‘If you have any respect left for me whatsoever, or indeed if you had any real respect for me in the first place, kindly leave me to do my thinking in peace as what I decide to do about my book is, frankly, none of your business. And if you set one of your clumsy big feet anywhere near Mr Cooper’s office to offer your well-intentioned and superior manly assistance to my negotiation, I swear I shall never speak to you again.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Hope went out with her family that night to celebrate and he wasn’t invited. Which was a shame for so many reasons, not least of them that a prior engagement would have spared him the painful chore of another one of Abigail’s cosy family suppers. Now, instead of toasting the woman of his dreams for her well-deserved success among people whose company he enjoyed, he would have to listen to his sister-in-law prattle on about her woes across his father’s imperious dining table instead.
His own stupid fault and doubtless no less a punishment than he deserved for charging in like a bull at a gate, trying to take over and running roughshod over all her feelings. Even Charity, who loved to stir the pot, had cautioned him to keep a wide berth when he had attempted to call on Hope earlier, so he knew things were serious. He was resigned to the fact he would have to issue his grovelling apology later when he saw her on the balcony.
If he saw her on the balcony.
He climbed the front steps of the Berkeley Square mausoleum like a condemned man on the way to the gallows, hoping against hope that this dinner wouldn’t be as tedious as the last one and already counting the minutes until he could leave.
‘Lucius!’ Since their reconciliation at the opera, Abigail always insisted on kissing his cheek which meant he had to kiss hers, then made a great show of straining to look behind him. ‘Is your dear mama not joining us?’
The invitation had included his mother, not that he had told her that. She had been doing such a good job of coping with being in London, he was in no hurry to spoil things by dragging her back here to the place where all her troubles started. He had also been keeping her well clear of high society too—just in case that triggered something.
‘Sadly no. She is still settling in.’ A flagrant lie when she had already made herself quite at home, and thanks to her fast friendship with Roberta, already had a better social life than he did and he had been here months, not a week. She was blossoming in Bloomsbury and long might that continue.
‘Oh...such a shame as I was so looking forward to meeting her. Maybe I should call on her one day instead. A nice afternoon tea next week?’
‘Yes. I am sure she would be thrilled.’ She wouldn’t. His mother took an automatic dislike to anything pertaining to his half-brother and had taken to calling Abigail the Bride of Beelzebub whenever he mentioned her in conversation.
She threaded her arm through his possessively, her small breasts squashed much too familiarly against his bicep as she hung on him like a limpet while they walked towards the dining toom. As usual, she insisted he sat at the head of the formal table and sat beside him. He hated that chair as it had previously held the bottoms of his brother and his father, and the spectre of them still seemed to linger on the upholstery.
‘So how are you, Abigail?’ As much as he didn’t care, it was always best to get that question over with first as it usually took at least the first two courses for her to tell him.
‘Frustrated by our mutual solicitor still—but what else is new?’ He might have known her first complaints would be material. ‘I swear he’s shilly-shallying over the transfer of deeds unnecessarily to fleece you of more money for the task. I fail to understand why he cannot simply swap your name for mine as the owner of this house, despite all his protestations that it is not that simple.’
‘It would be that simple if my name were on the deeds, but alas, he was in the process of legally transferring all of the Thundersley estate over to me, which I am led to believe is always a lengthy process even with a will in place.’
Not that Luke had been included on that will as his brother hadn’t mentioned his name once on that unwieldy document. Clearly he had still been of the opinion he would beget some heirs before he had the thing drawn up and would be horrified to learn that because he had driven his phaeton at speed into a wall before getting around to that chore, the law automatically passed it to the next blood recipient in the male line. Which had meant Luke had unexpectedly got it all—and not just the entailed part which Cassius would have had no control over—before his sibling could mitigate against it. Pettily, that was the one aspect of his new fortune Luke took the most pleasure in.
‘However, the solicitor assures me that once all that paperwork is done, it will be a simple enough task to transfer ownership of this house from me to you.’
She groaned, as if it was all a dreadful inconvenience to her. ‘I do not suppose he has given you an estimate as to when he believes the paperwork will be finalised? My husband has been dead almost eight months and my entire life is still up in the air while all this drags on. It is not good for my nerves, Lucius.’ A statement which inevitably led to a long diatribe about the current state of those nerves, complete with more tears which left him more cold than sympathetic. The dessert arrived before the topic changed, and rather abruptly it changed to him. ‘I see you are still a regular fixture in the gossip columns.’
‘They do seem to like me disproportionately at the moment.’
‘Doubtless that will be because of all the time you are spending with your new neighbours.’ Her lips thinned even though she smiled. ‘As sadly the surname Brookes is synonymous with scandal.’
‘I suppose while they are writing rot about us, it gives some other poor blighter a reprieve from it all.’
‘From that, I take it that you and the middle Miss Brookes are not engaged?’
‘Of course we aren’t.’ Yet. But he wasn’t as averse to the idea of marriage now as he had been a few months ago.
‘And there is no child due?’
‘No.’ Not without an immaculate conception.
‘Good...’ She sliced the apple tart with more force than was necessary and slid it on to his plate. ‘I am relieved to hear it. As I wouldn’t put it past a Brookes to use something like that to entrap you.’
That comment instantly raised his hackles. ‘She wouldn’t and I resent the implication.’
Instead of bristling at the rebuke, she sighed and appeared concerned. ‘Oh, Lucius...as much as it pains me to meddle, on this occasion, and as we are family, I fear that I must. Please be careful...for that entire family are not quite what they seem.’
‘I will not allow the Brookes family to be maligned, when they have been nothing but good to me.’ Luke immediately pushed the dessert plate away, not that he had had much appetite for it anyway. ‘And would much prefer we changed the subject.’ Preferably to one which didn’t make him want to howl at the moon.
Her hand covered his on the table, instantly leaving him cold. ‘You are still new here, Lucius. New to the capital and to this life, so perhaps you are a bit more green around the gills than most peers about the way of things...but please, for your sake, be in possession of all the facts before you do something you might bitterly regret.’
He pulled his hand away, bitterly regretting coming here in the first place. ‘By facts, you mean rumours when I can assure you I have no time for silly gossip.’
‘There wouldn’t be so much gossip about the family if there wasn’t a grain of truth in it, Lucius. You know that.’
‘Do I? This week alone I have apparently become both engaged and become an expectant father simply by going to the theatre.’
‘Some of my friends have already expressed their concerns over the acquaintance. Concerns which I share, by the way, for what do you really know of them—of her—beyond that which they want you to believe?’
‘I know all I need to know about Hope and her fami
ly to come to my own conclusions, thank you very much.’ And he wouldn’t sit here and hear either her or them slandered. ‘And I fail to understand why I should care what your friends think of mine?’
‘If we ignore, for one moment, the poor connections and dubious lineage of the parents...’
‘I have no interest in either of those things.’
‘Well you should, Lucius, and not because anyone thinks it would be unseemly for you to marry beneath yourself, but because the Marquessate is an attractive proposition and lesser people will take advantage of that fact.’
‘Lesser people?’ He scoffed because she was being ridiculous. ‘The Brookes family have no need of my rank and title, as they are doing quite well enough on their own.’ To prove it, he pointed to the enormous Augustus Brookes portrait of his pompous brother looking imperious on the wall. ‘How much did you have to pay for that monstrosity, because I know for a fact Augustus doesn’t get out of bed nowadays for less than a hundred guineas!’
‘Perhaps, but the coup of rising in the ranks is not to be ignored. Money alone will not get them accepted here.’
‘Yet the Brookes family seem to be on the exact same guest lists as you and I.’
‘Not on every guest list, Lucius.’ Her expression of disdain suddenly matched his disapproving brother’s on the wall. ‘There are still many esteemed houses which exclude them, thank goodness. Nor have they ever been allowed into Almack’s, which speaks volumes hereabouts.’
‘To you maybe, but not to me.’ He pushed his chair from the table and was about to stand and make his excuses, when she grabbed his sleeve.
‘Are you aware the eldest recently snared herself a wealthy viscount? She took advantage of the gentleman at a very difficult time in his personal life and then, once she had thoroughly seduced him, she marched him down the aisle in case he had a change of heart?’
‘Lord and Lady Eastwood seemed perfectly happy with their situation at the Writtle Ball.’ He hadn’t properly met Faith and her husband Piers, as he had been drunk and reeling at their engagement ball before Hope had dunked him in the fountain, but from what he had briefly witnessed, it didn’t take a genius to see the pair of them had been besotted.
‘Don’t be naive, Lucius. Those Brookes girls are predators and always have been. The youngest is a shameless flirt who goes out of her way to flatter and bewitch the most eligible gentlemen at every entertainment, and from what I have heard, is quite overt about it too. The way she pursues Lord Denby, the heir to the Duke of Loughton is quite shameless. What is that if it is not predatory?’
There was no denying Charity did enjoy the effect she had on men and did seem to have a tendre for Lord Denby, though heaven only knew why as the man was a dreadful dullard, but she was young and her interest in a future duke was likely more harmless than predatory. He had a great deal of time for the girl and considered her one of his staunchest allies in his own pursuit of Hope even though she had flirted shamelessly with him the first time they had met too. But once Charity realised he only had eyes for her sister, she did everything in her power to encourage that—including giving them space at Vauxhall by chasing that future Duke. ‘Flirting isn’t a crime, Abigail. If it was, I’d be locked in Newgate by now.’
‘There is no smoke without fire, Lucius, and she is very indiscreet. The mother is worse. She adores gossip and has the reputation for spreading it.’ That he couldn’t deny, as Hope had said as much herself, though Roberta was never malicious. Not really. ‘Is it wise to align yourself with such a family when you have quite particular secrets to keep which could destroy the Thundersley reputation in one fell swoop?’
He resented that implication!
‘If you are referring to my mother, then the only aspect of what happened to her which could destroy the Thundersley reputation is the appalling way they treated her!’
Abigail’s lips pursed. ‘My point was merely that your poor mother would be devastated to have all her dirty laundry washed in public, especially now that she has returned to London. Whatever happened to her, whether by Cassius’s hand or your father’s, she has thus far been spared the shame of it. I am sure it is a secret she would wish to keep to her grave, and therefore, we must be careful whom we share it with. I certainly wouldn’t trust the youngest or the opera singer with it as far as I could throw them...’ Abigail shuddered as she clutched her heart. ‘And do not get me started on the middle daughter. Now there is a shameless harlot if there ever is one!’
Luke tossed down his napkin and stood. ‘You go too far, Abigail! There is only so much of your vitriol I will humour.’ He had reached his limit long before the witch had brought Hope into it.
‘Oh, Lucius...’ Feigned concern again rather than defensiveness or contriteness, the fluttering hand now hovering by her trembling lips. ‘You already have feelings for her, don’t you?’
While he debated how to answer, she sighed again, more pitying this time. ‘I can see why you have been seduced. That redhead has the sort of allurements which strip a man of all sense...and she uses them with such deadly precision. But be sensible... Please.’
‘Goodnight, Abigail.’
She caught his arm at the door. ‘I am not telling you to completely avoid the association, Lucius. Men will be men and it is only natural that you should wish to indulge your passions. But be pragmatic about it. You do not have to marry the wench to have her as she will likely accept a lesser arrangement if the deal you offer is favourable enough...exactly as she has done before without the promise of a ring on her finger.’
He pulled himself roughly from her grip, refusing to believe that vitriol. ‘Enough, Abigail! Or so help me!’ He had always been brought up to be respectful of all women, yet he had never felt so violently angry towards one. Had she been male, he would have knocked her out by now for maligning Hope so, when he knew her well enough to know it couldn’t possibly be true. If you delved beneath the surface, Hope was more prude than seductress. More saint than sinner.
‘If you do not believe me, ask around. I know of at least three gentlemen who have sampled her delights...’ She followed him as he stalked to the front door, unrepentant for her vindictive slander. ‘So sample them too if that is what your whim dictates—just don’t be a fool about it. A man in your position has to think pragmatically, Lucius, especially when he needs to avoid a scandal at all costs.’
He flung open the door. ‘Hope is not a whim, Abigail.’ She was everything. ‘And if you ever speak of her with such flagrant disrespect again, I promise you, I will not be responsible for my actions!’
* * *
Luke was too angry to confine himself to the carriage, and instead walked the two miles home to Bloomsbury, all the while thinking of Hope and how unfair it was that she was so underestimated and unfairly judged by everyone. He would hold his own hands up to that today too, for he had misjudged her in assuming she wouldn’t be able to properly negotiate on her own behalf when she was one of the most canny and intelligent people he had ever met.
As if she would intentionally sell herself short with Phantasma...when her heart and soul was on every single page. Instead of being delighted that the most significant publisher in the country had wanted her book, offered a compromise and had paid dearly for it, he had been disparaging. Unintentionally, because it had come from a good place—but the road to hell was paved with good intentions and he hated himself for upsetting her.
* * *
By the time he reached his house, hers was pitch black. All of Twenty-One Bedford Place was sleeping, including Hope. Or at least he assumed she was sleeping as no light bled on to her balcony and the door which was usually ajar to let in the crisp summer air of the night was, unsurprisingly, very clearly shut and likely bolted too in case he was tempted to wander. She wanted him to spend the night in purgatory and he couldn’t blame her. He deserved to be there. If nothing else, it gave him some time to work
on a proper apology. Something which would mend the breach and warm her heart too. And obviously, something which told her in no uncertain terms what a ham-fisted idiot he was.
He took himself off to his study to ponder it, and for some reason started to jot his jumbled thoughts down to make sure he left nothing out when he prostrated himself at her feet in the morning and begged for her forgiveness. Once that deed was done, and because he knew he wouldn’t sleep anyway, he decided to tackle the ever-replenished and growing mountain of paperwork on his desk.
On the top of the pile was another thick report from Mr Waterhouse. His half-yearly summary of share dividends which likely added significantly to his already obscene fortune he still had no clue what to do with beyond give them away. He picked it up and scanned the pages, all tightly but neatly organised in his portfolio manager’s rigid handwriting. Alphabetised and arranged in simple columns—company, amount of shares and dividend paid. The As alone took up half a page and made him a tidy two thousand. Staggering really. To think that his brother must have opened a similar statement every six months, earned that much money with absolutely no work or effort from himself, and still slept at night knowing his younger brother toiled on a herring boat to make ends meet while his stepmother languished in Mill House in the most stark and rancid conditions.
It honestly beggared belief when all this money simply brought him guilt because there was more of it than he could possibly ever spend, and yet there were so many in the land who had so little. For a long time, he had been one of them, so he knew how soul-destroying poverty could be and while his brother had never felt compelled to share his good fortune around, Luke wasn’t made like that. Thank goodness! Despite his current ridiculous workload, lofty plans were already formulating to put some of this tainted money to good use. A free school in Tregally, to help all the children of all the impoverished miners better themselves and escape the cycle they were born into. Perhaps a few here in London too, as lord only knew the hordes of shoeless ragamuffins needed some hope for their futures. And, and this one was the closest to his heart, a proper hospital to care for the tortured people like his mother. One nothing like the horrific and harsh places like Mill House and Bedlam, but instead one run along similar lines to Brislington House where the patients would be treated with dignity and compassion. One that would likely cost a fortune so it was just as well he had one.
Harlequin Historical July 2021--Box Set 1 of 2 Page 17
