by Evelyn Richardson
Justin's eyes glinted with amusement. "But of course. You wouldn't expect me to be abroad before noon like some greasy country squire would you?"
Alfred was speechless as he thought to himself that really, Justin had only become more infuriating as he had grown older. Here he. Earl of Winterbourne, had taken the trouble to come to town expressly to call on him, and Justin just sat there mocking him in that absurd dressing gown, his lanky frame draped carelessly in the chair. It was beyond all that was annoying. Alfred knew his brother to be possessed of a restless energy that on the rare occasions when he visited the family seat, had him up and out riding almost before the stable boys were awake, yet now he had the effrontery to play the bored man about town. The earl fumed helplessly, then, remembering the original purpose of his visit, gathered himself together with considerable effort. With a placating laugh, he began, "Well, those of us whose responsibilities keep us in the country are not accustomed to your town hours." Try though he would, the earl could not keep the resentful note from his voice, though actually he would have died rather than change places with his younger brother. The fact was that he quite gloried in those responsibilities, but it would not do to let that on to Justin, who refused to accord such things their proper respect. No, it was all very well for a younger brother to go gallivanting around Europe, flirting with women who were no better than harlots despite their high stations; but he, Alfred, was head of an important family and bore the burden of his hereditary duties with great solemnity. "Well, never mind that," the earl 13
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continued. "What I really came for was to discuss a most delicate matter with you."
"Ah yes, the purpose of your visit," Justin murmured. "I was wondering when we would get around to that, it being inconceivable that you should call on me simply for the charm of my company."
"If you're going to talk fustian, Justin, I can see I had best take myself elsewhere," the earl began ponderously. His younger brother's eyes widened, "Fustian, I?" Then, recognizing that the earl truly was laboring with some weighty problem, he relented. "What is it, then, Alfred?"
"It's Reginald."
"Reginald? That pattern card of perfection? I thought he was every parent's dream, the model child," Justin replied sardonically. Difficult though it was to believe such a thing, he found the earl's heir more boring than the earl himself.
"He is," Alfred rose swiftly to his son's defense, "and he has done nothing wrong. It's that harpy."
"Harpy?" Justin uncoiled himself and leaned forward. 'This sounds interesting. Why, I had no idea that the lad had it in him." He grinned wickedly.
Choosing to ignore this sally, Alfred continued. "Well, it was not his fault. During the holidays, he came to London with some friends from school, the Duke of Bellingrath's son," Alfred could not refrain from adding proudly. "And, like the good lad he is, he very properly called upon his Great-Aunt Seraphina in Brook Street, just as he knew I would wish. It was there that he met
her."
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"Who?" Justin looked blank. "Oh, the harpy. At Great-Aunt Seraphina's? How intriguing. I must become better acquainted with Great-Aunt Seraphina if that's the sort of company she keeps." In fact, Justin only had the dimmest memory of the lady, she being a distant relative of his brother's wife who only recommended herself to the earl by the size of her fortune, her widowhood, and her lack of heirs. It was Alfred who had dubbed her "great-aunt" in the hopes of securing this fortune for his son. Beyond that, all Justin could recall hearing of her was that she was a bluestocking who had married a nabob late in life, none of which fit the lurid picture his brother was now painting.
"I'm glad you find it so amusing," the earl responded stiffly. "You would not if your son were about to throw away his good name on a, on a..." Words failed him.
"By that, I conclude you to mean that the fool intends to offer her marriage. Any son of mine would know how to enjoy a little dalliance for what it was." Too upset to respond to this comment, Alfred nodded glumly.
"But how did such a person make the acquaintance of Great-Aunt Seraphina?" Justin wondered.
"Great-Aunt Seraphina had business to attend to in town, and as she does not keep an establishment in London, she was invited by her niece to stay with her at her house in Brook Street."
"Well, then, how is it that this niece allowed such a harpy near her aunt?" Justin continued patiently. 15
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"You don't understand, it's the great-niece who is the harpy." Alfred was thoroughly exasperated. Really, for someone who had recently been helping to rearrange the map of Europe, Justin could sometimes be singularly obtuse. "She asked Great-Aunt Seraphina to visit simply because she wants to cozen the old lady into leaving her her fortune, and now she puts her hooks into my son as well. I tell you, Justin, it doesn't bear thinking of."
Privately, Justin thought that the infamous niece had a great deal more claim on Great-Aunt Seraphina and her fortune than Reginald did, but he tactfully refrained from saying so, merely asking her name instead.
"It's Lady Diana Hatherill," the earl snapped.
"What, Ferdie Hatherill's sister? That connection seems unexceptionable enough."
"Not his sister, his widow and an older woman," Alfred moaned.
"Well then, she does have need of the fortune. The last time I saw Ferdie, he was going through his at a merry pace," Justin remarked reasonably.
The earl glared at him.
"But I fail to see what all this has to do with me, for I am sure if it didn't, you wouldn't be here. I daresay you'll get around to it eventually. Perhaps we should fortify ourselves with some coffee, as I have the distinct feeling I am about to be asked to do something unpleasant." Justin stretched out a languid hand toward the bellpull and was just giving it a tug, when there was a knock on the door and Preston entered 16
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bearing a steaming pot and two cups. "A man past price. You divine my every thought. Thank you, Preston."
"Thank you, sir." Standing between his master and the earl, only Preston was able to see Justin's rueful grimace, and he winked sympathetically before turning to leave.
"Justin! Have you no family feeling? You must extricate Reginald from this woman's lures," Alfred continued the moment the door was closed.
"Forgive me for appearing slow-witted, Alfred, but I quite fail to see what I have to do with the situation at all. He's
your
son. Simply tell him that you disapprove."
"He won't listen," the unhappy parent groaned.
"What, the peerless Reginald?" Justin could barely conceal a wicked grin. "The lad has more to him than I thought."
"And the lady is dead to all sense of decorum. I offered her a hundred pounds to stop seeing Reginald, and she absolutely refused."
"I should hope so. A hundred pounds compared to Reginald's expectations is paltry indeed. Didn't she press you for more? I should have. Besides, if she is after Reginald, the lad stands a better chance of getting his hands on Great-Aunt Seraphina's fortune." Justin was beginning to enjoy himself.
"Really, Justin, you are the most..." The earl was beside himself with exasperation. "This is no laughing matter. No, she did not press for more, but showed me to the door in the rudest way and said that friendship could not be bought, and besides, they are both of age. So you see, she means to have him willy-nilly."
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The fact that the lady in question appeared to have the very principles in which Alfred judged her so lacking, only served to amuse Justin all the more. But he merely commented, "Well, then, you had best resign yourself to it. After all, Reginald is his own master, she is connected to a perfectly acceptable family, and though Hatherill ran completely through his inheritance, she must not be completely in dun territory if she is still at the Hatherill's house in Brook Street." Justin refrained from observing that the real cause of Alfred's annoyance was that Reginald's interest in a lady of good but unremarkable antecedents and with only the prospect rather than the certainty of a fortune kept Reginald from making a truly brilliant match. Knowing full well the height of his brother's ambition, Justin did not doubt that Alfred had singled out several dukes' daughters as suitable partners for his son and heir.
"Faugh, that is very likely why she fell all over herself inviting Great-Aunt Seraphina, for Ferdie Hatherill's wife must be well enough versed in the ways of creditors to know they will let her alone if she is expecting an inheritance, especially now that they see she has every hope of leg-shackling Reginald," he concluded gloomily. "I tell you, Justin, only you can save the situation now."
"I rather thought we were coming to that," the earl's brother replied sardonically. "And, pray tell me, how do you propose that I should succeed where you have failed?"
"Damn it, Justin, how do I know?" Alfred leapt from his chair and began to pace the room. "It's you who is supposed to be the diplomat—haring off to Vienna with Metternich and 18
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Talleyrand and those fellows. Though, I can't see that all that talking you did was to any purpose. When it came right down to it, it was decent men, men of action like Wellington who put the stop to that monster. Politicians, faugh, why all they are good for..." the earl continued, warming to his theme. Then, realizing the infelicitous nature of his remarks, he gave a discreet cough. "Well, all water under the bridge, as they say. What I mean is that I should be most obliged to you, Justin, if you could see the lady ... ah, er, woman, and try if you can make her see that this is a most unsuitable match." Justin raised a cynical eyebrow, "And you expect me to be more persuasive than a hundred pounds? You flatter me."
"Not at all." The earl failed entirely to detect the ironic undertone. "Everyone knows you have a way with women. Lord knows why, but they appear to find you irresistible. You might as well put your fatal charm to good use."
"Oh, but I do, brother, I do," Justin assured him smiling broadly as he rose to look dreamily out the window at the beautiful morning.
"There, if that isn't just like you. I knew it was useless to come. You have no family feeling," the ear] responded bitterly. He snatched up his hat and made for the door. His brother held up a restraining hand. "Relax, Alfred. I shall see what I can do. I daresay it will be quite amusing if nothing else. And as to family feeling, I may lack the proper amount of it, but I do owe you a debt of gratitude for having kept me from having to inherit it."
"I daresay." Thoroughly annoyed, but knowing that Justin, once challenged, would do his best despite his irritating 19
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manner, the earl bid him good day and hurried back to his hotel, eager to give orders for his immediate departure. Though possessor of an imposing residence in Grosvenor Square, he preferred to let to others for an enormous sum while he remained secure in the comfort of Winterbourne Hall, absolute master of all he surveyed.
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The next morning, doing his best to continue considering his mission in the light in which he had pictured it to himself, Justin St. Clair was making every effort to feel amused as he raised the brilliantly polished knocker at an elegant residence in Brook Street. He had only a moment to reflect before a venerable butler answered the door, that its owner must not be in such desperate straits, it being one of the largest houses in the neighborhood and in excellent repair.
"Lady Diana Hatherill, please," he responded to that individual's inquiry as to what he might do for him. Justin continued to take mental note of the quality and conditions of the furnishings as he followed the butler to the drawing room. The interior gave as pleasing an appearance as the exterior, proclaiming its mistress to be a person of taste and refinement. The draperies, rugs, and chair coverings showed no signs of wear and were of recent design, confirming his original impression that the staff was large enough to maintain the establishment. If nothing else, he could assure his brother that the lady was not yet at the
point non plus
because staff was always the first thing to go in such cases. For his part, Finchley, butler to Lady Diana and her father before her, had subjected Lord Justin St. Clair to a scrutiny that was equally as critical, and it was this ancient retainer's considered opinion that this newest caller was a sight better than the lovesick youth who had recently been wearing out his mistress's doorstep. Not that there was anything amiss 21
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with Viscount Chalford, he was a nice enough lad, if a trifle serious, but he was a mere boy, not up to Lady Diana's measure by any means. Finchley had already seen his mistress through one disastrous marriage with an overgrown boy. It was time she had someone to look after her instead of the other way around. Ferdie Hatherill had been charming enough to twist anyone around his finger, even the unwilling Finchley, but he had been wild to a fault, and in the end it was this recklessness that had been the cause of his early demise.
He had been more than a trifle disguised when he had challenged young Anthony Washburne to a curricle race over a country lane that would have tested the skills of even a sober driver, and it had not come as a great surprise to the household when his lordship had been brought home on a hurdle. Lady Diana had borne up magnificently. Two years of marriage to Ferdie had taught her to expect anything. What she had not expected was that he would have made such inroads on his considerable fortune in such a short period of time. If it had not been for the house in Brook Street and a meager income derived from renting out the land she had inherited from her father, Lady Diana would have been in a most desperate situation.