Gareth: Lord of Rakes (26 page)

He rose, considered pouring himself a drink regardless of the hour, and decided against it. His stomach was probably tentative because, for him, he had been drinking substantially more lately than was usual. He had no sooner started rifling the papers on his desk in search of Callista’s will than somebody rattled his office door.

“Gareth, if you’re in there, open up,” came Andrew’s none-too-cheerful voice.

Gareth obliged, because Andrew was emphatically not an early riser. “You’ve made a night of it,” Gareth observed with wry amusement. Andrew was unshaven, his cravat hung askew, and fatigue lined his handsome features.

“I have, and I’ve a craving for some of your finest,” he said, throwing himself onto the couch with an air of dejection.

Gareth poured his brother a drink and took it to him, then leaned back against the desk, crossed his arms, and waited for Andrew to start in on his drink—and whatever else he needed to start in on.

“I know you have a lot on your plate,” Andrew said, tossing back the brandy, “but I’ve a favor to ask.”

“Ask.” Andrew had never asked him for anything, at least not since graduating and coming into his own fortune. Andrew would always watch his brother’s back, but Gareth was not to be afforded the same opportunity.

That privilege being, somehow, another casualty of the boating accident.

“I think it’s time I did some traveling on the Continent,” Andrew said, running a hand through damp hair. “What with the Corsican wreaking havoc, I’ve never had the chance, but if I avoid France and the Peninsula, I could take in some sights, see the capitals, that sort of thing.”

As queer starts went, and rotten beginnings to difficult days, that would do nicely. “And the favor you have to ask of me?”

“Could you send someone down from time to time to check on Linden Hall?”

“This sounds serious, Andrew.” Gareth shoved away from the desk to take his brother’s empty glass. He put it on the sideboard and went to stand by a window, noting the sleet had changed to a pattering rain.

“It isn’t serious, it’s just… It’s just time,” Andrew said. “My education, you know, and all those charming foreign ladies, the great art, the food and drink, the sights… might even hie on down to Egypt, take a boat up the Nile.”

This had to do with a woman, very likely a married woman, or some female otherwise unavailable.

“I can’t enjoy the thought of you leaving, Andrew.” Gareth’s brother was leaving him, too, and today that… that was too much. “What drives this decision?”

Andrew rose to retrieve his glass, stumbling a bit on the fringe of the carpet. “Take your pick, Gareth. I play around at lord of the manor between furious bouts of drinking and wenching here in Town, I am of no use to you in managing the estates, and I am doomed to dance attendance on Mother and her cronies when she can’t inveigle you into serving. I am, in short, leading a boring, pointless life. Maybe travel will help.”

Andrew hated anything that put him in sight of open water, much less at sea.

“I often felt the urge to travel abroad when I first assumed the title. But travel for me then would have been an escape.”
What
are
you
running
from?
“I will, of course, take the best of care of your properties, and if you want me to attorn for you in your absence, I can do that as well. I have a favor to ask too, however.”

Andrew poured a shot, tossed it back, and spared Gareth a haunted look.

“Please delay your departure until the Worthingtons are safe,” Gareth said, noting the wince crossing Andrew’s features. “Felicity and I will meet with the solicitors tomorrow, and if all goes well, title to Callista’s assets will be transferred shortly thereafter. If somebody is trying to stop the transfer, then their opportunity will soon be at an end. And if that’s not the motivation for various incidents of mischief, I hope we soon know what it is.”

Andrew poured yet another tot—though this one he did not so much as sip—and took his turn at the window surveying the weather. The day had turned nastier yet by virtue of a billowing wind that sent chilly gusts moaning down the chimney.

“I’ll stay for a bit. Don’t ask me to attend the ladies personally, if it can be avoided. As you’ve said, the need for direct dealings between you and Felicity will soon be at an end.”

“It’s Astrid, isn’t it? You are running from Astrid.”

Andrew did not turn, but something probably intended to be a laugh escaped him.

“Astrid is formidable,” he replied. “Don’t think she’s the sole reason I am inclined to travel. I like the girl exceedingly, and wish her many handsome, driveling beaus, with big incomes and small brains. She will twirl them all around her dainty finger, and they’ll never suspect a thing.”

As Astrid likely suspected nothing of the impact she was having on Andrew. The notion brought concern for Gareth’s brother, and—oddly—for the girl. “She’ll be hurt.”

“She might be puzzled,” Andrew conceded, turning from the window. “That will slow her down for about five minutes before she’s on to the next conquest. Did you know she saw Holbrook again in the park before they came to Mother’s?”

And thus the subject
changed
. Gareth took pity on his brother, and followed this gambit.

“No, I did not. Neither of the ladies said anything, but I expect Brenner will brief me on it when he shows up. He won’t be here for another hour, so tell me what you know.”

“Not much,” Andrew said, crossing to the decanter, setting his full glass down, and moving to the hearth. “Astrid said they went to feed the ducks, and there he was, out for a stroll. He walked with them briefly, long enough for Astrid to tell him you and Felicity were not honestly
interested
in each other, and Felicity would be giving you a public set-down to stifle growing speculation to the contrary.”

“Merciful drunken saints,” Gareth muttered, eyeing the dwindling contents of the decanter. “I spent a good half hour in Felicity’s kitchen last night, and she never mentioned this. Astrid may have inadvertently given Felicity’s enemy all he needs to destroy both sisters’ futures.”

Andrew smiled the first real smile Gareth had seen on him that morning, a small, mostly private smile, but real.

“If he’s going to do that, Holbrook is slow off the mark,” Andrew said. “I’ve been out all night and visited no less than two bordellos and three gaming hells, as well as my club. A certain topic has caught everyone’s interest, and it isn’t the true purpose behind your acquaintance with Miss Worthington.”

“Bloody, rubbishing hell.” Gareth returned Andrew’s smile with a sheepish grin. “It wasn’t my idea.”

“You wish it had been. Felicity’s plan has worked. Your personal assets, your tireless energy, and your prodigious imagination regarding contractual matters were the talk of every venue last night. You wouldn’t believe the number of women claiming they sympathize with poor Miss Worthington’s concerns, because you are quite a nice change of pace, but really, as a husband, you’d be just too much. The men, of course, are wickedly envious that you’re considered too much man by at least one pretty lady. If Felicity thought to spare you the humiliation of being jilted, she’s done a bang-up job.”

“A delightful job,” Gareth replied, which did not explain the urge to hurl the decanter at the fire. “I am not a pathetic reject, but I am an object of ridicule.”

“Not ridicule, Brother, envy,” Andrew assured him, his voice gaining a hint of commiseration. “You want to come to darkest Africa with me?”

“Give me a moment to pack and say good-bye to my horse.”
And
a
lifetime
to
say
good-bye to Felicity.

Andrew peered at him more closely, looking damnably sober, which suggested bad things about his habitual consumption of spirits. “You’ve been an object of gossip since you acquired the title. What about those Dutch triplets, hmm? Even Prinny got in his digs about that one.”

“The triplets were Danish; the twins were Dutch.” The triplets—three young ladies with large breasts, big smiles, and small English vocabularies—had been more than five years ago, but God in heaven, what had he been thinking? No wonder Felicity’s unwillingness to marry him had been so credible.

“I weary of this subject, Andrew. If you are to travel, you will need letters of introduction, proper documents, embassy contacts, and suitable bribes to ensure your safe passage. Tell me what I can do to help, and it shall be done. I’ll look in on your estates myself,” he added, realizing he’d never seen Linden, and Andrew had owned the place for years.

“That won’t be necessary,” Andrew said, heading for the door. “If you go to Linden, Mother will want to come, and there’s no telling how long she’ll ensconce herself. Send Brenner, and I’ll be grateful.”

“Andrew?”

Andrew stopped, his hand on the door latch, his back to Gareth. “Yes?”

“I really will miss you,” Gareth said, squeezing his brother’s shoulder. Everything in Andrew’s posture gave warning he did not want to be dissuaded from this course, but it seemed to Gareth at least a gesture of affection was in order. He’d wasted so much on empty physical pleasures with women whose faces he could not recall, and here was his brother, suffering. “And if there’s anything I can do…?”

He let the question hang, while Andrew flinched, shook his head, and walked away, closing the door with a solid click behind him.

The silence left behind was larger and lonelier than it had been before Andrew’s arrival. Gareth would not have been surprised had his mother waltzed in and announced she’d become betrothed to some nabob, soon to decamp for the Orient. And then here he’d be, the possessor of one string of titles, much wealth, and a very tarnished reputation.

And now, recalling Felicity’s parting words, he would be lucky not to be assigned the sobriquet Marquess of Misbehavior. He’d barely resumed his search for Callista’s will when another knock disturbed him, and Brenner, uncharacteristically early, joined him in the library.

“Morning, Brenner. Have a seat, and I’ll ring for tea, unless you’d like to help yourself to breakfast when you depart?”

“I’ll grab some sustenance before I leave, your lordship,” Brenner said. “There are developments relating to the Worthingtons, and you should be apprised of them.”

Gareth leaned back in his chair, thoughts of nabobs, an errant brother, and sobriquets gone. “Out with it, Brenner. I did not sleep well last night, and my customary good cheer has deserted me.”

Brenner muttered about Blessed Saint Jude while sorting his notes, then cleared his throat. “Holbrook accosted the sisters in the park yesterday as they walked out to feed the waterfowl, but I expect, if you’ve seen the ladies, you know that.”

“I have seen the ladies, as you are well aware, Mr. Brenner, but it was Lord Andrew who apprised me of Holbrook’s latest appearance among the dramatis personae. What else can you tell me?”

“He waited in his town coach, back in his usual spot, until he saw the ladies, then took a path to intersect theirs on the way to the duck pond. They chatted, and he walked them back to the gates before taking a proper leave of them. The footmen were on hand at all times, of course.”

Gareth toyed with a white quill pen—the same feather he’d once considered using to intimately annoy Felicity.

“You, Brenner, should be aware Miss Astrid took it upon herself to inform Holbrook her sister would be publicly dropping me later in the day, and to further inform him such an arrangement was our mutual scheme for deflecting gossip. What do you suppose Holbrook will do with that information?”

Brenner’s expression turned thoughtful. “He might well do nothing with it, your lordship. Everything we uncovered about him suggests he is simply a successful country gentleman—albeit with unfortunate antecedents—up to enjoy Town life. He might keep his own counsel.”

“And how was such an innocent fellow out strolling in the park when your men told us he wasn’t even in Town any longer?”

Brenner rearranged his notes, though Gareth would have bet his favorite pair of matched bays the notes were in perfect order. “Mr. Holbrook was taking his leave of the house in disguise.”

“And our fellows couldn’t see through a disguise? Was he posing as a chambermaid?”

“A footman, your lordship. Our men are stationed where they can see the house and its various points of ingress and egress. They are not close enough to see the features on a man’s face, and given that limitation, they have done as we’ve asked.”

Gareth denied himself the useless recriminations boiling up inside him. “You said everything we uncovered about Holbrook suggested he was merely a wealthy rustic with excellent taste in clothing. Why did you use the past tense?”

“A detail has come up, your lordship. You directed me to recheck all the land records, among other tasks, and so I did. You will recall Holbrook acquired properties in Kent at various times since attaining his majority. One of the larger estates, close to ten thousand acres, he acquired from Viscount Riverton some years ago. The detail that has emerged is that Riverton won the property from one Viscount Fairly, whom you would know as Felicity and Astrid Worthington’s father.”

Gareth twirled the feather. “Was it a crooked game?”

“No way to know, your lordship. Riverton does not have a reputation as a cheat, but the best ones don’t. He and Fairly were some kind of friends at the time, and it was a game that had included several other players, all of whom dropped out as the stakes went up and the hour grew quite late. Come morning, Fairly had written his vowels to Riverton to the tune of what must have been the bulk of his private real estate. Riverton then transferred the property to this Holbrook fellow.”

“So their dear father gambled away their security several
years
before his death and still made no provision for their welfare?”

“And it’s a prosperous piece of land, too,” Brenner added mournfully.

Gareth twiddled the feather, struggling with the realization that Felicity’s father hadn’t done anything—not one thing—to preserve his daughters from a life of penury and worse.