“Very well, my boy,” the man said. “And look at you. You have grown into a fine young man.”
The Marquess cleared his throat loudly, no doubt to cover a sarcastic laugh. Daniel tightened his jaw, not wishing to say anything unseemly in front of Lord Mason. He did his best to maintain his smile as he turned to address his father.
“I do hope you gentlemen will forgive my intrusion,” Daniel said, with a sincerity that he would have been unable to muster, if not for Lord Mason. “But I was hoping to get a chance to speak with you for a moment, Father.”
Lord Mason smiled warmly and bowed.
“It was no intrusion at all,” he said. “In fact, I was just leaving when I spotted your father, and I merely wanted to say hello before I did.”
“Are you quite sure that you do not wish to stay for another drink?” the Marquess asked, his voice sounding almost like a plea.
“Oh, no, Lord Bickenhall,” he said. “I must be going. My wife and I are having guests for dinner, and I should not keep her waiting. It was wonderful to see you again, though. I hope to see you again very soon.” The gentleman turned to Daniel and shook his hand once more. “And it was wonderful seeing you, as well, Lord Elbrook. Perhaps, the three of us can get together for drinks or tea.”
Daniel winced inwardly. He knew that would likely never happen because of his father, but he said nothing of the sort.
Instead, he nodded noncommittally and remained silent as his father bade Lord Mason a final farewell. Daniel kept a ghost of his former smile on his face until the man was out of sight. Then, he turned his attention to his father, all pretenses of pleasantries gone. Without waiting for his father to extend an invitation, Daniel took one of the other seats at the table.
The Marquess sneered at his son for a moment.
“I, too, was preparing to leave just before you arrived,” he said.
Daniel glanced at the nearly full tumbler of brandy in front of his father and smirked.
“Yes,” he said dryly. “I can see that. Do not worry, Father, I shall not take too much of your precious time.”
The Marquess glared at his son, but he said nothing.
“I simply wanted to ask you a couple of questions,” Daniel said calmly, ignoring his father’s silence.
The Marquess took a long, indulgent sip of his drink, which only further irritated Daniel. Daniel took a deep, long breath and waited for his father’s response.
“Alright,” the Marquess said at last. “What would you like to know?”
Daniel nodded. If there was one thing about his father that he could appreciate, it was his desire to get down to business.
“I wanted to ask you about the incident that happened recently at Lord Roxbough’s theater,” Daniel said.
His father looked up at him, putting down his drink.
“Yes, I heard about that,” he said, studying his son. “Were you there that evening?”
Daniel glared at his father.
“Were you?” he asked, ignoring the Marquess’s question.
His father leaned forward, clasping his hands together and resting them on the table.
“Why would I have been there?” the Marquess asked.
Daniel’s jaw tightened at his father’s snide tone.
“I suppose that would depend on how much you truly hate the theater,” Daniel said, his anger beginning to seep into his words.
As the implications of Daniel’s words reached the Marquess, his face began to redden. He took another sip of his drink and slammed his glass down on the table. The sudden noise in the low volume of the room earned them the attention of the card players nearby, but neither man paid them much heed.
“You are not asking me if I had something to do with that accident, are you, Daniel?” the Marquess asked through clenched teeth.
“Well, now that you mention it,” Daniel said coolly. “It would have been an interesting coincidence if you were there that evening. You do, after all, hate that theater more than anyone I know.”
The Marquess stood quickly from his seat. His eyes burned into his son, but Daniel would not be intimidated. He came to get answers, and he intended to do just that, whatever they might be.
“I will say this only once,” his father said, his voice low but full of venom. “I do hate that theater with a terrible ferocity. I have not forgotten that that is where Lisabeth performed, nor that it was because of her that George died. But,” he paused, leaning toward Daniel once more, his fists pressing hard into the table and his voice rising.
“That does not mean that I would meddle with it and ruin an honest man’s establishment because of it. Whatever you may think of me, I would never jeopardize a man’s business, certainly not to settle a score that was never his.”
The Marquess finished his brandy in one big sip and slammed the tumbler once more. Then, he glared at Daniel once more.
“That you could even think me capable of such a thing says more about you than it does about me, son,” the Marquess said.
Without waiting for his son’s response, he stormed out of the club. Daniel sank back in his seat and rubbed his face with his hand. The anger he had felt Earlier dissolved, replaced by relief and, to a lesser extent, remorse.
His father might be a cold, harsh man, and he may harbor wrongful grudges, but Daniel was now certain that he had nothing to do with the incident.
He did not feel guilty for having asked his father about being involved. However, the part of him that cared about his father did regret ever thinking that he could be capable of something so heinous.
Feeling both ashamed and frustrated, Daniel glanced around. To his relief, the people who had been staring as he argued with his father had gone back to their respective conversations and activities, as if nothing had happened.
All of the men, that is, except for one. A tall, thin man who looked to be about his father’s age was slowly approaching, a friendly, seemingly apologetic smile on his face. Daniel groaned to himself. He stood and returned the man’s smile, preparing an apology speech for disrupting the man’s quiet evening.
“Please,” he said. “Do not stand on my account. My name is Gerald Tateman, Baron of Cromwell. Have a drink with me, won’t you?”
Daniel blinked, perplexed. He was relieved that he had not angered the man, but why did he wish to have a drink with Daniel?
Unsure of what else to do, Daniel returned the man’s smile.
“Of course,” Daniel said, bowing. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Cromwell. I am Daniel Eaton, Earl of Elbrook.” He gestured to the chair which his father had just been occupying as he reclaimed his own. “Please, have a seat.”