At least Yvette was no longer trying to manage Edwin’s life. Though sometimes he missed that.
“Congratulations, Blakeborough,” Rathmoor said, “you win this one.”
“Hmm?” Edwin looked down to see he had turned up a two to go with his nineteen. Twenty-one.
Rathmoor had twenty, and Fulkham had gone bust.
But the baron didn’t seem perturbed by that, for he laughed. “Your mind is a million miles away, isn’t it?”
“Sorry.” Edwin swept the sovereigns to his side of the table. “I was woolgathering about my sister.”
“Surely you needn’t worry about her now that she’s married.” Rathmoor sounded less uncomfortable than before as he picked up the cards and shuffled.
“No,” Edwin answered. “Keane is a good man. He’s proved to be far more reliable than rumor had led me to believe. And until he came along, she had to fight off scoundrels.” He slanted a glance at Fulkham. “Speaking of scoundrels, someone asked me about the Count Durand’s character.” That was almost true.
“The charge d’affaires?”
“Yes.” Edwin cut the cards for Rathmoor, who began to deal. “Have you heard anything about him? He seems quite the smooth-talking fellow.”
“That’s necessary for a man in the diplomatic profession,” Fulkham said.
“If he’s the charge d’affaires, shouldn’t he be intent on doing his duty by the ambassador and not running around courting women?” Edwin tapped for another card. “The person who wanted information about him was upset by his pursuit of a certain female relation.”
“Durand is a typical Frenchman, that’s all,” Rathmoor said dismissively. “Eloquent with the ladies. Rather like my half brother, who has just enough French in him to be dangerous.”
Edwin didn’t want to let the conversation wander into some tangent about Rathmoor’s relations. “But Durand hasn’t a reputation for, say, seducing gentlewomen, does he?” He figured both men would take the question in stride, since that was the purpose of the club, after all—to separate the wheat from the chaff regarding suitors.
“Not to my knowledge.” Fulkham tapped to demand another card. “The man is unmarried, after all. He’s probably looking for a wife.”
“So he has no skeletons in his past,” Edwin persisted.
Rathmoor dealt another card to the baron. “It wouldn’t matter if he did. I suppose if he’d committed some indiscretion you could shame him in society with it, but that’s about all you could do.”
“And even that would be inadvisable,” Fulkham added. “Matters are rather strained right now between France and England. The last thing we need is some brouhaha over the charge d’affaires’ skeletons, whatever they may be. Besides, unless it was the worst sort of criminal act, he would be immune to prosecution as a diplomat.”
That hadn’t occurred to Edwin. And so far the man hadn’t committed any criminal act that Edwin knew of. Which meant it would be very difficult to banish Durand from London.
Fulkham cast him a warning glance. “I would advise your curious friend not to take on a man like the count. Durand is connected to several powerful gentlemen in France, and has a few important connections in England as well.”
Do they know he’s half-mad? Edwin nearly asked. But he couldn’t say that. He’d have to explain, and that would mean risking Clarissa’s reputation.
“Well, then, I suppose that is that,” Edwin said smoothly. “Thank you for the information. My friend will be relieved.”
Edwin would simply have to hope that Durand’s absence at the party earlier today meant that the man had finally gotten the message and was staying away. Because going on the offensive with the charge d’affaires didn’t appear a viable option. Which meant Edwin would of necessity be spending more time with Clarissa.
When his pulse quickened at the thought, he cursed himself for a fool. Pray God Durand was out of their hair soon. Otherwise, Edwin was in for a long and difficult Season.
“You had best go dress for dinner, my dear,” Clarissa’s mother said. “His lordship will be here in an hour.”
“There’s plenty of time,” Clarissa muttered.
The drawing room was cozy at this time of day, with the late-afternoon sun streaming in, and she was in no hurry. Indeed, she dreaded the evening ahead. She almost wished Edwin wasn’t coming to dine on this rare night when she and Mama had no engagements.
Yesterday, when he’d accompanied them to services, he’d been as stiff as a poker and had barely spoken two words. No doubt her final reaction to his kiss on Saturday night had insulted him. Lord only knew how surly he’d be at dinner.
But before she could think about going to dress, the butler appeared in the drawing room doorway to announce Edwin’s arrival.
She jumped to her feet, patting her hair feverishly. Good Lord, he was early! And when he entered, she noticed he was rather formally attired for dinner. He even wore a many-caped dress cloak that he’d apparently not allowed the footman to remove.