ON the understanding that his future was decided and he had no choice but to comply with his father’s wishes, Maximillian, Viscount Fontaine, future Earl of Longsbowe, resigned himself to the inevitable and followed in the tradition of all distinguished gentlemen who found their hands tied.
He got very drunk.
After his father had hobbled his way to the door (he really was getting on in years, Max realized) and taken his crested carriage back to Grosvenor Square and the austere mansion of Longsbowe House, Max pounded his way back to his study, slamming the door. Harris visibly jolted at the sound, but gathered himself and went to fix a tray.
In the study, Max went furiously about righting his desk. He found the cabinet where Harris had stored his papers and books that had once littered the desktop, and ruthlessly put them back in their haphazard arrangement. When everything was in as close to order as he could recall, Max went to the sidebar and opened the heavy decanter of brandy.
Hours later, that was exactly where Will found Max, by the sidebar, with the decanter in hand. However, it was now nearly empty, and Max was no longer standing.
“Fontaine, where have you been? You never showed for supper at the club, never sent a note! I went ahead to the Reginalds’ only to find you hadn’t deigned to show there either. I had to leave Mathilda Cunningham, the most bewitching redhead to debut this year,” Will said.
Max was seated on the floor, his coat and cravat undone, his muddy riding boots still on, utter misery awash on his face.
“I’ve seen you in your cups before, but something tells me this is different.” Will squatted down next to his friend, who wobbled his head up to look through blurry eyes at the intruder.
“What gave it away?” he slurred.
A wry smile mixed with the concern on Will’s face. The blue eyes crinkled. “No one drinks alone except for the miserable, Fontaine.”
“That’s not true,” Max said, sloshing his brandy as he gestured. “Drunkards drink alone.”
“I don’t fancy too many of them are blissfully happy, do you?”
“Nope, don’t suppose they are,” Max sighed.
“Come on, stand up.” Will placed his hands under Max’s arms and lifted him to his feet. As Max outweighed Will by two stone of height and muscle, he nearly dropped him, but managed to hold on. Max, however, was unable to hold on to the brandy decanter, and its remaining contents splashed to the carpet below.
“Oh dear, my brandy. I should go back down and pick it up,” Max said, weaving.
“No!” Will exclaimed, tightening his grip on his friend’s shoulders. “Forget the brandy, I think Harris left you a tray by the door. You need something of more substance.”
Will sat Max on the comfortably worn couch in the library and fetched the tray. “See, there? A nice tea. We’ll have you fixed up in no time.”
But Max was not paying attention. “I ruined the carpet. I ruin everything.”
Will stirred four spoonfuls of sugar into the now quite chilled tea. “That’s the talk of a man feeling sorry for himself. And utter rot, at that.”
Max’s blurred vision found his friend’s face. “Am I a bad person?” he asked, sincerity and sorrow ringing from his voice.
“Now that’s utter rot,” said Will, as he handed the tea to his friend and uncovered a tray of cold cheese and ham.
“He’s right, you know,” Max replied mournfully. “I don’t do anything. I ride my horse, I go to parties, and I play cards. But what good is that? I don’t run the estates, I don’t care to. I am worthless.”
“You are not worthless. So you attend parties and live in society. Surprisingly, most of our acquaintances do as well.”
“That’s not the whole of their lives. They do other things. You do.”
“Yes, but not everyone is like me. I have to be in trade. It’s just happy luck that I have a taste for it. Besides, you have your translation work.”
“Not enough money in it. And he knows it.”
“Now I understand what has gotten you into this state. Your father send you another letter, did he?” Will said, setting the tray of food in front of Max.
Max shook his head. “He came.”
The knife Will was holding clattered to the plate, but his face remained impassive, his jaw set. “He came? Here? Your father?”
“Yes, yes, and yes, my good man.” Max absently picked up a piece of meat and placed it down again. He was in no mood for food. All he desired was another drink.
“What the devil did he say to you?”
Max took a deep breath. “Among other things, that I must reform my way of life.”
“There is nothing wrong with your life.” Will sighed. “For some reason your father thinks you are a wastrel of the worst reputation, who gambles and drinks himself into oblivion. I happen to know you enjoy a very average reputation, don’t gamble more than a penny a point, and as for the drinking, well, not including tonight…In truth, I don’t really know why he’s always been so angry with you, and vice versa.”
“We…just never got on,” Max muttered, staring coldly into his teacup. And indeed, after Max had turned ten years old, this had been true. They had always argued. At Longsbowe Park, the Earl always tried to bind Max too tight. And as Max got older, the arguments broadened in topic and purpose.
The Earl never consented to see the future as any more than the next day. Whereas Max, stuck in a relic surrounded by relics and drilled in the ways of the past, craved his own life. So they’d fought. Sometimes it’s the littlest thing that can fracture a bond. The weight of one grievance piled on top of the last.
The fact was, the world moved forward, and Max’s father could never forgive his son for moving with it. And Max could never forgive the old man for so resolutely standing still.
“Am I…” Max coughed, nervously started again. “Am I simply waiting for him to die?”
Will sucked in his breath. “No,” he finally replied. “Don’t even think it.”
“He says I must get married in three months’ time, else I will be cut out of my inheritance and he’ll declare to the world I’m a bastard,” Max stated.
Will just stared at Max, unable to comprehend.
“Bloody hell,” Will managed to breathe out. “Where did you put that brandy?”
Some time later, after a great many half-started but never finished questions, Will finally put together a coherent sentence, and posed it to Max.
“It seems rather prophetic. We were just joking about this the other day.”
“I know. Fate has annoying timing,” Max answered, sobering up a bit. “It’s easy to joke about taking a wife. To actually have to do it is an entirely different thing altogether.”
“And not on your own terms,” Will finished for him.
“Yes, quite,” Max reasoned.
“You could always say that you don’t care about the stupid inheritance,” Will mused. “He’ll never do it. He can see you’ve lived without the money and don’t need it.”
Max looked at Will with a certain degree of cynicism.
“Yes, he will. I know my father. His skills at manipulation are ruthless and unsurpassed.” Then Max’s face softened, sarcasm giving way to worry. A brief thought flitted across his mind. What is the old man afraid of? That I’ll disappoint him in this, too?
He let that question go with a shake of his head, saying to his friend, “There’s a decided difference between being cut off and being disinherited. I may not use his money, Holt, but the old man is right. I enjoy the life I lead partially because of the prospect of it. He takes that away, and he takes away my good name…” Max leaned his head against the paneling of his study wall. “I am no good at being anything but a gentleman. The truth of the matter is, I like it. I think about all the things I could do with the title—modernize Longsbowe Park, for once make a decent turn over on the crops, I could still dally with my work even…” Max looked thoughtful for a moment, and then, “He’s probably right, you know.”
Will glanced at Max. “Your father? How?”
“Maybe it is time to grow up. I’ve been avoiding stepping into his shoes for so long, I—”
“Never really found your own place?”
Max nodded silently. “Now I have to find a wife.”
“Well then,” Will replied, lifting his own cup of chilled tea. “A toast. To your future wife. Whoever she may be.”
“To my bride.” Max drained the remains of the too-sweet, too-cold tea. The taste had him grimacing.
To his bride. The search would begin in the morning.