The first thing they did the following morning was send a note to Mr. Branton detailing what Arnold Price had told them about the misappropriated funds at the R.M.A.
Well, Michael reflected with a wolfish grin, strictly speaking that was the second thing they did the following morning. He felt his cock stirring as he fondly recalled the first thing they’d done.
Michael dispatched another note to Cranfield House requesting a fresh set of clothes be sent over. After an informal breakfast in Anne’s rooms, he dressed and headed home, as Anne had a full day ahead of her. All Michael had to fill his day was another visit to the tailor, although Anne had promised to dine with him that evening.
It was a fine, sunny morning, and Michael opted to walk home. He always thought best when he was moving, and he needed to think if he was going to come up with a solution to his and Anne’s predicament. He was quite lost in thought as he bounded up the steps to Cranfield House, so that he gave a start when the front door burst open.
Out flew his father.
“Michael!” the marquess boomed. “There you are, son.”
Michael grinned. “Father!” He jogged up the last few steps, and they both came to a halt.
The first thing Michael noticed was that he was now taller than his father, by a good four inches. Of course, he had known this would be the case, but it was one thing to know something like that theoretically, and another to experience the strange sensation of looking down upon the man to whom he had always looked up. It was also jarring to witness the effects of the passing of four years in an instant. His father still looked robust, but he had probably shrunk an inch. He also had a lot more grey in his hair than Michael remembered, and more creases around his eyes to go with it.
The second thing he noticed was the expression on his father’s face. To be sure, he looked elated, but Michael also detected a trace of moisture in his father’s eyes. There was a moment of indecision when they finally came together, when Michael got the impression that his father was thinking about… hugging him?
Not that the marquess said anything about it, and he settled upon a vigorous handshake accompanied by a few thumps on Michael’s shoulder. But still, this was about as much emotion as Michael had seen out of his father since his mother died. It brought him up rather short.
His father led him down the hall to the library, where he went straight to the decanter in the corner. “I don’t care if it’s half nine, we’re having a drink.” He handed Michael a snifter of brandy. “I won’t ask why you came back, as the answer is obvious. Don’t think I didn’t notice that you weren’t here when I arrived.”
Michael tugged at his cravat as they settled into a pair of leather wing chairs. “Yes, I had some business early this morning.”
“Ha! I’m sure you did, but I wasn’t referring to this morning. I got in late last night, and I know full well you just came home. To say nothing of the fascinating note that arrived an hour ago, requesting that a fresh change of clothes be sent to a certain lady’s house.”
Michael was fairly certain he was blushing. “I… well… you see…” Gad, now he really did need a drink. He took a fortifying sip from his glass.
“I take it you got the job done this time?” his father asked conversationally.
Of course he choked, and came alarmingly close to spewing his drink across the room for the third time in three days. Oh, God, did he really have to discuss this with his father? “I… um… that is to say…”
His father laughed at his obvious discomfort. “I don’t need to hear the details, son. Just tell me this—has Lady Anne agreed to be your wife?”
“Yes.” Michael couldn’t help smiling, as he recalled the moment Anne had said yes. “I proposed, and she accepted.”
His father thumped the armrest with his fist. “That’s my boy.”
“Well,” Michael quickly amended, “there are a couple of issues we’re still trying to work out. Anne has some concerns about how she’ll be able to run her society—”
“Well, of course, as well she should. Our Lady Anne has become an important patroness in her own right, as you have no doubt seen for yourself. We will put whatever conditions she requires into the marriage settlement. It will just be a matter of the attorneys figuring out the exact wording.”
Michael decided not to enlighten his father that things were a bit more fraught. After all, he was going to marry Anne. That was not in question.
“We will have to make a worthy donation to Lady Anne’s charity to mark the occasion of your marriage.” His father paused, tapping his finger against his glass. “Do you think that twenty thousand pounds would suffice?”
Michael raised his eyebrows. “I am sure that twenty thousand pounds will do quite handsomely, and that Anne will put it to the best of use.” He laughed. “I hadn’t thought to be the one bringing twenty thousand pounds to my marriage. I didn’t realize I had a ‘dowry.’”
His father laughed. “That’s the only advantage of just having the one of you. No daughters to dower, and no younger sons to set up. So there’s plenty of money to go around.” His father looked down, and Michael knew he was thinking about the daughter he had almost had, and about Michael’s mother. But he didn’t say anything. He never did.
Michael cleared his throat. “So, how is everything at Ravenswell?”
They spent the morning exchanging news regarding the family holdings, both in Gloucestershire and Upper Canada. It was so good to see his father again, Michael scarcely noticed the passing of time.
His stomach, by contrast, eventually announced the arrival of midday with a loud rumble.
His father laughed, consulting his pocket watch. “Noon already?” The marquess stood. “Come on, let’s go to White’s for a chop. I want to show you off a bit.”
White’s was largely empty. The fashionable dinner hour wasn’t for a few hours hence, so the marquess was disappointed in his hopes of parading his strapping young son before his friends. But upon entering the dining room, they spotted the Astley brothers occupying a corner table.
Fauconbridge immediately stood and bowed. “Lord Redditch, how nice it is to see you in town.”
“Good afternoon Fauconbridge, Harrington,” his father said. “It was good of you to send me that note, Fauconbridge, letting me know that Michael had returned.”
“It was my pleasure,” the viscount replied. “Won’t you join us?”
They accepted gladly. Additional drinks were obtained, and Michael ordered his usual three beefsteaks. Fauconbridge turned to the marquess. “Lord Redditch, how is your new grove of apple trees coming along?”
“Quite well, quite well, especially considering what a dry spring we’ve had. I think they’ll take.”
“I don’t know how you contrive to get anything to grow in that loamy soil you have in your bottomlands,” Fauconbridge replied. “We have some two dozen acres of it, too, and I can’t get anything to grow there, other than rapeseed.”
“The secret,” his father replied, “is to select the right variety of apple. A Dymock Red will grow in the clay. A Foxwhelp or a Councillor, you’re just wasting your time.”
“What about a Longney Russet?” Fauconbridge asked.
His father considered. “A Longney Russet might do, but of course, those aren’t any good for cider. You might try a Hen’s Turd, but only if the spot has good drainage.”
“How glad I am in this moment,” Harrington said, “to be the second son. I have absolutely no idea what you two are talking about, and I have no desire to find out. Have I truly been drinking something called a Hen’s Turd?”
The marquess laughed. “I regret to inform you that you have. At least it tastes better than it sounds. It’s a bit of a mystery how it got that name.”
“Are you getting all of this, Morsley?” Harrington asked. “You’ll need to remember to plant Hen’s Turd in all of that loamy, well-drained soil you’re going to inherit one day.”
“Perhaps I should make a few notes,” Michael said. He made the comment lightly, but in truth, he was out of his depth. The farming he’d been doing in Canada had been relatively straightforward: clear some land, plant some wheat, then clear some more land, and plant some more wheat. He’d known that farming in England wasn’t that simple, but he hadn’t realized it was quite so complex.
He would need to learn all of this before the time came for him to take over the estate. People were depending on him, after all.
“My apologies,” Fauconbridge said. “I must be boring you two. Let us speak of something else. I believe you have some news of a much more exciting nature, Morsley.”
“Indeed he does.” His father elbowed him. “Tell them, Michael.”
Michael grinned. “Anne accepted me.”
A round of congratulations followed. “Splendid, Morsley, splendid,” Harrington said. Although I would not say precisely that it comes as news.”
“I suppose not. You did know I was planning to ask her, after all,” Michael allowed.
“I was more referring to the fact that I watched you propose.” Harrington shook his head. “Couldn’t see a thing from the balcony, but I found a room on the second floor with an unimpeded view.”
Michael blanched. “You… you were spying on us?”
“My favorite part,” Harrington continued, “was when she said yes, and you picked her up and started spinning her around. I had no idea you were such a romantic, Morsley! Although I also enjoyed the part that followed soon thereafter, when you decided you needed to leave the garden immediately, and you rammed the gate with your shoulder. Somewhere you were eager to get to?”
“My apologies for my brother,” Fauconbridge said. “As always.” He turned to Michael’s father. “Don’t worry, my lord, Morsley made a good show of it. Got down on one knee and everything.”
Michael sighed. “Et tu, Fauconbridge?”
“Naturally I was watching,” the viscount replied. “That is my little sister you were leading off into the garden. I was fairly confident Anne would accept you, but had she given any sign that your attentions were unwelcome, as much as I value our friendship, I had to be ready to charge down there and run you through.” Fauconbridge delivered this threat of dismemberment with an amiable smile.
“It was a bit touch and go at the start,” Harrington informed his father. “At first I thought she had refused him! But he started kissing her, and then he hauled her into his lap, and apparently he was able to persuade her of the size of his, let us say, regard.”
Fauconbridge turned to Michael. “You’re a brave man, Morsley. Marrying Anne means you’ll have Harrington for a brother-in-law.”
“I wouldn’t have even considered it,” Michael said, “were it not for the fact that there will be an entire ocean separating us from Harrington.”
“What?” his father cried, his voice raw with shock. Everyone at the table froze, looking at the marquess’s stunned face. “You… you mean to go back?” his father said after a few beats of silence. “To Canada?”
Oh, hell. “I… er… yes. Anne and I will settle in Canada. You know of all I’ve been doing there, for the army and the navy, and the Crown. And just the other day Lord Hobart asked to see me. He wants me to succeed Sir Robert Milnes. As governor general.”
What his father said was, “Governor general. What an honor. I’m proud of you, son. I… I just hadn’t realized you were going to leave again.” But the marquess’s voice was completely flat, and his expression could only be described as…
Crestfallen.
Fauconbridge was urgently signaling for the waiter to bring the marquess another drink. Harrington, on the other hand, was eyeing Michael skeptically. “I say, Morsley, has my sister really agreed to give up her charity and move to Canada?”
“Well,” Michael replied, nodding his thanks to the waiter who placed his three beefsteaks before him, “not precisely. We’re currently trying to figure out how she can continue running her charity while we’re in Canada.”
Harrington snorted. “Well, that’s a ‘no’ if ever I’ve heard one.”
Michael swallowed a mouthful of beef. “We’re going to figure something out.”
“I know my sister,” Harrington said, “and she’s not giving up her charity. I can tell you that right now. She’s every bit as bullheaded as you, beneath her sweet-as-sugar exterior. You’ve seen the hours she has to put in to keep it running. There’s no way she can do that from Canada.” Harrington studied Michael’s face for a few beats. “I’ll warrant she told you she couldn’t marry you after all, as soon as you sprung this whole ‘Canada’ business on her.”
Michael almost choked. He didn’t mind that Anne could read his face; it had certainly been convenient last night. But Harrington Astley reading him like a book was a most unwelcome development. “We’re going to figure it out,” Michael repeated. “And we’re going to live in Canada. Because I say so. I’m the man, and the man is in charge.”
“Oh, dear,” his father said. “Keep telling yourself that, son.” He laughed at Michael’s glower. “I do know a thing or two about having a wife. And I can tell the three of you that a woman has a way of altering even your best-laid plans.”
“Harrington and I know a little bit about that,” Fauconbridge said. “We do have four sisters, after all.”
“Yes, you do,” the marquess returned. “Unlike Michael here, who’s accustomed to ruling the roost. But trust me when I tell you that if you find yourself a love match, your wife will be a hundred times better at bending you to her will than any sister.” The marquess’s eyes took on a faraway look. “It will be worth it, though.”
“See, my lord?” Harrington said encouragingly. “You have nothing to worry about. He’s not going back to Canada. There’s no way he’d leave Anne behind. He’s been besotted with her since he was twelve years old.”
“That is not true,” Michael said.
He attempted to spear another bite of meat, only to discover that his plates were already empty. Scowling, he glanced up to see that everyone at the table was regarding him with bald skepticism.
“Only since I was fourteen,” Michael grumbled, reaching for his drink.
“Oh,” Harrington said, rolling his eyes. “Well, in that case.”
Michael glanced at his pocket watch. “As much as I’m enjoying this delightful conversation, I’m due at the tailor. You’ll have to amuse yourselves as best you can by mocking me behind my back, rather than to my face.”
“That will suit us perfectly,” Harrington said cheerfully.
Michael stood, then turned to his father. “I promised to dine with Anne tonight. I hope that won’t be a problem.”
His father waved him off. “Not at all, my boy, not at all. Don’t worry about me.”
“I hope you’ll dine with us tonight, Lord Redditch,” Fauconbridge said immediately. “We’re just having a quiet family meal, but you would be most welcome.”
“I should be delighted,” the marquess replied.
“Mother is planning something a bit more elaborate for tomorrow night, and I hope you’ll join us for that as well,” Fauconbridge said. “You and Anne too, Morsley.”
Michael nodded. “I’ll tell Anne.”
He took his leave. The last thing he saw before he left the room was Harrington lean forward and say something that caused his father and Fauconbridge to burst into laughter.
Michael hurried outside, eager to get out of the firing line of Harrington’s razor-sharp wit.
He shuddered.
He was looking forward to going to the tailor. Surely this was one of the signs of the end times.