He inclined his head and continued with the living. “Violet is my oldest and perhaps I coddle her overmuch. She’s a good gel, fond of gardening. She doesn’t know what rottenness may manifest in men and I don’t wish her to know. I want him gone in such a way that she will not pine, but instead will feel his leaving for the better. Their parting must not originate with me. I could not stand her resentment.”
Preshea had his measure then. A man who prefers to be the hero to his family and his country.
Still, she had nothing better to do. “It has been a long time since I meddled in anyone else’s romance. This could be diverting, but your reason, Your Grace, is not my reason. You still have not told me how I benefit.”
“What do you want?” He asked again.
Preshea lowered her eyelashes, enjoying the rush of power. Nothing gave her more pleasure than a man of substance at her mercy. “I’ll take it as a debt owed. You’re a political force – there may come a time when I need a legislative favor.”
Lord Akeldama laughed, a fractured tinkling. “There you have it. The sword of Damocles hanging over your head. She asks very little.”
Preshea gave a genuine smile. “My dear Lord Akeldama, you are well aware that swords were never my preferred weapon.” She paused, rearranging her plans for the spring. She had thought to go to Paris to visit a favorite shop that specialized in deadly accessories. That could wait. “So, my lords, where is this evil fortune hunter and how will I be integrated into his society?”
“You should enjoy this, my sapphire. His Grace is hosting a house party.”
Preshea inclined her head. “I do love a house party – all those ill-contained sentiments and simmering resentments. Not to mention a restricted timeframe. It makes for a lovely challenge.” She frowned of a sudden. “A ghost, you said? The family maintains remourning for the duration of her resurrection?”
The Duke of Snodgrove looked proud. “Indeed. You have never…?”
Preshea sneered. “None of my husbands did themselves the honor. I’ve always had to wear deep mourning for the full two years. You are still in weeds?” Custom dictated that the family of a ghost need only wear half-mourning through to the poltergeist stage. Preshea was politely asking after the condition of the household ghost. To throw a house party with a ghost gone to poltergeist would be madness, though entertaining madness.
“She is doing well, all her parts still in place.”
“You keep her in state?” Preshea wasn’t squeamish. She didn’t mind ghosts about, but the recent custom of keeping the companion body on display in the conservatory could get smelly.
The duke wrinkled his nose. “No, we buried her deep and well sealed in the back garden. She haunts the rear of the house.”
“Then you won’t take offense if I request my chambers be outside of tether distance?” Preshea did not like unwanted visitors in her boudoir, particularly not the undead.
“My jewel, of course you require privacy.” Lord Akeldama’s tone was knowing.
Preshea did not dignify that with a response. As if she would welcome a man to her bed outside the requirements of matrimony. “Now, I have questions about the other players in your drama.”
The Duke of Snodgrove sputtered. “I’m due back at my club.”
“You could prepare a leaflet for me on your family and friends, but what I need to know is best not written down.”
“Very well.” The duke resumed his seat. “The man...”
Preshea held up a hand. “I find it is not the things a gentleman notices that are important to a lady of my accomplishments.”
Annoyed, the Duke of Snodgrove allowed her to lead.
Preshea began by asking after the ladies of his household and the female guests. They would be the greater challenge. Men, even men who preferred congress with other men, were easily bewitched. The first because she might make them want her, and the second because she might make them respect her. Women felt little but jealousy and mistrust for Lady Villentia. She could frighten young ladies into obeying her with a few sharp words, but matrons were difficult. Lord save us all from married women with consequence to protect.
After discussing the ladies, Preshea ascertained the duke’s views on his male guests. Finally, she asked about her target, the fortune hunter, Mr Jackson.
“An attractive, cheerful chap, disposed to be engaging, but lacking in funds, title, or brains.”
“Then why do you receive him?”
“He is still a gentleman and a Tory! His father was once a friend, more’s the pity. Gambled away his fortune and killed himself with drink. Young Jackson is not so bad, but hasn’t two farthings to rub together and is foolish about the little that’s left. Not right for my girl.”
“I see. Very well. Is there anyone else attending whom you’ve failed to mention?”
The duke sniffed. “Mr Jackson brings along his friend, Captain Ruthven. A Scotsman, if you can stomach it. I don’t know why young Jackson feels the need to foist such a creature upon us, but Violet claims he is amiable and no threat to any of the ladies.”
Preshea tilted her head. “He is not inclined?”
His Grace looked startled and then horrified. “Oh, no, not that.” He gave a side-eye glance at the vampire (who looked amused) and hurried quickly on. “He is simply not the type who seeks a title and he has no need to marry for pecuniary advancement.”