Sattler, Veronica (6 page)

The
door swung open and in strode the tall, dashing figure of his grandson. Broad
shouldered, with curling chestnut hair that just reached the high collar of his
impeccably tailored riding jacket, he evinced a healthy male vitality that more
than equaled the old duke's memory of him from ten months before.

It's
damned near indecent for a man to be so handsome,
thought John.
And
those eyes!

The
very eyes the duke was regarding now lit up from within their turquoise depths
as they met his grandfather's across the desk.

"Your
Grace! How good it is to see you again!" Brett exclaimed. His eyes ran
quickly over the old, familiar and beloved visage, and then a small frown
creased the handsome brow. "I trust you have been well, sir?"

"Well
enough for my eight-and-seventy," lied the duke. "But you, m'boy,
you're looking wonderful! The sea continues to agree with you, eh? Here, no
need to stand on formalities with me, Brett." He gestured toward a nearby
armchair. "Sit down, sit down!"

"Ah...
yes, Grandfather," replied Brett, "but first," he added, turning
to his great-aunt who stood silently off to one side of the desk, "allow
me to correct my manners. Lady Margaret," he said as he nodded politely in
his great-aunt's direction. He had dispensed with the term "Aunt" years
ago when addressing his grandfather's sister. There had never been any degree
of affection between them, and if anything, the relationship had cooled even
further over the years. "I trust you are well?" he added
perfunctorily.

"I
am, thank you." Margaret's reply was as routinely cool and distant as
ever. "John," she said, turning toward her twin, "shall I send
for tea?"

"No,
time enough for that sort of thing later," answered the duke, "...ah,
that is, unless
you're
in need of some refreshment, Brett. Are you?
Should I offer some brandy, perhaps! Or—"

"Nothing,
nothing!" laughed Brett, holding up his hands in mock protest.
"You're out of character, you know, Grandfather. Remember your strictures
of the past? Business first; pleasure later
—if
time and inclination
allow!"

The
duke smiled. "Ah, yes, I was a bit of a martinet then, I suppose." He
shook a bony finger at his grandson. "But it was all done for a good and
noble purpose!"

"True
enough," agreed Brett as he took a seat after a brief, questioning gesture
at his great aunt and the chair near her. But the barest shake of the old
woman's head had told him she wished to remain standing. "Now, then,
Grandfather, what is it you wish to hear of first? Shall I recount the latest
turn in profits from your mercantile investments, or would you be more
interested in hearing the details of my recent interviews with your estate
managers in Sussex and Surrey? Or my chat with George Jenkins here in Kent? I
saw them en route here, you know. The
Ravenscrest
docked well nigh a
fortnight ago. You might say I took the long way home."

John
nodded his approval of his heir's diligence, and they launched into an hour's
discussion of the duke's vast business interests and holdings, with Brett doing
most of the talking, the duke merely interrupting on occasion to ask a
pertinent question or two and otherwise listening attentively, the old head
with its snowy mane of hair nodding sagely from time to time. And during it
all, Margaret said not a word, though her steely blue eyes registered
comprehension as she seemed to follow all the details of their conversation
with ease.

"...So
that about sums it up, sir. Even with the crop failure, it looks to be a
profitable year." Brett finished with a look of genuine satisfaction on
his face, a look that was mirrored by his grandfather's features.

"Well
done, m'boy!" said the old man. He was more than gratified by what he'd
heard. Brett had told him far more than the state of his financial empire
during the interview; he had confirmed in the old man's mind what had been
apparent for some time: Brett had become everything he had trained and raised
him to be—a highly competent manager of his vast estates and their agrarian
holdings; sometime captain/commander of an ever-growing merchant fleet that it
had been the boy's idea to invest in, despite the disapproving rumblings of
disdainful fellow members of the aristocracy who eschewed the idea of a member
of the peerage soiling his hands with trade; a well-educated and honorable
person in his own right—fair with his friends and ruthless with his enemies; in
short, everything the duke himself held worthwhile and valued highly.... Of
course, there was one more arena in which he'd consistently instructed his
grandson, and he was about to embark upon that subject now.

"Tell
me, Brett," said the old man, with a brief glance at Margaret. "What
of your personal life these days. Are there any... steady friends I'm to learn
of? Some I haven't met yet, perhaps?"

Brett
laughed. "Well, sir, there's a giant of an Irishman you may not have heard
me speak of yet... well, half Irish in blood, but Irish to the bone, to look
at... knew him from the days we were cabin boys at sea together, but then I
lost track of him for years—until a few months ago, that is, when we ran into
each other at Almack's. You can imagine my surprise when Lady Jersey introduced
us and she called him Sir Patrick! It seems he'd inherited a title in the
interim!"

"Yes,
yes," murmured the duke, "seems like a remarkable fellow, but what I
meant was—ah—that is—are there any
friendships—"

"Good
Lord!" exclaimed Brett, nearly rising out of his seat. "Come now,
sir! You cannot mean what I
think
you mean!" He gave the duke's
visage a careful scrutiny. "You mean
women?"
Brett threw back
his head and laughed as if he'd just heard the best joke of his life.

When
at last he had calmed down enough to resume speaking, he threw his grandfather
an amused look, saying, "Oh, that's ripe, it is, and coming from
you,
of
all people!"

Finally
he added in a more subdued tone, "Forgive me, Grandfather, but wasn't it
you yourself who taught me all there is to know about that treacherous sex?
They're nothing but trouble of the worst sort, and a man would do well to
remember it. 'A major source of evil in this world,' if I remember your words
correctly, sir. Wasn't that what you told me?"

The
duke nodded slowly, not even bothering to look at his twin, although he was
acutely aware of her presence while this was going on, as well as of what was
on her mind right now. "Yes, well, I'm gratified to see you've taken my
words to heart, Brett," he said thoughtfully, "but—ah—the fact
remains that there is one area in which their presence cannot be avoided in our
lives. Do you recall it?"

"As
well as I recall my own name," said Brett with a wry smile. "They are
necessary for the begetting of sons... heirs, if you will."

"Precisely,"
nodded the duke with a meaningful glance.

Brett
caught the look and suddenly rose forward even farther in his chair.
"Here, now! Oh, come, you
cannot
be thinking... You
are!
You
are actually asking me to consider...
marriage!
But
why!"

"For
the begetting of heirs, naturally." The words came from Lady Margaret.
They were the first she'd spoken in more than an hour, and both men looked at
her as if surprised she should be there at all.

But
then the duke recalled exactly why he'd included her in the interview and
rushed to explain. "You are nearly thirty years old now, Brett. It is an
age at which it is not unusual for a man to consider marriage and the begetting
of sons."

"Rubbish!"
replied Brett. "And if this was a part of your plan for me, why wasn't I
informed of it until now?" He peered closely at the duke. "Is there
something you haven't told me?"

John
hesitated under his grandson's careful examination, wondering whether now was
the time to tell him of his failing health. It was the chief reason he had
allowed Margaret to make certain inquiries, after all. He was not long for this
world, and it was a world he could leave far more easily if he knew his only
heir was well settled, with perhaps an heir on the way—or even, if he were
lucky and God were truly merciful—an heir already born and thriving before John
met his reward.

Seeing
his hesitation, Margaret decided to save him the trouble of deciding what to
tell Brett. "John, I know how you feel about this, but it is clear the boy
needs the point driven home to him." She turned toward Brett. "His
Grace's health is in jeopardy. He is failing by the day, as should have been
apparent—"

"Margaret!"
thundered the duke. "How
dare
you
break our
confidence!"

"It
was not a confidence; it is common knowledge. One has only to look at you to
learn the truth." Having silenced her brother, she turned again to Brett.
"It is your duty to provide an heir—and soon."

Brett
cast his grandfather a questioning glance. "Is it true?"

The
old man nodded. "I'm afraid it is. And so you see the reason for the
timing of my suggestion... or perhaps you can call it a request."

A
frown of annoyance crossed Brett's brow. "And who, pray tell, is the fair
lady I am to wed? I assume you've worked that out as well?"

The
duke threw him a sheepish look and glanced at his twin, who rose to the
occasion.

"You
are well acquainted with the lady already," she replied with the first
evidence of a smile Brett had seen since his return. "Lady Elizabeth
Hastings is in every way a suitable—"

"Elizabeth
Hastings!"
roared
Brett, bolting from his chair. "I might have known! It's always been the
Hastingses with you, hasn't it, Lady Margaret? You've cared more about all of
them over the years than you have about any of us. So much so, that you not
only arranged that ruinous liaison between Lady Caroline Hastings and my poor,
besotted father, but now you would compound that error by having me wed her
bitch niece!"

He
ignored the gasp of indignation from Margaret and turned to his grandfather.
"And you, sir, how
could
you allow her to set her plotting claws
into us once again? Lady Elizabeth Hastings! My God! I'd rather choke on the
bile the thought of wedding her brings to my throat!"

"Brett,"
said the duke, reaching toward him with a gesture meant to placate. "It
was my health. I
had
to let Margaret do the arranging!"

"Save
your breath, Grandfather," said Brett, striding toward the door. "I
have no intention of marrying for a long while. You've said it yourself. Women
are a scourge, and the actions of the present company prove it." He turned
at the door and scowled darkly at his great-aunt. "As far as I'm
concerned, Lady Margaret, you are of a piece with women like the mother who
deserted me and all the rest—ever treacherous. And as for Lady Elizabeth
Hastings—" he sneered "—disabuse your mind of the notion that I shall
ever align myself with that simpering niece of the stepmother who led my father
astray!" He then turned sharply on his heel and left.

As
they heard his footsteps echo down the hall, Margaret turned toward her twin.
"Well?" she asked. "What now?"

The
duke allowed himself a sigh. "It was to be expected, of course. Never
mind, Margaret, leave him to me," he added tiredly. The interview with his
grandson had taxed his strength considerably, and he was feeling exhausted.
"Go ahead and arrange the marriage with the Hastingses. Brett will come
around."

But
after Margaret had gone, promising to send one of the footmen to help him to
his chamber, John had second thoughts about what he'd told her. He thought he
understood his grandson well. After all, he'd been the principal influence in
his upbringing all these years. But what if he'd been assuming something that
was missing here? In urging the lad to beware of women and never to trust them,
had he perhaps done his job too well? He remembered the look on Brett's face as
he'd raged against the so-called fairer sex. It had been full of utter disdain,
even hatred. Was it possible that the lad had never even
had
a woman? He
pondered the question for a moment. It was highly unlikely, wasn't it? That was
to say, given the boy's arresting good looks.... Suddenly a horrifying thought
raised its ugly head. What if, by some errant twist of fate, some mischief
perpetrated by the gods, the boy weren't... normal? But as quickly as the
thought came, it dissipated. The duke had traveled in sophisticated circles in
his day, and had met his share of gentleman of that ilk, and he knew in his
bones that Brett could never, by any stretch of the imagination, be one of
them.

Well,
what then? And once again the improbable notion arose that the lad might
somehow have survived all those years of his youth, owing to the hard and
relentless schedule of his rearing and training, as a
virgin!
Impossible
though it sounded, that would explain it... would it not?

Suddenly
he pulled open the top drawer of his desk and withdrew a piece of the fine
ivory vellum that bore an imprint of his family coat of arms at the top.
Dipping a nearby quill into the Limoges inkwell that sat on the desk, he
hastily penned a note. A few moments later, when it had been sealed and sanded,
the seal also bearing the Ravensford family crest of a raven atop a battlement,
he was handing it to the footman who had come to assist him to his chambers.
"See that this is delivered to my solicitor, Merton, one Mister Robert
Adams. The gentleman is down from London, by my request. You will find him
staying at the Red Dog Inn in Folk-stone. No need to wait for a reply."