Perhaps he’d drilled his passion for progressive causes into the boys a little too fervently. Not that any of it got through to Aidan. Julian huffed out an exasperated breath at the thought of his oldest son. A complete reprobate. A notorious rake. Thoughtless, selfish, and depraved. Reports about Aidan had recently come to his attention: tales of drunken orgies, itinerant and reckless gambling, and, even more worrying, visits to low class East End brothels to partake in opium.
It made it all the more urgent to find Aidan and bring him home. Opium could be his motivation for dropping out of sight. Julian shook his head. Blast both of his sons! Riordan should have spoken to him about his plan. He smiled grimly. Well, at least the lad did what he believed was the right thing. The noble thing. Though such notions always paved the road to perdition.
He shook his head a second time. Was his uncharacteristic outburst truly about Riordan, or was it more about Aidan? Yes, he had taken his temper out on the wrong son. Perhaps it was a mercy Fiona could not witness what a thorough and botched job he had done raising their twins.
A sharp pain squeezed his heart at the thought of his late wife. She had been dead more than twenty years, and still the loss and heartache lingered. As much as he tried to bury his emotions, he was a passionate man. No one else had touched his heart since Fiona. Perhaps no one ever would. He was better off. His father agreed and lived his life the same way.
A parade of women, enough to satisfy certain carnal urges, and sufficient reforms to be worked and completed would keep him well occupied until the grave. Yet a part of him was…empty.
Julian rounded the corner at the rear of the hall. Not far from the servants’ entrance was a kitchen herb garden, along with a patch of brown mushrooms—Julian’s favorite. He’d brought them from France on one of his many trips, carefully and lovingly tended them, and instructed the cook that they be fried in red wine and served with his beefsteak. But there in the middle of the cluster of mushrooms sat a hedgehog, happily munching away on Julian’s prized fungi. “Blasted pest,” Julian growled. The hedgehog must have heard his dangerous tone, for it immediately curled into a ball to protect itself from retribution.
“Don’t you hurt my Daisy!”
Julian turned and faced the source of the loud cry. A giant of a young man lumbered toward him. Hell, the man was nearly as tall as Garrett. He wore muddy trousers and his shirt hung loose on his left side. What struck Julian was the angelic, beautiful face. Perfect symmetrical features any human, man or woman, would desire to possess. Or perhaps just simply desire.
The young man plundered through the mushrooms and scooped up the hedgehog, cradling it close to his chest. “There, Daisy. I found you. No one will hurt you,” he murmured gently to the trembling creature.
“Do you mind? You are trampling my mushrooms,” Julian snapped.
The young man looked up at him and blinked, as if not comprehending what had been said to him. Ah. Julian realized the man was simple of mind. To look like Adonis yet possess the mind of a child…what a tragedy. But he supposed it was all a matter of perception. Banking his temper, he said in a friendly tone, “Could you please not step on the plants?”
The man looked down at his booted feet. “Oh. All right.” He turned to leave.
“Wait. What is your name? Do you live nearby?”
The Adonis continued to cuddle the hedgehog as close as one could with a prickly animal. “Jonas. I live over there.” He pointed across the vast expanse of the estate, toward where Sir Walter Keenan had resided. The new owner must have taken possession. What had Garrett said? A widowed niece of Sir Walter. Who was this fellow?
Julian stepped forward and held out his hand. “I am Julian Wollstonecraft.” Jonas glanced at the hand, then looked away. “Take it, lad, and shake. I won’t hurt you…or Daisy. You have my word.”
Jonas met his gaze and briefly shook his hand. “Hello, Julie.”
Julian fought back a laugh. “Perhaps you had better call me by my title, Tensbridge.”
The lad smiled broadly. “Tens!”
This time Julian did laugh. “Whatever you like.”
“I have to go. Bert will worry.”
Who the deuce is Bert? Curious, Julian asked, “Do you mind if I walk with you?”
Jonas shrugged and set off toward the Keenan residence. Julian fell in step next to the young man. He continued to cuddle the hedgehog, which had come out of its protective shell-like position and licked Jonas’s hand. “Is this hedgehog your pet?”
“I have lots of pets,” Jonas answered. He listed a litany of names as they continued on their journey. They reached the boundary of the property; the fences were in various stages of repair and decline, and the hedgerows were overgrown. Julian then recalled Garrett stating he was assisting the widow with certain renovations.
“Bert, I found Daisy,” Jonas called out. In the middle of a thatch of weeds a wizened old man dug into the dirt with a small spade. He was small, hunched over the weeds wearing heavy cotton trousers and a baggy plaid coat with a wide brim straw hat. The man stood and turned, wiping dirt from his face.
It was not a wizened old man, but a woman. At least, the face showed feminine features, though it was hard to ascertain the exact gender because of the loose-fitting clothes. If female, she possessed no shape whatsoever. She lifted her head and caught his gaze. This “Bert” had the most incredible amber eyes he had ever seen. They shimmered gold in the setting sun. “I see you have become acquainted with Jonas.” She pulled off her glove and held out her slender hand. “I am Alberta Eaton, new owner of this menagerie.”
Bert. Alberta. Of course. Her voice was smoky and entirely sensual, and the touch of her cool hand caused his insides to tumble. Hell. It had been quite a while since he experienced such a swift reaction to a woman. “Julian Wollstonecraft, Viscount Tensbridge, at your service.”
“Of course.” She pulled her hand away and held it above her eyes to shield them from the late afternoon sun. “Garrett’s older brother. I remember you, my lord.”
“Have we met?”
She laughed, and it caused a ripple of lust to travel through him. Why he found this elfin lady attractive was beyond him. “Not formally, but I used to visit my uncle Walter on occasion while growing up. The last time I visited was fourteen years ago. He grew increasingly hermit-like in his final years.” She smiled. “I attended a formal dinner at Wollstonecraft Hall with my friend, Abigail Wharton.”
“I do recall, now that you mention it.” Julian pointed to Jonas, who stood inside a pen. “Your son?”
The widow crossed her arms and squinted at him. “Dear me. I look old enough to be his mother? No, my lord, he is my brother-in-law. My late husband refused to have Jonas institutionalized, as those asylums are barbaric. I made a promise on his deathbed to always care for him. Their parents have passed and there is no one else. Jonas is sweet, but has the mind of a twelve-year-old, when in fact he is twenty-four.”
She sighed wistfully. “I love him as if he were my son. I hope he did not disturb you, my lord. I warned him to stay on our property.”
Julian clasped his hands behind him. “Daisy the wayward hedgehog was making a meal out of my rare mushrooms.”
The widow Eaton smiled. “I’m sorry, my lord. She is one of an array of hedgehogs that Jonas looks after. He also has a llama called Poppy. She resides in a pen behind the house, a pen your brother generously built for us. He has been a godsend, for my uncle let the place go to ruin, as you see.”
Once Daisy was settled in her pen, Jonas ran over to where they stood. “Tens, come see Poppy.” The lad acted with such infectious enthusiasm, Julian could not find it in his heart to say no.
“I see Jonas likes to give nicknames,” Julian ventured.
“He does. I hope you are not offended, my lord. I can correct him and encourage him to call you by your title.”
“It�
��s not necessary. I am not offended in the least. You may call me Tensbridge, if you like. I would rather it than ‘my lord.’”
They trudged behind the house, and Julian observed crumbling brick and peeling paint along with overgrown, shabby shrubs. The place would need a great deal of work and attention.
“See Poppy? Isn’t she pretty?” Jonas cried.
Julian had seen a llama at the zoo in London, but he never imagined anyone having such an animal as a pet. As he stepped closer, the wretched beast glared at him imperiously, then hocked deep in his throat and spit at Julian. The spittle landed on the front of his greatcoat, angering him afresh.
“Oh. My heavens.” Mrs. Eaton rushed forward and wiped at his coat with her garden glove. “She’s never done that before. I do apologize, Tensbridge.”
“Sorry, Tens,” Jonas murmured. “Poppy, don’t spit at Tens. He’s our friend.”
In response, the animal nuzzled Jonas and made a noise similar to a sigh.
“It’s fine. Do not worry.” Julian’s irritation dissipated at the look of the contrite Jonas and the obvious affection the llama showed the lad.
Mrs. Eaton stood incredibly close. She gazed up at him, for she was petite in height. He could drown in those golden eyes of hers. “Come in for tea; let me make it up to you.”
By God, he was tempted. “Another time. My son is visiting, and only here until tomorrow afternoon. I must return home. But I will, next I return from London, I promise.”
She gave him a warm smile. “Please do.”
After saying goodbye, Julian headed toward Wollstonecraft Hall. By the time he entered the library, much of his temper had faded. Only Garrett was in the room, slumped in his chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, another glass of whiskey in his hand. “Where is everyone?” Julian asked.
“Father has retired to his study. I imagine Riordan is upstairs bathing, removing the dust of his journey.”
Julian tore off his coat and tossed it on the settee as he headed toward the whiskey decanter. He poured a generous amount. “I cannot believe you didn’t tell me. You are my brother, not Riordan and Aidan’s. Your loyalty should be to me.”
Garrett scoffed. “Don’t pout. It doesn’t become you. We may have a greater concern than Riordan’s hasty marriage.”
Julian sat next to Garrett and took a sip. “Such as?”
“What do you know of the Marquess of Sutherhorne and Baron Durning?”
“The baron? Next to nothing. Sutherhorne? I believe Father is more acquainted with him; they’re a similar age. We’ve conversed once or twice. To be honest, I did not care for the man. A cold, disagreeable sort.”
Garrett rubbed his glass between his large hands. “Well, we’d better find out what there is to know, for the marquess has made a definite threat toward both Riordan and me. He is not aware of our family ties…yet. It will not take him long, for Riordan used father’s name to induce Sutherhorne to come downstairs.”
Julian uttered a foul oath under his breath.
“I believe we’ve made enemies, ones who will seek retribution. We’d best be prepared and investigate what kind to expect,” Garrett said. “It may please you to know that Riordan handled himself well. Complete control of the situation.” He went on to relay the exchange outside the Carrbury Inn.
Brilliant. On top of everything else, now they must deal with vengeful peers. Julian had to agree: he did not like the tone of the threat, and Garrett would not exaggerate. They had best inform Father of the incident. Now to try and make Riordan understand the seriousness of his consequences.
And to make certain the damned annulment goes through as soon as possible.
Chapter 17
They all made an effort to dress for dinner. The menu was impeccable, as cook was no doubt glad to be able to prepare a large meal for once. Riordan was famished after the journey, and thankful that his father did not broach the subject of his marriage while they ate. Perhaps he’d walked off the bulk of his anger, or at least decided to set it aside for the rest of the evening. Riordan could only hope. He did not like being on the outs with his father.
The meal started with crayfish soup, a Dover baked sole, medallions of foie gras (not Riordan’s favorite), along with a saddle of mutton, potatoes, brussels sprouts, and French beans. Dessert consisted of peach pie, raspberry tarts, and vanilla cream.
The conversation stayed civil, the topics varying from the estate to recent news events and doings at parliament. Afterwards, while everyone sat around the table with brandy and cigars, though Riordan had never developed the tobacco habit, the discussion turned to him.
“Riordan, you must see this marriage cannot stand. You married the woman under false pretenses regarding your name. I understand it’s why you chose the annulment, and it is a logical choice.” Julian paused, swirling his brandy in his snifter. “Allow me to contact Miller Kenworth. Perhaps we can start the wheels turning and dissolve this marriage immediately. Negotiate a parting settlement with Lady Pepperdon for a few thousand pounds.”
Kenworth. Head of the law firm, and his friend William Chambers’s employer. It would be simple to become annoyed, start another argument. But Riordan tried to avoid conflict when possible. “Father, I gave my word to Sabrina, and it states in legal documents we both signed that she will be entitled to the entire ten thousand pounds on the day the annulment is finalized.” He sniffed the brandy, then took a sip, allowing the spicy taste to linger in his mouth before swallowing. “Beyond that, I have feelings for her. They are deepening with each passing day. I’m in no hurry to dissolve the marriage.”
Julian bristled, but his grandfather laid a hand on his son’s arm as if to calm him. “Why this woman?” the earl asked, his voice soft.
All eyes were on Riordan. “To begin with, she is attractive, with light brown hair and golden highlights seemingly added with a painter’s brush.”
“Jesus,” Garrett muttered. “He’s more than infatuated.”
Riordan shrugged. “Perhaps I am. You must understand, Sabrina has had a loveless, cold life. From her miserable father selling her to the old earl, to the horrific marriage she endured. I am not aware of specifics, but judging from her aloof nature and abhorrence for anything physical, it may be worse than I could ever imagine. I want to protect her from more hurt. I want to give her what she longs for the most: her independence. Her freedom. And I will do anything in my power to give her what she most desires.”
“Admirable grounds,” his grandfather acknowledged. “Then give her the freedom now.”
“Exactly,” Julian interjected. “If you promised Lady Pepperdon the money, I suppose we have no choice but to follow through. But you cannot be handing out money to everyone with a sad story.”
“I’m well aware of that fact, Father,” Riordan said. Tamping down his annoyance was becoming difficult as the conversation continued. “But it is my money, and it is my decision how I choose to spend it. It is a stain on this country that women cannot vote, are considered property, and cannot hold any property of their own. Nor can they escape a detestable marriage. Women are mistreated, abused, and when their husbands die, they can be left with nothing. If their only living male relative refuses to assist them, where can they turn?” Riordan continued to swirl his brandy. “I cannot rescue every woman in dire straits, but I will rescue this one. And if during the three months I’m able to convince her to open her heart and allow love and light to enter it, there may be no need for the settlement at all. Yes. It is more than an infatuation, more than merely physical. More than a cause. I want to explore the attraction already sparking between us.” He smiled. “There is a passionate woman beneath the outer layer of frost—I’m determined to find her.”
Garrett rolled his eyes. “I tried to warn him. Emotional attachments to women will only lead to trouble. And what of the curse?”
Riordan stared at his uncl
e. The man lived and breathed the damned curse. “I suppose I’ll lay the particulars of the curse before her and allow her to decide whether it is worth it. For my part? I have doubts. Why put a woman you care deeply for at risk? But then, why deny love on the premises of a medieval tale of woe?”
Garrett bristled, but Julian held up his hand to stay his brother’s response. “You speak passionately,” Julian said, “But you could be heading for heartache, and I’m not speaking merely of the curse, which is tangible no matter what you think. Even though you say there’s an attraction, there is no guarantee the lady will wish anything permanent with you.”
Riordan frowned. He didn’t like being reminded of such an outcome. “I will deal with that if it should happen. I’ll not stand in her way if she wishes to leave—for whatever reason. As I said, I will give her what she most desires.”
“And if you are able to convince her to stay, what of children?” the earl asked.
Riordan turned slightly to glare at his grandfather. “What of it? I’m not the heir. It is not my responsibility to procreate and carry on the Wollstonecraft legacy.”
“Who is to say?” Julian replied. “Your brother is not showing an inclination to take his responsibilities seriously.”
“Besides,” the earl interjected, “she was married to Sutherhorne for years and there was no issue from the union. Granted, the fault may not be hers.”
Riordan took another sip. “Here is my last word on the subject. I’ve listened to all your concerns and I will take them under advisement. Ultimately, however, it is my life and my decision. If it is a mistake, I’ll live with the consequences. Heartache or no. Meanwhile, no interference from any of you. Trust me to make my own choices.”
The table was silent. Perhaps too silent.
“Father?”
Marriage with a Proper Stranger Page 16
