London, Julia - The Perfect Stranger

by Radha

  His gaze inadvertently fell on Portia, who was now smiling prettily at Lord Whitehurst. The look on her face made him want to turn and walk out the door of his home and keep walking until he escaped the reverie and reached the Tarn OShanter, the Rogues old haunt, but his brother Alex caught his eye and started toward him. Arthur dutifully waited, trying very hard to maintain an expressionless facade.

  Alex paused to take a flute of champagne from a heavy silver tray a footman extended to him as he reached the door. Need to warn you, old chap, he said, glancing behind him, my darling wife has a maggot in her head to introduce you to Warrentons daughterhe gave Arthur a lookshes a bit on the plain side.

  Marvelous, Arthur drawled.

  Ah, and here she comes now, Alex muttered before beaming a smile over Arthurs shoulder. Arthur turned, smiling, too, as Lauren neared them, extending her hand.

  Arthur! You are a dreadful host! Ive been looking all over for you, she playfully scolded him as he took her hand in his.

  I humbly beg your forgiveness, he said gallantly, bowing low over her hand. I was unavoidably detained with a small housekeeping matter.

  Oh, Lauren said uncertainly, then suddenly grinned again. Well now that Ive found you, I am so very eager to make an introduction

  Ah, Kettering! Arthur quickly interrupted, nodding in the general direction of the hearth. You will excuse me, but Ive an important matter that really cant wait, he said, and inclining his head politely, stepped aside before Lauren could object.

  Liar! he heard her mutter cheerfully under her breath, followed by Alexs throaty chuckle.

  Arthur flashed a grin at her before disappearing into the crowd. He made his way deeper into the room, pausing only to greet his mother and aunt. The dowager duchess smiled warmly. You look devilishly handsome, she whispered to him. Arthur idly glanced down at the black superfine coat, the heavily embroidered silk waistcoat. He thought he rather looked as he did every daytrussed up like a Christmas goose.

  Never mind that, Paddy said excitedly, and clapped her hands like a girl, making the fat white sausage curls dance around her cherubic face. Miss Amelia, the daughter of the very important Lord Warrenton, is in attendance tonight!

  Aha. So Lauren had already gathered her troops for the attack. Arthur loved his sister-in-law dearly, but she seemed absolutely determined to see him shackled to a debutante from here to eternity. I am certain Miss Amelia will have a grand time of it. He patted his mothers hand then carefully extracted his arm. Ladies, you will excuse me? Ignoring Paddys blustering protest, he continued on until he reached the sideboard where his butler, Barnaby, had laid out an impressive array of liqueurs and brandies. Shooing a footman away, Arthur poured champagne into a heavy engraved crystal flute.

  Rather thought you were going to abandon me to the conspirators in Miss Amelias new courtship.

  Arthur chuckled and turned toward the familiar voice of Julian Dane, the earl of Kettering. What then, are they all quite afraid I shall be put on the shelf before the years end?

  Julian laughed. You and Miss Amelia both, apparently, he said, and signaled the hovering footman to pour him a brandy.

  It appears I shall be forced to have another frank discussion with my sister-in-law. Speaking of impossible women, what have you done with your wife?

  Julian chuckled as he accepted the imported French brandy from the footman, then nodded lazily to where a small string orchestra was resting for a brief interval. Claudia was perched on the edge of a French settee, her elbows on her knees as she pressed home what was an undoubtedly very important point to the rather vapid Lord Perry. I predict Perry will hand over everything hes got in the three-percents before he even realizes what has happened, Julian said, hiding a proud smile behind his snifter. Arthur had no doubt that was true. If there was a force in London who could raise funds for worthy causes, it was Lady Kettering. She had the ability to charm a man right out of his stockingsliterally, in Julians case. He was about to comment as much when Barnaby suddenly appeared at his elbow. Beggin your pardon, my lord, but Lord Rothembow insists upon a word.

  Rothembow. The name evoked a flash of his dream last nighta ballroom just like this, glimpses of Phillip, trying to catch him to demand an explanation, a reason.

  Bloody hell.

  Arthur exchanged a look with Julian as he set aside his champagne flute. Show him to the morning room, he instructed Barnaby, and turned only to see Rothembow pushing through the crowd, bearing down on them. The crowd seemed to turn as one toward the three men as Rothembow came to an exaggerated stop in front of them. It was exceedingly awkward; Rothembow had not been invited; his dress clearly indicated as much. But regardless of what anyone thought, Arthur would not deny the man entrance, he would not deny him anything, really, and simply nodded his head in greeting, My lord.

  Rothembows thick gray eyebrows shot together in one long frown. A full head shorter than Arthur, the rotund man snapped his head back to better glare at them. Christian, I would have a word if you please, he said gruffly, and reached into his coat pocket, withdrawing a folded paper. I have in my hand a matter of some consequence. It would seem that the Christian solicitation offices have failed me once again.

  Arthur exchanged a quick, wary look with Julian. I beg your pardon, sir, but if this is a matter of business perhaps it best would be discussed

  I will not be put off, my lord! he angrily interjected. I received this letter just today, and while the contents of it were quite disturbing, let me assure you it came as no surprise to me to learn that at least one of you was involved

  Shall we adjourn to the morning room? Julian asked sharply. Rothembow paused, mouth open, then thought better of what he would say and quickly shut it. With a curt nod of his head, he stepped aside so Arthur could lead the way.

  Arthur could hardly fault the man for despising the Rogues as he did; he supposed it was quite natural for a man to assign blame when he lost a son, particularly in the manner Rothembow lost his. But the same Lord Rothembow who had once taught four young boys to play cricket now made his disdain for them known at every opportunity, and even publicly refused to be in the same room with Adrian. As Arthur stepped into the crowd, his thoughts and old despair carefully masked, he felt the old but familiar sense of anger with Phillip he had harbored these three long years now.

  They moved silently down the thickly carpeted corridor with Barnaby hurrying ahead, and paused as one just across the threshold of the morning room, waiting patiently for Barnaby to light several candelabrum. As the door shut silently behind Barnaby, Arthur turned and looked at Rothembow. My lord? he asked coolly.

  Rothembows small blue eyes turned to ice. You wouldnt stop him, would you? Not as long as you stood to gain a pound or two, he spat and tossed the folded paper onto the desk. It slid across the highly polished oak until Arthur caught it. I am quite certain you were aware of this of this lunacy!

  Julian cast a questioning glance at Arthur as he quickly unfolded the paper. It was a letter addressed to the Christian Brothers offices, signed by a Mr. Jamie Regis, Esquire, of Stirling, Scotland, dated July 1, 1835 almost two years past. Scanning the words neatly penned on the thick vellum, words like debt and arrears and taxes leapt out at Arthur, and slowly, he began to understand what he was reading.

  Phillips cattle.

  This had to do with the land and cattle in the central highlands of Scotland in which Phillip had invested only weeks before his death. Arthur had forgotten about it, but he saw now that his instincts at the time had been correctit was, apparently, a very foolish investment. He shoved the letter toward Julian, turned away from Rothembow, and walked to the hearth, his mind whirling with sober memories. Oh he had known of it, all right, and had thought it a terribly ill-advised thing to do, sight unseen, particularly when, over the last several years, many cattle enterprises in Scotland had been lost to sheep farming.

  But Phillip had been ecstatic, his boyish enthusiasm for the venture making him almost giddy. Apparently, a Scot farme
r, up to his neck in debt, had offered part of his holdings in exchange for a cash infusion. Phillip had been so enamored of the deal that he had offered to subsidize the purchase of cattle, believing that the cattle market would be revived and make him a rich man, provide him a means for getting out from under his own mountain of debt. Arthur had warned him that it would take years of profits to reduce his debt, during which time the interest would continue to mount. But Phillip had cavalierly waved him off as if that was no concern and proceeded to arrange the purchase through the Christian Brothers offices. And Arthur, as he was so damn good at doing, had kept his mouth shut and thereby allowed Phillip to dig his hole a little deeper. That ridiculous purchase had been some sort of desperate grope for sanity on Phillips part, an attempt to turn his life around and make a fresh start an attempt at equilibrium.

  I dont understand, Julian said behind him. This letter is two years old.

  Apparently it has been misdirected for some time, Rothembow muttered.

  I wasnt aware that Phillip had invested in land in Scotland, Julian said, more to himself.

  Yes, my lord, he purchased a worthless herd of cattle and an even less desirable parcel of land only weeks before he was killed! Rothembow fairly shouted. And now I am to pay in excess of twenty thousand pounds for it, but God save me if that will be all!

  Arthur glanced over his shoulder; Rothembow fixed an angry glare on him and continued. You knew about this, Christian! He entered that ridiculous venture through your offices!

  Yes, I knew it.

  Then you knew he was throwing good money down a rat hole! My God, how in good conscience could you have allowed it? Surely you could have at least stopped him from making such a foolish purchase!

  Surely he could have at least stopped Phillip from killing himself. Thats what Rothembow wanted to say, and they both knew it.

  Here now, my lord, Julian quickly interjected. Phillip was a grown man, responsible for his own actions!

  Rothembow turned on him. He was a drunkard! A worthless, penniless drunk! He was doomed from the moment he met the likes of you, he said, gesturing wildly at both of them. My Phillip was a good boy until then, a very good boy, but you ruined him! The Rogues ruined him, and now now … Rothembows voice suddenly trailed off; his blue eyes skirted the walls and ceiling before his shoulders slumped. He glanced blindly down at his feet like a defeated man and exhaled a long, weary sigh.

  The three men stood in silence for a long moment until Arthur asked quietly, What would you have us do?

  The small sound of grief from Rothembow scored Arthurs heart. I would that you give me back my son, Christian, he said hoarsely, and lifted a watery gaze. Short of that, I would very much appreciate it if you would instruct your offices to handle this unseemly matter at once and clear my sons name. Do whatever it takes, but dear God, at least allow my sons name to be respected in one corner of the kingdom! Let him have his peace somewhere!

  Arthur glanced at the letter lying on the library table. I dont know what can be done, but I give you my word, I shall endeavor to repair it, my lord.

  With another subdued sigh, Rothembow looked at Julian, then turned and walked slowly to the door. I fear this will never end, he said raggedly as he reached for the handle. My son will never rest in peace. He closed the door loudly behind him.

  If his son never rests in peace, it is his own damn doing, not ours! Arthur muttered resentfully at the closed door.

  With a halfhearted shrug, Julian moved to a drink cart and poured two whiskeys, holding one out to Arthur. Rothembow will always believe we killed him. Nothing will ever change that.

  Phillip killed himself! And he made his own foolish decisions, Arthur responded, gesturing angrily toward the letter. Why in Gods name would he buy a herd of Highland cattle? To have something to hold, something to make him normal. Arthur strode angrily to the table and picked up the paper. The lawyers neat script detailing the troubled property made the indignation mount, but for who or what, Arthur suddenly wasnt sure. It seemed that everything Phillip tried ended in one disaster or another, as if the heavens were dead set against him. He folded the paper and put it in his coat pocket, then tossed the whiskey down his throat.

  Come on, then. Your guests will wonder where youve gone off to, Julian said.

  Arthur glared at the door. Heaven knows I have tried to understand why he did it, but I can find no reason for it. Nonetheless, I didnt force him onto that field any more than you or Adrian, and I am sick unto death of taking the blame for it, I swear to God that I am!

  Then dont, Arthur, Julian said quietly. We can never understand why he did what he did. He opened the door, waiting for Arthur. And a man could make himself insane trying.

  For the rest of the evening, Arthur ignored the letter burning in the inside pocket of his coat. Almost mindlessly, he did what was expected of himhe spoke at length to the dimwitted Perry, despite feeling as if he was talking to the wall. He bantered a bit with Sir Fox about the horse races, charmed a group of young ladies who giggled like children, and suffered through two quadrilles. In the dining room, where tables and chairs had been set up for the dancers, he talked amicably with Miss Amelia, Warrentons homely, but well-endowed daughterboth physically and financially, as Julian discreetly pointed outover a plate of goose and asparagus awash in French creme sauce.

  He played his part well, but he scarcely recalled a thing he heard or saidhe could not stop thinking about Phillip. He hadnt thought about him like this in months, had managed to push his anger and resentment down until he could pass several days without thinking of him. Until another dream would come, unwanted.

  But now thishonestly, had Phillip really believed that an ill-advised venture in Scotland would make a difference to his situation? Why hadnt he asked for advice, sought counsel on his growing debt from the finest solicitation offices in the kingdom? Offices that just happened to belong to one of his closest friends? Why did he kill himself?

  When several of the guests returned to the dancing, and a few select men gathered in the library, Arthur watched Julian turn a beaming smile to Claudia as she glided past. He could see the adoration shining in Julians eyes and felt a faintly familiar tug in his chest that felt, oddly, a bit like envy. It could not be envy, howeverArthur Christian did not envy men their wives. All he had to do was look at Portia to remember why that was.

  After the men had exhausted their talk of politics in the library and had vowed to support Alex in his reform efforts in the Lords, they rejoined the ball. Arthur followed, filled to the brim now with a growing anger at Phillip, and worse, the old anguish buried deep inside him that Rothembow had stirred. He stood alone like some abandoned soul, staring morosely at the dancers, anxious for the evening to end.

  When he had at last made himself quite miserable with the incessant rumination of Phillip and life and what might have been, he slipped out of the ballroom and onto the terrace behind the mansions breakfast room, away from the guests who had filtered into the gardens.

  The flare of a match caught him by surprise; he glanced over his shoulder as Julian extended a cheroot toward him. Made with the finest blend of American tobacco. Delivered just this morning.

  Arthur took the cheroot and inhaled, then watched the smoke slowly rise up to the ink-black sky.

  I take it then you are finished with the dancing, Julian remarked.

  Arthur shrugged. I needed some air.

  Youve allowed Rothembow to unsettle you.

  Arthur shot a curious look at Julian; he shrugged, exhaled the smoke of his cheroot. Face it, Christian, youve always been a bit too sentimental for your own good.

  Dear God, here we go again, Arthur snorted. From one sentimental fool to another.

  Julian ignored that. I wasnt aware that he had invested cattle or land in Scotland.

  Frowning lightly, Arthur shoved his hands in his pockets. I knew, he admitted quietly. It just seemed at the time he seemed quite desperate for it, as if that bloody land would solve some monum
ental problem. The worst of it is that I didnt advise him against it in spite of seeing that it was a rather foolish thing to do.

  Phillip Rothembow was responsible for his own affairs, Arthur, not you. You cant punish yourself forever.

  Apparently they were destined to have this conversation again, the one in which Julian would insist Arthur didnt deserve to shoulder the blame for what had happened to Phillip, that he was sliding too far into isolation where guilt would consume him. And then Julian would insist that what happened to Phillip was his fault, that he had known Phillip better than most, had been close enough to see his demise.

  I dont disagree, really. But you cant deny I might have advised him

  And you might have let him make his own decisions, like any man. You wouldnt presume to advise Albright against a purchase like that unless he sought your counsel. You certainly wouldnt think to tell me to invest in the percents instead of those dusty old manuscripts. Why should Rothembow have been any different?

  Julians interminable logic never worked in this conversation. Phillip was different because he was Phillip. Unwilling to argue, Arthur looked away, into the dark beyond them. Nevertheless, I promised Rothembow I would look into it and do what I could. I suppose I shall have to send someone up thereRedmond, perhaps. Hes done quite well for us. He might enjoy

  No. You believe it all your fault? Then you go, Julian said sharply, and Arthur looked up, surprised. You go, Arthur, and clear Phillips name, do whatever it takes to release this enormous guilt you carry if you think you can.

  Go to Scotland? Dont be ridiculous.

  Whats so ridiculous about it? You rarely leave London. Youve mentioned a desire to see one of the Scottish clippers that are beating the Christian fleet to every port. And since you insist on bearing Phillips death like your own personal cross, what better way to help him now? Really, Arthur, what have you to lose? Its not as if there is anything to hold you here!