Chapter Three
“You must not forget your vow to me,” Viscount Walsham said in a raspy voice that only seemed to be growing weaker.
“Of course not, Father,” Laurence said, although he was very much focused on the current predicament, not on how he would keep the vow he had made five years ago in Vauxhall Gardens.
While his father slept, Laurence sat in an armchair beside him and watched his fragile breathing.
This problem with his heart had come on suddenly, and yet the situation had become dire so quickly.
It was hard to believe the doctor’s words—that his father had only days left to live—when only two weeks earlier, he had been the picture of health.
Laurence did not wish to imagine a world without him, so he refused. Instead, he let his mind wander to that vow he had made on a night five years earlier when his father had taken him to Vauxhall Gardens, and they had witnessed his uncle’s foolhardy behavior.
*
It had been a dry, chilly night, and a rare one in which the viscount had decided he wished to go out in society. He was a quiet man, who liked to read and walk and spend time in gentle conversation—not a man who loved the loud thrills and excitements that London had to offer.
But that year, he had decided to accompany Laurence to London for the Season—perhaps to make sure he wasn’t behaving as wildly as reports suggested.
While they got on very well, Laurence and his father were like chalk and cheese.
Laurence often wondered whether his mother had possessed a wild streak like he himself seemed to.
And so his father had joined him in London, although he had declined most invitations.
However, having heard of the wonder of the Cascade at Vauxhall Gardens, he had decided to join his son—and it was just before the Cascade was turned on for the evening’s performance that the viscount’s younger brother, Laurence’s uncle Thomas, had stumbled across their path, clearly extremely drunk and followed by two burly-looking men.
“Brother, dearest,” he said, his eyes lighting up at the sight of them. “Gentlemen, I do not believe you have met my brother, Viscount Walsham.”
By the looks on the two men’s faces, they did not care at all to meet a viscount, and only one of them bowed his head in greeting.
“Give us our money, and we will be on our way—then you can spend all the time with your brother you wish,” the shorter of the two men said.
Thomas visibly gulped.
“Well, you see, I don’t quite have…” Thomas trailed off, his eyes darting left and right. If he thought his awkwardness would make the two men leave him alone, he was certainly mistaken.
“Perhaps your brother could lend you what you owe, so that everyone continues to have a… pleasant evening.”
Laurence glanced at his father, who had remained silent throughout this exchange, and saw a nerve in his cheek twitch. Viscount Walsham was generally a calm and amiable man—but this was not always the case when he was around his brother.
“What does my brother owe?” the Viscount asked through gritted teeth.
“Two thousand pounds.”
Thomas blanched, and Laurence’s eyes widened. That was a lot of money to ask his father for offhand… it was also a lot of money to have lost, presumably in some sort of high-stakes game.
Although he clearly did not wish to, Laurence watched his father pull out a sheaf of notes and hand them to one of the men. “That’s two hundred. If you visit my man of business tomorrow, he will give you the rest.”
The man grinned toothily as Viscount Walsham relayed the address and then promptly disappeared into the crowd with his accomplice.
“Dominic, I can’t thank you enough,” Thomas said as soon as the two men had left. “It was just a bit of a misunderstanding, really. A bet which they took far more seriously than they ought to have done. I will pay you back, of course…”
Laurence’s father shook his head. “When have you ever paid me back, Thomas? And how many times have you come to me with gambling debts or accounts owing? You had a generous inheritance from our father, and you could have made a good living in the army or as a clergyman. But you have frittered away every penny—”
Thomas narrowed his bloodshot eyes. “You have no idea what it is like to be a second son. To have none of the privilege—”
The viscount exhaled noisily. “You had every privilege growing up, Thomas. And you have more privilege now than most. You must take responsibility for your actions—for I will not always be here to do so.”
Thomas opened his mouth to argue and then clearly thought better of it. “Well, I will bid you a good evening, brother, nephew.”
It was then, when he had disappeared into the night, that Viscount Walsham had turned to his son and extracted the promise from him.
“The viscountcy cannot go to him,” he said through gritted teeth, his face flushing red. “He would destroy it. Everything I have worked for, everything that generations of Walshams have worked for, would be gone in an instant if that man had control.”
“You needn’t worry, Father,” Laurence said, realizing that they had missed the Cascade—the event they had come here to see. “The viscountcy will pass to me, and I will ensure it is not destroyed. I promise you.”
His father shook his head. “I need you to promise more than that. You enjoy carousing and women a little too much, but I know you are a good man. I am not worried about the title or the estates under your care. You must promise me, here and now, that you will do your duty. That you will marry and produce an heir—several, ideally—to be certain that my brother will never get his hands on the title, the money, or the estates.”
“Of course, Father,” Laurence said, not really thinking about the words, keen to return his normally placid father to his usual nature.
“You must promise,” his father said, reaching out and gripping his hand tightly.
“You need not marry now—I know you are young and enjoying your freedom. But I only have the one son, and I have no intention of marrying again. So you must do this for me—and ensure that the title is passed down our line.”
“I promise, Father.” It did not seem like a particularly weighty vow to make.
After all, he assumed he would marry one day and sire children.
Of course, there was no way to guarantee he would have a boy…
he would just have to trust in God for that.
The idea of marriage at that time was not particularly appealing; his father was right—he did enjoy his freedom, and he had rather a growing reputation among the ladies of the ton.
By the time it was necessary to think about marriage and producing an heir—and he hoped that was a very long time in the future—he would surely feel more ready for it.
*
“Do not leave it too long to marry,” his father said that evening in his sick bed, after managing only a couple of mouthfuls of the soup that Cook had sent up to his bedroom for dinner.
“You cannot know what the future holds. I wish you a long and happy life, my son—but you need to make sure you are married and have a son in case life is not that kind.”
Laurence nodded, his eyes full of unshed tears.
The world did not seem a kind place right now.
He knew of many men who did not get on with their fathers, who would have been rather jubilant at the thought of inheriting the title, of finally becoming the person they had known they would be their whole lives.
But not Laurence. He was happy enough with the abstract idea of being a viscount.
It did not hold any great terror for him.
However, the thought of losing his beloved father was far too high a price to pay.
He would have quite happily remained Mr. Walsham for the rest of his days if it meant keeping the man who had been a constant in his life by his side.
Of course, that was not his—nor his father’s—decision to make.
“I will not break my vow, Father,” Laurence said, taking hold of the man’s thin, bony hand. “You do not need to worry on that score.”
And he hoped that such knowledge eased his father’s passing when he left the world later that night.