CHAPTER ELEVEN

 

 

After a yawn-inducing evening of partnering young chits at Almack's—during which he'd been paired with Cassandra twice—Edmond returned home where an empty bed and sleepless night awaited. He felt exhausted from hours of wearing his best false smile while feigning interest in the inane chatter of young girls who had been taught to empty themselves of any and all personality in an effort at nabbing a wealthy husband. Not a single one exhibited the sort of spark that drew him to Penelope. The thought had never been far from his mind all night, thus his melancholy mood. He missed her already, and it had hardly been an entire day since their last encounter.

The reminder that she was not his to want drove him further into the doldrums.

Colin could never know what they'd done, and if it happened again, Edmond must remember it was all he could ever have with her. Besides, he did not have the luxury of pining after a woman uninterested in marriage. There remained his duty to be seen to.

A good night's sleep would make it all seem better by morning, he decided, navigating the front hall to the winding staircase.

The sound of a door opening drew his eye back downstairs. He turned just in time to spy the door to his father's closing on a shadowed figure. Scowling, he stared at the oak panel, wondering who would dare enter the room in the middle of the night. His father would not return home from his evening of gambling until the early hours of the morning. No one ever ventured into the study save the earl, Edmond, the butler, his father's secretary, and the maids who cleaned the room once weekly.

Curious, he descended the way he'd come, ensuring his steps fell silent on the tiled floor. Stepping into the room, he frowned at what he discovered.

A circle of candlelight revealed his mother, her back turned to him. Her graying hair hung down her back in a heavy braid, her short, plump body wrapped in a dressing gown. His father's favorite Agasse painting had been pulled away from the opening it concealed in the wall—where the safe sat, holding important documents and priceless family heirlooms. His jaw fell and he found himself unable to snap his mouth shut at the sight of his mother turning away from the safe, a large cedar box clutched between petite fingers.

She gasped, startled by the sight of him. The cedar box dropped from her grasp and fell to the carpet with a soft thud.

"Edmond," she whispered, guilt making itself evident in her eyes. "I … I was just ..."

"It's all right," he murmured, entering the room and closing the door.

He approached the desk, where her candlestick and taper sat, illuminating her, the Agasse, and the open safe.

"Father is not home. I only came in because I returned a moment ago and heard a noise. I did not realize it was you."

Rounding the desk, he knelt to retrieve her dropped box at the same time she bent and reached for it. Her expression appeared crestfallen when he grasped it first, as if she grew afraid he wouldn't return it to her.

"What do you have here?" he asked, giving her a reassuring smile.

She clenched her hands in front of her, holding fast until her knuckles grew white. Her chin trembled, causing him to frown. Opening the box, he found it filled with trinkets—pieces of jewelry that had likely existed longer than he had. Their rich-hued gems, set in untarnished gold, twinkled in the light of the candle.

He recognized the pieces as those belonging to her before marriage to his father, heirlooms passed down from her great-great-grandmother. The countess only wore the pieces for special occasions, yet Edmond could think of no reason she should need them in the middle of the night.

The realization of what she'd been about caused fury to settle like a stone weight in his gut.

"Mother, what are you doing?"

Lowering her gaze, she sighed. "I only thought … well, this problem with your father has weighed so heavily on you, Ed. It is not fair. Your father and I brought you into this world, but our problems cannot become your inheritance. Your father's … weakness … cannot become your legacy. I had hoped to fetch a good price for these—enough to set our accounts right, perhaps."

Edmond's jaw clenched so hard, his teeth ached as he closed the box. "You will not sell your mother's jewels. Or her mother's jewels, or … well, you get the idea. This predicament is no more your fault than it is mine. I cannot let you sacrifice this part of yourself because of him."

A tear escaped one eye and slid down her wrinkled cheek. "There is nothing left. We have nothing. Your father continues to gamble what little profit we earn from Kesbridge, convinced that all we need is one stroke of good luck to turn our fortune around. I fear he will never stop."

Turning to replace her chest in the safe, he closed it, spinning the lock until it clicked. Once the painting shielded the vault once more, he turned to her again, taking her hands in his.

"Let me worry about him." Releasing one of her hands, he wiped another tear away and forced a smile. "I am your son, and it is my duty to see to you in your old age."

Chuckling, she struck his chest with a playful hand. "Brute. I am hardly an old woman."

He shrugged. "Old enough that you should not live your life in fear of losing everything. You are my mother, and I love you. Let me take care of you. I promise not to let you down."

Her lips quivered when she smiled at him, reaching up to cup his jaw. "You have never let me down, Edmond. You're a good son. I only wish your father and I deserved such a gift."

Leaning down from his considerable height to kiss her cheek, he wrapped his arms around her and held fast—for his own comfort as well as hers.

"Are you mad? The Lord has blessed you with the patience of a saint to have weathered my many mischiefs over the years. Rest easy. I will deal with Father, then expedite my selection of a wife. By Christmas, our accounts will return to good standing, and the coffers of Kesbridge filled. You have my word."

Sniffing, she swiped at her eyes with her hands and nodded. "I apologize for worrying you."

Shaking his head, he offered his arm and took up her candle to escort her back to her room. "Nonsense. There is nothing to apologize for."

***

Entering the dining room the next morning, Edmond heaved a sigh of resignation. A morning of calls stretched before him, after which he had an engagement to take Miss Cassandra Lane riding in Hyde Park.

His thoughts wandering back to the previous night, he experienced a burst of anger deep in his chest. He hated that his mother had even considered selling her jewels, or that she'd felt the need to secret them from the safe in the dead of night.

No, his mother owed him no apologies. His father, however … As Edmond entered the dining room, his appetite fled at the sight of the earl seated at the head of the table. Hands curling into fists at his sides, he stomped into the room, casting the butler and footman glares that clearly commanded them to leave. The servants possessed far more respect for him than the earl, and scurried to do his silent bidding. By the time Kesbridge—undoubtedly still a bit foxed from the night before—realized what was happening, the room had cleared.

Grasping the man by his lapels, Edmond heaved him from his seat, propelling him back against the paneled wall, leaving a crack in the wood.

"What the devil?" the earl slurred, his pitiful attempts at dislodging Edmond's hold ineffectual. "Release me this instant!

"Sod off, old man," Edmond muttered, giving him a rough shake.

His actions were rash, but he had decided he could no longer bear this. Besides, his father could not disinherit him, and as the only child, needed him to carry on the family name and lineage. In short, Edmond could act as he bloody well pleased, and there wasn't a damn thing the earl could do about it.

"I am going to talk, and you are going to listen," he continued. "I have had more than enough of your idiocy. You are far too old to behave this way, and it ends now … this minute."

"I haven't the slightest notion what you might mean," the earl blustered, his cheeks reddening as his chest heaved with indignation.

"Do not think to play stupid with me. Your gambling has grown out of hand, and I will no longer stand aside and allow it to continue destroying what is left of my inheritance."

The earl raised his chin, leveling a defiant stare at him. "Don't be dramatic. Things aren't nearly so bad as all that. Besides, I won more than I lost last night … my luck's finally turned around. It won't be long yet before—"

"No!" Edmond bellowed. "No more cards, dice, or betting books. No more horse races or cock fights. No more boxing matches! This has nothing to do with luck, and everything to do with chance, which cannot be relied upon. You have harmed this family enough. For Christ's sake, Mother would have sold her jewels if I hadn't stopped her. All because of you!"

The earl, who loved his wife more than he did gambling, blanched at this news. "She … she what?"

Releasing him, Edmond took a step back, straightening his own rumpled clothes. "I caught her sneaking them from the safe last night. Do you understand, now, the lengths she is willing to go to in order to salvage our good name and your reputation? How dearly she loves you, that she would think to sacrifice something that means so much to save your arse?"

Shuddering, the earl lowered his head. Despite his anger, Edmond pitied his father. The man clearly wrestled with a something far stronger than he.

"There was a time I thought protecting her from the truth to be the most important thing in the world. God help me, Ed, what have I become?" The earl sank to his knees on the floor, leaning back against the wall with a deep sigh. "I cannot stop. The temptation is far too great in London, and the urges … they are unlike anything I've ever known. I realize I sound like a madman, but it is the truth."

Edmond sank down to the floor as well, crossing his legs in front of him as he positioned himself beside his father.

"We all have our vices," he murmured. "For some men, it's drink. Others, laudanum or opium. Myself … well, it's no secret how easily a pair of nice tits can turn my head."

They shared a chuckle over that, as the earl muttered something between chuckles about that being another one of his obsessions.

"You have to try," Edmond stated once they'd quieted. "For Mother, at least, you must try. She has done nothing to deserve this."

Avoiding his gaze out of shame, his father nodded. "You are right, of course. I want to promise you that it will end, but …"

"It will not be easy," he added. "I know. A few mistakes now and then are acceptable. You've got yourself in quite deep."

Running a hand through his thinning hair, the earl pursed his lips, then nodded as if resolved. "There are a few meaningless trinkets and pieces of so-called art in this house that are hardly necessary to our survival. Things none of us will miss. Perhaps their sale can set a few accounts right. After that, your mother and I will quit London before Season's end."

"A wise idea," Edmond agreed. "The country does not offer near as many opportunities to gamble as the city. Perhaps when you return next Season, it will be with a clearer head."

Neither of them spoke of the larger problem at hand. The ancestral seat lay in dire straits, and it would take far more than the sale of a few paintings and snuffboxes to repair it. As much as his parents insisted this could not be his burden to bear, the fact remained that it was—would be until he could secure the mousy yet wealthy Miss Cassandra Lane.

"I never wanted this for you," the earl whispered. "I was fortunate to fall in love with your mother while all my associates found themselves forced into marriages of convenience. I wanted the same for you. For you to be in a position to choose love over duty."

Resting his head against the wall and closing his eyes, he could not chase the image of Penelope from his mind. He'd wanted that for himself as well, yet even if his money woes had not put him in this predicament, his own foolishness would have.

Dash it all, he'd gone and fallen in love with his best friend's woman. The woman his bosom chum wanted to marry. A woman he could never claim in any way but physically. For once in his life, the physical was no longer enough.