The moment they left the private room, the noise from the main floor came rushing back but unlike before, Draven paid it no mind. His thoughts were already occupied with sorting through everything they had learned, separating the useful details from the man’s attempts to mislead them.
They had not discovered the identity of the person responsible for the entire operation, but they now had confirmation that the smuggling was far more organized than they had initially suspected.
As they made their way toward the exit, Draven’s gaze fell on Simon once more.
His cousin was no longer at the card table.
He stood near the bar with his back partly turned, speaking to another man. The stranger leaned closer, said something too low for Draven to hear, and slipped a small, folded piece of paper into Simon’s hand.
Simon glanced down at it before quickly slipping it into his pocket.
He must have felt eyes upon him, for he looked up and met Draven’s stare across the crowded room.
"Something wrong?" Nicholas asked.
Draven shook his head in response. "Nothing. Let’s leave this God-awful place."
---
By the time Draven returned to his home in Caldor, the hour had grown late enough that the house had settled into the deep quiet that came after most of the servants had retired for the night.
Only a handful of lamps remained lit along the corridors, their subdued glow falling across the polished floors and paneled walls. The quiet was a welcome change from the incessant chatter and clamor of the gaming house.
Nicholas accompanied him into the study without needing an invitation. Their evening had given them enough to occupy the next several days.
There was little point in discussing it further tonight. They would have to wait, observe, and determine whether the information they had been given proved reliable.
Draven poured himself a measure of brandy and carried it toward the fireplace while Nicholas settled into one of the chairs near the desk. The fire had burned low, warming the study pleasantly.
"For a man who claims to dislike gaming hells, you looked remarkably comfortable at that card table," Nicholas remarked, a hint of his sly humor woven into each word.
Draven glanced at him over his shoulder. "I was trying to determine whether the man was lying to our faces."
"Is that so? What’s the verdict then?"
"I decided that I dislike very him."
Nicholas laughed, helping himself to the bottle left unattended on the table. "A remarkably useful conclusion, I dare say."
Draven groaned as he lowered himself into a chair, stretching one arm along the leather armrest. His mind was still occupied with the evening, turning over fragments of conversation and the curious details they had uncovered, though he had no intention of allowing himself to dwell on them until morning. He was far too exhausted for that.
For several minutes, they drank in peace, each man content to let the warmth of the brandy and the fading fire ease the tension of the evening.
Then the calm quiet was shattered by a knock on the door.
Draven heaved a tired sigh. What could possibly require his attention at this late hour?
"Come in," he called without glancing at the door.
A footman entered, bowing respectfully.
"Your Grace, I apologize for disturbing you at this hour, but you have a visitor."
Draven frowned. "Who?"
"Mr. Harcourt, Your Grace."
His solicitor.
That immediately drew his attention.
"At this hour?"
"He says the matter is urgent."
Draven exchanged a glance with Nicholas before looking back at the footman.
"Show him in."
The footman bowed again before leaving.
Nicholas raised his glass to his lips."That cannot be good."
"No, it cannot," Draven agreed.
Solicitors did not make late-night house calls unless there was a matter sufficiently serious to warrant disturbing their clients after hours. Whatever had brought Harcourt to his doorstep at such an unreasonable hour was unlikely to be trivial.
Draven did not have long to wonder.
A few moments later, Harcourt entered the study.
The solicitor looked as though he had hurried there. His appearance was not as polished as usual; his cravat sat slightly askew, and the normally immaculate lines of his coat had been disturbed by the haste of his journey.
More troubling still was the strained look around his eyes, suggesting that he had spent the last several hours agonizing over a matter he would much rather have avoided.
Draven gestured toward the empty chair.
"Sit down, Harcourt. You look as though you are about to collapse."
"I may very well do so before the night is over, Your Grace."
Nicholas reached for the liquor bottle and poured Harcourt a glass before handing it to him. "Here you go. Have a drink and calm your nerves."
Harcourt accepted the glass with a grateful nod and took a healthy swallow before settling into the proffered chair.
Draven waited. He knew better than to fill the silence when the man was clearly gathering his thoughts.
Whatever had brought Harcourt here, it was evidently unpleasant enough that even he was struggling to decide how best to present it.
Finally, Harcourt set down his glass.
"I received correspondence from Lord Simon’s counsel regarding the matter of his annuity."
Of all the things Draven might have expected to hear that night, that was not among them.
He had known Simon would not accept being cut off quietly. His cousin had spent years treating the money as though it were an entitlement bestowed upon him by right rather than the result of an arrangement created by their great-grandfather.
Still, Draven had assumed that after the initial anger faded, Simon would eventually understand that there was little to be gained from challenging him. That he would see this as an opportunity to mend his reckless ways.
Apparently, he had been too generous in his assessment of his cousin’s intelligence.
"And he intended to pursue the matter by legal means?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
Draven leaned back in his chair, his fingers tightening around his glass.
"How is he going to do that?"
"Through Chancery." Harcourt answered, somehow looking more frazzled than he did when he first arrived. "He is prepared to seek an order compelling payment of the annuity, together with the arrears that have accumulated since you suspended it."
Right then the hearth seemed more appealing to Draven than the conversation they were having, watching the guttering flames consume the fresh logs.
He could already imagine the spectacle if Simon followed through. A dispute between members of the Montague family was precisely the sort of vulgar drama high society would devour.
The fact that the dispute concerned money would only make it more entertaining.
His family’s name had enough gossip attached to it without handing the nobles and gentry another feast.