“Surely you know,
my lord
, that roofs are not hung over heads, nor food put in bellies for nothing!”
Henry knew just how insufferably rude he was being, but he was not sure what else to do. Things were not making sense. Who had ever heard of a rakehell gambler owning a bookshop, even running it, let alone training his son to be a doctor? Such men lived for idleness, their very lives being about the turn of one card to the next. And if he had given up his gambling ways, his quarterly allowance was more than enough to keep his family from resorting to trade. Henry’s father had complained, loud and often, about how generous the stipend for Cortland was.
“Are your debts really so bad?” Henry said with a frown. “Your trust allowance alone should—”
“Mary, take Lucas down to the duck pond! Now!” Cortland ordered.
Mrs. Cortland scrambled, and it was obvious from her startled jump that she was not accustomed to hearing harsh commands from her husband. She took Lucas’s hand and pulled him away, his pitiful protests sounding as they fled.
Cortland faced Henry again, his back blocking their conversation from the pond. “How dare you!” Cortland fumed, his voice low but barely controlled. “How dare you mock me in front of my family!”
Henry was stunned, but long-ingrained beliefs and his own pride kept him firm. “Mock you? I asked a question. One that seems rather poignant considering what I have just learned.”
“Poignant?” Cortland drew a deep breath, his hands clenching at his sides. “I was not proud to become a tradesman when I did, and it tears out my heart to know that my own son will always be seen as inferior to those whom I would have called my peers at one time, but I still have enough pride left to hold my head to
you!
You ask me why I do not live off my trust allowance?
What
allowance? I have not received so much as a farthing from the Cortland family coffers in more than ten years! Your father cut me off!”
A cold trickle like ice water dripping down Henry’s spine took his breath away. How many times had his father mentioned the allowance? How many times had he complained? And yet everything in Cortland’s eyes told Henry that he was telling the truth. He had received nothing.
“I…I don’t understand.”
“I understand that you have decided to cut me just as your father did,” Cortland spat. “I waited a year, out of respect for your mourning, to write to you. We were coming to London anyway to see Mary’s parents. I told you about my book trade, about Lucas’s schooling. Though your ignorance tells me that you did not bother to read any of it. Your father never returned any of my letters either, even when I begged him and told him that Mary’s dowry was gone and we were being threatened with eviction. I
begged
him to tell me what I had done, what I had said to be cut from my own family and set adrift, but nothing ever came.”
Cortland clenched his eyes shut and pressed his clenched first against his lips. Henry saw before him a proud man, and one who was deeply wounded. His story, which Henry found he could not disbelieve, simply could not fit into the mold his father had fashioned.
“Mr. Cortland,” Henry said slowly. “Have you ever been a frequent gambler?”
“The devil! You insult me now? I will tell you as I told that strange friend of yours, Lord Richard. I am no gamester. Why am I even discussing such a bizarre line of questioning with you?”
“You have never gambled?” Henry said in disbelief. “You never fired your servants without paying them, or left debts at brothels, or—”
Cortland made a sound like a bear’s roar. He turned on his heel and began marching away, but Henry was too fast to let him leave. He lurched forward and grabbed Cortland’s arm. Cortland spun back, almost as if he meant to strike Henry, but just barely did not.
“Forgive me, sir.
Please
,” Henry said. “I have been given a very false impression of you, it would seem. And for a very long time. I cannot think why.”
Cortland was aghast. “You mean, you believed these things about me? How?”
“By my father,” Henry said. “He spoke often about you, and it was never anything to your credit. But I can see now that none of it was true.”
“I don’t believe it!”
“Until a few minutes ago, I did not even know you were married, sir, let alone had a son.” Henry closed his eyes, a wave of nausea making his head light. “He spoke always as if he was well aware of what you were doing and where you were, and so…” Henry could not complete the thought aloud. What he would have said was that his father not telling him about Cortland’s family could only mean one thing—his father was a liar. He had lied about everything.
“Your father told you all of this? That I gambled and lived like a libertine? Why? Why would he do such a thing?”
“I don’t know.” Henry’s voice was hollow, for as the shock and confusion began to lift, he realized that he had indeed made a horrible mistake. Everything he had done, all his plans over the past year and especially in the past weeks, had been about keeping this man, his cousin, from gambling away the Brenleigh coffers and impoverishing scores of people who relied on them. Had it all been a lie? There was no other way to see it. He could not see anything of the selfish creature his father had described in the man standing before him.
What could he have done to set my father so much against him?
“You and my father,” Henry began. “Did you ever have an argument about something? Can you think of any reason why he would have done this?”
“I spent too many years trying to figure that out. I had to give it up, or else I would have lost my mind.” Cortland shrugged his tense shoulders and stared off into the distance.
“I will find out, if I can,” Henry assured Cortland, and himself. “I have not read through even a fraction of his papers. There must be something.”
Cortland nodded, but there was no confidence in it. He had clearly given it up, and probably for the better. But the sting was fresh for Henry, and he would not give it up. In fact, he already knew where he might find the answer.
“If I am not too bold,” Cortland said softly, “I will tell you that the letter I wrote was primarily an invitation. We are celebrating Mary’s birthday this Saturday, and her parents are throwing a small party. I had hoped you would attend.”
Henry recalled the letter he had tossed aside without so much as opening it, assuming all the worst of its contents. He was such a damn fool. “If the invitation still stands, I would be honored.”
Cortland nodded several times, his jaw still tight, but this time it was not to mask anger. It was something else he was trying to keep back.
“And if I may be so bold,” Henry replied, “I would like very much to reinstate what is yours, with as much interest as I can manage.” He stepped forward when it was obvious Cortland would object. “No, please. You must not think of this as charity or the purchasing away of sins. You are a Cortland. You are entitled.”
It seemed, for a moment, as if Cortland would still object, but something in his expression changed, and he looked off across the lawn toward the pond, where Mrs. Cortland was dutifully keeping her son distracted with something at the water’s edge.
“I thank you, my lord.”
“Do you ‘my lord’ me to death,” Henry said, his voice cracking around a tense laugh. “Call me Henry, please.”
Cortland turned and extended his hand. “Franklin. And if Mary tries to trick you into calling me Frank, don’t let her. I hate it, and she thinks it’s very amusing.”
They both laughed. It was still awkward, but vastly improved.
“I believe I will begin making arrangements for Lucas to attend Eton,” Cortland said with a sigh. “He may still pursue medicine from there when he goes to Oxford, but at least it will be known that he is not so far removed. I might be able to purchase an estate eventually, and then he would have property one day—”
“Your son is going to have more property than he will know what to do with. But for my own sake, I do not hope it is too soon.” Henry chuckled, then, realizing the meaning of what he had just said, went still. Cortland also froze and stared at Henry as if he had a fifth limb growing from somewhere.
Henry opened his mouth to pull it back and clarify, but stopped. He was not going to lie. No, he knew that what he had just said was absolutely true. He had already known, in fact, from only a few hours after he asked for Lady Anne’s hand that it was never going to work, that he was never going to be able to go through with the marriage.
“I think it would be unwise to bring Lucas up to any kind of unrealistic expectations,” Cortland said seriously.
“They are not unrealistic.” Henry sighed heavily. He was making a choice now, and even if it was reckless, he was making it. “Your son will be Brenleigh one day, Franklin. I cannot explain in detail, and I won’t, but only know that it is a guarantee that I will never have a son, or any children, for that matter.”
Cortland’s eyes flashed wide before his cheeks colored and he looked away. “I am sorry,” he muttered.
“Things are as they are,” Henry said ruefully, for it was the tone Cortland would expect from him. Henry had noticed, if for a fraction of a second, how Cortland had looked down at his groin just before turning away. No doubt he was imagining all sorts of medical complications, probably impotency. Henry swallowed that humiliation like bile, but it was far better than the truth. God knew he could never tell Cortland that!
“Then…eh…” Cortland struggled for words.
“Then I am afraid you must break the news to young Lucas that he cannot be a doctor.” Henry smiled, and this time there was no bitterness to it. “Though you may soften the blow by telling him that he will one day own a very impressive library of books.”
Cortland laughed, and the sound was so sudden and freeing that it traveled to Mrs. Cortland, and she looked up with alarm.
“Come.” Henry patted his cousin on the shoulder as they walked. “Let us converse with your wife in a sly fashion so that I can learn what gift to get her for her birthday without her being the wiser.”
Cortland laughed again and reached his arms out to his son. Henry watched with growing happiness, which was only dimmed when he placed his hand over his watch again and remembered that not everything could be so easily fixed.
* * * *
Henry had wanted so desperately to go in pursuit of Richard. It was nothing to discover where members of the ton lived or where they spent their time. Such was all public knowledge. Yet Henry had forced himself to resist, knowing that it was too soon and he was not sure what he could do. The fact was that he was betrothed to the daughter of a duke. The announcement had been made. She was even now having fittings done for her gown…and he could not end it.
But that was a problem to be addressed later. But he had a more pressing problem to deal with. He needed confirmation. He needed to be absolutely sure.
“My Lord Brenleigh. This is quite unexpected.”
The old man behind the desk struggled to rise, but Henry stilled him with his hand. It had taken some doing to find the man, but Henry’s current solicitor had been able to discover the address. Mr. Bartholomew Beck had been his father’s solicitor and man of business since the late earl had taken the title when he was only twenty-three. Beck had retired upon the late earl’s death, but some men could not abide idleness, and Beck had taken to doing the moderate business duties of a few charities and close friends to pass the time. Henry’s father had conducted twice-weekly meetings with the man when in London for literal decades and had received correspondence almost daily. If anyone was likely to know anything about anything, it was Beck.
“Forgive the intrusion,” Henry began. “I know you are mostly retired these days.”
“Intrusion? Not for any member of the Cortland family, my lord, I assure you. Please have a seat. Would you like tea? How may I be of service?” The old man smiled as he struggled to his feet, and some years left his eyes. No doubt he missed doing important things and being needed.
“No, thank you. And please, do not allow me to keep you on your feet. I have some very important questions about some dealings my father may have had.”
“Dealings?” Beck said, falling back into his chair.
“That is perhaps a poor choice of words. I am not sure how to begin, actually. My father…he ordered some changes with regard to a member of our family, and I would like to know why.” Henry frowned at the still-vague words, but not for long.
Beck’s smile slipped, and his papery skin went a little whiter than it already was.
He knows exactly what I’m talking about.
“If you could clarify, my lord—”
“My cousin, Franklin,” Henry said. “He was cut off, practically disowned, in practice if not in fact. I want to know why.”
Beck made a false start several times but seemed unable to get out a word. He brought a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed it anxiously. “Mr. Cortland was…unreliable, my lord. His lifestyle—”
“Was absolutely beyond reproach, Mr. Beck.” Henry put his hands on the back of one of the chairs facing the desk. He knew he should sit, for Beck was probably feeling the inappropriateness of being seated in his presence, but he was too pent up with energy. He continued. “I know my father lied to me, sir. We may skip over that right now. What I want to know is why my father ordered Cortland’s allowance stopped. You no doubt handled that business. Surely he must have given you some reason, must have said something…”
“I was in no place to receive explanations from His Lordship,” Beck replied. “He gave instructions; I carried them out.”
Henry shook his head slowly. “My father had a very unfortunate habit of hiding nothing from servants because he knew they would not dare to repeat anything he said. If my father told anyone his reasons, it would have been you.”
“My lord, I…I served your father faithfully for more than thirty years.” Beck’s voice shook as he spoke. One of his hands was trembling on the desk top.
“You served our family, sir, and very loyally, I know. But I am Brenleigh now, and I want to know how my father could estrange me from my own cousin with lies. I want to know what offense Franklin could have possibly given him.”