The Virtuous Ward - By Karla Darcy Page 0,63
easing the ache in her heart.
Chapter Eleven
Aside from the occasional rustle of a paper, the low-voiced instructions to a waiter or the raspy clearing of a throat, the main salon of Sweet’s Racing Club was silent. Max had commandeered a deeply padded leather chair in a small alcove and was sunk in a trancelike concentration. Intruders on his refuge had scurried away, put off by the black-browed scowl he sent their way. George kept his snifter of brandy well filled, taking particular pains to avoid any noise that might disturb him.
Since early evening, Max had been ensconced in the chair, sipping brandy and staring out the window. The view was unpromising, the side of the building next door but he appeared to find the blank wall a fascinating subject for perusal. From time to time his lips moved as if he were holding a serious colloquy with an invisible friend, then he would shake his head in negation and return to his examination of the building outside the window.
Lord Devereaux Cathcart stood at the side of the room, watching the antics of his friend and a slow smile broke the ascetic quality of his face. When he had asked the faithful George if he had seen Lord Kampford, the steward had cautioned him that his friend seemed in an somewhat somber frame of mind. It was interesting to find the unflappable, methodical Max looking unsettled. Dev arranged his features in a more serious mien and approached the alcove.
"Would you mind if I joined you, sir?"
Max was so involved in his own thoughts that he did not immediately recognize Dev's voice. He emitted a low growling sound and glared up at the interloper only to be met by a familiar pair of twinkling blue eyes.
"Dev, old man!" Max exclaimed. He leaped to his feet and grasped the extended hand, gripping it with an enthusiastic shake. "Pull up a chair. Can you stay for awhile or are you on your way to an engagement?"
Dropping down in the chair at right angles to Max, Dev said, "I have the entire evening free. I am yours to command."
"Good show! I have no plans either so I will enjoy the company."
"Are you sure? When I asked to join you, I thought you might run me through," Dev said, cocking an eyebrow in question.
"My apologies. I have been blue-deviled this evening but now that you are here, I feel my spirits returning to a better humor." Max raised his glass just as George arrived with a snifter for Dev. They saluted each other and Max took a sip of the heady liquor. "What brings you to town? I assumed you were moldering in the country, awaiting the heir to the Cathcart fortune. Speaking of which, how is Jena?"
"As to your second question, my darling wife is blooming with health. She bewails the fact that in profile she appears to be carrying some misshapen behemoth but quite frankly I have never seen her look more beautiful." Dev beamed in pride at his approaching fatherhood. "There are still three months to go before the appearance of the much awaited heir and already my grandfather is demanding that we move to Waverly for the confinement."
"Will you go?" Max asked, amused as always by news of the feisty Duke of Waverly.
Dev pushed a hand through his white hair and grimaced. "I fear the old man will give me no peace unless we accede to his wishes. Jena dotes on the curmudgeon and has agreed, on the condition that we return in time for the foaling season."
"I wish you both well," Max said, his face serious. He raised his snifter. "To the health and happiness of your lady wife."
"To Jena!" Dev raised his glass then took a long swallow before he continued. "Now as to your first question, I am come to town to handle the transfer of some property. Nothing too involved but it gave me a chance to stop for a visit and bring you up to date on the latest news from the country. I am chagrined to report that my wife has been most successful in her quest. Reggie is getting married."
"Devil you say! I never imagined our friend would take the plunge. Your Jena is a matchmaker to be wary of. Do I know the girl?"
"Don't think so. Diane Farrington. Family's big in hunting circles. Father's the Hunting Vicar of Frostiglade. She's young, eighteen, and a neck or nothing rider. Quite surprising, since she's a little