Finding one’s way in the world is simple: just follow the most fortunate unmarried fellow in the room. He’s obviously going in the right direction, and so will the lady who chooses him.
—MISS PENCE
As his boots found the front steps, Alex breathed a sigh of relief. Even so, he caught himself glancing back over his shoulder at the room on the southernmost corner of the first floor.
A golden glow still danced across the window panes and silhouetted the figure of the green-eyed girl who watched him leave.
He turned away and stepped into the carriage. As much as he might enjoy getting lost in the starry gaze of those green eyes, Charlotte Beck was the last woman in the world he’d ever wed.
With each turn of the carriage wheel, his vow strengthened and his thoughts turned to safer topics. He and Pembroke would make their way to Colorado in less than one week. The timing was excellent, as Alex had projected another passing of Jacob’s Comet during their week in Leadville.
With his paper on the subject receiving much positive attention in the scientific community, Alex hoped to find additional proof for his theories on the comet before the next international gathering of astronomers in Zurich. The Astronomer Royal had already added him to the delegation, allowing him to give a presentation that would seal his career with the observatory.
No minor feat for someone his age. Alex grinned. Though the Beck woman thought him old, his colleagues tended to dismiss him for the opposite reason.
“Thank you,” Alex said when the carriage rolled through the gates.
He made quick work of retrieving his papers, stuffing them into his satchel, and then stepped out into the upstairs hall. A servant met him, tears streaming down her face.
“Did you hear the news, sir?” she asked.
“News?” He shook his head and shifted the satchel to his other hand. “No, what news?”
“Your father,” she sobbed. “He’s dead, sir.”
“Dead?” His mouth barely wrapped around the word as he struggled to let it into his heart. As far back as Alex could remember, he’d thought of his father as an old man. With his thick patch of gray hair and the wrinkled features of the ancestors who decorated the walls of the ancestral home at Hampstead Heath, he had always appeared older than the other lads’ fathers. Alex had learned early on to cease comparison and merely think of Father as one who neither aged nor would ever die.
It was folly. And now he was gone.
“What happened?” he managed, but the maid had already fled, leaving him to his questions.
Alex made his way to his mother’s chambers, where he found the countess seated in the chair beside the window. At his entrance, she looked up with a weary expression.
“You’ve heard.”
“So it’s true,” Alex said. “What happened?”
“A quiet end. He took his evening meal at the Spaniards Inn with great gusto then went home and slept soundly. The maid found him mid-morning. He was already …” She paused to wipe away her tears. “Yes, well, I’m glad he had his night at the Spaniards Inn. It’s fitting.”
“Indeed.” Of all the dining establishments and pubs near the Hambly home, the old pub was indeed his father’s favorite spot to dine. Between those in his employ and those who called him neighbor, Father rarely had to dine alone at the Inn. He was a different man in Hampstead Heath than he was in London, as if he wore the clothes of nobility looser the closer he got to home.
“Do you think he enjoyed himself at the Inn?” his mother asked. “I wonder whether the meal was a good one.”
A ludicrous question to be sure, but grief knew no logic. And for all their differences, no one could claim his mother did not love his father.
“I’m sure it was a fine last meal among friends,” he managed.
Her gaze lifted to meet his stare. “The responsibility as head of the family is now yours.”
The truth, and Alex knew it. Yet he needed his mother to admit the situation. “But I am the spare. Look to your elder son for leadership. Isn’t that what he’s been bred for?”
“No,” she said softly. “But you have.”
Her admission took him aback, as did the lack of guile in her expression. When he looked into her eyes, he saw only fear. Her expression softened. “You always were the one who looked to the stars. Your father, he despaired of Martin’s place in the world, but you he never doubted.”
“He might have mentioned that, don’t you think? Perhaps one of those times he asked me to impersonate my brother. I grew used to the idea that Father thought there was only one of us,” Alex shot back, bitterness lacing his tone.
“Martin is the heir but you—” She paused. “You were always your father’s—”
“I am the spare. Leave me to it. I never wanted Martin’s place or his responsibility.” He took three steps toward the door, then thought better of his actions and turned around. “Forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive, darling. I know the responsibility for the family was not meant for your shoulders.” She clasped her hands, eyes downcast. “And yet it appears the Lord has chosen you for it all the same.”
That his mother mentioned the Almighty at all stunned Alex. While he could not look at the heavens and not think of their Maker, the countess had never professed such a belief.
“Alexander,” she said softly. “Your father is lost to the grave and Martin is lost to his nightmares. You’re all I have.” Her fingers strayed to his sleeve, but stopped shy of grasping his arm. Instead, her gaze captured his. “Please do not leave me penniless. I’ll accept any terms.”
How easy it would have been to turn and walk away, leaving his mother and, by default, Martin, to their own devices. But Alex knew his conscience would never allow it.
“Very well. I shall have Pembroke draw up something that bypasses Martin’s authority on any business transaction.” He offered his mother a curt bow. “Upon your signature, I shall do all in my power to keep this family from ruin. I only ask in return that you do the same for Martin and keep the seventh Earl of Fensworth safe in my absence. I can no longer fetch him from wherever he’s run if I am busy seeing to the family’s interests. I’m sure Pembroke can recommend a minder for him. Someone with the authority to see to Martin’s best interests and overrule any poor decisions he might make while I am away. Someone who will be kind even when Martin is not.”
Her nod was slow as a lone tear slid down her cheek. “As you wish,” she whispered.
“Fine.” He paused. “There are things I will need to attend to outside of London. Visiting the Leadville property is one of them. It may require my extended absence, but I give you my word I will return.”
She swiped at her damp cheek with her sleeve. “I see.”
“My departure will be rescheduled for after the funeral, of course.”
“Of course.” Her gaze fell to the carpet. “I am not heartless, Alex,” she said. “I hope someday you will forgive your father for his inability to show his love equally to his sons. Perhaps when you have sons of your own, you will understand.”
Several responses bit at his tongue, but out of respect, Alex spoke none of them aloud. He turned his back and walked out. At the first opportunity, he retrieved the letter and crumpled it in his hand. Whatever the elder Beck wished to say, it was far too late now.
Alex stepped outside to find his carriage waiting. “Heading to Greenwich now, sir? Shall I deliver you to the train station?” the driver asked as Alex tossed his satchel into the carriage and climbed in after it.
“Pembroke’s office.”
The driver tipped his cap. “Bond Street, then?” He reached for the reins.
At Alex’s nod, the carriage lurched into motion. And as they rolled out the gates, he couldn’t help looking back to see his mother watching from the first floor window. When she lifted her hand to press her palm against the pane, he turned away.
A short time later, he walked into Will Pembroke’s office unannounced, the solicitor’s assistant trailing in his wake. Pembroke waved away the harried help.
“Been expecting you.” Will set aside his work to give Alex his full attention. “My condolences on your father’s passing. I assume you wish to postpone our trip.”
“I’m afraid so. At least until certain arrangements can be made.” Alex repeated the substance of his conversation with his mother.
“I can have those papers drawn up immediately.”
Alex settled across from Will. “With the Leadville property disposed of, I can return to London without the burden of requiring a return visit. Correct?”
“Correct.” Pembroke leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk, then steepled his hands. “And the other matter?” At Alex’s confused expression, Will said, “The heiress.”
“You know my feelings on that.”
Will bowed his head briefly as if contemplating something. “I do. However with this turn of events, there will be an even greater burden on the estate. Inheritance taxes and the like.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” Alex let out a long breath. “How much will be needed to handle these costs?”
Will reached for a file and opened it. “I’ve been working on that, actually.”
“You’re fast,” Alex said with a lifted brow.
“Just thorough,” Will responded. “I would be remiss in my duties if I had not planned for this eventuality.”
The barrister read from the pages before him, and with each moment that passed, Alex’s hopes for covering the Hambly debts dimmed. He waved his hand.
“No need to go on. I get the idea. The Hamblys are well and truly penniless.”
“Not exactly penniless,” Will said gently. “There are certain assets of value.”
“Then get rid of them.”
Will shook his head. “Not all are so easily liquidated.”
“I understand the ancestral lands cannot be sold,” Alex said, “but surely other things can.”
“Yes, of course.” Will lifted a page from the file and slid it across the polished surface of his desk toward Alex. “As we’d already spoken of this option, I’ve taken the liberty of making a list. Some of the items, of course, will likely be exempt for sentimental reasons.”
Alex handed the paper back to Will. “Sell them all.”
“But you haven’t even looked at—”
“All,” he repeated firmly.
“But surely the countess will complain about losing some of her prize possessions. Why, the rubies were a gift from—”
“The countess will complain much louder should she be forced to spend an English winter without heat or endure a roof that leaks. Or, worse, being cast off on some of her lesser titled relatives abroad. Imagine her reaction to that.”
“Duly noted.” Will tucked the paper back into the file. “Now, as to the matter of a wife. Might I reopen the topic for just a moment?”
Alex removed his watch from his pocket and immediately thought of Charlotte Beck. He wrangled the image into submission and tossed it away. “You’ve got sixty seconds, friend, and not a second more.”
“I could proceed with expedience and an abundance of caution. No public announcements of our plans or adverts in The Titled American. And once a suitable wife is under the roof at the Heath, your responsibility to the family is done. You can go back to your astral charts and telescopes without concern of any sort.”
“Except the sort that comes from marriage, be it for love or want of funds.”
Will gave him a stern look. “I demand extra time on the clock for your interruption.”
“No need. I’m taking the matter under advisement, though were I required to respond at this moment, the answer would still be a resounding no. Especially given the amount of funds available once those items are liquidated.” Alex slid the watch back into his pocket and regarded his old friend with gratitude. “What of the Leadville mine? Any closer to a sale?”
“Not yet, though I feel we have a strong position in the negotiations,” the solicitor said. “Things are being kept quiet, as speculators know the property values will increase once the observatory plans get out.”
Alex leaned forward and rested his palms on the table. “Then why sell to investors? Why not cut out the middleman and sell directly to the ones doing the building? Wouldn’t the profits be greater?”
“They would, but the certainty of having the land purchased would decrease. What if the builders go with another location? Or what if there is a delay in the plans to build the observatory? There would be little need to secure the land if there is doubt about whether the building will go forward.” He paused to shake his head. “My advice is to take what we can get now and be done with the property. To hold out ownership might cause you to be without any buyer at all,” Will said. “Though even if the sale goes through, what we gain will only provide for your family’s needs for the short term.”
“Depending on the cost of settling your father’s estate, you might be buying the family a decade of comfort. That is, if the countess cooperates and holds her spending to a minimum.”
“She won’t.”
Will leaned back in his chair. “In that case, I’d say you will be looking at an empty bank account in two years. Three, if the Lord works a miracle.”
“But if He works a miracle, my friend, I won’t need to worry at all, will I?”
Alex moved toward the door with the question hanging unanswered between them.