Defying the Earl (13 page)

A smile quirked Valerian’s lips; not just at the outspoken opinion of a woman who’d served in his home since his birth, but at the accuracy of her statement. “My brother does test our brotherly bond with frequency.”

“Perhaps it’s time you stopped coddling then. Your father saw too much of himself in Jasper to criticize the misbehavior, and you gentle your words all too often. He’ll never go very far if you continue to hold his leading strings.”

The wisdom of Cook’s advice was not lost, although Valerian didn’t comment, finishing the last of his stew and soaking up the gravy with his third biscuit. Cook spoke candidly, but worse than being advised by a servant, her words rang true. The next time Jasper wasted money, gambled, or launched a foolish purpose, Val needed to react with stern consequence otherwise no matter what plan of financial salvation he enacted, Jasper would continue to diminish their finances.

“Thank you.” He pushed the empty bowl forward as he rose from the table. “The stew was delicious and the advice well taken. Please assure your brother his work will not go unnoticed. As soon as…” He paused, uncertain what he could offer in way of reassurance, but the kindhearted woman rescued him again.

“Of course, milord. I understand completely.”

Valerian left the kitchen and climbed the backstairs meaning to go to his bedchamber, but his footsteps stalled as he passed his father’s rooms, a familiar pang of grief severing the lonely beat of his heart. Without hesitation he turned the knob and entered, a rush of memories as fresh as yesterday greeting him at the door; nuances of their last days together, his father’s financial struggles, debilitating illness and too, the bitter emotion of Caroline’s abrupt and distasteful dismissal of their relationship.

Rumors of his father’s run through money had reached Caroline’s ears before Valerian could intercede. When he’d had the opportunity to discuss the situation, she’d accepted gossip rather than truth in regard to the late earl’s waste of finances; choosing a path paved by secret liaisons and infidelity, a chance to entice another, wealthier gentleman while Valerian eased his father toward death.

Regret inched up his throat and he coughed it away, the emotion aimed at his own inability to see Caroline for the selfish creature she was, rather than the ideal woman he believed her to be. She’d found him not moneyed enough. He’d discovered her sadly lacking in morality, fortitude and a host of gentle qualities required in a wife.

With a dismissive scoff, Valerian forced the remembrance from his mind.

All his misery was money.

Ultimately, Caroline would have compounded his discontent; their marriage an invitation to doom if he had overlooked her indiscretion, the outcome inexorable. In hindsight, he was lucky to be free of her manipulations before the church claimed their future. He chuckled, with derision more than mirth, and acknowledged the well learned lesson. He was not a man prone to self-deception; that quality possessed in spades by his late father and brother.

He stepped further into the room, the musty air a reminder of how it had been left empty and cold from lack of use, although in a trick of grief the scent of menthol assuaged him; the medicinal ointment applied to his father’s chest for ease in breathing evoked remembrance and proved a lingering scrap of despair anxious to penetrate his memory.

The soft chime of the carriage clock on the mantel invited further images. How many hours had he spent in this room, reading, waiting, reassuring his father the future would be all right? Had they more money, better access to progressive doctors or experimental treatment, would the outcome had been different? He hadn’t the wealth or influence at the time and his efforts had fallen short.

Regret lived within him still.

Never again would he place someone he cared for in the path of danger. He’d rebuild the earldom and with it, his power to command action. His current state of failure weighed heavily upon his heart, but in due time, he vowed to replace regret with renewal and accept the responsibility of those in his care.

He ran his fingertips over the edge of the bedside table where a few personal articles littered the top, the beeswax candle’s fragrance pungent and unsettling, another link to the long, sleepless nights Val had nursed his father during his declining days. For all his faults as a gambler and spendthrift, lack of money in his pocket or security for the title, the late earl was a gold-hearted man, his faults unable to detract from the emotional bond between father and son. Valerian missed him thoroughly.

That last night, full knowing his father’s hours were numbered, Valerian had promised to look after Jasper and recover a degree of respectability for the Dashwood title and entails. As of yet, he hadn’t seen the task done. With his father’s death he’d inherited a duty to tenants and servants, a grand home on the brink of bankruptcy and in need of massive repair, as well as preservation of his dignity and pride.

Instead, he’d wallowed in Caroline’s dismissal, regretting his foolish assertion to gain a wife and restore a degree of dignity to his name, as well as happiness to his grief. Now was his time to act. There were no more yesterdays to remember.

Kirby Park needed him as much as he needed it. He could easily imagine raising a family in the restored estate, no matter his chuckle-headed brother might live under the same roof until the end of his days. Loyalty and love of family were the most important things in life. He walked to the far window overlooking the back of the estate, the rolling hills and expansive land that once produced high yielding crops. A sliver of water divided the land from further acreage where cottages dotted the landscape, complete with Tabby’s alleged faulty bridge. So much needed to be done to restore the land, improve the future and invoke change for the better.

Yet at the very core of his emotions, he feared poverty and the misery it wrought. It wasn’t solely his reputation or his title; it was the reality of becoming penniless. Jasper was spot on – pride would be a fatal downfall.

With a resolute sigh, Val made for the door. He’d attempt sleep and plan at first light to return to London. With any luck Jasper would have good news, Leonard and Fiona would no longer be a consideration, and he could contact Lord Rigby to arrange for payment as soon as the banks opened for the day. Relief would be found once he forged ahead with financial recovery.

The town house on Barnaby Street stood silent and empty when Valerian returned the following morning. Signs of indulgence and irresponsible activity by Jasper, Randolph or both scoundrels, littered the interior. Apparently the circulated staff had not come to call. Several wine glasses stood empty beside twin bottles on the sideboard. A gentleman’s waistcoat was flung haphazard across a marble statue carved to resemble Venus de Milo, the perfect coat rack; and worse, a pair of black silk stockings, heavy with the scent of cheap perfume, remained tied to the bell pull.

Valerian blew a frustrated breath, all optimism draining from his spirit in a single exhale. He dropped into the wingchair near the hearth, disturbing a sheet of newspaper on the end table. It fluttered in invitation. He raised the print with caution as a headache teased the periphery of his brain. He might have cast the paper aside, once discerning it was nothing more than a gossip sheet, if it hadn’t been for the lower right column where someone had doubly circled an article in pencil. His eyes found the print, reading the four sentences with increasing relish.

To no one’s surprise a certain L escorted a certain Lady F through Hyde Park late yesterday afternoon. Not to be mistaken for a friendly conversation, F’s vivid expression and L’s possessive grasp indicated more than a congenial exchange. But is it affection or rejection? Can an exchange of gold rings be far in the future for these public lovebirds or will history repeat itself and the couple look elsewhere for true love?

On his feet at once, Val dropped the gossip sheet to the carpet and hurried to the door. If Lord Rigby happened upon the rag, Valerian’s efforts as a
matchbreaker
would be all for naught, his reputation in hope of securing future endeavors destroyed, and his anticipation of a bank draft sooner than later, squelched with the same impact of four suggestive sentences.

He headed toward White’s, intent on seeking out Lord Rigby and addressing, possibly repairing, the damage. Arriving in breakneck speed, Valerian scanned the elongated glass window overlooking St. James Street, but none of the heads visible resembled the stocky white-haired earl. With his membership long ago revoked for non-payment, he’d no choice but to confirm by way of carriage crest that Lord Rigby remained inside.

And so he waited, his temper anxious and his mind spinning as to what tactic to employ when confronting the earl.

Chapter Eleven

Nearly an hour later, Lord Rigby stepped from the cherrywood doors of White’s and summoned the coachman. His ivory-handled walking stick tapped a cadence on the cobbles as he paced the walk in anxious wait of his driver. Realizing time was limited, Valerian crossed the roadway and approached the earl before he could board his carriage and disappear into the London traffic.

“Damnation, Dashwood, how did you find me?” It was impossible to decipher congeniality or disagreement in the man’s inquiry.

“Instinct.” Valerian shook Rigby’s extended hand with vigor. “When I receive unfavorable news my first thought is to drink and commiserate. As a member of White’s, I assumed you’d seek privacy from your wife and liquor to pacify your mood if you’ve seen last evening’s gossip rag.”

The earl harrumphed his agreement although he continued to eye Val with developing annoyance. “Leonard no longer wants the chit.” Rigby signaled his driver to the curb before he continued. “At first I considered it a knee-jerk reaction to a silly quarrel, but now it seems the circumstances and their relationship may have advanced beyond repair.”

A heady rush of reprieve and assurance surged through Valerian’s veins. Financial ruin would be avoided. Five thousand pounds would establish a minuscule foothold on restoring their credibility and at last a feeble flicker of optimism could take root for the future. He exhaled deeply and fought the irrepressible smile that threatened to spread across his face.

“It must come as great relief.” Val paced a small step, the energy flooding his every limb difficult to contain.

“Not at all. I couldn’t be more disappointed.”

The earl’s announcement stalled Valerian’s motion, his attention riveted to the continuing conversation.

“In an unexpected twist of politics, Nobles has changed his position on taxation and cajoled an abundance of peers to support the cause. I now consider the man an ally and would like nothing more than to cement his endorsement and the votes of his numerous supporters by joining our families, but if Fiona gains his ear and expresses disappointment with Leonard’s disregard, the damage will be irreparable. Such dissention would encourage a deadlock that will never be resolved. This is no longer a bicameral issue.” Lord Rigby swiped his palm across his jaw, eyes keen for opportunity. “I realize I hired you to destroy the relationship, Dashwood, and you’ve earned my respect in that endeavor, but I’ll happily double the sum to ten thousand pounds if you connive a way to reunite Leonard and Fiona. If need be, a compromising situation could serve. I’ll display moral outrage and demand my son act honorably. You could be the gentleman who interrupts the interlude. I’ve accomplished all the devious thinking here. All you need do is carry out the plan and accept my draft for ten thousand pounds. What say you to the proposal?”

At Valerian’s hesitation, the earl leaned closer. With a deft flick of his wrist, he removed a tightly folded letter from his breast pocket.

“Take this payment as security you have my complete support. It is a token amount, but be assured an additional ten thousand pounds await your execution of this new endeavor.”

The earl thrust the paper forward and Valerian accepted it in numb consent. How the facts had reassembled in the span of one evening spent away from London proved mind-jarring. Still, where once he served to destroy Leonard’s interest, he held no doubt he could bring the couple back together. The two were obviously besotted. His brain deliberated the outcome and a smile curled his lips. Ten thousand pounds would provide a layer of security to his tenuous situation.

With certainty, the insult to his conscience would repair once he began rebuilding the earldom in his father’s name. A shimmer of hope took hold as he tucked the paper away and a bright headline graced his imagination:

Earl of Dashwood Achieves Heroic Redemption
.

He forced his feet into motion and aimed toward the bank at the corner of Bond Street. His mind raveled through the list of payments due the first of the month. Hopeful rays of optimism struggled to take hold, stuttering a suggestion that somehow Rigby’s payment would offer relief, albeit temporary. Food, firewood, and wages were priority.

His footsteps slowed as he approached the pawn shop he’d visited before he’d met Whimsy. Warmth washed away fatigue at the sudden image. Her mud-speckled cheeks and exasperated smile were but one of the many expressions he kept tucked away whenever he needed an escape from reality. She’d looked lovely at Lady Collingsworth’s dinner party. A ray of sunshine at Lady Bitford’s garden party.

Despite Leonard’s initial report, she seemed to live in a different world than he, traveling in affluent circles, rubbing elbows with society’s cream. Had his life developed differently, she’d be a woman to whom he could offer his heart. Unbidden, Caroline’s memory intruded on his reverie and he successfully suppressed the remembrance, Caroline’s face no longer clear in his thoughts, the pain of her rejection more history than emotion.

Giving his head a firm shake he paused in front of the pawn shop’s large window. Random items littered the display; odd, neglected pieces of other people’s lives. A brass creamer and sugar bowl set atop a crystal charger, a pair of carved onyx candlesticks beside three chalk-ware figurines, one depicting a soldier in full uniform. There was an ornate gold-gilded mirror leaning against a wooden trunk and a velvet tray angled to showcase delicate items that glittered in the sunlight.