“Come now, Dash, you’re doing it a bit brown. It’s not entirely my fault our finances are cucumberish. Father left us broken, with a pile of bills and overdue notices as tall as my knee. I’ve tried to remedy the situation. What I’ve won at the tables has gone directly into financial investment, and while the newfangled ideas I’ve supported have not provided profit, eventually one of them will come to fruition bringing with it a windfall of funds to save the day. Problem solved.”
“I realize you’re well intended.” Val offered his brother a patient smile. “But perhaps a more traditional approach would be to our benefit rather than outlandish inventions that show no true promise. Little fire sticks one carries in pocket? Spectacles that shade from the sun? Do you have any idea how farfetched these ideas sound? What was it you were blathering about yesterday?”
“Now see here, Macintosh’s idea is quite clever.” Jasper nabbed the eiderdown blanket to add to his soporific comfort, and looked upward with a heavy-lidded glance.
“A coat to protect from the rain is an ill-conceived notion. Umbrellas already provide the service you wish to replace. If you sincerely cared about fortification from the rain, your monies would have been better spent fixing the roof at Kirby Park, which returns me to the impetus of our conversation.” Valerian hefted the suitcase from the foot of the bed and moved it to rest against the doorframe. “I’ll travel home, see to the repairs, and return as soon as possible. In the meantime, you’ll need to monitor Leonard’s relationship and notify me immediately if anything goes awry because our very life depends on those five thousand pounds. If nothing else, it’s a small step on the road to respectability.”
“As you wish, Dash.”
Jasper’s response was absent of his usual cake-headed jocularity and Valerian’s eyes narrowed as he considered the words. “Not an objection or a disgruntled word?”
“No need for suspicion. It’s high time I took your words to heart and focused on overcoming our problem in a more responsible manner.”
His brother’s concentrated compliance had every iota of Valerian’s sensibility screaming in protest. Best he repair the roof and return to London with haste.
“Leonard is not the man I believed him to be.” Fiona leaned closer to Wilhelmina as they maneuvered through the throng of shoppers on Oxford Street. Fiona had instigated the excursion this afternoon and Whimsy had grasped onto the invitation as a much needed opportunity to plead Leonard’s case.
“I implore you to rethink the circumstances. It’s easy to see Leonard is confused by his emotions and your sudden affection for Lord Dashwood.” She matched Fiona’s eyes with a meaningful stare.
“Affection? For Dashwood? Oh, that’s not true at all. I may as well have been kissing a lamppost. It was a ploy, nothing more, although I can’t express complete happiness with the outcome. Leonard was angry, yes, but he didn’t declare his emotions as I expected. He didn’t defend my honor and reputation. Instead he circled the shuffleboard at the garden party with an air of indifference and argued with me over trivial matters.”
“Kissing a gentleman in public is no matter of insignificance.” Despite the man might be inconceivably handsome and charming.
“Good heavens, Whimsy, no one saw us save the two of you. And it’s clear even to a blind man, you despise Dashwood. Every time he comes near, your expression queers as if you’ve swallowed too many olives.”
Wilhelmina didn’t know what to make of that. Although she remained certain the remembrance of Dashwood’s heated kiss still warmed her from the inside out. No olives involved. “It must be the inappropriate advice I’ve heard Dashwood offer Leonard.” Her argument sounded weak and unsupported.
“It doesn’t matter, really. I possess tender feelings for Leonard, if he’d only realize I desire a husband who’s an independent thinker; one not swayed by another’s opinion. He needs to stand up to his father and declare his intentions and then make the same known to my parents. They all assume I’m unaware of the conversation that circulates through the households, but I’ve stayed current every step of the way.”
“And then…” The fleeting promise of payment for a match well made begged for attention, but Wilhelmina dared not put the cart before the horse. At times, Fiona proved flighty and fickle. Until the banns had been posted and the announcement made public, she would take nothing for granted.
“Then, I will be able to marry Leonard.” Fiona’s face lit with wonder and joy to solidify her statement was more than impetuous emotion. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Valerian surveyed the damage to the roof on the outer casement and strode around the corner of the house and into the kitchen through the back door. The delicious scent of partridge with brown gravy greeted him and his eyes shot to Cook near the firewood stove stirring a large cast iron pot. He hadn’t eaten in hours and the aroma all but seduced him, the journey to Kirby Park tedious, his body fatigued. Tired and discouraged, yet resolute in his predicament, he collapsed into a ladderback chair and traced a long scar in the wooden tabletop with the tip of his index finger.
“We’ll have none of that.” Cook placed a bowl in front of him, a plate of biscuits, a spoon and napkin to follow, before she returned her attention to the stove. They remained in companionable silence for several scrapes of the wooden spoon against the circumference of the pot. “I will ask my brother to repair the roof, milord. He’s handy with a hammer and owes me more than one favor as I’ve helped him aplenty when he’s tipped his cups. He’s a much better man now that he’s married, settled, and a newcomer to religion.”
Valerian raised his eyes to meet Cook’s comforting stare. She’d been with them for years, never complaining of the circumstances or inadequacies of the kitchen nor the short supply of fresh food in the pantry. “You’re too good to me, Cook, and if your offer is made sincerely, I will avail myself of your brother’s generosity.”
“It’s as good as done. Now eat. You look as though the weight of the moon rests on your shoulders.” She set the spoon diagonally across the top of the pot and wiped her hands on her green apron. “I’d guess it’s Jasper who has you well-worn. He’s a lovable sort, but how he could try the patience of a saint. Since he was a child he’s always been a handful. Your father tolerated his antics with a fond chuckle, but now, under these circumstances, I suppose his casual lack of concern weighs heavily upon you.”
A smile quirked Valerian’s lips; not just at the outspoken opinion of a woman who’d served in his home since his birth, but at the accuracy of her statement. “My brother does test our brotherly bond with frequency.”
“Perhaps it’s time you stopped coddling then. Your father saw too much of himself in Jasper to criticize the misbehavior, and you gentle your words all too often. He’ll never go very far if you continue to hold his leading strings.”
The wisdom of Cook’s advice was not lost, although Valerian didn’t comment, finishing the last of his stew and soaking up the gravy with his third biscuit. Cook spoke candidly, but worse than being advised by a servant, her words rang true. The next time Jasper wasted money, gambled, or launched a foolish purpose, Val needed to react with stern consequence otherwise no matter what plan of financial salvation he enacted, Jasper would continue to diminish their finances.
“Thank you.” He pushed the empty bowl forward as he rose from the table. “The stew was delicious and the advice well taken. Please assure your brother his work will not go unnoticed. As soon as…” He paused, uncertain what he could offer in way of reassurance, but the kindhearted woman rescued him again.
“Of course, milord. I understand completely.”
Valerian left the kitchen and climbed the backstairs meaning to go to his bedchamber, but his footsteps stalled as he passed his father’s rooms, a familiar pang of grief severing the lonely beat of his heart. Without hesitation he turned the knob and entered, a rush of memories as fresh as yesterday greeting him at the door; nuances of their last days together, his father’s financi
al struggles, debilitating illness and too, the bitter emotion of Caroline’s abrupt and distasteful dismissal of their relationship.
Rumors of his father’s run through money had reached Caroline’s ears before Valerian could intercede. When he’d had the opportunity to discuss the situation, she’d accepted gossip rather than truth in regard to the late earl’s waste of finances; choosing a path paved by secret liaisons and infidelity, a chance to entice another, wealthier gentleman while Valerian eased his father toward death.
Regret inched up his throat and he coughed it away, the emotion aimed at his own inability to see Caroline for the selfish creature she was, rather than the ideal woman he believed her to be. She’d found him not moneyed enough. He’d discovered her sadly lacking in morality, fortitude and a host of gentle qualities required in a wife.
With a dismissive scoff, Valerian forced the remembrance from his mind.
All his misery was money.
Ultimately, Caroline would have compounded his discontent; their marriage an invitation to doom if he had overlooked her indiscretion, the outcome inexorable. In hindsight, he was lucky to be free of her manipulations before the church claimed their future. He chuckled, with derision more than mirth, and acknowledged the well learned lesson. He was not a man prone to self-deception; that quality possessed in spades by his late father and brother.
He stepped further into the room, the musty air a reminder of how it had been left empty and cold from lack of use, although in a trick of grief the scent of menthol assuaged him; the medicinal ointment applied to his father’s chest for ease in breathing evoked remembrance and proved a lingering scrap of despair anxious to penetrate his memory.
The soft chime of the carriage clock on the mantel invited further images. How many hours had he spent in this room, reading, waiting, reassuring his father the future would be all right? Had they more money, better access to progressive doctors or experimental treatment, would the outcome had been different? He hadn’t the wealth or influence at the time and his efforts had fallen short.
Regret lived within him still.
Never again would he place someone he cared for in the path of danger. He’d rebuild the earldom and with it, his power to command action. His current state of failure weighed heavily upon his heart, but in due time, he vowed to replace regret with renewal and accept the responsibility of those in his care.
He ran his fingertips over the edge of the bedside table where a few personal articles littered the top, the beeswax candle’s fragrance pungent and unsettling, another link to the long, sleepless nights Val had nursed his father during his declining days. For all his faults as a gambler and spendthrift, lack of money in his pocket or security for the title, the late earl was a gold-hearted man, his faults unable to detract from the emotional bond between father and son. Valerian missed him thoroughly.
That last night, full knowing his father’s hours were numbered, Valerian had promised to look after Jasper and recover a degree of respectability for the Dashwood title and entails. As of yet, he hadn’t seen the task done. With his father’s death he’d inherited a duty to tenants and servants, a grand home on the brink of bankruptcy and in need of massive repair, as well as preservation of his dignity and pride.
Instead, he’d wallowed in Caroline’s dismissal, regretting his foolish assertion to gain a wife and restore a degree of dignity to his name, as well as happiness to his grief. Now was his time to act. There were no more yesterdays to remember.
Kirby Park needed him as much as he needed it. He could easily imagine raising a family in the restored estate, no matter his chuckle-headed brother might live under the same roof until the end of his days. Loyalty and love of family were the most important things in life. He walked to the far window overlooking the back of the estate, the rolling hills and expansive land that once produced high yielding crops. A sliver of water divided the land from further acreage where cottages dotted the landscape, complete with Tabby’s alleged faulty bridge. So much needed to be done to restore the land, improve the future and invoke change for the better.
Yet at the very core of his emotions, he feared poverty and the misery it wrought. It wasn’t solely his reputation or his title; it was the reality of becoming penniless. Jasper was spot on – pride would be a fatal downfall.
With a resolute sigh, Val made for the door. He’d attempt sleep and plan at first light to return to London. With any luck Jasper would have good news, Leonard and Fiona would no longer be a consideration, and he could contact Lord Rigby to arrange for payment as soon as the banks opened for the day. Relief would be found once he forged ahead with financial recovery.
The town house on Barnaby Street stood silent and empty when Valerian returned the following morning. Signs of indulgence and irresponsible activity by Jasper, Randolph or both scoundrels, littered the interior. Apparently the circulated staff had not come to call. Several wine glasses stood empty beside twin bottles on the sideboard. A gentleman’s waistcoat was flung haphazard across a marble statue carved to resemble Venus de Milo, the perfect coat rack; and worse, a pair of black silk stockings, heavy with the scent of cheap perfume, remained tied to the bell pull.
Valerian blew a frustrated breath, all optimism draining from his spirit in a single exhale. He dropped into the wingchair near the hearth, disturbing a sheet of newspaper on the end table. It fluttered in invitation. He raised the print with caution as a headache teased the periphery of his brain. He might have cast the paper aside, once discerning it was nothing more than a gossip sheet, if it hadn’t been for the lower right column where someone had doubly circled an article in pencil. His eyes found the print, reading the four sentences with increasing relish.
To no one’s surprise a certain L escorted a certain Lady F through Hyde Park late yesterday afternoon. Not to be mistaken for a friendly conversation, F’s vivid expression and L’s possessive grasp indicated more than a congenial exchange. But is it affection or rejection? Can an exchange of gold rings be far in the future for these public lovebirds or will history repeat itself and the couple look elsewhere for true love?
On his feet at once, Val dropped the gossip sheet to the carpet and hurried to the door. If Lord Rigby happened upon the rag, Valerian’s efforts as a matchbreaker would be all for naught, his reputation in hope of securing future endeavors destroyed, and his anticipation of a bank draft sooner than later, squelched with the same impact of four suggestive sentences.
He headed toward White’s, intent on seeking out Lord Rigby and addressing, possibly repairing, the damage. Arriving in breakneck speed, Valerian scanned the elongated glass window overlooking St. James Street, but none of the heads visible resembled the stocky white-haired earl. With his membership long ago revoked for non-payment, he’d no choice but to confirm by way of carriage crest that Lord Rigby remained inside.
And so he waited, his temper anxious and his mind spinning as to what tactic to employ when confronting the earl.
Chapter Eleven
Nearly an hour later, Lord Rigby stepped from the cherrywood doors of White’s and summoned the coachman. His ivory-handled walking stick tapped a cadence on the cobbles as he paced the walk in anxious wait of his driver. Realizing time was limited, Valerian crossed the roadway and approached the earl before he could board his carriage and disappear into the London traffic.
“Damnation, Dashwood, how did you find me?” It was impossible to decipher congeniality or disagreement in the man’s inquiry.
“Instinct.” Valerian shook Rigby’s extended hand with vigor. “When I receive unfavorable news my first thought is to drink and commiserate. As a member of White’s, I assumed you’d seek privacy from your wife and liquor to pacify your mood if you’ve seen last evening’s gossip rag.”
The earl harrumphed his agreement although he continued to eye Val with developing annoyance. “Leonard no longer wants the chit.” Rigby signaled his driver to the curb before he continued. “At first I considered it a knee-jerk reaction
to a silly quarrel, but now it seems the circumstances and their relationship may have advanced beyond repair.”
A heady rush of reprieve and assurance surged through Valerian’s veins. Financial ruin would be avoided. Five thousand pounds would establish a minuscule foothold on restoring their credibility and at last a feeble flicker of optimism could take root for the future. He exhaled deeply and fought the irrepressible smile that threatened to spread across his face.
“It must come as great relief.” Val paced a small step, the energy flooding his every limb difficult to contain.
“Not at all. I couldn’t be more disappointed.”
The earl’s announcement stalled Valerian’s motion, his attention riveted to the continuing conversation.
“In an unexpected twist of politics, Nobles has changed his position on taxation and cajoled an abundance of peers to support the cause. I now consider the man an ally and would like nothing more than to cement his endorsement and the votes of his numerous supporters by joining our families, but if Fiona gains his ear and expresses disappointment with Leonard’s disregard, the damage will be irreparable. Such dissention would encourage a deadlock that will never be resolved. This is no longer a bicameral issue.” Lord Rigby swiped his palm across his jaw, eyes keen for opportunity. “I realize I hired you to destroy the relationship, Dashwood, and you’ve earned my respect in that endeavor, but I’ll happily double the sum to ten thousand pounds if you connive a way to reunite Leonard and Fiona. If need be, a compromising situation could serve. I’ll display moral outrage and demand my son act honorably. You could be the gentleman who interrupts the interlude. I’ve accomplished all the devious thinking here. All you need do is carry out the plan and accept my draft for ten thousand pounds. What say you to the proposal?”
At Valerian’s hesitation, the earl leaned closer. With a deft flick of his wrist, he removed a tightly folded letter from his breast pocket.
Defying the Earl Page 10
