The Earl's Secret. Terri Brisbin
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without delay, they were on their way into the gnarled lanes of traffic that continuously filled the thoroughfares of the growing city.
“Trey…”
David interrupted him with a glance before he could say any more. “Mr. Archer, there really is nothing to discuss,” Nate argued.
He shook his head. “Two acquaintances surely have many things to catch up on after such an absence.” David did not wish to conduct his true business in a hackney in the middle of the thoroughfare. Keeping his identity a secret was difficult enough without jeopardizing any gained success in that regard. “Tell me of Clarinda.”
Although Nate had spoken frequently of his sister, David had never met her. From their exploits as children, he wondered over how she had managed to overcome her rough edges and catch a… “Whom did she marry?”
“Lord MacLerie.”
“His father is the Marquess of—”
“Duran. Just so.” From his curt answers, David knew that he was going to have to pull every bit of information from his friend piece by infinitesimal piece. He let out a frustrated breath. Nate’s glare grew stronger.
“I thought this was to be about our issue of mutual concern, not a time to catch up on family ties.”
“I have not seen you in what…seven years? I simply wish to be polite and set the standard for our behavior in this exchange.”
Nate did not answer then, instead he turned his head and watched as they passed by a number of new buildings under construction along George Street. According to all reports, the New Town would continue to grow for at least several years to come. Nate had been quite canny in his choice of location for his enterprise. The carriage rambled on back over the North and South Bridges and away from both parts of Edinburgh toward Nicolson Road.
“Is your father still in the country?” David paused and waited for a reply. “If I might ask?”
Nate gave up his resistance to talk of such matters and nodded. “Yes. He prefers it during August when the city seems to wilt under the heat or be battered by storms.” David looked over when Nate finished and met the glaring gaze in his old friend’s eyes. “You already know this. Why play this game of cat and mouse with me when we both know that you, or perhaps your father, have had someone looking into my affairs for the last month? Give over and do not pretend that this is of no importance to you?”
They reached their destination—the house he was renting—and he led the way out of the carriage and to the door. Aggrieved but efficient Harley opened it as they approached.
“Good day, my lord. Mr. Hobbs-Smith, it is a pleasure to see you, sir.” Harley took their hats and gloves and led them to the small study. “Would you care for tea or some other stronger refreshments, my lord?”
David smiled as they entered the chamber and Harley simply retrieved glasses and a decanter from the cabinet and filled them with a strong local whisky. Three fingers deep in each glass told him that his valet knew the subject was serious. A moment later, they were alone. He watched as Nate took one mouthful of the liquor and swallowed deeply. His first foray was not long in coming.
“So, why is the Earl of Treybourne hiding his identity and staying in a shabbier part of town instead of the duke’s new acquisition on Charlotte Square?”
“Cutting right to the heart of it, then?” David drank a healthy portion from his glass and set it down before him on the desk. “I am not accustomed to fighting unknown enemies. When my man of business—” he paused and nodded an acknowledgment of Nate’s correct assessment of his attempts to uncover Mr. Goodfellow from afar “—could not discover anything about the interesting Mr. Goodfellow from London, I decided it was time to investigate myself.”
“Trey, Goodfellow sends in the essays each month, timed so that they arrive within the week after yours is published in London.”
“You do not know his whereabouts?” he asked, watching for signs of subterfuge in the response.
“I do not know where he is.” Nate stood now and dragged his hand through his hair. Then, after a moment, he seemed much more confident. “You should know that I support the position behind the essays.”
“I am not completely surprised by that. You always did have a leaning to the liberal side of the aisle.”
Nate stared at him. “As did you, if I remember correctly. When did you accept your father’s politics?”
About the time I began accepting his money, David was ready to admit, but he held the words inside. No need to give the man who was placing his own strategies in danger too much ammunition for the battles to come. David just lifted his head and met Nate’s gaze, conveying the message nonetheless.
“Politics aside, it is the manner in which you’ve pursued your aims that most alarms me. After all, I identified myself from the first word to the latest. Remember also, your Mr. Goodfellow attacked first.”
David watched as Nate drank the rest of his whisky in one gulp. Was he hiding something or simply uncomfortable with his part in embarrassing an old friend?
“Goodfellow fights for a good and worthwhile cause, Trey. I will not force his efforts from the forefront of discussion.”
David stood and walked to the window, peering along the drive leading to the house. Being on the outskirts of Edinburgh, the separate house afforded him a measure of privacy that staying closer would not. Finishing his own whisky, he shook his head. “I am not asking for that, Nate. I do not mind a fight.” He smiled. “As a matter of fact, I relish the challenge of pitting oneself against a worthy adversary. But the methods of this Mr. Goodfellow are what have me riled.”
Since he privately supported the same causes that his opponent advocated, David hoped the discussion could continue. But the tone of the latest had brought out the worst in his father’s circle and that would mean trouble—for him if he did not win the argument and for the ones behind the attacks. The Marquess of Dursby would not endure having his heir’s reputation and his family’s name embarrassed on an ongoing basis. Hell, his father did not allow it for a single incidence, hence the secrecy of his own actions and causes.
“I can no more stop Mr. Goodfellow than I could stop the tides, Trey.” Nate stood as well and shrugged. “I will attempt to argue for a lessening of hostilities, if that will suffice?”
David thought to argue, but hesitated. Staring out the window, he considered the offer, for it sounded sincere and well-meaning. Crossing his arms over his chest, he let the draperies drop back into place and turned to face Nathaniel.
David certainly understood the business situation at work here—the Gazette was more popular now that the feud had begun than before. As its publisher, Nate would face financial difficulties, if not ruin, if he pulled the essays. A more civil battle would be a step. He had no doubt that he could prevail as long as a certain level of decorum was maintained. If the strength of his arguments did not sway many, the weight of his position in society and the wealth behind it would. Knowing the realities of the world, he did not doubt it for a moment.
There was only one thing that stopped his immediate agreement with the terms offered. His essay would most likely arrive in Edinburgh by the day after tomorrow and he suspected that it would not calm the rough waters. Indeed, now that he thought on the tone and wording of his piece, he knew it would stir up more of a response. He’d risen to the insults and issued his own.
“Communicate with Mr. Goodfellow through whatever means you employ to do so and let your ghostly contributor know that Lord Treybourne agrees.”
Part of him tensed inside, readily acknowledging the stretching of the truth in his words. There would be time to explain that his essay had already been submitted and in print before this discussion. He admitted in that moment that he would have to allow one more contentious exchange before they stopped.
“So, do you return to London now?” Nate asked. The unasked but clearly