Brook Street: Fortune Hunter (6 page)

“Again, I am sorry,” Woodhaven said, with the forced calm of one trying to hold together a fraying patience, “but if you would have sent a note ahead informing me of your plans, I would have explained and you would have known to rent a house.”

The woman let out an indignant huff. “Rent a house? Nonsense.”

The front door opened. A servant—not one of Woodhaven’s—clad in a plain brown coat entered bearing a trunk.

“Second floor,” the woman instructed the servant. “The yellow bedchamber. Third room on the right.”

“No.” Woodhaven held out a hand to stay the servant. “Take that back out to the carriage. Cooper, please see to it that nothing else is brought inside.”

A crisp nod, and the butler ushered the servant with the trunk out the door.

Woodhaven’s auburn head turned back toward the woman. “Aunt Beatrice, were you not listening?” Whatever patience he’d been clinging to was now gone, his tone laced with heavy sarcasm. “And how do you know the location of the yellow bedchamber?”

“Oscar.” The name snapped through the air. “You do not speak to your aunt in such a manner.” The older man glowered down at Woodhaven. “Apologize.
Now.
”

The effect was instantaneous, speaking louder than words that Woodhaven was more than familiar with that harsh tone. He ducked his head, the bravado vanishing from his spine, his shoulders hunching.

“You have my apologies, Aunt Beatrice.”

The thin whispered words, so faint they barely reached Julian’s ears, shoved Julian into action. It mattered not to him if those people were Woodhaven’s relatives. How dare they bully him, and in his own home no less? Julian would throw them out of the house himself, if need be.

The woman let out another of those indignant huffs. “I should hope so. Now have Cooper bring the trunks into the house. The journey from Yorkshire was terribly long. I wish to rest before supper.”

“Did you not hear him?”

Five pairs of eyes turned to Julian as he took the last step. He stopped at Woodhaven’s side, so close he swore he could feel the shock and relief radiating from him. He resisted the urge to wrap an arm around the man’s shoulder and instead kept his gaze pinned on Woodhaven’s aunt and uncle. “Mr. Woodhaven does not wish for you to stay at his home.”

“Who are
you?
” Though barely five feet tall, Woodhaven’s aunt somehow managed to look down her nose at Julian.

Let her try to intimidate him. He’d endured far worse. He lifted his chin and met her stare with one of his own. “I am Mr. Julian Parker.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you related to Haverson?”

“Yes, Roger is my cousin,” he replied.

Using the mighty Marquis of Haverson’s given name had the desired effect. The blatant condescension vanished. Though she and the man beside her tried to hide it, he could tell they were impressed.

“Aunt Beatrice and Uncle Charles, this is Mr. Parker, the guest I referred to earlier,” Woodhaven said, the cower gone, the strength back in his voice. “As I’ve already explained, I have a guest for the Season. I am not prepared to take on four unexpected ones.”

The woman crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you actually intend to throw your family out onto the street? You must know it is impossible to rent a respectable house on such short notice this far into the Season.”

Briefly closing his eyes, Woodhaven let out a sigh, the sound tired and full of exasperation. “No, of course I would not throw you out onto the street. I will send word to Mivart’s Hotel. Make arrangements for a suitable suite.”

“Town has spoiled you.” The uncle’s glower was back in full force. “Turned you into an ungrateful snob. After all we’ve done for you, this is how you repay us?”

Woodhaven started, as if his uncle had slapped him. Shock flittered across his face. “I’ve given you forty thousand pounds. Wasn’t that enough?”

The desperation, the plea behind the question, had Julian’s hands curling into fists at his sides. “Mr. Woodhaven has generously offered to make arrangements for your family at Mivart’s, one of the best hotels in the city. I suggest you make your way there.
Now.
”

The command hung in the air.

The uncle’s features hardened, a glare of purest loathing fixed on Woodhaven. Julian’s muscles tensed, prepared to spring into action, to knock the man onto his arse, if he made even the slightest move toward his friend.

“I will certainly not stay where I am not welcome. Girls.” Woodhaven’s aunt flicked her fingers in the direction of the young ladies who still lingered by the console table. “Come now.”

The women swept out of the house.

Woodhaven looked up at his uncle. “I won’t marry her.” He spoke in a whisper yet the determination, the iron will behind his words, rang loud and clear.

The older man’s lip curled. “She doesn’t want you anyway. Saves me the expense of bribing the
yes
out of her.” With that, he turned on his heel.

The snap of the front door echoed in the entrance hall.

Woodhaven dropped his gaze to the polished marble floor. “I’m sorry, Julian.”

His heart clenched, tightening his chest. Goddamn Woodhaven’s aunt and uncle. Goddamn them for reducing him to apologizing for their atrocious behavior.

He reached out, laid a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. By God, the man was shaking. “It’s all right, Oscar,” he said, low and gentle. “There is absolutely no need to apologize. None at all. Relatives can be…hell.”

Chin still tipped down, Oscar peeked up at him. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me, either.”

The beginnings of a self-conscious smile dared to tug the edges of Oscar’s mouth. The tension slid out of his body, taking the awful tremble with it.

The door opened, letting in a gust of cool early evening air. Julian dropped his arm to his side. Oscar stiffened then let out a breath as only Cooper entered the house, shutting the door behind him.

“Cooper, have my aunt and uncle stayed at the house previously?” Oscar asked.

The butler’s brows drew together, contrition written on every feature. “Yes, sir. The past three Seasons, since the house came to you. We were expecting you as well, sir, but were informed on each occasion that you had decided to forgo the Season and remain in Yorkshire.”

“It’s not your fault, Cooper. I don’t blame you for…them. Please send a footman post-haste to Mivart’s. Have him do whatever must be done to secure the best suite for them.”

“Yes, sir. Is there anything else you need?”

When Oscar made to shake his head, Julian spoke up. “Yes, please have a bottle of whisky delivered to the study.”

“I’m fine, Julian,” he murmured.

The man was the furthest thing from fine. His cheeks were much too pale. Julian could barely make out the freckles across his nose, and his beautiful dark eyes were dull and flat, devoid of their cheerful spark. But he doubted Oscar would appreciate any blatant coddling. “I didn’t say you weren’t fine, but a glass of whisky can do wonders for the soul. Come along.” Clasping Oscar’s shoulder with one hand, he turned him toward the stairs.

Oscar didn’t offer up another protest. Weariness etched in every line of his body, he allowed Julian to usher him up to the study.

***

A nudge toward the couch and Oscar sat down. It was more allowing his legs to give out from under him than anything, but he didn’t much care at the moment. Elbows resting on his knees, he dropped his head into his hands.

He had known his aunt and uncle did not care for him. Had known they had merely tolerated his presence in their home for a decade. And he had just breached that line of tolerance. Their disdain, their contempt for him had been on full display in the entrance hall. All because he hadn’t bowed his head and allowed them to do as they pleased.

Thank heaven for Julian. If he had not stepped in, Oscar was certain he would still be in the entrance hall, his refusal still falling on deaf ears.

Head bowed, he scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “They never listen to me.”

A pair of black shoes stopped at the edge of his line of sight. He could feel Julian hovering over him like a mother hen. A part of him wanted to bristle in affront, to demand that he was fine, thank you very much. But another part warmed at the notion. It felt good to have someone concerned about him. To have someone care to the point of worry.

“Why do you tolerate their behavior?” Julian asked, as if he was truly befuddled by the notion. “I understand they are family, but it’s not as if you are dependent on them. Or are you?”

“No, not anymore. They usually aren’t that, well, rude. Distant and cold, but not outright rude. I cannot believe they showed up unannounced, as if the house was their own, never mind that they made use of it for the past few years without a single word to me.” Honestly, he shouldn’t be surprised or shocked. His aunt and uncle had taken every possible opportunity to get at his inheritance over the years. The new servants who needed to be hired if he was to reside at their home, along with the “necessary” renovations. The traveling carriage and landau his aunt had assured a trustee a thirteen-year-old Oscar had desperately needed. The small fleet of private tutors that had also seen to her two sons’ educations. He should have protested long ago. Should have done something beside the nothing he had done. Perhaps if he had… Hell, what was he thinking? He let out a sigh. “Ah well. I can either lament it or accept it, but I cannot change them. And I didn’t have a choice for most of my life. When my father passed, they took me in. My uncle—my father’s brother—never married and he traveled frequently. He couldn’t keep an eleven-year-old in tow. So my mother’s sister and her husband agreed to take me.”

And they had been his only option. Well, besides being assigned a guardian by a judge. A complete stranger or family. He’d chosen family. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d chosen unwisely.

There was a light tap against wood. He heard the sound of footsteps, the faint jangle of glass against silver, then the soft click of a door shutting.

“Here, drink this. All of it.”

Oscar lifted his head, his gaze going to the quite full glass in Julian’s outstretched hand. “Are you trying to get me foxed?”

Julian arched a brow. “Possibly.” Then he lifted one shoulder. “Just drink it.”

“All right.” He took the proffered glass.

Julian settled in the chair angled toward the couch and watched as Oscar brought the glass to his lips.

The man was doing a very good imitation of a mother hen. At least he was far more attractive than an actual hen.

Oscar took a long swallow. The whisky burned a path down his throat, settling in his stomach. Warmth radiated from his belly, easing the tight knot of tension there. Another long swallow. Then one more before he rested the tumbler on his thigh. Julian couldn’t very well expect him to down the entire glass in a few seconds.

Letting out a sigh, Oscar leaned back, resting his head against the couch. “I hated living with them,” he said, low and quiet, finally giving voice to the sentiment that had filled him for years. “Well, not at first. At first I hoped perhaps…” He shook his head. They hadn’t cared one whit for him while his father had been alive. Why the hell had he ever hoped it would be any different after the man’s death? In fact, it had gotten worse. The disinterest turning to resentment and seething jealousy. “But no. Living with them was…terrible.”

“Were they cruel to you?” Brow lowered in concern, Julian leaned forward, rested a hand on Oscar’s knee. “Oscar, did your uncle hurt you?”

“No, not physically. And they weren’t blatantly cruel. They more tolerated me. I knew I was only there because they allowed it. Even my cousins made sure I was aware of that fact. George and Matthew never let me tag after them, and Alice ignored me. I quickly learned just to keep to myself. Became very good at patience and devoted a lot of time to my studies. Not much else to do in Yorkshire.” The endless acres of trees and fields hadn’t been very good company, and the children in the nearby village had been his cousins’ friends and therefore would not be his. “It wouldn’t have been so bad if I’d had a brother or sister, but it’s just me. Do you have any siblings?”

“Yes, a sister. Six years younger. She married last year and moved to Baltimore.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Not really. We were never close, not even when we were children. My family isn’t a very tight-knit one. I don’t see my mother often either. She remarried shortly after my father’s death, though she still resides in Philadelphia.”

At least the man had an immediate family, someone to turn to if he needed them. All Oscar had was his mother’s family.

Julian nudged his chin toward the half-full glass. “Finish that.” Once Oscar did as bid, he asked, “If it was so terrible, why did you stay with your aunt and uncle for so long? Couldn’t you have left when you were eighteen or nineteen? Lived on your own as you do now? This house came to you a few years ago, correct?”

“Yes, but my aunt and uncle were my guardians, and I didn’t realize I could petition the trustees for an allowance once I turned eighteen.” Aunt Beatrice and Uncle Charles had deliberately kept him ignorant of that fact. If he did not reside with them, they could not reap the benefits. “As soon as I turned twenty-one last July, my father’s solicitors paid me a visit to explain that I had reached my majority. My inheritance was now under my control. I could make my own decisions, do as I pleased. Which I did. My uncle still isn’t pleased that I left to live in London. If he had his way, he’d have kept me in Yorkshire and had me wed Caroline years ago. Not sure if you noticed her. She was the taller young lady in the entrance hall. The other one was Alice. Caroline’s my uncle’s brother’s daughter. We aren’t related by blood,” he added. “It’s not that she’s a horrid girl, but she’s a girl. Never had an interest in them. Even if I preferred women, I wouldn’t marry her. She doesn’t actually care for me in the slightest. I’ve told my uncle countless times that I would not marry her. Perhaps now he’s finally given up that hope.”

Reaching to the side table, Julian grabbed the decanter of whisky.