass, his reflection fractured in the rippling liquid. He could almost hear the echoes of a laugh—soft and melodic—fading into the silence of memory. His fingers tightened around the tumbler, and he shoved the thought aside.

A familiar voice disrupted his thoughts. “You are a surly soul tonight .”

Morgan glanced up, his brow lifting slightly as Colin Caldwell, the Marquess of Broughton, slid into the chair opposite him with practiced ease.

“And you are a persistent gnat,” Morgan replied, though his tone lacked true venom.

Colin smirked, unperturbed. “Why, you do not wish for my company? You wound me.”

Morgan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “You thrive on such wounds.”

“True enough,” Colin admitted, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “But you, my dear Giltford, are not usually so...brooding. It’s rather unbecoming.”

Morgan snorted and took another sip of his brandy. Despite himself, he felt a flicker of gratitude for Colin’s intrusion. The man’s relentless humor, while grating at times, was a welcome distraction from his darker thoughts.

“No one ever turns down my company,” Colin declared with mock seriousness.

Morgan arched a brow. “I see society still yearns to feed you more delusions.”

“And I bask in my ignorance and their obsequiousness,” Colin shot back, his grin widening.

Morgan allowed a low chuckle to escape, the sound unfamiliar but not unwelcome.

“Now that’s much better,” Colin observed, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied air. “Perhaps there’s hope for you yet.”

Morgan shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself. It was easier, he realized, to let Colin’s irreverence pull him from his thoughts than to linger in them. For now, that was enough.

“I think you might be in luck and get your wish after all,” Morgan said suddenly, breaking the brief silence.

Colin tilted his head, his brow arching with curiosity. “What wish?”

“That free breakfast banquet you desire,” Morgan replied dryly, taking a slow sip from his glass. He placed the tumbler down deliberately before adding, “For I shall marry soon.”

Colin froze, then erupted into a bark of laughter. “Now, this is the worst joke I have heard in a long time. Truly, Giltford, you have lost your sense of humor in that dreary castle of yours.”

Morgan’s gaze remained steady, his lips pressing into a thin line. He didn’t bother responding, merely letting the weight of his silence settle between them.

Colin’s laughter faltered. He leaned forward, his grin fading into disbelief. “You’re not joking, are you?”

Morgan shrugged, his expression inscrutable. “You were the one who came to that absurd conclusion in the first place.”

“But why? How? What happened?” Colin demanded, his words tumbling out in rapid succession. “I thought you turned down the idea of marriage only last night when I so generously suggested it!”

Morgan exhaled sharply, his gaze distant for a moment before he began recounting the events of the previous evening. He spoke matter-of-factly, his tone devoid of embellishment as he described the fountain, the witnesses, and his subsequent decision to offer for the lady to avoid an inevitable scandal.

Colin listened with rapt attention, his brow furrowing as the tale unfolded. When Morgan finished, Colin sat back in his chair, his arms crossed. “Pray tell, who is this lady?”

Morgan’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Lady Margaret Sutton, niece to the Earl of Dowshire.”

Colin’s eyes widened before his face broke into a mixture of disbelief and amusement. “Another Sutton in a scandal again?” he blurted out, his tone incredulous.

Morgan frowned, his confusion evident for the first time. “What do you mean by ‘another’?” he asked, his voice edged with curiosity.

Colin chuckled, though there was an undertone of genuine astonishment in his tone. “You mean you don’t know? Why, Sterlin’s marriage was the talk of the ton not long ago—and for all the wrong reasons.”

Morgan’s brow furrowed further. “Explain.”

Colin leaned forward, his tone dropping conspiratorially. “It seems your bride-to-be’s elder sister was embroiled in quite the scandal. Elizabeth Sutton, now the Duchess of Sterlin, was involved with Sterlin’s younger brother, who—how shall I put it delicately—ran off, leaving her reputation in tatters.”

Morgan stiffened, his grip tightening on the armrest of his chair. “And Sterlin married her to save face?”

“Precisely,” Colin confirmed, his admiration for the Duke of Sterlin’s gallantry shining in his eyes. “And now, by all accounts, he’s hopelessly besotted. No regrets, it seems.”

Morgan leaned back, his thoughts churning as Colin continued. “But now another Sutton, entangled in another misstep? One might almost think it runs in the family.”

Morgan’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he processed the revelation. “Convenient, isn’t it?”

Colin arched a brow. “What’s convenient?”

“That two Sutton sisters find themselves ensnared in situations that lead to advantageous marriages,” Morgan replied, his voice low and contemplative.

Colin laughed again, but the sound was tempered. “Oh, Giltford, don’t tell me you believe this was orchestrated.”

Morgan didn’t reply, his thoughts lingering on the implications of what he’d just learned.

He hadn’t imagined his conversation at White’s taking such a turn.

Society’s endless parade of escapades, he mused, could fill volumes. Ridiculously exaggerated tales of scandal and romance, the sort of books that women seemed to devour with fervent delight. His lip curled faintly at the thought of such frivolity. Still, it was oddly amusing to consider that such stories might turn quite the profit—if they were ever written down.

He began refilling his tumbler, the amber liquid catching the warm light of the room, when a darker thought occurred to him. Could this truly be coincidence? Two Sutton sisters, both embroiled in public missteps, both conveniently leading to marriages with influential men. His jaw tightened. Was this a pattern? A calculated ploy?

His grip on the glass tightened, the idea growing thorns in his mind. Lady Margaret’s flustered demeanor had seemed genuine enough at the time, but now he wondered. Could it have been a performance? A means to an end?

“Well,” Colin’s voice intruded, light and irreverent as ever, “I think you made the right and honorable decision.”

Morgan’s brows knitted, his eyes narrowing slightly. He wasn’t so sure. The Duke of Sterlin’s outcome seemed... fortuitous. But would the same be true here? The suspicion gnawed at him, sharp and unrelenting.

“I made the honorable decision by agreeing to finally feed you free breakfast?” Morgan quirked a brow, his tone dry.

“Oh, I cannot deny that either ,” Colin replied, his grin wide and unapologetic.

Morgan allowed himself a faint smirk, though it didn’t reach his eyes. The thought of returning to his estate brought little comfort, but the conversation with Colin had given him much to consider. He stood, adjusting his coat before offering a brief nod. “Enjoy your evening, Broughton.”

“And you, Giltford. Try not to scowl so much—it frightens the footmen,” Colin called after him with a laugh.

Upon returning home, Morgan’s butler presented him with a note. The elegant handwriting on the envelope was unmistakable: Lady Margaret Sutton.

He opened it swiftly, his eyes scanning the carefully penned lines.

Your Grace,

It is with some hesitance that I write to you, though I believe it is a necessary step given our present circumstances. I would like to suggest that we take a walk together tomorrow afternoon. It seems prudent that we better acquaint ourselves before proceeding further.

Should this be agreeable to you, I await your reply.

Sincerely,

Lady Margaret Sutton

Morgan’s lips pressed into a thin line. A walk? Curious. He set the note down, contemplating the implications. Perhaps this was exactly what he needed—a chance to observe her closely, to discern whether her actions were as innocent as she claimed, or whether there was something more calculated beneath her composed exterior.

He sat at his desk to pen a reply. If you are hiding something, Lady Sutton, I will discover it.