Chapter 16
Heading toward Wollstonecraft Hall for the first-Monday-of-the-month family meeting, Riordan was apprehensive. Garrett must have kept his word and said nothing, because his father and grandfather did not descend on him in Carrbury, demanding an explanation for his actions. And they would have, if they’d known about his hasty marriage.
There was no meeting last month, as his father and grandfather had been busy with parliament. It struck him he hadn’t heard from Aidan since moving to Carrbury two months past. For all his brother’s excesses, they usually stayed in touch. He’d specifically asked his twin to correspond with him, but he’d received no word at all. Well, he would be at the meeting. Aidan wouldn’t dare ignore a summons from the earl.
As for his marriage…his thoughts drifted to the previous Sunday and the magical afternoon he and Sabrina had spent together. Any chance I am able, I will be kissing you. I can’t not kiss you. Do you understand? But since his passionate confession he’d only kissed her twice. Riordan thought it best to slow things down, more for Sabrina’s sake than his own. At least for this week—even though she’d responded to his desperate plea with, Yes. Kiss me. Always. As soon as he returned, he would fulfill her request with enthusiasm.
At his core, he was a sensible man, raised to take responsibility for his emotions and actions no matter how riotous. He’d married Sabrina in order to assist her with her plight, but that was only part of his motive. He’d been attracted to her from the moment she showed up at his door hidden under the hood of her cloak. Kissing her had been a revelation. Apparently he knew nothing about desire, because everything he’d experienced before did not even come close to what he felt when Sabrina was in his arms.
If he wanted to try and convince her there could be more between them than this temporary legal arrangement, his original assessment of taking things slow had been the correct one. The way she’d melted in his arms showed passion existed in her. He need only allow her the time to acknowledge her hidden sensuality.
His trepidation grew as the tree-lined drive leading to Wollstonecraft Hall came into view. The property consisted of magnificent grounds, ideal for hunting, though none of the Wollstonecraft men did it for sport, as they found it barbaric, particularly fox hunting. The original house, done in the Tudor style and constructed in the sixteenth century, had all but been demolished, except for the timber-framed entrance and front hall.
The additional wings were Gothic Revival and Georgian, light beige brick with Palladian windows. The small Gothic wing sported black brick with lancet windows. As the sprawling building came into view, Riordan smiled. In spite of its strange, eccentric look, this was home. His arrival had been anticipated, for Martin stood by the door while a young lad from the stable hovered nearby to take charge of Grayson.
“Good to see you, sir,” Martin said. His deep voice resonated but had a gentle, firm tone. The no-nonsense butler had been around as long as Riordan could remember. He’d been hired as a young footman about four decades ago. Around the age of Riordan’s grandfather, Martin commanded respect from the other servants and ran the hall in an efficient manner. Tall, lean, and gray-haired, he stood ramrod straight, motioning to a young footman who’d appeared in the doorway to take Riordan’s valise.
“Good to be home, Martin. Am I the last to arrive?” He slid off Grayson, giving the horse an affectionate pat on the neck before handing the reins to the stable boy.
“No, sir. Master Aidan has yet to make an appearance. You will find the earl, the viscount, and Master Garrett in the library. Dinner will be at eight.” Riordan had departed at the crack of dawn in order to have most of the afternoon to visit.
“I’ll go the library first and greet the family, but will wish a bath before dinner. Who will attend me?”
By their own choice, both he and Aidan did not have their own valets, nor did Garrett. Usually one of the footmen stepped in when needed, such as preparing for formal occasions or seeing that baths were prepared. Otherwise, the twins looked after themselves, shaving, dressing, and the like.
Handing his hat, gloves, and cloak to Martin, Riordan strode through the hall, steeling his spine for the confrontation ahead. Should he tell them now? At dinner? Tomorrow morning at the meeting? Spilling the information over brunch before he departed was the coward’s way. Not his style at all.
Stepping into the library, he found his grandfather, father, and uncle sipping whiskey and sitting in the half circle of leather chairs before the large stone medieval fireplace. A roaring fire crackled in the hearth, the logs snapping noisily on the grate.
“Riordan, my lad,” his grandfather called out, a warm smile on his face. Martin had followed Riordan into the library and was already pouring a tumbler of scotch. When Riordan sat, Martin handed him the drink. “Thank you, Martin. That will be all.” The butler bowed toward the earl and left the room.
“You look well, Riordan,” his father stated. The viscount, though self-contained and not as outwardly affectionate as the earl, felt things profoundly. Riordan never doubted that his father loved him. One only had to look at his astounding record in parliament, fighting and speaking passionately for progressive causes, to see the proof. But it was not only in his work—he’d spent as much time as he could with him and Aidan as they grew.
“As do you, Father.” Once settled in with his drink, he savored the comforting warmth, not only from the fire, but also from being with his family. Which reminded him. “Where is Aidan? Sleeping?”
His father frowned. “We have not heard from Aidan. At all. Not once in the past two months.”
Riordan looked to Garrett, who said, “It’s true. We sent runners out to his usual haunts and…nothing. He’s gone to ground.”
Riordan did not like the sound of this. “How odd, he’s never done that before. He has always stayed in contact, no matter how deeply immersed in his vices. But I haven’t heard from him either.” He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “Damn, I’ve been caught up in my own… Is anything being done to locate him?”
His father nodded. “Of course. We have people in Bath and London and points beyond. He will be found. And dealt with.” His father’s expression turned stony. Aidan was in deep trouble. He’d been sinking for months, but this was the final straw.
“Tell us about Carrbury and your teaching. Garrett was sparse on details,” his grandfather said, no doubt glad to change the subject.
Garrett laughed. “Da, I wasn’t in the schoolroom with him. I was only there for a couple of nights.”
Riordan stared into the depths of his whiskey. Why put off the inevitable? Might as well reveal it. “I was married. Last week.”
The silence was deafening. The only sounds came from the fire crackling in the hearth and the pendulum clock on the mantel ticking away the awkward minutes.
“What did you say?” His father’s tone was incredulous.
“It’s a temporary marriage of convenience only. I’m assisting a widow left penniless by her earl husband. She was about to be literally sold off by her miserable baron father to an old marquess.”
Garrett blew out a breath, then took a long swig of whiskey. His father turned his thunderous look toward his brother. “Were you aware of this?”
“I knew a little of his plans,” Garrett murmured.
“And you thought not to tell us?” the earl cried.
“He asked me not to. Riordan is of age, and able to make his own decisions. He’s here now to tell you of it. Listen to what he has to say,” Garrett replied.
“What do you mean by ‘assist’ and ‘temporary’? Explain yourself,” his father barked.
Riordan took a fortifying drink, savoring the burn. Once he swallowed, he commenced giving his family as thorough an explanation as he could. The earl looked shocked, but his father’s expression darkened.
“The money. Where did it come from?” his father whispered, his tone clearly expressing his growing irritation and anger.
“It is mine.”
Julian stood and threw his glass of whiskey into the fire. The alcohol exploded in the flames. “I gave you the money, a mere taste of your inheritance, when you turned twenty-five because you had shown through word and deed that you were responsible, sober, and sensible. Apparently, I was wrong. I should have held the money in a trust as I did with Aidan’s.” His father began to pace. “I never had to worry about you, not one moment from the cradle onward. I trusted you. Believed in your judgment.” He stopped pacing and faced Riordan. “What a crushing disappointment to find that you are as vapid and stupid as your brother.”
“Julian, wait a moment—” the earl began.
“No, Father. This is between me and my son. Years ago, I agreed to stay here under the condition you never interfere with my dealings with my sons. Do not start now.” The earl’s mouth pulled into a taut line, but he said nothing. “Riordan, tell me why you’ve done this. What possessed you?” Julian cried.
He had never seen his father as livid and distressed as this. Throwing the glass into the fire was a rare show of emotion. Riordan placed his tumbler on the nearby table. “She had nowhere to turn. As you’re aware, women have no rights whatsoever. I wished to assist her. It is a good cause. You know all about it, Father.”
“And what if you are trapped with this woman for life? A woman older than you. What then?”
“It will not be a hardship,” Riordan murmured.
“God, he’s infatuated,” Garrett stated incredulously.
“Is this true?” Julian demanded.
“Yes. I hope to convince Sabrina to make the marriage permanent.”
“You should have informed me of this before acting. We discuss everything in this family, especially anything to do with our causes. You will be getting an annulment. I will brook no argument on this matter.” Julian kicked the nearby stool and charged from the room.
Riordan’s insides twisted and he clenched his jaw. His father had never spoken to him that way before. Vapid. Stupid. Crushing disappointment. The words were seared into his heart. He grabbed his nearby glass and tossed the rest of his whiskey down his throat, the burn no longer comforting.
* * * *
Julian strode angrily from the library, only stopping long enough to gather his greatcoat before heading outside. He would try and walk off the dangerous fury roiling inside him. The strong breeze whipped his long coat about his legs as the gravel crunched under his heavy tread. Damn it all. Riordan was the last one he expected to act as foolhardy as to marry a stranger, and gift her with a substantial sum besides.
Perhaps he’d drilled his passion for progressive causes into the boys a little too fervently. Not that any of it got through to Aidan. Julian huffed out an exasperated breath at the thought of his oldest son. A complete reprobate. A notorious rake. Thoughtless, selfish, and depraved. Reports about Aidan had recently come to his attention: tales of drunken orgies, itinerant and reckless gambling, and, even more worrying, visits to low class East End brothels to partake in opium.
It made it all the more urgent to find Aidan and bring him home. Opium could be his motivation for dropping out of sight. Julian shook his head. Blast both of his sons! Riordan should have spoken to him about his plan. He smiled grimly. Well, at least the lad did what he believed was the right thing. The noble thing. Though such notions always paved the road to perdition.
He shook his head a second time. Was his uncharacteristic outburst truly about Riordan, or was it more about Aidan? Yes, he had taken his temper out on the wrong son. Perhaps it was a mercy Fiona could not witness what a thorough and botched job he had done raising their twins.
A sharp pain squeezed his heart at the thought of his late wife. She had been dead more than twenty years, and still the loss and heartache lingered. As much as he tried to bury his emotions, he was a passionate man. No one else had touched his heart since Fiona. Perhaps no one ever would. He was better off. His father agreed and lived his life the same way.
A parade of women, enough to satisfy certain carnal urges, and sufficient reforms to be worked and completed would keep him well occupied until the grave. Yet a part of him was…empty.
Julian rounded the corner at the rear of the hall. Not far from the servants’ entrance was a kitchen herb garden, along with a patch of brown mushrooms—Julian’s favorite. He’d brought them from France on one of his many trips, carefully and lovingly tended them, and instructed the cook that they be fried in red wine and served with his beefsteak. But there in the middle of the cluster of mushrooms sat a hedgehog, happily munching away on Julian’s prized fungi. “Blasted pest,” Julian growled. The hedgehog must have heard his dangerous tone, for it immediately curled into a ball to protect itself from retribution.
“Don’t you hurt my Daisy!”
Julian turned and faced the source of the loud cry. A giant of a young man lumbered toward him. Hell, the man was nearly as tall as Garrett. He wore muddy trousers and his shirt hung loose on his left side. What struck Julian was the angelic, beautiful face. Perfect symmetrical features any human, man or woman, would desire to possess. Or perhaps just simply desire.
The young man plundered through the mushrooms and scooped up the hedgehog, cradling it close to his chest. “There, Daisy. I found you. No one will hurt you,” he murmured gently to the trembling creature.
“Do you mind? You are trampling my mushrooms,” Julian snapped.
The young man looked up at him and blinked, as if not comprehending what had been said to him. Ah. Julian realized the man was simple of mind. To look like Adonis yet possess the mind of a child…what a tragedy. But he supposed it was all a matter of perception. Banking his temper, he said in a friendly tone, “Could you please not step on the plants?”
The man looked down at his booted feet. “Oh. All right.” He turned to leave.
“Wait. What is your name? Do you live nearby?”
The Adonis continued to cuddle the hedgehog as close as one could with a prickly animal. “Jonas. I live over there.” He pointed across the vast expanse of the estate, toward where Sir Walter Keenan had resided. The new owner must have taken possession. What had Garrett said? A widowed niece of Sir Walter. Who was this fellow?
Julian stepped forward and held out his hand. “I am Julian Wollstonecraft.” Jonas glanced at the hand, then looked away. “Take it, lad, and shake. I won’t hurt you…or Daisy. You have my word.”
Jonas met his gaze and briefly shook his hand. “Hello, Julie.”
Julian fought back a laugh. “Perhaps you had better call me by my title, Tensbridge.”
The lad smiled broadly. “Tens!”
This time Julian did laugh. “Whatever you like.”
“I have to go. Bert will worry.”
Who the deuce is Bert? Curious, Julian asked, “Do you mind if I walk with you?”
Jonas shrugged and set off toward the Keenan residence. Julian fell in step next to the young man. He continued to cuddle the hedgehog, which had come out of its protective shell-like position and licked Jonas’s hand. “Is this hedgehog your pet?”
“I have lots of pets,” Jonas answered. He listed a litany of names as they continued on their journey. They reached the boundary of the property; the fences were in various stages of repair and decline, and the hedgerows were overgrown. Julian then recalled Garrett stating he was assisting the widow with certain renovations.
“Bert, I found Daisy,” Jonas called out. In the middle of a thatch of weeds a wizened old man dug into the dirt with a small spade. He was small, hunched over the weeds wearing heavy cotton trousers and a baggy plaid coat with a wide brim straw hat. The man stood and turned, wiping dirt from his face.
It was not a wizened old man, but a woman. At least, the face showed feminine features, though it was hard to ascertain the exact gender because of the loose-fitting clothes. If female, she possessed no shape whatsoever. She lifted her head and caught his gaze. This “Bert” had the most incredible amber eyes he had ever seen. They shimmered gold in the setting sun. “I see you have become acquainted with Jonas.” She pulled off her glove and held out her slender hand. “I am Alberta Eaton, new owner of this menagerie.”
Bert. Alberta. Of course. Her voice was smoky and entirely sensual, and the touch of her cool hand caused his insides to tumble. Hell. It had been quite a while since he experienced such a swift reaction to a woman. “Julian Wollstonecraft, Viscount Tensbridge, at your service.”
“Of course.” She pulled her hand away and held it above her eyes to shield them from the late afternoon sun. “Garrett’s older brother. I remember you, my lord.”
“Have we met?”
She laughed, and it caused a ripple of lust to travel through him. Why he found this elfin lady attractive was beyond him. “Not formally, but I used to visit my uncle Walter on occasion while growing up. The last time I visited was fourteen years ago. He grew increasingly hermit-like in his final years.” She smiled. “I attended a formal dinner at Wollstonecraft Hall with my friend, Abigail Wharton.”
“I do recall, now that you mention it.” Julian pointed to Jonas, who stood inside a pen. “Your son?”
The widow crossed her arms and squinted at him. “Dear me. I look old enough to be his mother? No, my lord, he is my brother-in-law. My late husband refused to have Jonas institutionalized, as those asylums are barbaric. I made a promise on his deathbed to always care for him. Their parents have passed and there is no one else. Jonas is sweet, but has the mind of a twelve-year-old, when in fact he is twenty-four.”
She sighed wistfully. “I love him as if he were my son. I hope he did not disturb you, my lord. I warned him to stay on our property.”
Julian clasped his hands behind him. “Daisy the wayward hedgehog was making a meal out of my rare mushrooms.”
The widow Eaton smiled. “I’m sorry, my lord. She is one of an array of hedgehogs that Jonas looks after. He also has a llama called Poppy. She resides in a pen behind the house, a pen your brother generously built for us. He has been a godsend, for my uncle let the place go to ruin, as you see.”
Once Daisy was settled in her pen, Jonas ran over to where they stood. “Tens, come see Poppy.” The lad acted with such infectious enthusiasm, Julian could not find it in his heart to say no.
“I see Jonas likes to give nicknames,” Julian ventured.
“He does. I hope you are not offended, my lord. I can correct him and encourage him to call you by your title.”
“It’s not necessary. I am not offended in the least. You may call me Tensbridge, if you like. I would rather it than ‘my lord.’”
They trudged behind the house, and Julian observed crumbling brick and peeling paint along with overgrown, shabby shrubs. The place would need a great deal of work and attention.
“See Poppy? Isn’t she pretty?” Jonas cried.
Julian had seen a llama at the zoo in London, but he never imagined anyone having such an animal as a pet. As he stepped closer, the wretched beast glared at him imperiously, then hocked deep in his throat and spit at Julian. The spittle landed on the front of his greatcoat, angering him afresh.
“Oh. My heavens.” Mrs. Eaton rushed forward and wiped at his coat with her garden glove. “She’s never done that before. I do apologize, Tensbridge.”
“Sorry, Tens,” Jonas murmured. “Poppy, don’t spit at Tens. He’s our friend.”
In response, the animal nuzzled Jonas and made a noise similar to a sigh.
“It’s fine. Do not worry.” Julian’s irritation dissipated at the look of the contrite Jonas and the obvious affection the llama showed the lad.
Mrs. Eaton stood incredibly close. She gazed up at him, for she was petite in height. He could drown in those golden eyes of hers. “Come in for tea; let me make it up to you.”
By God, he was tempted. “Another time. My son is visiting, and only here until tomorrow afternoon. I must return home. But I will, next I return from London, I promise.”
She gave him a warm smile. “Please do.”
After saying goodbye, Julian headed toward Wollstonecraft Hall. By the time he entered the library, much of his temper had faded. Only Garrett was in the room, slumped in his chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, another glass of whiskey in his hand. “Where is everyone?” Julian asked.
“Father has retired to his study. I imagine Riordan is upstairs bathing, removing the dust of his journey.”
Julian tore off his coat and tossed it on the settee as he headed toward the whiskey decanter. He poured a generous amount. “I cannot believe you didn’t tell me. You are my brother, not Riordan and Aidan’s. Your loyalty should be to me.”
Garrett scoffed. “Don’t pout. It doesn’t become you. We may have a greater concern than Riordan’s hasty marriage.”
Julian sat next to Garrett and took a sip. “Such as?”
“What do you know of the Marquess of Sutherhorne and Baron Durning?”
“The baron? Next to nothing. Sutherhorne? I believe Father is more acquainted with him; they’re a similar age. We’ve conversed once or twice. To be honest, I did not care for the man. A cold, disagreeable sort.”
Garrett rubbed his glass between his large hands. “Well, we’d better find out what there is to know, for the marquess has made a definite threat toward both Riordan and me. He is not aware of our family ties…yet. It will not take him long, for Riordan used father’s name to induce Sutherhorne to come downstairs.”
Julian uttered a foul oath under his breath.
“I believe we’ve made enemies, ones who will seek retribution. We’d best be prepared and investigate what kind to expect,” Garrett said. “It may please you to know that Riordan handled himself well. Complete control of the situation.” He went on to relay the exchange outside the Carrbury Inn.
Brilliant. On top of everything else, now they must deal with vengeful peers. Julian had to agree: he did not like the tone of the threat, and Garrett would not exaggerate. They had best inform Father of the incident. Now to try and make Riordan understand the seriousness of his consequences.
And to make certain the damned annulment goes through as soon as possible.