During the week since his return to Easton House, Sebastian had been busy sorting through the mess of records and documents that his uncle had left behind. The man was a slovenly slob when it came to keeping a tight accounting of all five estates that had been under his care. He had managers and solicitors handling various aspects, but little had been arranged in any sort of order.
Sitting at his desk in the library, he glanced over at Tristan, casually sprawled on the sofa—obviously life at sea was not as regimented as the army—leisurely reading an assortment of documents they’d discovered in a drawer. They looked to be little more than reports from various overseers, but it was imperative that Sebastian learn as much of the important matters in as short a span of time as possible. If not for his devious uncle, he would have been at his father’s side, learning all that he needed to know to manage his estates. As it was, he had to ferret out information. He was simply grateful that his brother had decided to join him in residence and assist with the monstrous task. It made sense that he be as familiar as possible with everything associated with the titles and estates. He was, after all, the spare.
And if Sebastian had no luck securing a wife, it would be Tristan or his son who would eventually inherit and hold the titles. Sebastian intended to ensure that his heir presumptive was educated in all things. If it came to that.
“You should consider joining me at Rafe’s tonight,” Tristan said distractedly. “His gaming tables are excellent.”
“Which I suppose means that no one catches you cheating.”
Tristan grinned. Even as a lad he’d had a penchant for seeking shortcuts. “A man caught cheating on the seas is tossed to the sharks . . . or feels the bite of a cat-o-nine.”
It was the opening Sebastian had been waiting for. He leaned back and kept his voice as casual as possible. “Is that what happened to you? You were found guilty of cheating?”
He’d only caught a glimpse of his brother’s back once—when he’d walked into his room at Rafe’s without knocking. But it had been enough to send guilt and fury spiraling through him. His brother’s back had been torn apart—more than once based upon the thickness of the scars. Tristan had merely shrugged into his shirt and ordered him to never walk in unannounced again.
Tristan tossed aside the missive he’d been reading. “Boring rubbish, this. I don’t know why we’re bothering with it.”
“Because we don’t know what may be of value. And you avoided answering my question.”
Tristan shoved himself to his feet, walked to the window, and gazed out on the magnificent gardens. Sebastian couldn’t fault his uncle for the manner in which he’d taken care of the London residence. Everything was in good repair. An abundance of fine liquor was easily at hand. The horses were of strong stock. The carriages were well-sprung. Nothing was in want of attention. Except the books. They left him feeling as though he were overlooking something vital.
“I wasn’t accustomed to being ordered about,” Tristan finally said quietly. “I enjoyed a good brawl. A lot of anger churned within me, and there are few places to unleash it on a ship.”
“I’m sorry for the hardship.”
Tristan faced him. “Did you find orders easy to take?”
He shook his head. “Saved every ha’penny I earned so I could purchase my way up the ranks to be the one who gave them rather than the one taking them. I never was completely without orders being thrown at me, but in time they became fewer in number and I was issuing most of them.”
“Well, there you are then. We are better suited to being gentlemen of leisure.” He spread his arms wide. “So here we are.”
“Why do I have the impression you are chomping at the bit to be elsewhere?”
“Because there’s no blasted wind here. I enjoy standing on the deck with the wind billowing the sails. Out there is freedom. Here I am left with the constant sense that I’m on the verge of being caught.”
“By Uncle?” Had there been threats? Had he spied someone lurking in the shadows? Sebastian was at a disadvantage because he could only ever clearly see the shadows to his right.
Tristan scoffed. “God, no. I’d welcome him attempting to do me harm. They couldn’t hang me for self-defense.” He shook his head. “I’m not quite sure what it is that bothers me. The thought of domesticity perhaps. Of being reined in.”
“A woman then. Has someone caught your fancy?”
He laughed. “They all catch my fancy.”
Sebastian was well aware that Tristan caught theirs. During his time at Rafe’s, he’d seen the women draped over Tristan as though he stole the bones from their bodies with a mere glance. Even at Lady Ivers’s dinner party, the young ladies were eyeing Tristan as though he were their favorite chocolate. He wasn’t envious, but he did miss the enthusiasm with which women had once come to his bed.
The door opening caught his attention. His butler strode in, carrying a salver. Sebastian came to his feet, wondering who might be calling.
“A missive has arrived, Your Grace.”
Sebastian took the envelope, turned it over. The waxed seal carried no crest, but outlined a single rose. Perfume wafted up to tease his nostrils. Orchids. It had been more than a week since he’d relished Mary’s sweet fragrance, but he would recognize it anywhere.
“You’re done here, Thomas. I’ll ring for you if I need to send a response.”
“Very good, sir.”
He waited until the butler had left before returning to his chair. He’d never had any correspondence while he was away. He’d envied the men who had received missives from home. He slid the tip of the letter opener into place and relished the ripping sound. He removed the folded paper and opened it.
It’s imperative that we meet at Rotten Row at four. I shall be riding a chestnut gelding.
Always your friend,
Mary
As though he needed to know the shade of her horse in order to find her. Her hair would give her location away. Even tucked up beneath a hat, it would serve as a divining rod for him.
“I can’t determine if you’re delighted or bothered by what you’re reading,” Tristan murmured.
“It’s from Mary. She wishes to meet me at Hyde Park. She says it’s important.”
“Rather cryptic. Any notion regarding what might be important?”
“No, but I doubt it bodes well.” He trailed his finger over the delicate script. He wondered if this meeting would go any better than the previous ones. He did hope they weren’t forever destined to have abrupt partings.
“Maybe she’s simply inventing some excuse to see you again,” Tristan said. “You two seldom went a day without visiting each other, and here it’s been several.”
“We were children, caught up in play.”
“ ’Tis true she’s no longer a child, but that doesn’t mean you can’t get caught up in play.”
Sebastian scowled at Tristan. “She is a lady for God’s sake. Do not imply otherwise.”
“Have you no interest in her at all?”
“As a friend, of course. As more than that . . . I do not think we’d suit.” He looked away when Tristan arched an eyebrow. “Besides, she’s betrothed.”
“Betrothals can be broken.”
“Not without consequences.”
“So you’ve considered it?”
“No.” Blast his brother for even putting the notion in his head.
“I think he selected her for her dowry. Her father was quite generous with it. Fitzwilliam’s family’s coffers are not quite as flush as they lead people to believe.”
“How do you know this?”
Tristan grinned. “Not all ladies are indeed ladies. And as much as I like Rafe’s girls, I don’t fancy paying for my pleasures. We are a curiosity. As such many bedchamber doors—or in my case often windows—are opened to us.”
“We’re striving to regain our place and your actions could very well undo it.”
“I’m insulted, Sebastian. I’m very careful, and I would never take advantage of an innocent. But I swear to you, Brother, there are a good many uninnocent wenches who long to embrace the danger I can provide. You could have some fun yourself.”
“We have enough scandal associated with our name. I see no reason to sully it further.”
“And I see no reason not to take advantage of our notoriety. But we’ve wandered off topic. You had an interest in Fitzwilliam.”
“Not in the man, per se, but in his . . .” How could he explain? “Is he good for Mary? Her aunt assures me he is of good stock, but is that enough?”
“Perhaps that is a question you should ask her when you see her.”
Perhaps he would.
As Mary trotted her horse along Rotten Row, she knew she would have been wise to have come to the park in the landau so her aunt and cousin could accompany her, but she and Sebastian had often ridden together as children. She thought that familiarity should serve her well now. She’d not seen him since the night of the dinner party, and while she didn’t owe him any consideration, she did feel a sense of obligation toward him. Not pity. He would detest that emotion. She’d seen that well enough after her tears had surfaced at the ball when he made his appearance. Charity, perhaps. Although even that he would no doubt disdain.
The lords of Pembrook were the topic of conversation at every dinner, and last night’s ball as well. The older ladies plotted how to keep them away from their daughters. The daughters gathered in dark corners and whispered about occasional sightings. Someone had seen Lord Tristan striding into a tailor’s on Regent Street. Someone else reported seeing him at the haberdashery. Lord Rafe seemed to be as much of a recluse as the duke for no one spied him. They understood Keswick’s hesitancy to be seen, but still they discussed how best to lure the lords from their lair. It was Rafe and Tristan that they seemed most intent upon capturing.
Often Mary was sought out for advice. As though she knew the intimate details about the brothers. But they were not the lads she’d known, and she could provide very little in the way of assurances that they would soon be making the rounds. While she doubted they would ever admit it, she suspected they weren’t quite comfortable with their return to Society. They had never traversed the maze of etiquette or—more importantly—the elusive rituals not taught to children. One’s reputation was improved or tarnished based upon to whom one was seen speaking. How one danced, how one laughed, how one dressed—all were studied and commented on. Did a lady stand beside a frond, behind it, or in front of it? Did one look as though she desperately wished to dance or did she act as though she could hardly be bothered? Trivial behaviors that could mean so much. Her own experiences had taught her that it could all be quite intimidating, and she suspected that even men as world-weary as the lords of Pembrook would find it so.
Still when Lady Hermione had cornered her at last night’s ball and asked once more for the favor of Mary encouraging the brothers to attend her ball, she decided no harm would come of asking.
She spotted Sebastian in the distance, his black horse loping along. From here, although she couldn’t see his scars, it was easy enough to identify him. He sat a horse magnificently and rode with confidence. Even if she’d not known who he was, she’d have identified him as a lord. His erect carriage spoke of self-assurance, a man who knew his place, one not to be trifled with. Even as a lad, he’d ridden with the same grace. She found comfort in knowing not everything had changed.
Unerringly he guided his horse toward her, as though he’d spied her the moment he entered the park, had known exactly where she was to be found. She brought her own horse to a halt as he drew his near. Reins in hand, he did little more than touch his fingers to the brim of his hat, and she assumed he felt more at ease with his face remaining in shadow. Just as he had during each encounter, he ensured that his handsome side was directed toward her.
“Lady Mary.”
“Your Grace.” She longed to see his mouth twitch with humor or to hear his laughter echoing over the green of the park.
“You indicated an urgency to our meeting.”
Blushing, she tilted her head down slightly and peered up at him, giving him an impish smile. “I may have overstated matters, but I feared if I merely requested you join me that you would find an excuse not to.”
He narrowed his eye, tightened his jaw, and she thought if she had no history with him that she might have been intimidated. “So your missive was a ruse?”
“It was for your own good. You can’t possibly think that attending my aunt’s dinner party was enough to earn your place in Society. You need to be seen about. Shall we walk?”
“I prefer to ride.”
She squelched her disappointment. Walking provided an ease in talking that riding didn’t, but it also would shelter her reputation. “Then ride we shall.”
She urged her horse forward. Rather than simply turn his about, he guided it around hers until the unmarred side of his face was again within her view. It irritated her that he would think her so shallow. “I’m not put off by your scars.”
“Still, no need to inflict them on you when there is an alternative.”
“You can be quite obstinate.”
“I learned it from you.”
Laughing, she peered over at him. “I do believe, Your Grace, that you taught me about obstinacy. I was quite biddable as a child.”
“Never. Not from the moment we crossed paths were you ever biddable.”
Even though the words indicated easy banter, his tone didn’t, as though he were forcing himself into a role that didn’t quite fit.
“You mustn’t let your discomfort during the parlor game keep you from attending other affairs,” she said quietly.
“It hasn’t. I’ve been quite busy putting matters to rights.”
“Such as?” she challenged.
She could see the determined set of his jaw. He didn’t want to explain his actions, but their long-ago friendship prevented him from telling her to mind her own business. He owed her, and while he might instruct everyone else to go to the devil he wouldn’t toss the order out to her.
“If you must know, my uncle was known to purchase items on credit,” he said succinctly.
“Most of the aristocracy does.” Her father paid his creditors once a year.
“Yes, well, I don’t hold with the practice. I’ve informed them that they’ll receive no further funds from the house of Keswick for anything he purchases.”
“Does he have his own means?”
“I think it unlikely. He presently resides in an area that is one step above squalor.” He glanced over at her. “I suppose you think me without mercy.”
“No, of course not. I think you have every right to be even more harsh where he’s concerned. But I have wondered . . .” She let her voice trail off. Bringing forth the words was not easy.
“What, Mary? What have you wondered?”
She forced herself to meet his gaze. “What if I misheard? What if he was talking of killing chickens for the following day’s dinner or . . . I don’t know. Why did he wait so long to make a claim for the title?”
“To avoid suspicion of foul play.” He studied her. “What exactly did you hear that night?”
It all seemed so distant. A foggy memory now, faded with time, and yet the words came to her as though she heard them only moments before.
“Someone said, ‘The lads, m’lord, now that they are in the tower . . . what would you have me do with them?’ And then I heard your uncle say, ‘Why, kill them, of course.’ He laughed then. Could he have been joking? My father does not believe he was serious. I could hardly countenance the words I heard. I do wish I knew to whom he spoke.”
“It sounds as though it was one of the men who escorted us to the tower. I’ve not seen any of them since our return. I should look at the record of servants hired and let go. See if I can determine what became of them.”
“How many were there?”
“Four. We went so docilely. I think we were still reeling from our father’s death. It was not until the door in the tower clanged closed and I heard the key grinding in the lock that I realized something was amiss. I’m not certain how I could have been so unaware.”
She looked out over the greenery of the park. So lush and peaceful. It was difficult to believe that such evil lurked in the world.
“Why would you suspect your uncle of wishing you harm?”
“I should have suspected. Not until we were in the tower did I even consider that he might have killed Father.”
She stared at him in open-mouthed amazement. “You don’t believe your father had a riding accident?”
He gave her a pointed look. “You bashed in the head of a guard and you were a mere slip of a girl.”
“He didn’t die. I snuck back to Pembrook the next day to make sure he was all right. I saw him walking about.”
Sebastian glared at her. “Do you know how reckless that was?”
“I had to learn the truth. I couldn’t live with myself if he’d died.”
“Unlike my uncle who seems to live with himself very well.”
“Have you proof he killed your father?”
“No, only suspicions.”
“You may never have proof, Sebastian.”
“I’m well aware of that, but I shall not rest until he is made to account for his actions.”
Mary realized she’d strayed from her purpose in having him meet her here. She could feel gazes coming to light on her, imagined that speculation was brewing. A time existed when she’d have not cared, but now her reputation extended to Fitzwilliam and she’d not have him regret asking for her hand in marriage. She would do nothing to bring him shame. Yet here she was, flirting at the edge of it. Word would no doubt reach him that she’d been spied in the park riding with Keswick. She’d tarried long enough.
“The Countess of Weatherly is hosting a ball this evening,” Mary told him. “I know you received an invitation.” Lady Hermione had decided to send a servant around with it, in spite of her mother’s objections. “It would behoove you and your brothers to make an appearance. Even if only for a short time.”
“Still watching out for us, Mary?”
“Someone must or you could make quite a mess of it. Your uncle had twelve years to develop friendships and trust among those who matter. It is not enough to exile him from your home. Some are less than impressed with your claim.”
“I have no need to impress anyone. The law is on my side.”
“But Society is not.” She hated the harshness of her words, wished she’d been able to find a softer way to deliver them. “I assume you and your brothers, at some point, will want to marry. Will want children. If Society does not accept you, it matters not that you hold a title. Your family will suffer the scandal and gossip.”
“I am quite busy putting other matters to rights.”
“Yes, as you said earlier but you cannot use that excuse to ignore this aspect of your title. It will serve you greatly to be well-thought of.”
She detected a subtle stiffening in his posture. “Are you implying that I’m presently not?”
“No one knows you, Sebastian. They speculate. They gossip. They arrive at their own conclusions. And I must reluctantly confess that most are not flattering. Unfortunately I’ve not been in London long enough to acquire enough currency so that my words in support of you carry much weight.”
If at all possible he became tenser. “And what of your betrothed? Do his words carry weight?”
“Not as much as they will when he inherits his father’s title.”
He hesitated then said, “Fitzwilliam. Is he a good man, then?”
She scowled teasingly at him. “You think I am such a silly ninny as to select a bad man?”
She detected a bit of light in the blue of his eye, almost as though he’d stumbled upon something humorous and wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. “I suppose it was a rather pointless question. I always did enjoy bantering with you.”
She had enjoyed doing so many things with him. “I feared you’d forget all about me.”
“With hair as red as yours? How could anyone forget about you?”
She was surprised by the disappointment his words brought. She wanted it to be more than her hair that was memorable. She wanted him to remember every aspect of her, but more importantly she wanted him to remember how well they had gotten along, how strong their bond had been, how they had once laughed, how they’d dared to share a forbidden kiss. She wanted him to admit that he’d missed her as much as she had him. And she realized her thoughts had turned onto a dangerous path. When had she become such a self-centered chit who wanted to be the focus of his world when she could no longer be in the center of his world? “I fear I’ve lingered here too long. Please consider the Weatherly ball. I’ll save you a dance.”
She wasn’t certain why she’d said the last. He’d given no indication that such an offer would sway him, and now she was rather embarrassed that she’d made it. Besides she was betrothed and it was completely inappropriate for her to casually toss out any sort of flirtatious banter. Before he could catch sight of the blush warming her cheeks, she urged her horse into a trot.
She hadn’t issued the invitation for her personal gain. She’d done it because everything she’d told him was true: he needed to secure his place among the peerage in a more civilized manner. Still a small part of her couldn’t help but hope that he would accept her offer for a dance.