Lord of Mischief

by Sasha Cottman

  He had passed all the challenges and was about to be admitted to the Bachelor Board. He had finally arrived in London society. Soon he would be mixing it with the powerful and mighty.

  When a girl with a similar-colored deep blue cloak to the one Eve had worn at Rosemount Abbey passed him by, a twinge of guilt stirred in his heart. He pushed it aside. Eve Saunders had thrown herself at him to spite her sister. She should be grateful he had had the good sense not to ruin her. They had their fun playing the game together, and it was at the behest of his mother that she and Adelaide Saunders had come to Rosemount Abbey. He most certainly was not to blame for the mess that had eventuated.

  He put the sudden dry and bitter taste in his mouth down to the burnt coffee he had drunk at Barton Street before leaving.

  Arriving home at Grosvenor Square, he was well into a long list of the people he would invite to his first party at home. He was going to have a long and wicked celebration to herald his success. New friends beckoned. His life was good, and it was about to become magnificent.

  Stepping in the front door, he was surprised to see one of the footmen from Rosemount Abbey had opened it for him. He frowned. That could only mean someone from the family was in town.

  He sighed. His party would have to wait a few days. As he took off his hat and coat, the footman pointed him toward his father’s study.

  “Lord Rosemount has instructed you attend him as soon as you arrive,” he said.

  Freddie walked across the foyer and stood outside his father’s study door. His father had made no mention of coming to town. Freddie silently chided himself for having left the abbey without speaking further to his parents. An apology was clearly in order.

  He took a deep breath before knocking. It was time to grovel. His mind began to race; he had to get back into his father’s good graces in order to access his money. He was going to have to tread very carefully.

  As he stepped into his father’s study, he saw Lord Rosemount was hunched over a pile of papers on his desk. The first spark of concern lit in Freddie’s brain when his father failed to acknowledge his presence.

  Freddie stood in the middle of the room, hands held loosely by his side, and waited.

  Finally, Lord Rosemount folded up the last of the papers and placed it on the top of a nearby pile. He picked up a small bell and rang it.

  Within a minute, a footman entered the room. Lord Rosemount handed the papers to the footman who stole several glances at Freddie as the viscount spoke quietly to him. At the end of the short conversation with Lord Rosemount, the footman left the room, taking the papers with him. As he passed Freddie, he averted his gaze.

  Lord Rosemount remained at his desk. “Those papers are instructions to all my creditors and merchants with whom I have accounts. The last one was to my banker. That is, of course, if you are the slightest bit interested in matters of the Rosemount estate. Though after what I have to say, you might be very interested.” He rose from his desk and tidied up the remaining pens and items on its surface. He then closed his drawer and locked it. Freddie scowled when, instead of putting the key to the desk in its usual secret place, he put it in his pocket.

  Freddie was about to mention to his father he would need the key in order to access letterhead which he used to place orders on the family’s various accounts, but the hard glare on his father’s face stopped him. He made a mental note to remind his father—after he had finished admonishing Freddie for his behavior.

  “Before you ask, it was no mistake I kept the key. It’s time you were given a hard lesson in life, my boy,” said Lord Rosemount.

  “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you and Mama over the Saunders girl. I did not behave well and I should have spoken to you before I came back to London. I offer you my most humble apologies,” replied Freddie.

  His father closed his eyes, and a sad huff escaped his lips. “Oh, Frederick. So little, so late.”

  Freddie ground his teeth as his jaw set hard with fear. There was ice in his father’s voice. His father was not a man for great displays of anger. He had never known him to speak much louder than a raised voice. The quiet rage of his father was more powerful than any man who bellowed at the top of his lungs. “I—”

  His father shook his head. “The letters which have left the house are instructions to cease extending any form of credit to you. Merchants will not honor any orders for goods or services that you place from today. I am cutting you off for the foreseeable future.”

  Freddie swayed on his feet as raw shock took hold.

  Cut off.

  His brain struggled to register the words. “How … how am I to live?” he stammered.

  His father pulled a small money pouch out of his jacket pocket and threw it on the desk. “There is enough money in there to last you and the dog for a good six weeks if you stretch it tight. And when I mean stretch, I mean you are going to have to watch every farthing.”

  Freddie shook his head. “You cannot be serious. How are the servants to maintain the house if I do not have funds?”

  When his father flinched at the mention of the servants, Freddie saw an opening. He could survive well enough if he cut back on his spending, but the servants couldn’t very well walk around London paying cash for items for the household of Viscount Rosemount. It wasn’t the done thing.

  “They won’t be maintaining the house. Those who are normally based at Rosemount Abbey will be travelling back tonight. The rest I have given paid leave for the rest of your six-week banishment. And when I say banishment, I mean it. If things get a little tough for you here, don’t think of getting in a coach and coming home. You are not welcome at the abbey until I say you are.”

  No servants meant a cold and lonely house. Freddie’s mind scattered in a thousand different directions. How was he to keep his rooms warm? Who was going to clean his clothes? And, most importantly, who was going to feed him?

  His father walked toward the door. “I won’t be staying here. Friends have invited me over for dinner and I shall stay with them overnight. Oh, and don’t bother to write to your mother expecting to find sympathy. She refuses to even hear your name mentioned in her company. In fact, it was her idea to cut you off.”

  “But why?”

  His father walked over to where Freddie stood and put a hand firmly on his shoulder.

  “You are not a wicked man, but from the rumors I have heard about London you have allowed yourself to be led astray. The Frederick Rosemount I know would never have treated a young woman the way you did Evelyn Saunders. He most certainly would not have brought the shame you have on our family.” His grip on Freddie’s shoulder hardened. “You were not there the morning Adelaide Saunders and her daughter left. You were not even man enough to face her and see the pain you had inflicted upon that girl. She was absolutely heartbroken over you. I am ashamed to be your father at this moment. No son of mine would ever be so cruel as to hold out hope of love to a girl and then crush it so mercilessly. But you did. I can only hope that the misery you are about to go through will give you some time to find yourself once more. At this moment I do not know you, Frederick.”

  He walked from the room and left Freddie standing in shock. All his plans to celebrate his great victory went with his father.

  He turned and took several steps toward the door. For a fleeting moment of madness, he thought to catch up to his father and beg for mercy, to promise whatever it took to stop his father from leaving him destitute.

  The echo of his father’s final words stopped him in his tracks.

  I do not know you.

  Hot tears come to his eyes. His family were not proud of him and all that he had achieved. Instead, they were ashamed.

  All the puff and bravado that had filled him the past few weeks went out of him like air from a pair of bellows. His father’s words made him a lesser man.

  Freddie stayed in his father’s study for several hours, too ashamed to go out and face the servants who were busy packing up the house. It was only
when the sounds of the house fell silent that he finally ventured out.

  As he stepped from his father’s study, he immediately noticed the eerie silence.

  “Hello?” he called.

  A deafening silence responded. His father had been true to his word. All the servants were gone.

  “Bollocks,” he muttered.

  A scattering of claws on the tiled floor signaled the arrival of Saintspreserveus. The dog scampered up to Freddie and eagerly accepted his master’s vigorous scratch behind his ear.

  “At least someone is still in a good mood,” he said.

  The dog tilted his head to one side and looked up at Freddie. Their gazes met and the dog whimpered. Freddie snorted. He could swear at times the dog had more intelligence than he was given credit for. “I’m sorry, boy. It’s not your fault we are in this mess.”

  And a right mess it was. With the servants gone, there was the immediate and pressing problem of what food had been left behind.

  With Saintspreserveus following behind, Freddie ventured down into the household kitchen. He was pleasantly surprised to find a fresh loaf of bread, a small wheel of Stilton cheese, and some carrots on the pantry shelves. Up high on the meat shelf he found a juicy bone, which he pulled down and handed to the dog.

  Saintspreserveus snapped up the bone and wandered over to his bed in the corner where he proceeded to give the bone his full attention. At least the dog was happy for the moment.

  In the pantry, Freddie located a few bottles of wine. Alcohol was not going to be a problem in the house as Thomas had shown him how to pick the lock on the door of their father’s wine cellar at a young age. His father could cut Freddie off for several years and the extensive wine supply would last. The cheese and bread would suffice for the rest of the day, but after that he had no idea what he’d do.

  “The money!” He raced back upstairs and into his father’s study. He snatched up the small bag of coins and held it in his hand.

  “Please, please let there be enough for me to dine out each day,” he muttered.

  Opening the bag, he tipped its contents onto the desk. Then he slumped down into the chair and stared at the meagre amount of money.

  He picked up the bag again and stuffed his hand inside, hoping to find at least a one-pound note. The bag, however, was empty.

  He slowly sorted the coins into piles as the sickening feeling in his stomach continued to whirl round and round. Some of the coins were of such little value he couldn’t remember having ever possessed one before. What the devil would a chap do with a handful of farthings? The piles of farthings, groats, and sixpence amounted to less than what Freddie would normally have spent in a week on pies and other snacks at university. He was going to have to budget very carefully over the next few weeks, all the while praying his parents would have a change of heart.

  “Well that is going to make paying for my seat on the board a little difficult,” he muttered bitterly.

  The contents of the sack could be ten times what it held, and he would still be a long way short on the money to pay Osmont.

  “Ah!”

  His father might refuse to give him any money, but he had friends. Godwin might claim his father cared little for him, but he never went without. Godwin wouldn’t need to know exactly what Freddie wanted the money for, instead a small white lie would have to do. He just needed to get Godwin to ask the Duke of Mewburton for an advance on his yearly allowance, and then lend it to him.

  Freddie vowed to pay Godwin back ten-fold on the loan when he made his first successful investment.

  He scooped up most of the coins and put them back in the bag, tucking a few of the sixpence into his pocket. With a hopeful smile, he rose from the chair.

  It was early enough in the day that he knew Godwin would still be at home. His love of the green weed from India and the dens where he could smoke it ensured Godwin would not have made it home until the early hours of the morning.

  Putting on his coat, Freddie gave his dog a cheerful farewell.

  “Wait there for me, boy. I shall be home soon enough and we shall have servants and food again before you can say snap.”

  The Duke of Mewburton’s magnificent mansion was a short distance from Grosvenor Square. Freddie made it in quick time, the spring in his step returned.

  Reaching the house on Mount Street, he bounded up the front steps and confidently knocked on the front door.

  “Good morning. Lord Godwin, if you please,” he said to the butler who opened the door.

  The butler hesitated for a moment, then screwed up his face. “I am afraid Lord Godwin is indisposed to all visitors this morning.”

  Freddie huffed. He had lost count of the number of times he had arrived at Mewburton House and dragged his drug-addled friend from his bed. This morning he expected things to be no different.

  He was about to remonstrate with the butler when the door was opened wide. A man who Freddie guessed would have been in his early thirties stood before him. From the manner of his dress and the color of his hair, Freddie supposed him to be one of Godwin’s older brothers. “And who are you?”

  Freddie stuck out a hand. “Frederick Rosemount, son of Viscount Rosemount. How do you do?”

  The other man looked at Freddie’s outstretched hand and shook his head. Freddie’s good humor dimmed.

  “Come inside. I don’t want this conversation to be had on the doorstep in front of the help,” said Godwin’s brother.

  Freddie stepped into the magnificent foyer of Mewburton House. After slipping off his hat, he handed it to the butler. The butler stood in the foyer holding the hat, a clear indication that Freddie’s stay was not going to be a long one. He was ushered into a nearby drawing room and offered a seat.

  While he sat down, Godwin’s brother remained standing. Then he cleared his throat. “You and I have never met, but I was at school with your brother, Thomas. Decent chap, married a lovely girl. He seems to have his head on straight. Which I am afraid, from what my brother has told me, cannot be said of you.”

  Freddie sat forward in the chair as a burning sense of déjà vu hit him. “I’m sorry, sir, but you have me at the disadvantage. I don’t know you who you are,” replied Freddie.

  “I am the Marquis of Copeland. Godwin is my youngest brother. I am here to tell you, you are to stay away from my brother from this day forward. You may not care for his health and heart, but our family does, and we shall not stand idly by while he whores and drugs himself into an early grave. He is coming home to Mewburton Castle with me today, and he will not be returning to London anytime soon. He needs to get his life and health in order. Good day to you, Rosemount. Give your brother my best regards.”

  Freddie was handed his hat and shown the door in quick time.

  As he headed back toward Grosvenor Place, he dejectedly stuffed his hands in his coat pocket. This was fast becoming the worst day of his life. The day he had overslept a major exam at Oxford paled into insignificance at the disaster he was currently facing.

  “Think, Freddie. There must be a way,” he muttered.

  Having spent his childhood in the countryside and then years as a social recluse at Oxford, he didn’t have a wide group of friends in London on whom he could call for assistance. Trenton Embry was one of the few people Freddie knew beyond a casual hello, but he knew Trenton well enough not to even consider asking him for money. Who else in London did he know that he could call upon to assist him in his financial crisis?

  He slowed his pace and instead of going home, he turned around and headed toward the Thames. It was a wild throw of the dice, but he was fast running out of options. Osmont Firebrace knew how wealthy Viscount Rosemount was; while it would take some clever words, Freddie felt confident he could convince Osmont to let him join the board and then pay his membership dues once his father had put him back in funds.

  “Yes, that’s it. Well done. Third time is the charm.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  For the first time
since he had known Osmont, Freddie was made to wait for an audience. He sat on the hard bench outside Osmont’s office and silently prepared his speech.

  It was close to an hour before the door to Osmont’s office opened. A young man appeared in the doorway. His faced was flushed and he appeared to be most ill at ease. When he saw Freddie, he flinched. The young man made a dash for the front door and was gone.

  “Ah, Rosemount. That was quick. I take it you have come to bring your admission fee?”

  Freddie turned to see Osmont with one hand on the door. For an instant, Freddie could have sworn his mentor was a little flushed in the face, but as soon as he blinked the color of Osmont’s face returned to its normal pale shade.

  “Actually no, but I would rather we spoke in your office if you don’t mind,” replied Freddie.

  Osmont stood back and uncharacteristically bowed to Freddie as he entered his office. Freddie’s skin crawled at the odd gesture. He took a seat in one of the deep burgundy leather couches, but rather than lounging back on it as was his usual habit, Freddie sat upright.

  On the table in front of him was a half empty wine glass, which Osmont picked up and placed near the fireplace. “Now, why haven’t you come to pay your membership fee? Don’t tell me after our discussion and my cognac that you have changed your mind. That little filly hasn’t got a hold of your cock, has she? It would be disappointing to have to rescind the membership offer,” said Osmont. The sneer of disdain in his voice could not be missed, but Freddie ignored it. He was not about to tempt the temper of the man he was hoping would give him money.

  “No, no, I still intend to take my seat on the board. It’s just that I have had a small setback, and require your temporary assistance,” he replied.

  A sly smile drifted across Osmont’s face as he turned away and went to his desk. Freddie swallowed. Something was not right about the situation. He began to question the wisdom of his decision to come and ask for money.