My Favorite Major (Heroes Returned Book 1) (22 page)

Philip shook his head as though he couldn’t quite believe he was agreeing to this idea. “I suppose I just gained myself a new steward, a footman, and a couple of grooms, then. But those positions aren’t temporary, Tristan. I really do mean to employ them, make sure they know that. An honest day’s work for an honest day’s wages.”

“
For good honest men,” the lieutenant added. “I’m sure they’ll be happy to know it.”

“
You can sort out which of them is best for each post,” Philip grumbled at his friend.

Captain Avery winked at Amelia. “Brava, Mrs. Moore. Who knew marriage would make him so agreeable? I should have found you ages ago.”

“
Russell,” Cordie complained. “Do be quiet.”

Quiet, unfortunately, was not in Russell’s nature. As soon as the ladies retired to the drawing room and port was served, the conversation in the dining room degenerated even further, which was mildly uncomfortable, all things considered. While Russell regaled the table with the sordid details of his most recent conquest, Tristan clenched his jaw and snorted like a pent-up bull throughout the retelling.

More than once Philip glanced to Lord Clayworth, the only other reasonable mind in the room, merely to have the earl shrug his confusion as well. And it
was
confusing. Russell was behaving as he always had, most likely as he always would. Tristan’s stiff-necked reaction to his brother made very little sense at all. But just as strange was the fact that Russell seemed completely oblivious to his brother’s anger.

When the footman Philip had sent on a chore earlier that evening entered the dining room and cleared his throat, Philip was instantly relieved for the interruption. Perhaps Clayworth could start a less volatile topic of conversation.

“
Pardon me.” The footman made his way around the table to where Philip sat and offered him a folded up piece of foolscap. “For you, sir.”

A response to his olive branch already? He hadn’t expected a reply quite so soon. Philip unfolded the note and read the short message, which had clearly been penned in an angry scrawl if the rigidly slanted letters where any indication. Still, Amelia’s father
had
granted Philip an audience, and that was what was important, wasn’t it? He pushed his chair backwards and rose from his spot. “Do excuse me.”

“
Excuse you?” Russell grinned unrepentantly. “But I was just getting to the best part.”

Philip scoffed as he retrieved his cane from the edge of his seat. “Let me guess. She begged you for more the entire night. Just like every other tale you’ve ever told.”

“
Tale?” Russell grumbled. “You make it sound as though I’m being less than honest.”

“
On the contrary,” Philip assured his oldest friend, “I have seen you charm every woman you’ve ever put your mind to. But they always end the same, Russ.” He held up the note in his hand. “Besides I have something else that requires my attention at the moment.”

“
Amelia sending you notes now?” Russell quirked a knowing grin. “I knew when I saw her this evening that you’d finally tossed up her skirts. Good for you.”

And now Philip thought he might help Tristan beat his brother into an unrecognizable pulp. “I’ll thank you not to discuss my wife in such a way. And in return, when Miss Greywood finally walks down the aisle to
your
awaiting arm, I promise never to say such things about her either.”

Tristan bolted from his chair and started for the doorway without a backwards glance.

“
Tris!” Russell called.

“
I’m going in search of Mason. Bugger off.” And then he disappeared into the corridor.

Russell shook his head. “Don’t know what has gotten into him lately.”

“
Restless spirit since the campaign is over?” Clayworth suggested.

Perhaps, but Philip didn’t have time to speculate on Tristan’s behavior or the sudden divide that separated the brothers Avery. He had his own familial problem that needed to be dealt with. “If you’re gone before I return, Russ, do have a lovely evening.”

Philip tucked the note into his pocket, then left the dining room, limping more than he would like. All things being equal, he’d rather approach his father-in-law un-aided by a walking implement. He’d rather possess an air of strength when he met with the man, but that was not to be. And wishing it otherwise was futile.

He strode as best as he could to the green parlor, then entered the room with as much pride as he could muster. Mr. Pritchard sat in a high-back chair, his angry blue eyes staring holes through Philip. The man did not seem happy at all for indulging Philip’s request for a meeting, yet he’d done so anyway. That was promising, even if Pritchard’s scowl wasn’t.

“
Thank you for seeing me,” Philip said with what he hoped was a conciliatory tone.

Mr. Pritchard’s gaze narrowed further, though how that was possible, Philip wasn’t sure. “I don’t suppose I’ll ever see my daughter after today.”

Was that was he was worried about? Losing Amelia? Philip shook his head. “Only if that’s your wish, sir. You are welcome to visit us at Leverton Park anytime you’d like. Or we could travel to your home in Wales. I know Amelia loves you very much.”

“
Then she should have married Mason, like I wanted.”

Ah, so life with a murderer was far superior to life with a cripple, was it? Philip heaved a sigh. “I love your daughter and I’ll do everything in my power to make her happy all of her days.”

The old man snorted. “You won’t get one farthing from me.”

Money? Philip stepped further into the parlor. “I don’t want your money, Mr. Pritchard,” he said as he dropped onto the settee across from the man, leaning his cane against his bad knee. “I didn’t marry Amelia for her money. I assure you, my funds are in order.”

Mr. Pritchard’s hardened eyes squinted as though he was trying to decide whether or not he believed Philip. “Whether they are or whether they aren’t, I’m leaving everything to Mason. It should have been his anyway.”

Philip’s mouth fell open. Mason? If the blackguard knew that… “I beg you not to tell Mason this, Mr. Pritchard.”

“
Why? You think you can charm me the way you did Amelia? I’m hardly one to care about a handsome face.”

“
No.” What a ridiculous thing to say. How could the man be so dense? “I beg you not to tell him, because I fear for your safety if you do.”

“
Bah!” Pritchard scoffed. “My safety?” He shook his head. “I practically raised that young man, and I won’t let you poison my mind against him like you did my daughter’s.”

“
Then you should have raised him better than you did,” Philip returned, not caring in the least that his conciliatory tone was long since gone. “And I didn’t poison Amelia’s mind against Mason. She left Wales to escape him. That was well before she met me.”

“
She needed time,” her father insisted. “She took Alan’s death particularly hard. She blamed Mason for not keeping him safe. But in time she would have—”

“
You’re delusional,” Philip interrupted. How could he be so bloody blind? “And if you tell Mason your plan to leave him an inheritance, you’ll be dead within a sennight.”

“
If I were a younger man, I’d call you out for that.”

“
You wouldn’t be the first do so, yet I am still walking around.”

“
Hobbling, you mean,” Pritchard sneered.

The air whooshed out of Philip’s lungs. Was that it? Was it the fact he wasn’t a whole man that made Pritchard despise him so? No matter what sort of villain Mason was, he didn’t limp from room to room, did he? Philip smiled tightly. “It was a pleasure to serve my country, sir. I wish I’d returned unscathed, but I did not. Fortunately, Amelia loves me despite my injury.”

“
She always did have a soft spot for wounded animals.” Pritchard folded his ancient arms across his chest. “You won’t see one farthing of my money, Moore. Not one farthing.”

That, apparently, was Philip’s cue to leave, as the man had started repeating himself and hadn’t shown any evidence that he could listen to reason. “We shall get by without your assistance, sir.” Using his cane for support, Philip rose from his spot. Then he nodded his farewell to his unhappy father-in-law and limped from the room. So much for his olive branch.

Tristan Avery stepped into his favorite gaming hell. He didn’t imagine he would actually find Mason inside the less than hallowed walls, but if he’d had to endure one more moment listening to Russ’ skirt chasing escapades, he would quite likely smash his fist into his brother’s face, and he might not ever stop. No, all things considered, it was best just to remove himself.

As he approached one of the Hazard tables, a hand smacked his back, making Tristan stumble forwards just a bit. He quickly righted himself, then spun on his heel to find the Marquess of Haversham grinning that irritatingly rakish grin in Tristan’s direction. “You look like a fellow who could use a drink.”

Damn it all to hell. Couldn’t he just be left alone to sulk without having to entertain scurrilous men of one sort or another? Besides, associating with Haversham was never on Tristan’s list of enjoyable endeavors. The damned blackguard nearly ruined Cordie before she was married. The jackanapes was even more disreputable than Russell. “What do you want?”

Haversham’s grin widened. “Trouble in paradise?”

“
Paradise?” Tristan frowned at the man. What in the world was he talking about?

“
Or did you have another spat with the lovely Miss Greywood.”

Tristan clenched his fists. “You’ve got the wrong Avery, Haversham. My brother is the one betrothed to Miss Greywood.”

“
Do I?” The nefarious twinkle in the marquess’ eye made Tristan fear the man might see more than everyone else. “My mistake.” Then Haversham stepped closer to Tristan and gestured to side of the room with a cock of his head. “No good deed goes unpunished.”

Tristan glanced in the direction Haversham indicated and noticed Mr. Blackaby, arms folded across his chest, leaning against a far wall, his eyes focused on the marquess. “What did you do to capture Bow Street’s interest?”

“
Your family.” Haversham snorted. “Everytime I help
your
family, I end up with that bloodhound on my tail.”

“
You
did
shoot and kill a man.”