Miss Richardson Comes Of Age (Zebra Regency Romance) (3 page)

Thorne Wainwright, Earl of Rolsbury, reluctantly and clumsily climbed the steps of his London townhouse.

“Welcome home, my lord,” his unflappable butler said.

“Thank you, Perkins. Is my brother here?” Thorne leaned heavily on his walking stick. Five years since Waterloo, yet three days in a traveling coach and his leg stiffened up painfully.

“Er ... yes, my lord, but I think he has not yet arisen.”

“Not yet—Good God, man, it is nearly noon!”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Send word that I shall see him in the library in half an hour.”

“Very good, my lord.” The butler snapped his fingers at a hovering footman to tell him to see to it.

Thirty minutes later an obviously hurriedly dressed Luke Wainwright entered the library to find his brother seated behind the huge mahogany desk that dominated the book-lined room. The desk was already strewn with papers.

“Gads, Thorne, you might have sent some warning you were coming.” Luke sounded youthful, petulant, and defensive.

“I was unaware of needing permission to visit my own house—any of them.” Thorne rubbed his leg, carefully concealing the action from his brother.

“That is not what I meant. And what is it you want from me?”

“Sit down.” Scowling with both discomfort and displeasure, Thorne gestured to a chair in front of the desk. “Now—just what in the hell have you been up to?”

“I ... I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“For starters, there are all these duns from creditors.” Thorne held up a sheaf of papers. “Do you never bother to check the post for anything but perfumed notes from some lightskirt? Some of these are weeks overdue.”

Luke ran a finger around his neckcloth, which appeared to have suddenly tightened. “I . . . uh . . . well . . .”

“Come on. Out with it. Why have you not paid these accounts?”

“I meant to. But I’ve had uncommonly bad luck at the tables lately, you see, and . . . well . . . a debt of honor comes first, as you know.”

“Gaming debts? Besides these bills from tradesmen, you have amassed gaming debts as well?” In his annoyance, Thorne made no effort to control his voice. “I did not encourage you to come to town to create a load of debt in gaming hells!”

“It—it is not as though I
meant
to do so. After all, anyone can have a streak of bad luck—”

Thorne snorted in contempt. “‘Bad luck’ usually translates to lack of skill or too much drink—or some other distraction.”

Thorne saw a slow flush creep over his brother’s countenance.

“Yes. Well . . . if you could perhaps give me an advance on next quarter’s allowance . . . ?” His voice trailed off and there was not much hope in it.

“Yes. Well.” Thorne deliberately repeated Luke’s words. “How much have you lost?”

Luke’s mouth worked and his neckcloth moved up and down as he swallowed and named a figure.

Thorne felt his eyebrows climb upward. “Good God, boy! Have you no sense at all? I leave you on your own for a few months and you amass debts like the king himself!”

“Oh, now, it is not quite
that
bad . . .”

“Damned near! And I’ll not have it—you hear? There’s nothing wrong with a bit of gentlemanly play, but this is ridiculous.” He paused, letting his words sink in as he deliberately shuffled through some of the papers again. Finally, he held Luke’s gaze and said, “Very well. I shall pay them—but if you perform another such idiotic stunt, I swear, Luke, I’ll see you rot in debtors’ prison before I do so again. Now—to whom do you owe all this blunt?”

“Some to Rhoads. A bit to George Ferris. Mostly to Viscount Beelson.”

“Who?” Thorne fairly shouted the word. “Did you say Beelson?”

“Y-yes.”

“You idiot! You confounded idiot. That sorry jackanapes was probably cheating you right and left without your even knowing it!”

Luke leapt to his feet. “Here now, Thorne. I ain’t such a flat as all that.”

Thorne gazed at his brother and tried to control his anger which, in truth, was directed more at Beelson and even himself than at Luke. Finally, he softened his tone. “No, I doubt you are. But Beelson is clever—he rarely gets caught in his knavery.”

“He . . . he has been a capital fellow to me,” Luke insisted, beginning to pace in agitation. “I did not know you were even acquainted with him. ’Taint like you to judge another on hearsay.”

“Nor do I do so now. He was only a year ahead of me in school.”

Luke halted in mid-stride, a look of surprise on his face. “Is that so?”

“You thought him younger?”

“Um ... well . . . yes. As a matter of fact, I did.” Luke abruptly sat down again.

“You might ask yourself why a man of his age and experience would choose to befriend someone with whom he has so little in common.”

“I am sure you are eager to enlighten me.”

His brother’s resentment was clear and Thorne wondered how he might have presented his own views differently. Lord! Had he no recollection of the tender sensibilities of youth?

“You are not the first young buck to be fleeced by someone older and less scrupulous than you. And certainly not the first to be had by Beelson! But I would surmise that he took special satisfaction in subjecting
my
younger brother to his schemes.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Luke’s resentment was overwhelmed by curiosity.

“Let us just say there is bad blood between the two of us.”

“But you are not telling
me
the whole of it—is that it?” Resentment was back in full force.

“No, I am not, for it involves another as well.”

“Until you can offer a more substantive reason for me to cut the connection, I see no reason to give up Ralph’s friendship.”

“Ralph
is it?” Thorne was silent for a moment. “Well, I have no intention of choosing your companions for you. However, Beelson is not welcome in my house. I will thank you not to invite him here.”

“As you wish,” Luke said stiffly. “ ’Tis your house and you hold the purse strings.”

“Yes, I do. And know this, Luke—” Thorne held his brother’s gaze. “I will advance you the money to pay all these debts—including your gaming debts—this time. You will repay the exact sum when you come into your own fortune.”

Luke sneered. “And when might that be? You control that, too.”

“You know very well the terms of Mother’s will. When you are twenty-seven or when I deem you responsible enough to handle your own affairs.”

“And I suppose you find it to your advantage to prolong that event.”

Thorne drew in a deep breath and struggled for patience. “No,” he said with studied calm. “At the moment, though, it would appear to be to
your
advantage.”

“Hah!”

Thorne’s patience snapped. “Believe what you will. But know this, little brother—I will not advance you another farthing after these debts are paid.” He waved the sheaf of papers at Luke. “You
will
learn to live within your rather generous income.”

“And if I do not?”

The peevish bravado of this response annoyed Thorne even further. “Then I shall simply cut your allowance entirely and you can rusticate at Rolsbury Manor.”

Silence reigned as Thorne wrote out a bank draft for the sum Luke had named.

“There.” He handed the draft to the younger man. “We will speak no more of this.”

“I insist on giving you an IOU,” Luke said, sounding very stiff.

“That is not necessary.”

“I think it is.”

Luke rose and reached for paper and pen to scratch out the note of indebtedness. Thorne hid both his surprise and his approbation.

“Now. Is that all?” Luke asked, still standing.

“No. Sit down, please.” Luke sat on the edge of the chair, his hands on his knees, and waited for Thorne to continue.

Thorne deliberated, wondering how best to approach a more sensitive subject. Head-on, of course, he answered himself. “I want to know about this chit you have been making a cake of yourself over.”

“How did you know—? Ah, I know. Aunt Dorothy. I suppose she couldn’t wait to tattle to the family patriarch.”

“So, it is true, then?”

“How am I to know if what you heard is the truth?”

“Try not to equivocate. Did you offer for the girl knowing full well you would need my approval for such an action?”

“Well . . . yes. But in six months I will not require your permission to marry. I shall be of age then.” There was a note of triumph in Luke’s tone.

“You think to support a wife—
and
maintain your manner of living—” Thorne gestured to the bills on his desk—“on the allowance you receive as a bachelor?”

“I thought . . .”

“You and your ladybird thought I would be forced to accept
a fait accompli
—is that it?”

“Not exactly. And she is not my ladybird.”

“Well, what is she then? Aunt Dorothy reports that your Miss Richardson has been on the town for three Seasons, and now she seeks to attach a green boy? You
will
eventually come into a comfortable fortune.”

“It is not like that at all. Lord! You really should come to town once in awhile. Ever since Waterloo you have been a recluse at the Manor. You need to get out more, brother dear.”

“Perhaps I do—if only to keep you from making a fool of yourself. However, you forget—I was here just last autumn for the Queen’s trial.” Had it really been less than a year, he wondered, since the king had tried to enlist the aid of Parliament in ridding his royal self of his estranged wife?

“Only because all peers were required to be here—or pay a huge fine.”

Thorne made no reply to this. It was, after all, the truth.

Luke went on, “And even then, you never went out. Why, you even went back home during that recess they had between the king’s accusation and her defense. I would wager you came this year only because you are required to take part in the coronation.”

“Well, that would be yet another wager you would lose.”

Luke colored slightly at this none-too-subtle reminder. “Then why
did
you come now? It is a good two months and more until the coronation.”

“There are a few other matters of concern to the country besides celebrating the accession of the fourth George to the throne.”

Luke gaped at him openly. “You came to town to take an active role in Parliament?”

“Partly.
And
to ensure that you are not bamboozled into an ill-advised marriage.”

Luke’s color deepened. “Well, you need not concern yourself with that. She turned me down.”

Thorne raised his brows at this. “Did she now? Well, that is a common ploy of females. Unusual in a fortune hunter, though.”

Luke, apparently fuming over the entire conversation, simply gave him a tight little smile and did not respond verbally. There was a moment of silence during which Thorne wondered what was
really
going on in his brother’s mind.

“Will that be all?” Luke finally asked.

“Yes. You may go. But do think twice before you propose again.”

“I
told
you she refused me.” Luke quickly made his escape.

Thorne sat back in his chair and again rubbed his thigh where a French musket ball had put an end to his military career. Perhaps it had been a mistake to allow Luke such a free rein in the last few months. He was, after all, a mere boy. A mere boy? Thorne shook his head ruefully. Only in the eyes of a brother nearly a decade older. Had Luke himself not pointed out how close he was to the age of majority? Besides, he was already older than Thorne had been when he joined Wellington’s forces in the Peninsula.

Numbers on a calendar do not equal maturity, Thorne reminded himself. Still, the lad’s insistence on signing that IOU had been a responsible step. But proposing marriage to some female who was looking to advance her material or social advantage? That smacked of immaturity—not to say muddy thinking.

Well, any woman seeking to entrap the younger Wainwright would find herself contending with the older brother! Had he not always protected persons for whom he was responsible, be they either of his siblings, soldiers in the field, or tenants? He would hardly avoid that self-imposed duty at this stage of his life!

 

 

Thorne’s first decision in dealing with the problem of the troublesome female followed closely on Luke’s departure from the library. The Earl of Rolsbury had come to town largely to take some sort of role in political matters that were directly affecting his people in Lincolnshire. Now he would himself have to appear on London’s social scene in order to learn firsthand what this scheming Richardson woman was up to with his brother. First, though, he would call upon his Aunt Dorothy.

Lady Dorothy Conwick welcomed him the next day. She was a tall woman with iron-gray hair and a no-nonsense approach to life. Thorne had always thought she liked her pet dogs—two Welsh terriers—better than she did people. She held one in her lap now, stroking it frequently. “How very agreeable to find you have finally come to town without a government edict as your only incentive.”

“Your last letter was rather insistent, was it not?”

She gave a decidedly unladylike snort. “My insistence never persuaded you before—and I doubt it did so now.”

“I had no family member courting disaster before,” he said.

“Your brother is certainly doing that from all that I hear.” She proceeded to give him an account of Luke’s deep play at gaming hells—a surprisingly accurate account, Thorne thought, judging by what Luke had revealed the day before.

“Yes. I know about those activities and I have taken steps to curb them.”

“Well, what about his foolish behavior with Miss Richardson?” she demanded.