Chapter 17
17
C harity had been sitting in the library pretending to read for hours and the mantel clock seemed to click slower with her every turn of a page. Nonetheless, she was determined not to move from that very spot until Andrew returned from Parliament—which should have been one hundred twenty-three minutes ago.
She desperately needed to have a word. For long enough she’d bided her time like a good sister, or daughter, or lady of her station. After all, months had passed from her “near ruination,” and she ought to be able to press her brother for a tidbit of information. Of all her brothers, she was closest to Andrew who, at two and twenty, was only two years her senior. They had spent a great deal of time playing together when they were children—in a way. As children, the twins were relatively inseparable and only played with her when they were instructed to do so.
She had been born halfway between the twins and Frederick, who was two years younger. Freddie was now in his first year at university and was a year older than Grace, and the two of them had a strong bond. Wee Modesty, on the other hand, clearly must have been the duke and duchess’s last hurrah, a whole three years younger than her next eldest sibling. All in all, Charity had four elder brothers—Martin, Gibb (the sea captain), Philip and Andrew (the twins)—a younger brother, and two younger sisters.
She might have to take orders from Martin, because he was now the duke and officially in charge of the family. Gibb was presently sailing to the Americas. Philip never paid her any mind, and was busy with the new factory on the River Tay. To be honest, Andrew had always been the closest sibling she had to a friend—at least he had been before he’d gone off to St. Andrews for university.
When finally the door to the library opened, Charity lowered her book and watched her auburn-haired brother stride straight to the writing table, open the drawer, and pull out a bottle of brandy, along with a glass.
“I take it Parliament was a bit dreary today, was it?” she asked.
His gaze shifted toward her, though he spilled not a drop. “Long and arduous. I do not envy Martin in the slightest.”
She considered asking him to pour her a wee tot in order to sample her first taste of spirits, but thought better of it. “What is it like sitting among all those peers of the realm, making decisions about important issues that impact the country? What was on the docket for today?”
Andrew took in a deep breath and groaned. “We’ve spent the entire week arguing about raising the taxation on the exports of woolens.”
“I would imagine you wouldn’t be in favor of that. If they raise the taxes on the exports of woolen goods, soon they’ll be applying the same bounties to cotton goods.”
“Exactly.” Andrew raised his glass. “You would make a good statesman.”
“Thank you.” Charity pushed to her feet and moved toward her brother. “I’m curious…”
“Hmm?” he asked, sighing and sitting in a chair, and giving her an aloof, somewhat disinterested smile. “There always seems to be something buzzing in that pretty head of yours. What is it this time? Pink or blue? I always say blue brings out the color of your eyes.”
“Yes, you’ve mentioned that a time or two.” Charity took the seat opposite and leaned forward. “I’m curious…”
Andrew sipped then licked his lips. “Aye, you said that.”
“Ah…” she clenched her fists.
Just out with it, else I may never have another opportunity.
“…has the new Earl of Brixham made an appearance in the House of Lords? Shouldna he have taken an oath of some sort recognizing him as a peer of the realm?”
Andrew took another sip of his brandy then set the glass aside. “Aye, the man was required to present himself before the House of Lords on the day Parliament opened.”
Truly? Charity hadn’t imagined Harry had been in London all that time. And then he’d come to Town and not bothered to pay a call. Though she oughtn’t be surprised after the way things had ended between them. “Receiving the commission of earl couldna have been easy for him.”
“Nay.”
“His mother suffers from bouts of pleurisy, ye ken.”
“Does she?”
“Terrible bouts of coughing, as I understand. Moreover, when His Lordship was a butcher, he had to take on odd jobs, as he did with the roof at Huntly Manor. And his boxing brought in enough coin to send his mother to Bath to take the waters.”
Arching a single eyebrow, Andrew steepled his fingertips. “It seems you know a great deal about His Lordship.”
Charity had seen that look on her brother’s face before, and if she did not tread carefully, he’d question her without mercy until she confessed everything. “Mayhap a little.”
“I’m going to give you some advice.” Andrew pushed back his chair and crossed his ankles. “Brixham may be an earl, but as you’ve alluded, he hasn’t a farthing to his name. He even stooped so low as to approach Mr. Jackson about arranging a boxing match.”
Charity sat ramrod straight. “A boxing match? When did he do that?”
Andrew chopped his hand through the air. “When and if is none of your concern. You are treading a very fine line, Sister. Mark me, though the rumblings of rumors were tidied up very nicely by our industrious mother, no one in this family has forgotten that you very nearly came to complete ruination because of that man.”
Clapping a hand over her mouth, Charity chided herself for bothering to bring up the subject. Obviously, not a single MacGalloway was about to forget her moment of shame when, God forbid, she showed a modicum of human concern for a fallen man.
Andrew leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table. “Never forget who you are. You were not brought into this world to make a match with a penniless butcher who has suddenly found himself with a title. Brixham might even be a nice enough fellow, but you are our father’s eldest daughter. I’ve heard Mama repeat time and time again that you are destined to make a match that will benefit and strengthen the family. It is not only your birthright, it is your duty .”
Charity chewed the corner of her mouth—when the blazes did her brother become so unflappably rigid? University had transformed him from a carefree Highland lad into a snobbish aristocrat. Obviously pursuing this conversation further with him would only make him wary that she might actually harbor feelings for the man who’d saved their sister’s life and repaired the barn’s roof.
She’d like to see Andrew climb a ladder and fix a rotten roof. It might teach him a bit of humility. No, her brother wasn’t going to tell her anything about where and when Brixham’s fight was to take place, and he certainly wasn’t going to invite Harry over for an evening meal.
“So, tell me, how is Lord What’s-His-Name, the master of sonnets?” Andrew asked, picking up his glass and examining the amber liquid in the stream of sunlight coming through the window.
Charity licked her lips—she most likely would have been more successful had she asked for a wee sip. “Lord Percival.”
“Aye, that’s the one. Has his poetry improved?”
“I have no idea. He sent flowers yesterday with an invitation for a ride through Hyde Park on the morrow.”
“Lovely.”
“Do you know Lord Percival?” she asked.
Andrew sipped. “I know of his family. They are well-respected, and the current marquis can trace his lineage back to the Norman Conquest. Holdings on the borders—close to Scotland. You ought to like that.”
From the doorway, Giles, the Dunscaby butler, cleared his throat. “M’lord, m’lady. Miss Hay is asking if you’ll join Modesty in the drawing room for dancing lessons. They’ve rolled back the carpet.”
As Charity pointed to Andrew, her brother arched his eyebrow at her. “She would be delighted.”
“I believe we’ve all been summoned,” said Giles, who usually played the piano for dancing lessons.
“Yes, all of you.” Mama popped her head inside. “And I’m certain you both will be thrilled to hear I have responded favorably to the Marchioness of Northampton. The three of us will be attending her annual masquerade ball a fortnight hence.”
“Annual?” asked Charity. “But last year was her first.”
Mama patted her fingers atop her lace fichu. “And it was so successful, Her Ladyship has decided to host it annually.”
“Well, the masquerade ought to be fun.” Charity grasped Andrew’s hand and pulled him up. “I think it was the best ball of last Season. Marty attended with us—he was Mark Antony and I was Cleopatra.”
“And Mama?” asked her brother, dragging his feet and looking forlornly at his nearly-full glass.
“Our mother dressed as a domino, and was quite piqued when the Northampton steward referred to her as ‘the widow’.”
“I may be a widow, but I shan’t be dressing as a domino again,” said Mama, leading the way toward the drawing room.
“No?” asked Charity. “What this year? A queen?”
“It shall be a surprise.”
Charity smiled to herself. With luck, Mama’s costume mightn’t be the only surprise.
She was about to follow the entourage into the drawing room when Giles stopped her. “You’ve a missive from Her Grace, m’lady,” he whispered. “Marked confidential—I’ve taken the liberty of delivering it to the top right drawer of your toilette.”
The latch to the boarding house door pulled straight out from the timbers as Harry attempted to step inside. Putting two fingers into the gaping hole, he pulled the door open, to be met with a frown from the domicile’s mistress. “Wha’ ye doin’ wif me latch?”
He examined the damages as well as the crumbling wood. “Your door’s rotted. I can repair it if you have a bit of wood out the back.”
“Ye’ll pay for a new latch is wha’ ye’ll do.”
Wonderful—all he needed was another debt. “I said I’d fix it. Please allow me to give a repair a go first, madam.”
The courtesy seemed to soften the wench a tad, because she batted her eyelashes and dug inside her apron, pulling out a missive. “You’ve received some mail.” She gave him a gap-toothed grin—well it wasn’t really a grin, but more of a smirk. “But ye never told me ye were an earl.”
Harry glanced at the address and cringed. “It’s me mate’s sense o’ humor,” he hedged, slipping the letter from the woman’s fingers.
“I knew ye couldn’t be no man of quality. Ye’d best see to me latch afore dinner, else I’ll be requiring payment. I reckon a new latch costs at least a guinea.”
He headed to the shed out back where he ought to be able to find the tools he needed. “I’ll have it repaired in no time.”
Hell, he wasn’t responsible for the rotten timbers, and by the look of the screw holes, the latch had been repaired more than once. Fix the lock he could do, but he had been careless to give the Duke of Dunscaby the boarding house address.
Before he stepped into the dim light of the shed, he ran his finger under the Dunscaby seal while puffs from his breath swirled about his head. A letter accompanied the manifest of the holdings at Huntly Manor that he’d requested. He scanned it quickly, noting that it had not been signed by His Grace, but Her Grace had sent the reply, asking him to contact the butler, Willaby, to view the contents. The duchess went on to explain that the manor had been opened to boarders, and that she’d like to request that their rooms be left untouched for the time being, and that if Harry intended to remove or auction any of the contents, he would give them ample notice to make arrangements for replacement.
Fair enough.
Harry didn’t have any imminent plans to take possession of the items in the manor. First of all, he had no place to put any of it. Still, he scanned the list, taking particular note of the silver and anything of value. It would take time to organize an auction and what he did not have at the moment was time. However, he ought to be able to sell the silver sooner than later—though the London sharks wouldn’t even pay a quarter of its worth.
At least it would be something.
He folded the documents and tucked them into his coat. He would pay Willaby a visit just as soon as he was able. But he needed to fix a door and prepare for the fight that Gentleman Jackson had arranged on his behalf.
Maybe Lord Andrew had been on to something, suggesting Harry marry an heiress from a merchant family. A woman with a large dowry was what he needed. Maybe Harry didn’t need a wealthy woman, but the earldom needed it. His mother needed it. And if he found an heiress who coveted the title of countess, she ought to be able to help him negotiate among all the fops and lord-high-mucky-mucks of the ton .
Lady Charity had a sizeable dowry, even Harry knew that. But though he was now a nobleman, she was still far too good for the likes of him—Andrew had indicated as much by emphasizing she was destined to marry into a well-established, noble family. What could he offer a woman who had lived in luxury all her life? What could he offer a woman whose brother and entire family put her on a pedestal?
He stepped into the shed, found the tools he needed and a few scraps of wood. He’d be damned if he was going to give the boardinghouse mistress a farthing for a new latch. Hell, if he didn’t fix it straightaway, she’d most likely start demanding a whole new door.