When the Seabrook Family arrived, Myles had never been so thankful in all his life. As his eyes locked with Bella’s, a shock travelled through his system. Then a soothing stillness entered his body. With her by his side he knew he could withstand anything. Not that he wanted or expected he would need to withstand anything, but with her he could. Why had he not noticed how much he needed her until recently?
It was time. Time was of the essence. He needed to marry and produce an heir. Over his dead body would Gerard ever inherit. Not comforting thoughts or words as a strange sensation washed through his veins. Somehow he needed to throw those two out of his house without looking like an inconsiderate arse.
Right after his father’s body was laid to rest in the family cemetery at their country estate, he would have his barrister procure an appropriate home to rent for them. He would no longer tolerate their presence here. When his father lived, he could do nothing about the circumstances. His father’s heart saw nothing but goodness in everyone.
Myles thanked God everyday he did not inherit that particular trait from him, and that he saw things clearly and people for what they truly were. When out in polite society, Myles gave the impression of being somewhat of a reckless rake by socializing, drinking and gambling.
What people, except for those closest to him, didn’t see was the intensity in his eyes. Nothing around him went unnoticed. People let their real personalities show when they thought nobody paid any attention to them. Big mistake. Myles knew more secrets of the good people of the ton than he wanted to. Who slept with whom, who was being cuckolded by their wife, which lords preferred men or boys. How many bastards so and so had? Strange how people spoke frankly to him, thinking him drunk or uninterested.
Now that he possessed his father’s titles and lands, he had huge responsibilities. Ones he would take to heart.
His father had been a great family man, but when it came to Parliament, he lacked power. Myles planned to take Parliament by storm. Several things were dear to him.
Wentworth and Bridgeton continually fought in Parliament for the poor citizens of London, and Myles planned to enter the battle. If they didn’t fight for the rights of the poor, who would? He could not ignore the hardships of others because of the circumstances of their birth. And because he had the good fortune to be born with a title and wealth, it was his duty to accomplish goods things.
A fortnight after his father’s passing, Myles found himself at the Bow Street runner, Mr. Smythe’s, office.
“Please come in and sit down, Lord Northborough,” said Smythe.”
Myles rested his bone weary body on a scared wooden chair in the small, windowless office and tugged his cravat. Damn society for insisting gentlemen wear such confining cloth which constricted the very air one needed to breathe.
Two years past he’d accompanied Wentworth to this office, he was familiar with its cramped airless space, so why did he have the desire to flee? His hands went to his throat again, tugged and pulled his neck cloth until it loosened and he could breathe, which also allowed him to find his voice.
“I want to hire you to investigate my cousin, Gerard Fredrickson and his wife.” He went on and explained everything he knew about them and what he suspected.
“I see,” Smythe said. “I will get my men right on it. Is there anything else?”
Myles shook his head, not in answer, but to concentrate on the runner and not the walls closing in on him. He rose abruptly. “No. That is all. Send word to me as soon as you know anything, even something small and insignificant.”
There was another stop he needed to make. He had never gone this long without checking on them and it bothered him. Estate work had been keeping him inundated with paper work ever since his father’s death. Why didn’t Wentworth and Amesbury say how overwhelming inheriting a title was? Next he saw them he would ask.
His carriage pulled up to a narrow two story home on a quiet side street on the outskirts of town. He possessed a key, but preferred to knock. One pull on the wrought iron knocker had the door flying open. Myles came face to face—well not exactly face to face—with a tow headed four-year-old boy.
“Hello,” Myles said, patting the youngster’s wayward curls. “Where is your mama?”
No sooner had he said the words than Penelope stepped into the foyer. “How many times do I have to tell you not to open the door?”
The boy lowered his head and mumbled something resembling, “I’m sorry Mama.”
“Don’t do it again.” His mother picked him up, hugged him close and put him down. “Do run along and play. Lord Northborough and I have things to discuss.”
Myles’s heart constricted at the scene between mother and son, making him ache for the first time in his life for his own children. Once they were alone and in the small, neat drawing room, Myles poured himself a glass of brandy and sat on the settee beside Penelope.
“You heard?”
“Yes. I am so sorry. I know how much you loved your father. How did your mother and sisters take the news?”
“Not well. But that’s not why I’m here.”
“No?”
“I don’t really know why I came, except my visit was overdue. I think I needed a friend.”
Penelope took his hand in hers and Myles lowered his eyes.
“I will always be your friend as you have been mine.”
“Thank you. Do you mind if I stay and relax for a while?”
“Please do,” Penelope invited.
A few moments later she covered him with a quilt, and Myles closed his eyes and sighed. He’d only meant to rest a spell, but exhaustion caught up with him and he fell into a deep sleep.