Rushed to the Altar (2 page)

The twin brothers were silent, Peregrine still staring in a degree of openmouthed astonishment, and even Sebastian for once looking nonplussed. Jasper thoughtfully tapped his mouth with his fingertips. “Well, I’m sure your goal is a worthy one, sir. And, while I can’t speak for my brothers, for myself I am humbled that you should have such a care for my immortal soul. I take it that should you succumb to your illness before we have accomplished this task, the will is void?”

The viscount chuckled and closed his eyes. “Believe me, dear boy, I have no intention of meeting my Maker until you three are well and truly leg-shackled to women who satisfy my terms. Alton will explain the rest.” He waved a hand at them. “Go away now, and send in that crow Cosgrove. I have some writing to do.”

Alton gathered up his papers and scurried to the door. Sebastian and Peregrine followed; only Jasper remained. He looked down at the old man, who was breathing in shallow gasps, the parchment skin seeming to grow more yellow as the candlelight flickered. “You old fraud,” he murmured. “Of course you’ve no intention of dying on us any time soon. But I will say this, Uncle. Of all the tricks you’ve perpetrated on the world
and your fellow man over your long life, this one takes the crown for sheer hypocrisy.”

Another cackle of malicious amusement ended in a bout of coughing, and the old man waved him away. “Get out, dear boy. I need to preserve my strength . . . indeed, you three should be more than anxious to ensure that I do.” He lay back against the pillows, his eyes glittering as they rested on his nephew’s countenance. For an instant, the old man’s mouth moved in the semblance of a smile. “You’re more like me than you’d care to admit, dear boy.”

“Oh, I don’t deny it, sir.” Jasper chuckled softly. As he turned from the bed a thin angular figure slipped into the room in the black garments of a priest, the weighty gravity of his expression belying his youth.

“Father Cosgrove.” Jasper greeted him pleasantly.

“My lord.” The young priest bowed.

“Get over here, Cosgrove. I have another installment to write and time is running out.” The invalid’s irascible tones made Father Cosgrove wince slightly, but he hastened to the bedside with a murmured, “At once, my lord.”

Jasper shook his head, feeling sorry for the young priest whose role as amanuensis to Viscount Bradley could not have been an easy one . . . certainly no easier than his role as personal priest and confessor. Not for the first time Jasper wondered what project could so involve his uncle in the last months of his life.

He left the bedchamber and joined his brothers, gathered with the lawyer in the antechamber to the bedroom.
Sebastian said without preamble, “Is the old man mad? Can we credit anything he has said?”

“Oh, I think so, Seb, yes,” Jasper observed. He strolled across to a sideboard and picked up a decanter of sherry. “This seems to be all that’s on offer. May I pour for you?” He didn’t wait for a response but filled two glasses and passed them to his brothers. “Alton, for you?”

“Uh, yes, m’lord. Thank you.” Alton fumbled uneasily with his folder of papers as he took the glass handed to him.

Jasper filled one for himself and then crossed the room to the fireplace that was mercifully empty. He put one foot on the fender, rested his free arm along the mantel, and regarded his brothers and the lawyer with the hint of a smile. “So, we have much to discuss, it would seem. No, Perry . . .” He held up an arresting hand as Peregrine began to say something. “Let me speak for a moment and try to present this as I see it.”

Peregrine subsided and perched on the arm of a sofa, staring fixedly at his elder brother. The lawyer sat stiffly on an armless, straight-backed chair, clutching his documents with one hand and his sherry glass in the other.

“First, there’s nothing wrong with our uncle’s mind. In fact I’d say it was working more sharply than ever.” Jasper shook his head. “I imagine he’s been planning this diabolical little scheme for months. Certainly since before he decided to have his road-to-Damascus epiphany.” His smile was sardonic as he took another pinch
of snuff. “You may choose to take that at face value if you wish. I for one don’t believe a word of it; however the whys and wherefores need not concern us. The fact is plain enough. Our uncle is an extremely rich man.” He glanced at the lawyer. “Do you have a figure, Alton?”

“Uh . . . yes, yes, my lord.” He began to shuffle the papers but without looking at them. “Viscount Bradley’s estate is worth in excess of nine hundred thousand pounds.”

Jasper contented himself with a raised eyebrow, although Peregrine drew breath sharply and Sebastian gave a low whistle.

“A goodly sum indeed,” Jasper said after a moment. “Certainly worthy of a nabob of my uncle’s ingenuity. And he could reasonably assume that since his nephews don’t have two pennies to rub together they would be more than willing to fulfill any conditions he might lay down for their inheritance.”

“You have rather more than two pennies, Jasper,” Sebastian pointed out without rancor.

“Yes, I inherited a heavily encumbered estate in Northumberland and an equally mortgaged mausoleum in town, and more debts of our father’s than I can ever imagine settling,” Jasper returned, equally without rancor. “And somehow or other our family name seems to create the expectation of largesse to every devout and poverty-stricken family hanger-on.”

“You need the money too,” Peregrine agreed hastily.

“Precisely. And our uncle knows that perfectly well.
He has no one else to leave it to—” He stopped as the lawyer cleared his throat.

“If I may interrupt, my lord. Lord Bradley has specified that if you and your brothers do not meet the criteria for inheritance before his death his entire estate will go to a convent . . . a silent order, I believe . . . in the Pyrenees.”

Jasper laughed with rich enjoyment. “Oh, has he, indeed? The old fox.” He went to refill his glass, bringing the decanter to his brothers, still laughing. “Well, my dears, it seems we either each comb the streets for a fallen woman and steer her into the paths of righteousness, or we settle for poverty at best and debtor’s prison at worst.” He took an armchair, lounging with one velvet-clad leg crossed over the other. Candlelight glimmered on the silver buckle of his shoe as he swung his foot indolently.

“I don’t see what you find so amusing, Jasper,” Peregrine said.

“Oh, don’t you, Perry? I do.” Sebastian gave his twin a twisted grin. “Jasper’s right. It’s a stark choice.”

“Alton, give us the gory details,” Jasper instructed the lawyer with a nod.

“Well, my lord, first of all, all three of you must satisfy the terms of the will before any one of you can inherit.” Alton shifted a little in his chair. “The weddings must all take place, as you know, before the viscount’s demise. And the estate is to be divided equally, after all the mortgages have been paid on Blackwater
Manor, and on the London property, Blackwater House.”

Jasper nodded in appreciation. “So the old man has some family pride left. Go on. Tell us about our prospective wives. How are they to be described?”

The lawyer consulted his papers again. A flush adorned his cheekbones as he began to read. “ ‘Each prospective bride must be plucked from a situation that is injurious to her immortal soul. Each prospective bride must be without means to provide for a conventional existence. It goes without saying that each prospective bride will not be found in the conventional social circles in which my nephews customarily move, although such a bride may be found in the less acceptable social circles which I’m certain they also frequent.’ ”

“Oh, clever,” Jasper murmured. He chuckled again in admiration. “The old man really has outdone himself. Ever the family outcast himself, he’s determined to force the high sticklers of Sullivan convention to accept into the family women they wouldn’t allow to touch their dirty laundry. Such a neat revenge for all the slights he’s endured over the years. Can you imagine the outrage among the aunts? I can hear them now.” He shook his head, still chuckling.

“That would appear to be the gist of the viscount’s thinking, my lord,” Alton concurred, looking even more uncomfortable.

“I can’t believe even Uncle Bradley would come up with such a diabolical revenge,” Peregrine murmured.
“You’re the head of the family, Jasper, they’ll have to acknowledge your wife however much it galls them.” He subsided, shaking his head gloomily.

“You have it in a nutshell, Perry.” His elder brother smiled into his sherry glass.

The lawyer coughed again. “There is one other thing, gentlemen.” He turned over a page. “His lordship has made available to each of you immediately the sum of five thousand pounds to facilitate your pursuit of a suitable bride. He understands that you are all, for whatever reason, somewhat short of funds.”

“And never did man speak a truer word,” Jasper murmured. He regarded his brothers. “Well, gentlemen, despite the obvious difficulties, do we agree to this joint venture?”

Sebastian shrugged. Then he came forward, hand outstretched. “I do . . . Perry?”

“Yes . . . yes, of course.” Peregrine jumped to his feet, his own hand extended. “But it’s a damn smoky business, whatever you say.”

“Of course . . . what else did you expect from Uncle Bradley?” Jasper inquired, taking his brothers’ hands in turn. He raised his glass in a toast. “Here’s to the success of our enterprise.”

Chapter One
 

The Earl of Blackwater moved through the crowd of drunken revelers outside the Cock tavern in Covent Garden and strolled in leisurely fashion along the colonnaded Piazza. His black garments would have been somber except for the rich luster of the velvet and the soft cream of the lace at his throat and wrists. He wore no jewelry, only the blood-red ruby embedded in his signet ring. His black hair was confined at the neck with a simple silver clasp and he carried a black tricorne hat, its brim edged with gold braid.

He paused to take a leisurely pinch of snuff as he gazed idly around the thronged scene. It was midafternoon of a glorious green and gold day in early October and folk were out in force, men and women of every class and occupation. Dandies lounged with painted whores on their arms. Covent Garden was a market where the main commodity was flesh, whether offered by fashionably dressed ladies accompanied by their footmen, or their less fortunate sisters standing in the doorways of
the coffeehouses and the wooden shacks that crowded the outskirts of the central court, lifting ragged petticoats to display the invitation of a plump thigh.

Jasper set his hat on his head as he walked, one hand as always on the hilt of his sword, both mind and body alert. The nimble fingers of a pickpocket were all too frequently encountered in Covent Garden and anywhere else in the city where crowds gathered.

He had just been visiting Viscount Bradley and felt the need to breathe some fresh cool air after the viscount’s overheated bedchamber. He had found his uncle as irascible as ever, but out of bed and seated by a blazing fire, imbibing, liberally and against his physician’s orders, the rich ruby contents of a decanter of port. Father Cosgrove, quill in hand, sat at the secretaire in the window embrasure, and the rather pathetic relief he had evinced at the earl’s unannounced arrival earned Jasper’s sympathy once more.

A slight smile touched his lips as Jasper recalled his uncle’s response to the offer his nephew had made to have his body transported to the family mausoleum at Blackwater Manor on his death—a response that had caused poor Father Cosgrove to seek the instant comfort of his rosary, his lips moving in silent prayer.

I don’t want to rot in the company of those sanctimonious, holier-than-thou ancestors, nephew. I’ve lived my life and paid for my sins, and I’ll lie with other good, honest sinners in a good, honest churchyard.

He had then demanded to know how far Jasper had
progressed in his search for a wife, a question that had reminded the Earl of Blackwater of his negligence thus far. He had left his uncle’s house and was now strolling in Covent Garden, mulling over what seemed an intractable problem. He had no desire to marry anyone, let alone some forlorn creature in need of spiritual salvation; he had enough need of that for himself. But without his uncle’s money, he was eventually facing debtors’ prison and a pauper’s grave, not to mention the irretrievable loss of everything the Blackwater family held dear. And, he had to admit, he had enough pride in his family’s name and lineage not to view its loss with sanguinity.

He realized his footsteps were taking him towards a pieman. The tray slung around the lad’s neck was laden with golden offerings, fragrant steam rising from the puffed crusts. Only then did Jasper recognize his own hunger. He hadn’t eaten since the previous evening and the scent set his juices running. He was reaching for the leather pouch of coins he kept in an inside pocket of his waistcoat when something ran headlong into his midriff.