by Cheryl Holt
Aaron suffered colossal guilt that he’d never protected or helped Lucas, and he’d swallowed his father’s lectures about status and rank for so long that he didn’t have much of his own character remaining.
While he didn’t possess his father’s malice, he was an exact replica in most other ways. He pompously viewed himself as being very grand. He owned his own properties and carried a lowly courtesy title of viscount, and when his father passed, he’d become an earl.
He reveled in his station and flaunted it to put others in their place, to make sure people recognized how magnificent he was. Yet if he was so elevated and amazing, but had to wed Priscilla despite his misgivings, what was the use of any of it?
“You had a terrible marriage,” Aaron dared to mention.
“I did not. I had a very typical, very ordinary marriage.”
“I’ve never heard you say a kind word about my mother.”
“She didn’t deserve a kind word. She was flamboyant and brazen and loose with her favors, but that doesn’t mean my marriage was awful.”
The comment was so strangely convoluted that Aaron couldn’t wrap his head around it.
“How would you describe it then?” Aaron pressed.
“I told you: typical. By my wedding day, I had talked to her precisely three times. I knew she was pretty and vivacious and she had a soothing voice.”
“And that was it?”
“We learned a few others things. Before we settled on her, my father commissioned a report that listed some of her attributes and skills. She could sing and play the harpsichord quite well. She’d been trained in running a large household, and she’d been highly educated—too educated, I later thought—at an excellent boarding school. There wasn’t much more I needed to know.”
“You and she didn’t get along at all.”
“No, we didn’t.”
“Which you discovered early on.”
“She possessed none of the composure or deference required in a wife. She never listened or obeyed.”
“It sounds as if you mostly hated each other.”
Lord Sidwell considered, then nodded. “That’s a fair assessment.”
“Then why on Earth would you subject me to the same sort of misery?”
His father meticulously evaluated him, and under the intense scrutiny, Aaron could barely keep from squirming. He felt as if he was ten again and about to be quizzed on his mathematics lessons.
“What is this really about, Aaron?” his father finally said.
“I can’t abide her—or her mother.”
“You just decided this?”
“No, it’s been brewing for awhile.”
“I see.”
His father scowled at Aaron, drank his brandy, scowled at Aaron some more.
“First of all”—his father spoke in his most officious tone—“let me be clear about the dowry.”
“Yes, please be clear.”
“Claudia paid me a substantial sum when the contracts were signed.”
“And...?”
His father flushed with chagrin. “I’ve spent it, Aaron! I don’t have the money to pay her back.”
“It’s supposed to be my money,” Aaron hotly retorted.
“No, it’s the estate’s money, it’s the earl’s money, and as I am still very much alive, it’s mine.”
“I don’t get any of it?”
“When Claudia tenders the last disbursement, you can have some of it, but you’ve been taught how to read an estate ledger. You know the extent of our expenses.”
“Let’s not forget to add in your gambling and clothing bills.”
“Of course I have significant bills. I’m a peer of the realm, Aaron. I’m not a pauper, and I won’t gad about looking or acting like one.”
“So what are you saying? Are you telling me that I have to shackle myself to Priscilla because you already squandered their down payment?”
“No, I told you about it so you remember what you’ve chosen to ignore.”
“What is that?”
“Marriage is a business arrangement. It always has been and always will be. You’re not wedding Priscilla for her beauty or her youth or her personality. We picked her for her property and her money.”
“It sounds to me as if we picked her so you can have her property and her money.”
“Don’t be smart with me,” his father snapped.
“I apologize.” Aaron dipped his head. He never quarreled with his father. It was pointlessly fatiguing.
“These girls like Priscilla are all the same,” his father claimed.
“High praise indeed.”
“If you jilted her, you’d have to select another one just like her.”
“Probably,” Aaron grumbled.
“This match is bringing a sizeable store of wealth to the family. That’s what you need to recall. You must focus on how you’re benefitting both the estate and me, which means you’re benefiting yourself and the life you’ll have after I’m deceased.”
“All right.”
Aaron must have appeared sufficiently glum, because his father said, “Cheer up, Aaron. It’s not the end of the world.”
“It feels like it.”
“Every groom suffers the jitters as the ceremony approaches. You weren’t eager to wed, and I pushed you into it. You’re chomping at the bit, rebelling against the notion that your bachelor days are over.”
“It’s more than a simple case of jitters. I can’t imagine facing her over the breakfast table for the next four decades.”
“Maybe she’ll die young and you won’t have to.”
“Father!” Aaron scolded. “Honestly!”
“Sorry, sorry...” Lord Sidwell waved away his horrid comment. “Look, go treat yourself. Find a nice, biddable girl and have a...fling for a few weeks.”
“That’s your answer? Have a fling?”
“Why not? Every man of our station does it. It’s practically expected.”
“I like to at least pretend I’m the sort of fellow who can be faithful.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” his father scoffed. “Marry Priscilla, but start hunting immediately for a mistress. If you don’t want a nice girl, find a doxy who can make you happy.”
“A mistress?”
“Yes, Priscilla need never know, and even if she eventually learns of it, what can she do, hmm? It’s not her business, so it’s not as if she could order you to desist.”
“This is the strangest conversation I’ve ever had.”
“Why would you say so? Obviously, you have no idea how married men carry on. Have a fling. Buy yourself a trollop. But for God’s sake, stop moping! It’s unseemly.”
The butler took that moment to announce his father’s coach was ready. Lord Sidwell downed his brandy and said, “I wish you’d come with me.”
“No, thank you.”
“You’d feel better if you were out and about.”
“I doubt it.”
“You might meet the woman of your dreams, and you’d swiftly forget this drivel about Priscilla.”
Aaron sighed with exasperation. “Your carriage awaits, Father.”
“It certainly does.”
Lord Sidwell grinned and totted off.
* * * *
“I appreciate your attending me so promptly.”
“Did I have a choice?”
“As I am your father, no, you did not.”
George Drake stared across his desk at Lucas. They hadn’t spoken since the morning Lucas had stopped by to rail about Miss Hubbard. At the time, George had been sure he was witnessing signs of a burgeoning infatuation, and that Lucas would come to his senses and propose. But it hadn’t happened.
Lucas appeared to have a heightened attraction to Miss Hubbard but, evidently, it was no different than the one he shared with most of the females in the kingdom.
Miss Hubbard had not been able to sway him. George’s threat of disinheritance had not been able to sway him. The fact that L
ucas was at loose ends since leaving the army had not changed his mind.
He was drinking, gambling, and loafing—as was his typical habit. George had no idea where Lucas was living, how he passed his days, or who he considered to be his friends other than that slattern, Nanette Nipton.
During Lucas’s last furlough, he’d disgraced himself with Mrs. Nipton in a dozen obscene ways. George had warned him to stay away from her, but as usual with Lucas, George’s admonitions had been ignored.
Numerous acquaintances had mentioned Lucas’s recent antics with Mrs. Nipton. George was regularly peppered with questions as to how he would rein in Lucas’s behavior, how George planned to keep Lucas out of trouble, and the queries were enraging.
People acted as if George could control Lucas, but Lucas was—and always had been—incorrigible.
George was weary of Lucas and his sour attitude and his constant scandals. With Aaron’s nuptials approaching, Aaron’s star was rising, and Lucas couldn’t be permitted to wreck his brother’s ascent.
He would walk the path George had arranged for him or he could get the hell out of George’s life forever.
“Your name has been linked to Mrs. Nipton’s,” he solemnly said.
Lucas sighed. “Is that why you summoned me? To scold me about Nanette?”
“I’m sure you recall our prior conversation about that hussy.”
“Yes, yes. How could I have forgotten?”
“I was very clear about you and her.”
“You were.”
“Then why are you fraternizing?” George bellowed.
“Lord Sidwell, I am twenty-five years old. I’ve spent the past decade in the army. I’m quite capable of choosing my own companions, and it’s exhausting to have you lecturing me.”
Lucas moved as if he’d stand and stomp out, and George bellowed again.
“Sit down, Lucas!”
Lucas eased back in his chair. “Really, sir, I’m in no mood for one of your rants.”
“I am your father, and by God, you will listen to me.”
“I’m listening, and half of London is probably listening too. My hearing is excellent, and I’m only a few feet away. There’s no need to shout.”
“You will never speak with Nanette Nipton again.”
“Or...?”
“Or you’ll finally learn the consequences of your disobedience.”
“Lord Sidwell, my very first memory as a tiny boy is of you threatening me with harm. My entire life, I’ve been threatened by you. Your warnings ring a bit hollow.”
“Is that what you suppose?”
“It’s what I know.”
Lucas stood, appearing impossibly grand, and George loathed how Lucas could be so calm and composed. He was handsome and dashing, and with his feats in the army, he was obviously brave and tough and strong.
In so many ways, he was better than George, smarter than George, wiser than George, and perhaps that was why George hated him so much.
“Sit!” George seethed again.
“I’ve truly had enough, sir. You’ve repeatedly sought to disassociate your marvelous self from me, and I’m amenable to a permanent separation.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m happy to leave and never come back.” He slouched into his chair, looking lazy and insolent and sly. “It will cost you though.”
“How?”
“I’d like to sail to India.”
“For what reason?”
“A friend from the army is starting a venture there. James Talbot and I were hoping to join him, but James had issues arise so he can’t participate. I should like to travel there on my own, but I haven’t the funds.”
“You’re asking me to pay you to go away?”
“Yes. It’s what you’ve always wanted, and it suits my purposes.”
“You’d never return?”
“Not unless it was in a coffin.”
“How morbidly droll, Lucas,” George scoffed. “How utterly, morbidly droll.”
“I’m renowned for my wit, sir.”
They stared and stared, and George yearned to round the desk and shake him.
He and Lucas had a mode of interacting. Lucas misbehaved. George blustered and punished. Lucas misbehaved again. George raised the stakes: disavowal, disinheritance. Yet he never had to follow through, because neither of them ever pushed to the edge. Neither of them had ever jumped.
Apparently, Lucas was ready, but George wasn’t!
He didn’t want Lucas to vanish from their lives. He wanted Lucas to be deferential and courteous and submissive—as Aaron was. He wanted Lucas to mind his elders, respect his betters, and carry on as was demanded by their station.
Yet Lucas valued nothing that George valued. He cherished nothing that George cherished. But could George pay his way to India and never see him again? He didn’t think so.
Every father needed two sons—an heir and a spare—but what was the point of having two if one of them was totally unsuited for his responsibilities?
“What about Miss Hubbard?” George asked.
“What about her?”
“Why won’t you marry her?”
“I don’t wish to. You know that, and I can’t fathom why you persist with these ridiculous plans for me.”
“I’ve offered you the property in Surrey. You could be happy there.”
“I’m plenty happy now.”
He didn’t look it though. He looked weary and drained, as if his debauchery was finally wearing on him.
“You haven’t even considered it,” George fumed.
“Yes, I have. I’ve considered it and found it absurd. I told you: I won’t be a gentleman farmer.”
“But a wife, Lucas. It’s what a man requires for his life to be complete.”
“I’m a committed bachelor, sir, and I have no need of a leg shackle to feel better about myself.”
“Every man should wed,” George sternly said.
“As you did?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve always claimed that you hated my mother, yet you’d foist the same conclusion on me.”
“You might get on with Miss Hubbard—as I never could with your mother.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“You might. She seems good natured to me.”
“But if she turned out to be a shrew, I’d end up being as miserable as you were.”
George had just had a similar discussion with Aaron, and he was aggravated to have his choices denigrated. George had had no say in the disastrous selection of his wife. The match had been arranged by his father, and George had done what he was told to do—as an obedient child ought.
Why couldn’t Lucas admit that it was George’s job to decide what was best? Why couldn’t Lucas let George exercise his duty as a parent? George knew what Lucas needed, but Lucas was too stupid to realize it.
They stopped and stared, an excruciating silence stretching out.
Clearly, they were at a dangerous impasse, and George wasn’t certain how to maneuver past it without catastrophe occurring. George had never understood Lucas, could never make him behave, and George was at the limit of his patience.
Aaron didn’t wish to wed Priscilla, but he would because George had insisted. Aaron grasped his role, but Lucas never would. When George had a perfect son who would give George plenty of grandsons to carry on the family name, why continue to put up with Lucas? He only brought heartache and unceasing problems.
“I am ordering you to marry Miss Hubbard one week from today,” George commanded, but softly and without any display of anger.
“Lord Sidwell, I truly suggest that you have your physician check your ears for blockages. You can’t hear a word I say.”
George ignored the complaint and kept on. “You will propose at once, then move into this house and begin preparing for the ceremony.”
“No. Instead, I request that you fund my trip to India. I’ll go away, and you won’t have to fret over me.”
<
br /> “No,” George tossed back at him. “I would see you wed to Miss Hubbard and living in England.”
“And I would see me as a bachelor on my way to India.”
“This is the last time I will ask you, Lucas.”
“And this is the last time I will refuse, Lord Sidwell.”
There was a deadly sense of inevitability in the air, and George studied Lucas, taking in every detail, for it definitely seemed that this might be their final conversation.
“One week, Lucas. You could be married, and we could avoid this rift.”
“Or tomorrow, I could leave England and achieve the same result.”
“If you walk out of here without tendering a vow to wed, I don’t want you to ever come back.”
George hadn’t meant to hurl the threat, but he had, and it hovered between them. For just a moment, either of them could have yanked it down and thrown it away, but they were both too stubborn.
“Are you sure, sir?”
“Absolutely.”
“As to the money, will you give it to me?”
“No.”
“I guess there’s naught else to say then, is there?” Lucas pushed himself to his feet.
“I guess not. We’re through.”
Lucas shrugged. “It was bound to happen sooner or later.”
“In the future, when you’re out of options, don’t slither home. Don’t pester me about your troubles. Don’t write me when your creditors lock your sorry, penniless ass in gaol.”
“I won’t.”
“Don’t bang my knocker when you have nowhere to stay and not a farthing in your pocket. I shall instruct the servants—here and at all our other properties—that you are not allowed inside. Should you try to enter, I will call the law and have you dragged out.”
“Fine.”
“I’m changing my will tomorrow. I’ll leave everything to Aaron. You’ll get nothing.”
“Well, I never expected anything, so if that’s your parting comment, you missed your mark by a fair distance. Goodbye.”
Lucas spun away, and George suffered an instant of panic.
“Where will you be?”
“I’m off to speak with James. He’s recently come into some money. He might loan me the funds I need.”
“And if he won’t?”
