He went with her into the next room. It was empty as well, but the wide archway into the adjacent room made it acceptable. Small groups of people could be seen walking from exhibit to exhibit.
“There are my sisters.”
Marcus glanced in the direction she nodded. He could see a small group of women, three of them obviously school age, while one was older, and quite beautiful, at that. They were talking excitedly, their voices muted by the distance.
Lord Melton’s voice sounded again, but farther off. Honoria looked around. “It sounds as if he has taken a wrong turn.”
“It is but one of many,” Marcus murmured.
“Yes, well, I should rejoin my sisters. I am sorry we were unable to reach an agreement. Fortunately, you still have several more days to mull things through.”
She was a composed one, he had to give her that. Sighing a little, he nodded. “I shall think of something.”
“I hope you shall. Good day, Lord Treymount.” With a regal nod of her head, she turned and walked away, going to join the knot of women by a statue.
Marcus wanted to stay and watch her, see if some sign of their embrace lingered on her cheeks and in her eyes. But the thought of standing here, watching a woman like a lovesick pup—it was too much. Good God, what was wrong with him?
Frowning, he pushed himself from the column he’d been leaning against and left, making his way to his waiting carriage. Let Lord Melton come to his house, as he’d promised. Marcus could not leave the museum quick enough.
No, really. I am certain Miss Hereford will look this way any time now… She is simply flirting by not paying me any attention… I’m certain of it… I think.
Lord Southland to his friend and acquaintance, Mr. Cabot-Hewes, while still not looking at the woman standing by the refreshment table at Carlton House
Marcus glanced at Anthony. “Must you do that?”
Anthony looked up from where he sat in a large chair by the fire in the library. “Do what?”
“Hum. It is most annoying.”
Anthony raised his brows, his habitually sleepy look disappearing for a moment. “I was not humming.”
Mr. Donaldson, Marcus’s man of business, softly cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but you were indeed humming.”
“Oh. I was, was I? What tune was it?”
A thoughtful expression crossed Mr. Donaldson’s round face. “I believe it was a Hayden concerto, though I could not be certain.”
Marcus scrawled his name across the papers before him.
“No one could be certain of the exact tune as you were horribly off key.”
Anthony looked inquiringly at Mr. Donaldson, who became suspiciously busy opening his leather satchel. Anthony sighed. “I am never appreciated.”
Marcus slanted him a glance. “It is Anna’s job to bolster your flagging sense of self-worth, not mine.”
“Thank God for that. She is much better at ignoring my faults than you.” Anthony stretched his legs before him. He dwarfed the chair he occupied, as usual. Marcus made a note on a piece of foolscap to order a larger chair for his brother. Comical as it was to see Anthony crammed into the seat, it had to be uncomfortable. Marcus handed the note to Donaldson, who read it, glanced at Anthony, then nodded and tucked it away.
The order for the larger chair would be placed before the day was out. Donaldson was worth his weight in gold, which was fortunate since that was almost what Marcus paid him.
Anthony yawned. “I am famished. Have you concluded your business?”
Mr. Donaldson adjusted his round spectacles and then placed a paper before Marcus. “Only one more issue. That of Lord Melton.”
Marcus scanned the page, then glanced at the clock over the mantel and frowned. “We’ll have to wait another twenty minutes at least,
if
that jackanapes even shows.” He glanced at Anthony. “He is to sign over his lands today.”
“All of them?” Anthony asked.
“I left him his house and some little land. He owes over thirty thousand pounds.”
Anthony whistled silently. “How did that come about?”
“Gaming, mainly.”
“I see.” Anthony considered this a moment. “How old is Melton?”
“Twenty-three or -four, I believe. Old enough to know better than to throw good money after bad on a gaming table.”
“Do you think—”
“Anthony, how old were you when you took over the Elliot fortune?”
“Seventeen.”
“Then I think a man of twenty-three might be expected to refrain from throwing away his entire fortune on the turn of a card.”
Anthony sighed and stood, stretching as he did so. “You are right, of course. The man has been foolish, especially if he is that far into debt. However, I cannot help but think that you and I are different from most. My stepfather saw to it that we knew more than men of means even at the young age of seventeen. Not everyone has had our advantages.”
“No. That is true.” Marcus flexed his shoulders where they were tight. “It’s an ugly business, any way you look at it. But do not think I am totally heartless.”
“I don’t. I just want to be certain you’re really looking at this man, listening to him, and not just judging him.”
Marcus frowned. What did Anthony mean by that? But before Marcus could ask, Anthony shrugged. “I’ll leave before Melton arrives. It doesn’t sound like a meeting I’d like to witness.”
“As you wish.” Marcus glanced at Mr. Donaldson. “Are you ready?”
“Yes sir. Quite ready. I have all the papers here. Now all we need is Lord Melton and it shall be done.”
A discreet knock sounded on the door. “Yes?” Marcus called.
The door opened and Jeffries stood in the entry, impeccably dressed as ever.
“My lord, Lord Melton to see you.”
“I’m off!” Anthony said. He winked at Marcus. “Go gently on the lad.” And with that, he walked past Jeffries and left.
Normally, at this stage of the game—the moment of capitulation—Marcus felt a certain flush of victory. However, after Anthony’s quiet appeal, nothing remained but a rather uncertain hollow feel, as if Marcus had been robbed of some opportunity.
Mr. Donaldson set aside the heavy account book and reached for his leather case once again. “Finally we can settle that little matter.”
Marcus nodded at Jeffries. “Send him in.”
“Yes, my lord.” With a quiet bow, the butler left the room.
“Such a pity,” Donaldson said, pulling out a thick sheath of papers. “I don’t know how Lord Melton could be so irresponsible. You’d imagine that at some point in time he had to be aware that he was sinking into debt and that it was against all sense to continue gambling, especially at such a rate.”
“Youth has never been good at visualizing the future,” Marcus said. Or so Father always said. Of course, as Anthony had pointed out, Melton hadn’t had the benefit of Father’s wisdom.
Jeffries admitted Lord Melton. The young lord was pale and there was a slight swagger to his step that suggested a strong dose of spirits, though fortunately he didn’t seem nearly as inebriated as he’d sounded at the museum.
Marcus watched the young man approach, noting that his dark blue coat and morning clothing were perfectly pressed. Except for the garish blue and gold striped waistcoat, he was almost somberly attired.
Marcus stood, raising his brows at the sight of the waistcoat. “Four Horse Club?” The club was very exclusive, and only a whip of the highest order was allowed in.
Melton’s face reddened slightly, a bitter smile on his lips. “One of my few accomplishments.”
Marcus gestured toward a chair near the desk. “Thank you for attending me this morning, Lord Melton.”
“I looked for you earlier, at the museum.” There was a faint hint of accusation in his voice.
“Did you?” Marcus said blandly, waiting for the younger man to take his seat first. “May I offer you something? Some tea perhaps?”
Melton perched near the edge of his seat, as if ready to spring up and run at a moment’s notice. “No, thank you. I just wish to sign the papers and get this over with.”
“I understand.” Marcus nodded to his man of business. “This is Mr. Donaldson. He has handled many such transactions.”
Donaldson presented the neat stack of papers to Lord Melton. “Here you are, my lord. You need to sign the top of each section where I have indicated.”
Melton took the papers, his hand trembling noticeably. He stared down at the papers. “There are so many.”
“It is quite a complicated process,” Donaldson said calmly. Melton nodded, though there was a decidedly disbelieving look in his brown eyes. Marcus doubted the viscount was capable of actually reading in his current state of mind, but politeness forbade him from saying so aloud.
Time passed. Melton turned one page. Then another. Each with more rapid succession, until he was almost flipping through them. When he reached the last page, he gave a bitter laugh. “Good God, what a lot of words there are here. I—I—” He stood as if sprung from the chair by force. “I will have to take these with me so that-I can read them more carefully.” Donaldson frowned. “I assure you the papers are in order.” Melton’s face flushed. “I am sure they are. But I need more time to be able to read through them and make certain—I want to be sure everything has been done correctly and that—”
Marcus frowned. “As we agreed when we first embarked upon this endeavor, I left you Melton House in Knightsbridge and the surrounding lands. All you’ve forfeited are the farmlands in Kent, which is rather generous of me at that, considering the number of your markers that are in my possession.”
“Generous?” Lord Melton’s voice cracked on the word. “How can you stand there and say that you’ve been generous?” Marcus’s temper flared.
“You
were the one who gambled your family lands.”
“Damn it, I know that!” There was a desperate keen to the young man’s voice. “I was a fool, I admit it. But I was young. I didn’t realize—that is to say, the people I was with, they went out of their way to conceal the danger I was in.”
Marcus looked at the stack of papers in Melton’s hand. For some reason, he found himself remembering Honoria this morning, of her indignant reaction when he’d suggested that perhaps her father had been a poor investor. Her eyes had flashed with the same fire he saw now, in Lord Melton’s rather desperate face.
Was
it
possible that the young man had been tricked into foolish behavior at a younger age? Certainly many of the notes Marcus had found that belonged to Melton had been signed several years ago, though he wasn’t sure of the exact amount. In truth, he hadn’t paid it a lot of attention.
Marcus rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “If you lost so much then, why did you continue to gamble? Some of the notes I hold are recent.”
“Because I didn’t know how else to recoup my losses!” Melton gave a bitter laugh. “I don’t have your ability to make money out of nothing. I was desperate and I thought—” He closed his eyes, his lips clamped together. After a moment, he took a slow breath and said, “I thought wrong, I know that now. But it just seemed that there was no other way. I kept thinking that perhaps… if I got lucky, I could win enough to fix things.”
There was no doubting the man’s sincerity. Still, there was the matter of the notes, all of which Marcus had purchased with painstaking care. “I am glad you realize the error of your ways.”
“My lord—Lord Treymount—could we not find another way to work this out between us? If I could have two more months, I could find some funds—not all, but enough perhaps to satisfy some of my more pressing debts.”
“How? By gambling yet more?”
Melton flushed. “I am no longer gambling.”
“Oh? Then why were you in the card room at the Oxbridges’ ball?”
“At the—Oh that! We were just playing whist!”
“Ah, but you were wagering, were you not?” Marcus lifted a brow, noting Melton’s tight expression. “How do I know that if I give you a reprieve, you won’t just throw yet more of your lands and money onto a felt table somewhere?”
Melton’s shoulders stiffened. “I am sorry I asked for your consideration. They say the Marquis of Treymount has no heart, and now I believe it.”
“I have a heart. But I also have a head for business. If I gave you a reprieve, what guarantee can you offer to prove that you won’t squander it away?”
Mr. Donaldson blinked at Marcus, plainly shocked at the suggestion of reprieve, but Marcus ignored the man. “Well, Melton?”
Lord Melton stood, his chin high, a fierce light in his eyes. “I shall never again wager so much as a groat. You have my word on it.”
Marcus looked at the sheath of papers now sitting on the corner of his desk. His own property in Kent would double in value with this addition. And yet… for some reason, he kept thinking about Honoria’s father, and about Honoria herself. About how at times effort and skill could not make up for ill luck. Marcus nodded toward the papers. “I’ll accept your word. For now. Take those papers with you and think about your situation. Perhaps, if you can find a more legitimate method of regaining your fortune, I
might
accept your proposal.”