“Well . . . ah . . . yes, I’ll meet with him. Give me a minute to wrap up with Mr. Boswell, and I’ll be right there.”
The boy hurried off, and as his footsteps faded, Kit said, “Caleb Ralston has waltzed in our door? He has some nerve. What could he want?”
“I can’t imagine. He must have dire news to impart, so I better hear what it is.” Jacob stood and said, “We’ll finish this discussion after I’ve chatted with him.”
“Should I accompany you? You don’t suppose he’s come to borrow money, do you? Or to request a favor? We could present a united front to dissuade him.”
Jacob scoffed. “Caleb owns a gambling club in London, so he’s rich and very powerful. I doubt he’s seeking a loan or a favor.” Jacob extended the audit report. “Would you like to review this while I’m talking to him?”
“I’m not hale enough. I’ll have to study it later.”
Kit was looking more sickly by the second, and Jacob said, “You should head for your bed. Can you make it on your own? Or should I summon a servant to assist you?”
“I can make it on my own.”
Kit’s injury had rendered him more churlish than usual. He pushed himself to his feet and limped out. Jacob trailed after him, watching until he lurched around a corner.
He wondered if Kit was telling the truth about how he’d hurt himself. He was in genuine pain, but it might have been caused by any ominous mishap. For all Jacob knew, he’d been shot by a jealous husband.
He put Kit out of his mind and went in the other direction. Evidently, his brother had strolled in bold as brass. Jacob had seen him earlier in the summer. Initially, their conversation had been stilted, but they’d gradually gotten the hang of it. Still though, they weren’t chums, so why had he arrived?
He wound through the house until he approached the library. The butler was hovering in the hall, appearing anxious, as if he might be scolded for allowing the rogue to enter.
The man straightened and said, “It’s your half-brother, Mr. Caleb Ralston, Captain.”
“I hope you poured him a whiskey.”
“I have.”
“Then that will be all.”
Jacob marched on, but Roxanne blustered toward him.
“I just learned about our visitor,” she said. “Shall I serve as your hostess?”
“No, thank you. I don’t need a hostess.”
His response was more abrupt than he’d intended, but since he’d returned from Scotland, he couldn’t deduce how to handle her. She was constantly underfoot, eager to have him recollect the reason she was in the manor.
She hadn’t departed for London as she’d threatened, and she’d grown overly sweet and solicitous, as if she was trying to hold onto him by pretending to be someone she wasn’t. Unfortunately for her, he couldn’t forget what she was really like: icy, disdainful, posh, extravagant.
As with Kit, he had to devise a solution for her. Once he declared the engagement to be over, what would become of her? Was her fate his problem?
He couldn’t decide, and with Caleb inside the ostentatious room, he wouldn’t fret about her. He closed the door in her curious face.
Caleb was over by the sideboard, refilling his glass, and Jacob said, “Caleb Ralston! When you were announced, I couldn’t believe my ears.”
“Hello, big brother.”
It was a jest of sorts. They were the same age, and Jacob was a few months older than Caleb, proving their father had been an immoral dog.
Caleb tipped his glass in welcome, and Jacob walked over and poured his own drink. He motioned to the desk. “Let’s sit. Shall I bring the decanter? Will we have to keep ourselves fortified?”
“That depends on how you answer my questions.”
“Has a calamitous situation arisen?”
“We’ll see, I guess.”
Jacob sat behind the desk, and Caleb pulled up the chair across. Jacob wanted to wait silently for Caleb to begin, but he was too bewildered.
“What could have dragged you here?” he asked.
“I should probably start by saying I’m surprised to find you in England.”
“Why would you be? I’m home on furlough until the end of September.”
“It’s what you told me that evening in London, but I was praying you’d left.”
It was an odd remark. “Why would you pray for that?”
“Because—since you’re at Ralston Place—this will be a tad difficult.”
“You’re speaking in riddles.”
“First off, I have a message from Luke Watson.”
“I didn’t realize you were acquainted with him. How’s he been?”
“He’s good. In fact, he’s better than good.”
“I’ve haven’t talked to him recently. What’s occupying his time?”
“I’m predicting this will astonish you—it certainly astonished me—but he’s marrying in a few days.”
“You’re joking! Who is his bride?”
“I don’t mean to shock you, but it’s Libby Carstairs.”
As far as Jacob was aware, there was only one woman in the world with that name. “Are you referring to Libby Carstairs, as in, The Mystery Girl of the Caribbean?”
“The very one.”
“How did that happen?”
“I’ll let them tell you about it.” Caleb reached in his coat and drew out an envelope that had a gold border. He laid it on the desk. “You’re invited to the wedding, and I should apprise you that the entire kingdom is begging for an invitation, so you’re incredibly fortunate.”
“I’m flattered and stunned.”
“I’m marrying too, as soon as I can haul my sorry behind back to Barrett.”
“What? I just saw you in London. You didn’t mention it.”
“It occurred rather fast.”
Caleb’s cheeks heated, providing evidence that he’d misbehaved with his fiancée.
“Who is the lucky girl?” Jacob asked.
“It’s Caroline Grey.”
The name was familiar, and Jacob scowled. “I should know her, shouldn’t I?”
“She is one of the three Lost Girls who was rescued by Father with Miss Carstairs.”
Jacob gasped. “You are marrying one of them?”
“Yes, and Caroline will be delighted to clarify how it transpired. I’d be too embarrassed to explain it myself.”
“I’m . . . floored. Will I sound deranged if I state that I’ve felt Father’s ghost hovering all summer? Might he be bringing us together? Is he making sure we bond with those girls for some reason?”
“You won’t sound deranged for thinking that. I’ve
