“You’re repeating it!” John spoke in a harsh whisper. “How could you? That is no idle gossip. That is…is…” He shook his head. He was breathing and yet he felt as if his lungs were failing him.
Calm yourself, man. Calm.
“John.” Michael’s serious tone dragged John’s gaze up again. Michael looked intently at him. “John, I’m only saying, for your own good, steer clear of Shaw. It’s just a few people saying some things while in their cups, but there would be no smoke if there weren’t a fire, eh? And it’s too easy for people to give credence to. He isn’t married and he keeps no mistress, and I’m told he’s downright womanish when it comes to bloody animals and his art interests.”
“We know plenty of men who keep no mistresses.”
“Aye, and half of them are married and the other half are so well-known in the brothels they have their own coat hooks there.”
“Enough!” John growled. “For ‘just repeating’ what you have heard, you are trying rather hard to make the case. I won’t hear it.”
“But what if it’s true?” Michael pressed.
“Then that would be his damned business, wouldn’t it?” John spat, then immediately regretted it.
Michael’s lip curled slowly. “You can’t mean that.”
“No, no, I…of course I would care if it were true. But it isn’t, and that’s all there is to the matter.” John picked up his teacup, then set it back down. “Besides, I have seen Sam in a brothel myself, so it’s all nothing.”
“So you won’t break the acquaintance,” Michael muttered as if talking to himself.
“No, I will not, damn it,” John insisted. The benefit of doubt he had been willing to give Michael only minutes before was gone. “You have been sniping and belligerent about Sam for weeks, and I can’t understand it. We have been friends a long time, but you are a
snob
. You look down your nose at him because he is a baronet, which makes not an ounce of sense considering the untitled gentry in your own family. And the insinuations you have made about his family’s wealth are even more absurd. Does your own father not own a coal mine? Several, in fact? I’m guessing it’s the sale of coal and not the rents from the laborers that brings the most coin, eh? Enough is enough. Sam is my friend. I enjoy his company. Just as I have many friends and enjoy their company, but I am not enjoying yours right now. Good day, Michael.”
John rose from his seat. He was not one for grand exits, but his appetite was thoroughly ruined. Michael fiddled with the edge of a china plate, not looking at John. Having no wish to make a scene, John forced a smile in farewell as he would to any friend before he walked away. What bothered John most as he shrugged into his coat in the front hall was not what Michael had said, but rather his reaction to John’s set-down. There had been no reaction. No shock, no outrage, no angry rebuttal. If John were forced to describe it, he would have said Michael looked almost relieved.
* * * *
Sam sighed as he watched Kat and Flor descend the front steps of his house and pile into the waiting carriage. Dinner had been a subdued affair despite the attempts of everyone present to raise spirits. Flor still blamed herself for the Shaw name being tossed around town, and no amount of support from her family—those members who had decided to stick with her—seemed to alleviate her guilt. She was to leave for the family estate in the morning, and Sam hated it. He knew it was for her own comfort and ease, yet he could not help feeling as if he was casting her off. He would buy a flashy curricle just to perch Flor atop it and drive her proudly through the park if he did not know it would pain her. Flor did not have the constitution for thumbing her nose at the ton and, if Sam was honest, neither did he.
In any case, it was done now. It had taken several days of arguing for Sam to convince Kat that nothing could be done and they had to accept the current situation as it was. And Flor had insisted in ever harsher terms that she would not marry Evers. Time would pass, people would forget enough to no longer mention it, but she would never be respectable again. It was weak consolation to know that Evers was also being rebuffed, that his name had become a byword for blackguard. Previous experience told Sam that Evers’s punishment would be temporary. Society always welcomed back the rake.
Sam pulled off his coat as he entered the library. He tossed it over a chair and headed to the sideboard for a dram. His evening was not even close to over, which raised his spirits considerably. It was perhaps too indulgent to spend another night with John so soon, but he could not bring himself to care. In the back of his mind, he wondered if he should not start making arrangements to suggest he had a mistress somewhere in town. That would at least create some explanation for his now frequent nights away from home. As any intelligent gentleman knew, the vast majority of gossip started with one’s own servants.
He was tossing around ideas for such a ruse when a knock on the half-closed door drew his attention. One of the younger footmen stepped in looking decidedly nervous.
“Sir, a visitor.”
“At this hour?” Sam frowned. “Who is it?”
The footman glanced behind him, his nervous look intensifying. “It is Mr. Evers calling, sir.”
Heaven, restrain me.
Sam slammed his glass on the table. Turning Evers away would be the intelligent thing to do, but Sam would be damned if he missed the cause of this audacity. Perhaps Evers really had lost his mind.
“Show the blackguard in, then.” Sam huffed. The footman scrambled out and a moment later was replaced by Evers slipping into the room and closing the door behind him.
He looked quite different this time.
Evers’s hair was a wild mess, as if he had just risen from his bed, and his clothes were not much better. His waistcoat was unbuttoned, and he did not appear to be wearing a frock coat under his rumpled cloak. He pulled at the knot of his floppy cravat, which hung well past his throat. And if his clothes were not bad enough, his face told the worst tale. His eyes were bloodshot, and his cheeks had the clammy sheen of one who has been awake for far too long.
A shock of concern ran through Sam, but he shook it away. “What are you doing here? I thought I made it clear that our dealings were through.”
Evers wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. It was shaking. “No, I don’t think they are. I think you should reconsider.”
Sam scoffed. “I suggest you find some other way to redress your family’s financial woes.”
At this, Evers snapped his head up.
“Yes, I have heard,” Sam said. “I can see why you have been so adamant, but it is no concern of mine.”
Evers raked a hand through his hair, looking almost as if he meant to pull it out. “You…you
will
reconsider.”
“Oh, I will, will I?” Sam thundered, unable to believe the brazenness before him. “Why would I do that? Flor has already said she will not have you. Besides, I am not in the business of propping up impoverished nobility when they choose to live beyond the value of their tenants’ rents.” He should not have said the last. It was a provocation, but his anger was getting the better of him. “Now, if you would please leave—”
“I know you fancy men.”
Something sucked the air from Sam’s lungs. He tried to breathe, but he couldn’t. He could not have heard that. Evers did not just say that.
“How dare you!” Sam bellowed, sharp rage breaking through his stupor. “You desperate, scrounging son of a whore! You think you can threaten me with something like that?”
Evers skirted the room, moving farther in but keeping his distance. “I-it’s true. I know what you are.”
He’s guessing. He has no proof.
“If you think to threaten me or spread such things about me, I will call you out. I swear to God, I will!”
“I’m not threatening you,” Evers said, raising his chin.
“Like hell you aren’t!” Sam pushed away from his desk, fully intending to plant his fist in Evers’s face.
“I’m not threatening you. I’m threatening Darnish.”
The sound of John’s name nearly killed Sam. He stumbled and would have fallen without the chair he latched on to.
God, no. Please, God…
“I know,” Evers continued, still skirting the room like a tender in a lion’s cage. “I know about y-you and him. I had a Bow Street man follow you. I know about that empty shop and the room above, up there with Darnish almost the entire night. I…” Evers’s voice shook over the fast words, as if he was trying to get them out before he collapsed. “I can’t threaten you, not after the scandal with your sister. Everyone would see it as just, eh, just spite. No one would believe me. But I have no quarrel with Darnish.”
“No one would believe you.” Sam gasped.
Evers lifted his chin again, but he was shaking so badly as to negate the action. “He wouldn’t stand up to scrutiny. That daughter of his looks nothing like him, and the runner went—I sent the runner to brothels where Darnish is supposed to have spent time. He paid whores to do nothing but sit in a room with him and then act as if they did more. And there’s other things, lots of other things.”
Sam’s hearing began to close in, and Evers’s rushed words became a muffle. If they had been followed, if someone had seen him spend his nights with John above the shop, it would be fruitless to deny it. Rage failed him as panic set in.
The words he forced from his throat tasted like bile. “W-what do you want?”
“To marry Flor, with her dowry.” Then Evers took a few rushed steps toward Sam, his fists clenched in a kind of plea. “I’ll be a good husband. Like I said before, she’ll have anything she wants and she will be taken care of. Damn you. Why couldn’t you just let this happen? If you had just not interfered!”
So this is my fault?
But Sam could not muster enough outrage to overcome his terror. All he could see was John publicly shamed and shunned. John standing before trial trying to defend himself from the truth. Would they call the whores as witnesses? Lily? Would they hunt down any old servants who might have a grudge? Sam’s body betrayed him as hot tears started to blur his vision. A perfect added humiliation!
“Flor won’t have you,” Sam choked out.
“You are her guardian. Make her!” Evers cried, then spun around, throwing his hands up to the air as if cursing something. When he turned back, his eyes were wild. “I just wasn’t good enough for you, was I? Were you holding out for a title? You always were one for prestige, weren’t you? Couldn’t be bothered to so much as notice anyone after someone higher came along.”
Sam stumbled back, placing the chair between them. Had the man truly left sanity? Sam had no idea what he was talking about, but the crazed look in Evers’s eyes made Sam sure that protesting his ignorance would only make things worse. “It had nothing to do with that,” Sam insisted, despite his ignorance of what “that” was. “You were never friendly, and I have never—”
“Even when we were boys!” Evers continued. “Barely acknowledging me and then casting the whole world aside when fucking Brenleigh showed up. A future earl. How could you possibly see anyone else with his title blinding you? Did he know what you were? I know he left school days after I found you weeping in that cellar. Did you do something? Try to touch him? You should count yourself lucky he didn’t tell the headmaster about you.”
It was too much. Too many things coming from different directions: John, Flor, Evers’s confusing accusations about boyhood slights Sam could not remember, and now Henry. It was as if Sam’s entire life was being boiled down to a single cup, and the noxious brew was too thick to swallow.
“I can’t make Flor marry you.”
“Goddamn it. Are you not listening to me?” Evers cried. “Darnish will be ruined. Ruined!”
A sob broke through Sam’s lips. “I…I’ll give you the money. You don’t need the marriage. I’ll just give it to you.”
“That won’t work.” Evers pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “It’s too late. Too many people already know about my family, about the debts. My father can’t have a sudden windfall without explanation. I already told you it won’t be bad! Listen, she won’t even have to share a house with me. We’ll have to make our appearances in the beginning, to secure her place, but after that…” He moaned, once again pressing his hand over his mouth.
Evers’s drastic shifts were becoming alarming. He was pleading, then threatening, making demands only to turn around and make assurances. It all felt wrong.
“Evers, please—” Sam struggled with the words. “I can’t make her—”
“I’ll give you until Friday to give me an answer, and don’t you dare say anything to Darnish!” Evers swept past Sam suddenly, almost running for the door. Sam thought he was going to leave when he halted. He clenched his fists and spat a vicious string of curses, then turned. “There’s something else. I don’t just want Flor and the dowry. You-you have to stay away from Darnish.”
What?
Sam could only stare. The traitorous tears flowed down his face. First the ax and now the knife?
“Don’t think you can tell him anything and I won’t know. Darnish won’t be able to stand idly by. He would try to do something, and if that happens, I’ll take my man to the papers and have them print everything he saw. Darnish will have no choice but to sue for libel, and then he’ll be ruined when all the evidence comes to light.” Evers made a choking sound, then stared at the floor as he continued in a dead tone. “You and Darnish, it’s…it’s s-sick. Stay away from him. The runner will be following him and watching. If you so much as hold a conversation with him in public, I will double my dowry demand and send an anonymous note to the papers.”
“Don’t!” Sam cried, once more imagining John’s life in ruin.
“Then stay away from him. I don’t care what you have to do. Cut him, if that’s what it takes!” Evers was almost screeching now, and Sam was again startled by the bizarre mixture of his demeanor. He was ordering Sam to stay away from John, yet his tone was more that of a man begging.
God, no. Don’t take him from me.
Evers turned to leave again, but Sam’s misery wanted to overflow in more than just tears. Why not let it all out? “Why do you hate me?”
Evers stopped at the door. His shoulders hunched as if to hide his head. “I…I don’t hate you. I—”