by Ruby Moone
Now—now he was living in rooms in London, on an allowance his brother generously gave him, bored beyond measure, but too proud to say so. And he’d even managed to make a mess of that.
“I’m so sorry, Jossy. Time ran away from me. I’ve missed you horribly.”
“Wretch. You haven’t missed us a jot. You’ve been glad to get away from my admonitions,” she said with a warm, affectionate smile.
Hugo squeezed her fingers. “You know, some days, I’d give anything to hear you rake me down.”
“Silly boy.” She reached up on tip toe and kissed his cheek. “Go and lie down before dinner. Everyone is resting because it’s going to be the most fabulous ball we have every given. Everyone will be here. You need to be at your best. I hope you brought your finest clothes?”
“You’ve outdone yourself.” He smiled at her. “I won’t let you down. My attire will be exemplary. Coombs ensures I’m turned out like a veritable pink of the Ton.”
“Of course you won’t.” She twinkled up at him. She was wonderful, and every time he saw her, he felt compelled to apologise for being difficult when he was younger. But of course, he never did.
Jocelyn acted as hostess for his elder brother, given she never married, and Winsford was a widower of long standing. Her parties were legendary, and Hugo had no doubt that everyone who had aspirations to be anyone would be descending on the pile. Some guests would be staying for a few days, others attending just for the ball, others probably well beyond Christmas. He fully intended to take advantage of the fact that everyone was likely to be taken up with visitors when considering when he would to speak to Winsford. Before that, he would hunt out his nieces and nephews, some of whom were not that much younger than he was, given the twenty year gap between him and most of his siblings, and thus more inclined to see him as an exciting, worldly-wise fellow than a scapegrace younger brother to be treated with the unmanning affection usually reserved for babes in arms.
Jocelyn disappeared deeper into the house, and he was halfway up the staircase in hasty retreat when the study door flew open, this time to reveal Winsford. He paused and took a breath, plastering a smile over his face as Winsford spotted him.
“Winsford. Good to see you.”
His elder brother looked up at him. It was an assessing look. The look of an older brother who suspects his much younger sibling of no good.
“Hugo. It’s been a long time.”
Hugo nodded faintly. “Thought I’d…” He gestured weakly up the stairs. “You know, have a rest before the party?”
Any hope of avoiding his eldest brother was dashed with a raise of one imperious, dark eyebrow. He was closest to Simon in looks. Both had auburn hair that tended to curl, both had hazel eyes that tended to green. But whereas Simon was tall, elegant, graceful, and outrageously handsome, even for a man of five and forty, Hugo knew he was not. He was smaller, scrawny, and more often than not bedraggled, no matter how much care he took with his appearance.
“Come into the study.”
Hugo’s palms were wet, and his heart was thundering in his chest. Surreptitiously wiping his hands on his coat, he swallowed and followed his brother.
“Wine?”
Simon headed for the decanter. Hugo nodded and tried to smile. He’d have preferred brandy. A bottle or two of it wouldn’t have gone amiss before tackling the conversation that lay in front of him.
His brother handed him the glass, all the while looking him in the eye. It made Hugo even more uncomfortable.
“So, to what do we owe the honour?”
“Does there have to be a reason?” Hugo took a drink. A large drink. This was not the right time. He needed to get the Christmas obligations done with, and then talk to him about The Problem so he could leave forthwith once the task was done to save Winsford the trouble of throwing him out.
“Given we’ve seen neither sight nor sound of you outside London for quite some time, forgive me for feeling more than a little curious.”
Hugo opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Simon hesitated, then shook his head on a sigh. “Forgive me, I’m being very older-brotherish. Let’s start again.” He put down his drink and held out his hand. “Hugo, it’s damned good to see you. I’m delighted you could join us. Your sisters and cousins are beside themselves with joy.” A genuine smile from his brother made Hugo feel like the biggest bastard walking the earth.
“It’s good to see you too,” he said, taking his brother’s hand.
He took a breath and tried to stop the shaking that set up in his stomach. He looked at Simon doing what he felt was right, trying to keep things cordial between them, and it all came tumbling out.
“Thing is, you were right to suspect my motives.” He looked at the ground for a moment to compose himself, then looked his older brother in the eye. “Thing is, I’m in a spot.” Christ, he wasn’t supposed to be doing this now. He was supposed to be waiting. His heart beat so hard, it hurt.
Something that looked awfully like disappointment flickered in Simon’s gaze for a second and Hugo wanted to weep. He’d done it again. The only time he came home was when he was in trouble. Well, this time, he’d excelled himself.
Simon studied him. “I presume you think that I can be of assistance?”
Hugo nodded. His heart was racing so fast he wondered if he might pass out. Sadly, he didn’t, and he was forced to reply.
“I’m hoping you might. Though when you hear what I have to say, you may well disown me. I wouldn’t blame you.” He shot him a quick look.
Simon’s face lost the warmth, the welcome, and settled into his aristocratic mask of blandness that never failed to make Hugo feel small and unworthy. He was Winsford again. Untouchable; unreachable.
“You’d better tell me.”
Winsford was a master of the art of the dreadful silence. He never stepped in to fill a gap, simply waited for him to blunder in.
Blunder he did. “I owe money and I’m being blackmailed.”
Winsford’s brows dipped fractionally into the smallest frown. “How much and what for?”
It took a huge effort to keep his voice calm and not stammer. “A thousand guineas.”
The imperious brow rose slightly. “I’m making a presumption that you have not saved any of your allowance to cover such contingencies?”
Hugo shook his head.
“And the blackmail?”
Hugo licked his dry lips and swallowed. He had to wait a moment to gather his composure and remain steady.
“I was caught in a compromising position.”
“Is she married?”
Hugo’s nerve almost faltered. He’d never, ever thought to say these words aloud to his family.
It took several false starts to speak.
“It wasn’t a she.”
He looked at his brother but trained his gaze on his ear. Couldn’t bear to see the look in his eye as he admitted the truth about himself. Made himself say it loud and clear.
“I was caught with another man.”
He waited. The silence stretched.
“To whom do you owe money?”
“That doesn’t really matter.” He certainly didn’t want Winsford involving himself personally. That would be beyond unbearable.
“Is the…person blackmailing you the same person you owe money to?”
Hugo gave a small nod.
“Is he the same man that you were…with?”
A twitch of the head.
“But he caught you and is now using that to put pressure on you for the debt?”
Hugo nodded, twitched a shoulder, and shot a quick glance at Simon, no, Winsford. He looked angry. Very angry. Furiously angry. Oh God…
The silence and the whiteness of his lips didn’t bode well.
Winsford drained the wine in his glass and poured more.
“I wouldn’t have come to you, but I’d nowhere to turn and…and…it’s the family name not just me… I don’t… I don’t want… I… My nieces
’ come outs…” Tears prickled the back of his nose. His eyes. He shut up. Simon’s tactic of silence always worked.
“Who were you caught with?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does.”
Hugo wished he could say it was someone he cared for, someone who was important to him. How did he say it was a man he picked up whilst miserably drunk and sucked off down an alley?
“I don’t know his name. He was someone that I got chatting to and we…we …” He swallowed. “Went somewhere quiet and …” He swallowed again.
“And?”
There was to be no quarter.
“I went… I …”
“You did what?”
Hugo jumped as Winsford shouted, and it snapped him out of the pit of soul-shrivelling shame and plunged him deep into the self-righteous anger of the guilty.
“You want it all? Very well, I was on my knees in the piss and shit of a back alley near Covent Garden gamahuching a very handsome captain of the King’s army.” Hugo was shaking. His chin quirked as he held it high and refused to make any sort of eye contact with his brother.
“And how do you wish me to resolve this?”
Hugo looked out of the window. Snow was falling gently. He remembered the Christmases of his childhood. When Simon and Jocelyn had tried to help them all survive without their parents.
He knew his eyes shone with tears when he turned to him.
“I want you to make it right. Like you always do.”
Chapter 3
Hugo made his way to his bed chamber without bumping into anyone else. He scrubbed at his eyes and slammed the door behind him. How could he be so unspeakably stupid? So childish? Make it right. He sighed aloud at his sheer idiocy. He’d wanted to stand up and admit his faults. Not revert to when he was seven. Truth was, he’d no idea at all how to get himself out of the mess he’d made, no idea how to stop his family being raked through the mud, ruining his nieces’ chances of good marriage, ruining his brothers and sisters. He’d been in many scrapes in his life, they seemed to dog his footsteps, but he’d never threatened the safety and stability of his family like this. Although he didn’t spend much time with them, it wasn’t that he didn’t love them, he did, he just found it hard to be around them because he had to pretend. Hard to be coddled and cosseted like a much-loved brother whilst all the while hiding the most awful truth. Yet when everything had collapsed, he’d flung himself into that exact spot.
A tap on the door made him pull himself together.
“Come in.”
His valet Coombs came into the room with a slight bow of the head and moved quietly about, readying his clothes for the evening.
“Refreshment will be brought to you shortly, my lord.” He twitched the razor that he’d put on the dresser, so everything lay in perfect accord. Hugo watched him. Coombes probably knew. Servants, in his experience, knew everything.
“Thank you. Coombs, I saw Lord Lockford’s servant earlier. He looked to have sustained an injury. Would you reassure me that he has taken no permanent hurt?”
Coombs hesitated and almost smiled. He cleared his throat. “You may be assured, my lord. Mr. Fitch is Lord Lockford’s valet. He has been attended to. He took a nasty bang to the head, but he is in good hands.”
Hugo knew that Coombs didn’t mean Lockford’s.
“Good. Good. Please convey my good wishes for a speedy recovery.”
He allowed Coombs to divest him of his coat and boots, and then let him go. He looked at the dark green jacket he’d been so proud of because it made the best of his eyes and unbuttoned the paler green waistcoat before he slumped on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. He sat up and breathed deeply before he undid the cravat Coombs had fashioned into a stunningly good mathematical, removed his waistcoat, and then flung himself onto the bed. Fortunately, the room was reasonably warm, thanks to a roaring fire in the grate and heavy curtains keeping out the worst of the drafts. Laid on the bed of his youth, he covered his eyes with one arm, and tried not to give in to the pressure behind them.
A soft tap at the door made him flinch.
“Go away.”
The door opened of course. He sucked in a breath and lifted his arm. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust and when he spotted his second eldest brother closing the door behind him, he groaned.
“Vincent, please. Winsford has already raked me over. If he’s told you why, there isn’t anything left to say.”
“He hasn’t said a word. Whatever have you done? I’ve not seen Winsford like that before.”
Hugo groaned and sat up on the bed. He gestured for Vincent to sit with him. “What did he tell you?”
“Nothing. He just looks…awful.”
“Awful as in angry?”
“Well, no, just really pale and…worried?”
Hugo made a pained sound and buried his face in his hands.
Vincent patted his leg. “Come on, old thing, it can’t be that bad, can it?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to tell me?”
Vincent was probably his favourite sibling. Closest to him in age, with three sisters between him and Winsford, but he was still thirteen years older. He was eight and thirty, and even better looking than Winsford. Vincent had always been the one to encourage him. The thought of losing his good regard was unbearable.
“I’ve been stupid.”
“Tell me something new.”
Hugo raised his arm and peered at him for a moment, seeing the affectionate smile, then put it back down and spoke the words rapidly.
“I owe a thousand guineas and I’m being blackmailed.”
“God’s knees, that’s going some, even by your standards.”
“I know.”
“Who is blackmailing you? What do they have on you?”
Hugo sighed and sat up. He sat, tailor style, in his stocking feet and shirtsleeves and faced his brother. “You may as well know the whole from me, you’ll find out soon enough no doubt. I know you’ll hate me, but we need to protect the girls, and the family.” Vincent had two sons, so no daughters to worry about, but his sisters; his sisters had daughters by the dozen, and they were starting to reach the age where good marriages would be sought.
“Go on.”
“I lost a thousand guineas in a card game, and I’m being blackmailed by the man I owe the money to.”
“Hell. What has he on you?”
Hugo picked at the coverlet for a moment, then looked up and met his brother’s eye. “I got caught…with a man.”
Vincent’s eyes went wide. “Hell.”
Hugo looked back at the coverlet and carried on picking. “You are repeating yourself.”
“Is that why you don’t ever come home?”
“Partly.” He couldn’t look up. Hugo raised his knees and hugged them, pressing his face into his arm to stem the tears again. This was worse than facing Winsford.
“I had no idea.”
Vincent’s voice was calm, and he could detect no censure, so he risked looking at him. Vincent simply looked concerned. He reached out and put a hand on Hugo’s arm. “Are you sure? It’s not an experiment?”
Hugo shook his head. “No. I’ve always been like this.”
“You definitely don’t like women?”
“It’s not that I don’t like them, I just don’t want to bed them.” He watched Vincent carefully. Waiting for the explosion; the condemnation and revulsion.
“Well, that’s a bit of a mess.” He rubbed Hugo’s arm, then leaned over to ruffle his hair like he used to do when he was a boy. “Goose. You should have said.”
And with those softly spoken words, his brother quietly vouchsafed his support and undid Hugo entirely.
Hugo twitched his cravat in the mirror and saw Coombs flinch. He’d spent some time with the family before coming upstairs to get ready for the evening. He’d feared that Winsford might say something, but it had been misplaced. He’d entered the room to find it fil
led with his brothers and sisters, their respective wives and husbands and myriad children, and he was warmly greeted by them all.
Winsford had no children, and neither did Jocelyn, but his middle sisters, Henrietta and Charlotte had between them eight girls. The eldest was Henrietta’s girl, Christiana, a definite beauty in the making at eighteen. The rest ranged in age down to Vincent’s youngest boy, Julian, who was only four. He’d watched as Winsford moved effortlessly amongst the children, talking to them, laughing with them, and regretted all the upset he’d caused him. Seeing them all again just drove home the knowledge that there was something not right about him which made their affection hard to take. Deep inside, he knew he didn’t deserve it, so it grated.
He shook himself and tried to shake off the melancholy that set about dragging him down. He resisted the urge to fiddle with his hair under Coombs’ fixed stare. He’d weather the ball, face Winsford again and see if he could offer any practical help about how to deal with the threat that he posed to his family, and then return to London. The prospect didn’t fill him with the excitement. In truth, he felt forlorn at the thought, and at the realisation that there was not one of the people in London he called ‘friend’ who he could contemplate calling on in a crisis. No-one he could be honest with.
Suitably attired, he headed for the fray. He slipped in and joined the party in the ballroom. It was fast becoming a crush, so he stayed on the edges, trying to shake the notion that everyone knew of his disgrace.
“Chin up, old thing.” His sister Charlotte appeared at his elbow. At four and thirty, she was a truly beautiful woman. Her eyes sparkled with love and good humour, and her husband, Lord Foxley, looked at her with warmth and deep affection in his eyes.
“Sorry, Char, I’m just a little tired. It was a long journey.”
“Freezing to boot, I’ll wager.”
“Indeed.”
He listened politely as she and Foxley talked about their home, their family, and the children. All his married siblings seemed to have made good matches. He’d not been sure about Henrietta’s husband at first. Viscount Sedgewick was a taciturn man, but he’d been a solid and steadying influence on her, and he clearly doted on his girls. He watched Vincent with his wife over at the other side of the room and wondered if Winsford ever regretted not producing an heir. But then, he supposed, there was still time. Even if he didn’t, Vincent would be a splendid heir to the marquisate, and he did have two boys already.
