Read The Wicked Wedding of Miss Ellie Vyne for Free Online Page B

smirked. “You ought to practice evasion a little more yourself.” He knew poor Grieves was frequently the target at which people—failing to capture him in conversation—aimed their arrows, settling for a circuitous route in hopes of eventually reaching his ear with their concerns.
    “Mr. Dillworthy is concerned, he tells me, with the number of charities to which you’ve donated considerable sums in the past year. Lady Hartley disapproves your choices, sir, and as the Hartley family accountant for some years, he has—”
    “Grieves, I am thir…over one and twenty, as you know.”
    The valet raised a sharp eyebrow. “Quite well over, sir.”
    “As a consequence, and disturbing as it might be to my grandmother’s loyal slave Mr. Dillworthy, I am capable of making my own financial decisions. For too long I paid no attention to my money and how it’s spent. Now I know where every penny goes. And it goes where I decide.”
    “To a home for unwed mothers?”
    “Precisely. I want those renovations in Morton Street finished as soon as possible, and cost is no object. I’ve told Dillworthy this many times. Then my grandmother corners him when she comes to Town, and he quivers like a spineless jelly.”
    “Lady Hartley objects to the idea of young ladies giving birth out of wedlock, and she is of the opinion that charities like that one merely encourage sinful behavior. Such women, she says, should be punished and chastity promoted.”
    “Grandmama does her bit to promote chastity, without a doubt,” he replied wryly. “I happen to disagree with her. Now I have control of all my money, I daresay I’ll disagree with her more often. I’m beginning to like the sensation.”
    Grieves collected the scattered pages of newspaper, folding them neatly. “It is a great pity, sir,” he quietly observed, “that too many people are unaware of the good that you do.”
    James shrugged. He didn’t take on these commitments for Society’s approval.
    “I suppose most folk care to hear only about your failures, so they can feel better about their own lives,” the valet added. “Success makes for less interesting gossip.”
    “Yes, Grieves, people are generally horrid, selfish buggers. Except you and I, of course.”
    Grieves swept crumbs from the tablecloth with a tiny silver pan and brush. “Might I inquire, sir, if you were able to retrieve the Hartley Diamonds the other night? You left the boxing club in such haste when you heard that Lady Southwold had given them to—”
    “No. I was not able to get them back. But I shall. That French crook will not get away with this.”
    “And Lady Southwold, sir?”
    James winced at the topic, but at least Grieves was distracted from further talk of the accounts. “Lady Southwold is quite evidently not my mystery woman from Brighton. Her knuckles are bordering on manly, and she breathes too hard.”
    “Gracious, sir, how frightful. Audible breathing is such a terrible habit. One of many you cannot abide in women these days.”
    He looked up, eyes narrowed. “Hmmm.”
    “One wonders, sir, if your list of unacceptable traits might outweigh the acceptable ones to such a degree that the right woman will never be found.”
    “Nonsense. I met her in Brighton.” Now if he could only find her again, his entire world would be put to rights. “She is my future wife and the mother of my many children. We must find that woman, Grieves. We simply must. She is the one for me, and none other will suffice.”
    Grieves made a small sound that might have passed for gentle agreement, but was very nearly a skeptical sigh and could almost be an “oh no.” It was one of many similar noises in the valet’s repertoire, muted exclamations that could serve several purposes. “Although it pains me to bring the fact to your notice, sir, we have depleted the possibilities. All those ladies you once thought she might be have each subsequently proven unsatisfactory.”
    “Then we must search