A Matter of Choice

by Laura Landon

  Allison had requested a selection from Samson and Delilah without having heard the music. She knew the opera had caused some controversy, knew the words were stirring—even provocative—but she hadn’t been prepared for the passion in the aria Mademoiselle Bochaut chose.

  Every beautiful tone hinted at something private shared by two lovers. Each word a caress, each delicate note a kiss, each breath an intimate touch. And they were meant for him alone.

  Tears flowed unabashedly down Allison’s cheeks. She told herself the reason was because she’d never heard anything so beautiful, had never been moved so by such a heaven-sent voice. But she wasn’t sure that was the reason.

  She fought the ache that pressed against her breast. She didn’t know why the look the beautiful singer shared with the Marquess of Montfort should affect her. Why their relationship with each other should bother her one way or the other. She only knew she’d never hurt like this before in her life.

  Chapter 4

  Joshua took the stairs to his father’s townhouse two at a time and stormed through the burgundy double doors the Duke of Ashbury’s long-time butler, Higgins, held open.

  “Where is he!” Joshua marched across the marble-floored entryway with Higgins following at a pace faster than Joshua had ever seen him shuffle.

  “His Grace is in his study, my lord. But I don’t believe he wishes to be disturbed.”

  “I’ll just bet he doesn’t.” Joshua tossed Higgins his hat and cloak without breaking stride.

  The butler’s granite facial expression did not change. It was the same frozen look of regal indifference he’d worn for the twenty odd years Joshua had known him.

  Without waiting for Higgins to catch up with him, he headed toward the study.

  “Do you wish to be announced, my lord?”

  “No,” He clenched his teeth. “I believe His Grace is expecting me.”

  Each step thundered on the marble, the ominous clomping of his boot heels the only warning he intended to give his father. The old man had pushed him too far this time. The bastard would be lucky if he didn’t kill him.

  He gripped the handle of the study door and threw it open, then kicked it shut with his foot. He was alone with his father.

  The room reminded him of a tomb: dark, cold, musty-smelling.

  He focused on his father and anger surged though him. The familiar inborn fury he experienced every time the two of them were together reared its ugly head. Years of animosity created a barrier neither of them could breach.

  It was impossible to believe he’d been sired by this man. They were so different from each other, different both in looks and temperament. Or perhaps they were so alike it was like looking into a mirror and not liking the person who stared back at you. Perhaps that was why Philip had always been closer to their father. Joshua always the one kept at arm’s length.

  He stared at his father, then walked to the windows and jerked open the draperies.

  Bright, invasive sunlight flooded the room. He let the warmth wash over him while he tried to get his emotions under control. If he faced his father now, he might commit murder, he was that angry.

  His father took another swallow of his liquor without acknowledging Joshua’s presence.

  Joshua turned. “Ignoring me won’t do any good.”

  “No. It never has.”

  The duke’s words came out slow and slurred, the garbled sounds indicating a man who’d been drinking for several hours—or days.

  “No, Your Grace. It never has.”

  “I wondered how long it would take for you to discover what I’d done.”

  His father’s words were directed toward him, but he didn’t lift his head, nor did he look at him. Instead, he sat slouched in one of the two matching burgundy leather chairs angled before the lifeless fireplace. With his elbows propped on the arms of the chair, he cradled a full glass of brandy in his hand. An empty bottle lay on the floor.

  Joshua marched to the chair and stopped in front of him. “What the hell possessed you?”

  A slow smile crossed his father’s face before he lifted the glass and drank a long swallow. When he finished, his hand dropped to his side, oblivious of the liquor that sloshed onto the floor.

  Joshua’s temper snapped. “Answer me, damn you!”

  Ashbury’s reaction was slow, but not at all unexpected. He lifted his head and smiled, the lopsided grin of disdain giving him a malevolent look. Hatred glimmered in his eyes. “Did the news tear you away from your mistress, Montfort?” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “Or were you having an afternoon tryst with the lovely, and ever-popular, Lady Paxton?”

  Joshua glared at him, all the bitter hostility he’d felt from his youth surging to the forefront. “You’re drunk.”

  “So I am. It’s how I choose to handle the death of a great dynasty.” Ashbury picked up the bottle from the floor and tipped it over his glass. When he realized it was empty, he carelessly tossed it against the stone fireplace. Pieces of glass flew back into the room but the duke didn’t notice the ones that hit him.

  Joshua didn’t care.

  “Did you come to talk finances?” Ashbury said, pointing to an empty chair halfway across the room.

  Joshua fisted his hands. He refused to talk to him from anywhere but right here. “What have you done with my inheritance?”

  “I spent it. Or rather, I lost it. It’s gone.”

  A fresh wave of fury erupted inside Joshua. “You fool!” He grabbed the front of his father’s expensively tailored, hunter’s green jacket and lifted him out of his chair. The old man’s expression didn’t change except for the sneer of disdain that crossed his face.

  “I see you are finally concerned with where your mistress’s next bauble will come from,” Ashbury slurred.

  Joshua dropped his father back into the chair. “I didn’t think I had cause to concern myself with such mundane matters.”

  “What? You thought there would always be an endless supply of money for you to squander?”

  “I was never given reason to believe there wouldn’t be. I was never allowed a hand in the running of the estates. Only Philip was given that privilege.”

  “Only Philip deserved that privilege.” The duke swung his arm through the air as if emphasizing his words.

  Joshua struggled to root himself to the floor even though the impact of his father’s venomous words nearly knocked him flat.

  “If Philip were here,” the duke slurred, “everything would have been different. I wouldn’t have had to do what I did.”

  “But Philip’s not here!”

  The duke bolted to his feet and staggered precariously. “And whose fault is that?!”

  Joshua reeled as if he’d taken a blow to the gut. He braced his hand against the nearest piece of furniture and fought the nausea that threatened to make him ill.

  Herein lay the root of the hatred that had worsened every day since Philip’s death. Their father had looked upon the tragedy as his tragedy, the loss as his loss. And blame must be assigned. The favored son was dead and the son who survived would never be worthy to take his place.

  He stared at the cold look of hatred on his father’s face, a look that said with Philip dead, the duke didn’t intend for there to be anything left to bequeath to his remaining heir.

  “What happened to the money?” he asked, trying to hold his temper at bay until he could figure out what to do.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes, it matters!” Joshua swiped his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath. “I just came from Nathanly’s office and he informed me that as of today, there’s not enough money to pay even one more monthly allowance. That you gambled it all away on doomed ventures. Unless we come up with a solution to our problem, Your Grace, we will have to sell off every piece of Ashbury property that is not entailed. And even that will not get us out of debt.”

  The duke did not react, but staggered to a side cupboard. He took out another bottle of his fine liquo
r.

  “Are you listening to me, Father? If we do not come up with enough money to pay at least part of the bills you have amassed, we will even have to sell the liquor you’re pouring down your throat.”

  “Then sell it. Sell everything!”

  “No!”

  The duke settled back in his chair and looked up. The corners of his mouth lifted, his loathsome smile oozed with contempt. “Are you worried about your precious Graystone Manor, son?”

  “You know damn well I am. It’s all that’s ever concerned me. Certainly nothing of yours matters to me.”

  Father and son faced each other like mortal enemies, determined to fight to the death.

  Joshua was in jeopardy of losing Graystone Manor. A wave of panic raced through him that nearly took him to his knees.

  He stared at the man sitting in the chair. His father had downed another glass of liquor and was now mumbling incoherently.

  “Why did you do it? Why didn’t you tell me sooner, when there was still something we could have done?”

  His father smiled as he took another swallow of the mind-numbing liquor he’d already had too much of. “I was afraid I wouldn’t have the courage to go through with it.”

  “Through with what?”

  His father ignored him. “But I did. And it’s worked out perfectly.” He laughed. “Now it’s too late. I’ve won. Lost it all. Even…Graystone.”

  A heavy hollow space deep in his gut churned with a sickening emptiness. Ice flowed through his veins. “You intentionally lost everything to keep me from inheriting?”

  The duke’s laughter had a demented ring to it. “Of course. I could never let you have any of it.”

  Joshua staggered backwards, his legs trembling beneath him.

  “I was afraid I wouldn’t manage to lose everything before you discovered what I was doing. I was afraid you’d marry some chit with a hefty dowry and save it. But it’s gone now and you’ll never save it.”

  Joshua couldn’t believe his father could hate him so much. He couldn’t fathom that he intentionally lost every Ashbury holding so Joshua wouldn’t get it.

  He braced his shoulders. “You should be very pleased then, Father. I won’t be able to touch it now. You’ve seen to that.”

  His father lifted his glass to his mouth and drank. “Not yours. It was never yours. Always and only, Philip’s.”

  His words were nearly incoherent now, so jumbled Joshua could barely make them out. What was plain, though, was something Joshua had always known. His father hated him more than any father should hate his son. He blamed him for Philip’s death.

  What his father couldn’t know was that no one blamed him more than he blamed himself.

  +++

  Joshua sat at a small, round table in the corner of his club, trying to get drunk. For three days he’d spent every waking hour hounding their solicitor, searching for a way to save at least some of the Ashbury holdings. But there was nothing he could do. There wasn’t enough income to pay off the debts that threatened to take Graystone Manor away from him.

  He was amazed at how quickly and foolishly his father had wasted a fortune. In exasperation, the solicitor had finally dropped his pen from his fingers and declared all their attempts futile.

  Joshua refilled his glass and drained the contents in one long swallow. Futile. Useless. Hopeless. Graystone Manor was lost to him.

  He reached for the bottle to refill his glass and halted when a figure cast a shadow over his table.

  “Go away,” he said, not caring who he offended. “I want to be left alone.”

  The man did not move, but pulled out a chair from the table and sat.

  Joshua snapped up his head. “I said—“

  “I know. I heard you.”

  Joshua glared at the Earl of Hartley.

  Instead of leaving, the man motioned for a waiter to bring an empty glass.

  With a disgruntled sigh, Joshua leaned back in his chair and attempted to ignore him.

  When the glass arrived, Hartley filled it two fingers high with brandy. “There are rumors circulating that your father is about to lose everything. That means you, too, are in the same predicament.”

  “I don’t think I want to discuss my family finances with you, Hartley. So if you’d kindly leave me the hell alone, I’d be most—“

  Hartley held up his hand in a halting gesture, then reached for the glass in front of him. Without hesitation, he drained what was left and slid back his chair. He tugged on the sleeves of his black wool jacket before he hooked the silver handle of his cane over one arm and leaned forward. Joshua had no choice but to look into his face.

  “If you want to save your inheritance, I have an offer that might benefit you.”

  There was no malice in his eyes, not a hint of haughty disdain in his features. Only a closed, dark expression that left more questions than gave answers.

  “And that would be?”

  Hartley glanced around the room. “This is neither the time nor the place to discuss anything of this magnitude. And you will need a clear head when we talk.” He slid the bottle out of Joshua’s reach. “Tomorrow morning? Say ten o’clock?”

  Joshua glared at him without answering.

  “Until then.” Hartley nodded, then walked across the room, greeting several acquaintances as he left the club.

  When he was gone, Joshua reached for the bottle to fill his glass. He stopped. He had a feeling that whatever Hartley wanted to discuss with him would require every bit of his senses. And probably a whole lot more.

  +++

  Time had run out.

  For the past week, each new day was more tension-filled than the last. She could hardly sit in the same room with David without a little of the friction they both felt coming through. But it would not last much longer.

  David had given her an ultimatum. She had until today to agree to marry. She had until noon to give him the name of the husband of her choice. Or he would choose a husband for her.

  Allison thought she’d be ill.

  She’d gone over both her options again and again and knew she had little choice in her future. David had made that more than clear when he’d told her of the stipulation in her grandmother’s trust: that she either marry prior to her twenty-fifth birthday to a husband who met with David’s approval. Or, he would be required to choose a husband for her.

  The very idea made her furious. What kind of archaic stipulation was that? To assume David would know with whom she should live her life better than she?

  She clutched her hands into tight fists, her nails biting into her flesh. She remembered the argument she and David had had two nights ago when she announced she’d decided not to marry. She could still see the priceless vase crash to the floor when he slammed his fist against the corner of the table. Could still hear his angry words. He repeated his vow that he refused to let her give up her trust, refused to allow her to rely on her siblings for a roof over her head and food to eat.

  She fought a shiver. Deep down, she knew every reason she had for refusing to marry no longer mattered. In the end, she wouldn’t be left with a choice. She’d have to marry. Even if was to someone she didn’t love.

  She uttered a curse as the door opened.

  “Good afternoon, Allison,” Lynette said from the doorway of the morning room.

  Allison straightened from the corner of the sofa and slid her feet to the floor.

  Her sister-in-law walked toward her and sat on the other end of the sofa. “David sent me to tell you he’d like to see you in his study.”

  “I went to see him earlier and he couldn’t be disturbed.”

  “He had business to attend to.” She turned enough so they faced each other. “It must be concluded now.”

  Allison closed her book and laid it on the table.

  “May I speak with you first?” Lynette asked when she started to rise.

  “Of course. But I think I already know what you’re going to say.” Allison sat back down. “
You don’t have to concern yourself with me any longer, Lynette. I know what I have to do.”

  “You never did have a choice. None of us do. Unless you thought to rely on David’s generosity for the rest of your life.”

  “No, I never thought to do that.”

  “He loves you, you know. Sometimes I think even more than me.”

  “Oh, Lynette. That’s not—”

  “It’s all right,” Lynette interrupted. “There’s a special bond between you and David. Which is the reason I found the courage to speak to you. If you love David, you’ll marry and free him from feeling responsible for you.”

  Allison’s world shifted beneath her.

  “I don’t mean to be selfish, Allison. But I want my husband to myself and he’ll never totally be mine if I have to share him with you.”

  There’d always been a special connection between she and her brother, but she never considered that bond might interfere with David’s marriage. Or that Lynette might resent their closeness.

  Allison’s world slowed to a standstill. “I see. I didn’t realize.”

  “It’s not your fault. Or David’s. It’s just the way things are.”

  Allison pasted a smile on her face and turned to Lynette. “You are right, of course. It’s past time I married. Past time I had a home of my own.”

  Allison waited until her legs were steady beneath her, then walked to the door. “I’ll see David now.” She knew what she had to do.

  Refusing to marry was no longer an option. But she’d marry who she wanted. David could demand all he liked. She was done with his dictating.

  She walked down the stairs and across the marble foyer. She didn’t knock when she reached his study but grabbed the handle and opened the door. David’s head snapped in her direction, the surprise evident on his face.