Who Will Take This Man?

What had she meant about fighting too hard and long for her reputation? Had it been compromised at some point? Something in her voice when she’d spoken of mistakes led him to wonder exactly how serious some of her past mistakes might have been.

But did any past mistakes really matter? No. Meredith Chilton-Grizedale was without a doubt the woman he wanted. There were some things you could fight, and others you simply could wage no defense against. There was no doubt which category Meredith fell into.

Now he just needed to decide what the bloody hell he was going to do about it.

Ten

Philip was just finishing his predawn breakfast when Bakari appeared in the dining room doorway. “Your father,” he said.

The earl entered the room. His cheeks were pale, and dark circles shadowed his eyes, but he otherwise appeared surprisingly fit, walking with a spry step. He was, as always, perfectly turned out in a Devonshire brown coat, fawn breeches, blinding white shirt, and intricately tied cravat. Philip idly wondered if Father’s valet ever slept.

“Good morning, Philip.” He nodded at the footman. “Coffee, if you please.”

“Father. How are you feeling today?”

“Quite well, thank you. Better, in fact, than I’ve felt in weeks.”

“Glad to hear it.” Philip glanced pointedly at the mantel clock. “Although perhaps you should be resting? It’s rather early for a visit.”

“I wanted to catch you before you took yourself off for the day. I knew you’d be awake-you’ve always been an early riser, and obviously I haven’t dragged you from your bed.” His sharp gaze raked over Philip’s appearance. “Or have I? You’re looking a bit disheveled, although that is hardly surprising.”

“I didn’t sleep well.” He nearly laughed at the understatement. He hadn’t slept at all. The question of what he should do about Meredith had kept him tossing and turning, weighing his options, examining the facts, until he’d finally drawn his conclusion-the only possible solution.

“Mind filled with images of all those lovely beauties, eh, Philip?”

“Something like that, yes.”

“That’s why I’m here-to discuss last night’s festivities.” Father cocked a single brow. “Well, did the party have the desired result? Did you meet a woman willing to take you on?”

No doubt Philip should have been offended by the brusquely worded question, but instead his lips twitched with amusement. “I’m not quite sure.”

“Meaning what, precisely?”

“Meaning I met a woman I’d like to take on-”

“Excellent.”

“-but the lady has expressed some reservations.”

“Bah. What woman wouldn’t want to marry the heir to an earldom?”

“For starters, one who isn’t eager to risk expiring two days after the nuptials.”

His father waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Who is the chit?”

“I’d prefer not to say just as yet. Suffice it to say I’ve made my choice. Now I just need to convince the lady- which is exactly what I plan to do.” Indeed, in order to keep his agreement with his father, he’d been fully prepared to marry a woman he didn’t even know. Well, he knew he desired Meredith. And he believed they’d be well suited. Surely he could convince her of that. The bigger problem would be finding a way to protect her and convincing her to take him on if he was not able-because of the curse-to many her.

The footman set the coffee at Father’s elbow, and the earl absently stirred the richly fragrant brew with his spoon. “You haven’t much time to court her, Philip. I met with Doctor Gibbens yesterday. He says I’ve two, perhaps three months left. I want to see you settled, maybe even know there’s an heir on the way.”

A wave of sadness, regret, and loss washed over Philip. For all the things he and his father hadn’t shared. Would never share. He made a mental vow that he’d never allow the walls that separated him and Father to be erected between him and his children. “I am doing, and will continue to do, everything in my power to honor our agreement, Father. But you also need to accept the possibility that I may be unable to honor it.”

“I’m not a man who likes to contemplate failure, Philip.”

“Neither am I. Most especially now that I’ve found the woman I want.”

“Toward that end, I suggest you quit dawdling over breakfast and get yourself to the warehouse to continue your search.”

“I plan to do just that, but first I need to tell you something.” He quickly related the events that took place at the warehouse last night, concluding with a request that his father be extra careful and alert. “It’s clear to me that something more than simply the curse is going on, but I don’t know what, or who is behind it. But rest assured I’ll find out.” Swallowing his last sip of coffee, Philip rose. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Father, I wish to ready myself to depart for the warehouse.”

Father’s jaw tightened with grim determination as he, too, rose. “I’ll come with you. The more of us searching, the quicker we can get through the crates.”

“It is dirty, exhausting work-”

“I shall not overtire myself. I’m having a ‘good’ day today, and I’ll not spend it lying about in bed. I want to help you.”

“All right.” It was useless to argue once Father made up his mind. He’d simply make certain his father did nothing more strenuous than marking the ledger books.

“You sound surprised that I would offer my assistance, Philip. I’m concerned for your welfare and do not like the ominous sound of the note Edward found. And as for this curse, well… although I remain unconvinced of its authenticity, in spite of what you might believe, I would want you to have nothing less than the woman you want… son.”

Philip’s throat tightened at his father’s gruff-voiced statement. His father hadn’t called him son since Mother’s death. Not once, either in conversation or during their correspondence. The fact that he had now clearly indicated Father was extending an olive branch, a peacemaking gesture Philip grasped, as it gave him hope that perhaps they could, upon Philip’s marriage, put the past behind them.

“Thank you. I welcome the company.” As they exited the dining room, Philip said, “Since Andrew has not yet arisen, I can only assume he is still not feeling well. I hope he will feel better later on and join us as well.”

“Stanton is ill, you say? Too bad. Must have come upon him quite suddenly. He looked quite fit when I saw him last evening.”

“Last evening? What time?”

“Must have been close to eleven, as I was in my carriage, coming home from my club. He was walking along Oxford.”

“And what were you doing out at eleven last evening, Father? Surely the doctor does not recommend such late-night excursions.”

Red suffused his father’s pale cheeks. “I felt quite fit last evening and stopped by my club. The doctor encourages such outings if I’m up to it. Raises my spirits and all that.”

“I see. But as for Andrew, you must be mistaken. He took to his bed shortly before seven.”

“I was certain it was he… Obviously I was mistaken. But your friend Stanton has a double here in London.”

“ ‘Tis said that everyone has one somewhere,” Philip said. He chuckled. “Although heaven help us if there are actually two Andrew Stantons running about.”

Philip turned in a slow circle, his boots scraping against the rough wooden warehouse floor, as he surveyed the area surrounding two of his crates. Signs of a struggle were obvious in the scuff marks in the wood and the scattered pieces of broken artifacts. Crouching down, Philip picked up a jagged piece of glossy red pottery. Samian, second century a. d. He’d purchased the vase from an artifact dealer in Rome known for acquiring exquisite pieces,