Chapter Twelve
Wylder
Five days later, Wylder sat in the Blue Parlor at St. Clair Manor, waiting for his father to appear for their afternoon meeting.
“More tea, my dear?” his mother inquired, picking up the teapot and pouring herself a bit more of the steaming brew.
“No, thank you, Mother.” Wylder smiled politely while watching the duchess from over the rim of his cup.
Annabelle St. Clair was a fragile creature.
Always had been. Wylder’s birth had very nearly killed her, if the stories were to be believed.
He’d been a large baby and so robust during labor that the lady suffered a hemorrhage, which required a doctor to be called upon to stitch her up.
The duke, while ecstatic that his newborn child was a son, had little desire to go through such a traumatic experience again.
The decision to abandon his wife’s bed resulted in Wylder being the sole heir to the dukedom and the slow decline of the Duchess of Claymore.
“Have you enjoyed attending the many events of the season, my dear boy?” Annabelle asked, stirring a cube of sugar into her cup. She sounded more than curious, and Wylder tilted his head as he regarded his mother.
“It passes the time,” he replied with a slight shrug of his shoulders.
Annabelle smiled guilelessly at Wylder. “Of course, the gaiety of such events is certainly conducive to selecting the next Countess of Wyldewood from a variety of candidates.”
If his mother only knew how he’d passed the time a few nights ago, she would likely succumb to a fit of the vapors and probably never recover.
“I’ve heard you’ve been seen with the Blackthorne girl numerous times this past week. It’s said you were to dance with her at the Jacobsons’ before she left with a sudden headache.” Annabelle smiled brightly. “Oh, she’s such a lovely little thing, Wylder. And so intelligent.”
“Where did you hear that?” Wylder grunted before covering his irritation with a slight cough.
After coercing Emily Blackthorne to climax so many times she finally fainted from exhaustion, he’d kept his distance from her in the days that followed the Jacobson ball.
He was fearful that he’d snatch her up and claim her in front of God and everyone.
It was worrisome that Simon made a point of closely watching Wylder.
Even though he studiously ignored Emily’s baleful glares, Wylder understood he could not be seen with her.
“Oh, Lady Blackthorne came for tea yesterday, and the subject came up. She kindly related all the gossip of the season so far. The countess was quite pleased with the prospect of you courting her daughter. And if your own mother’s opinion holds any weight, I’ve long thought she would be perfect for you.
It seems only natural you would pursue Emily, being that you are so fond of her brother.
I’m sure he would love having you as a true brother, even if it be only by marriage that makes it so. ”
“You know that marriage does not interest me, Mother,” Wylder sighed. “And a bride would only complicate matters as they stand now.”
“I think a wife would help clarify things for you, my dear. Wouldn’t it be lovely to have someone to share your thoughts and dreams with? Lady Emily would prove a credit to your titles and the continuation of our bloodlines.”
“As much as it pains me to disappoint you, Mother, I am not in the market for a bride. I’ve only just set things right with my own finances, and there is so much more that needs to be done with the other estates.”
Annabelle’s mouth turned downward at the change of subject. “While I am not privy to His Grace’s business, I have long suspected matters were unstable with the exception of Wyldewood. From all accounts, you’ve done a fine job with it, son.”
“Thank you, Mother. I hope to convince Father to allow me to employ the same tactics with the other properties.”
Annabelle set down her teacup, obviously flustered by the talk of money.
It was considered unwomanly for a female to be concerned with how her family’s fortunes were conceived or maintained.
“He will not speak with me on such issues, but I feel confident that he will heed your advice, Wylder. Indeed, he would be foolish to ignore your expertise in matters regarding finances.”
“What’s this about finances?” Albert St. Clair, the Duke of Claymore and Wylder’s father, entered the parlor, his voice booming in the expanse of the elegant room.
“Good afternoon, sir,” Wylder said respectfully, rising from his seat to sketch a slight bow to his father.
“I hoped I might have a word with you regarding some matters that have come to my attention. Your steward indicated you had time this afternoon when the appointment was made. If you are agreeable, we shall discuss it after we’ve finished tea with Mother. ”
Albert’s gaze slanted toward his only son. “I can only imagine what these matters might entail, but would I be correct in assuming it involves Lord Jacobson?”
Wylder sank back down into his seat, lips thinned by irritation. “It does. I prefer that this discussion take place in the privacy of your study, Your Grace.”
“Don’t ruin our tea, my lord,” Annabelle said to her husband with an indulgent smile for Wylder. “It is so infrequent that our son comes for a visit.”
Albert looked as though he wanted to protest, but instead, he let out a sigh of resignation, dropped a kiss to his wife’s forehead, and plopped down on the settee beside her. “As you wish, my dear.”
*
“What is it that you wish to discuss?” Albert closed the door to the study behind Wylder and made his way to an imposing desk littered with slips of paper and various ledger books.
Wylder stepped over to a Rococo-style sideboard upon which rested a decanter of whisky and one of brandy. He poured himself a glass of the whisky, and after receiving a wave of acknowledgment from his father, one for him as well.
“Your letters of debt to Lord Jacobson, to start,” Wylder said, handing the glass over to his father.
“Oh, a trifling thing,” the duke scoffed, gulping down a healthy splash of the whisky as he sat down behind the ornately carved desk. “Jacobson would have done well not to have concerned you in my personal affairs.”
“And yet, he did,” Wylder mused. Rolling the crystal tumbler in his hand, he studied the amber liquid.
Scolding a parent was an awkward position to be in as a son, one he heartily wished was not necessary.
“I covered the amount on your behalf, but it is the last time I shall do so.” He leveled a stern glare at the duke.
“Your gambling must be curbed, Father. Otherwise, you will lose the estates to your debtors because I will not continue paying for your vices.”
A look of real shock crossed Albert’s features before he drained the amount of whisky in his glass and set it down on a ledger book.
“Is it as bad as all that?” Fidgeting with a few of the papers scattered across his desk, he stacked them haphazardly while avoiding Wylder’s scrutiny.
The duke’s embarrassment was tangible, a condition he covered with a gruffness borne of bravado.
“It is.” Wylder sipped his whisky, wondering if the man would agree to his proposal. “And I have a solution to the problem, if you will entertain it.”
Leaning toward Wylder, Albert’s eyes lit up. “You have found an heiress to wed, have you? Your mother has despaired of that ever happening, but I’ve told her more than once that—”
“I have no intention of marrying an heiress, Father.”
“Why not?” Albert demanded. “It is the obvious solution… and with the desirable title of ‘duchess’ serving as an enticement, it’s only a matter of time before you snare the right girl for a bride.
Perhaps one of those cheeky American heiresses…
they seem almost desperate for titles. Any gentleman of nobility will suffice as a complement to their dowries. ”
“I have a more viable suggestion. One that will save the dukedom and the lesser estates. However, it does require a sacrifice on your part.”
“Sacrifice? What the devil are you going on about?” Albert blustered while shaking a finger at Wylder. “It’s high time you were wed, my boy. No more of this Rakehells of Mayfair business. Claymore needs an heir—”
“There will be no Claymore to speak of if you continue to gamble it away.” Wylder heatedly interjected.
“My plan… indeed, my hope… is to prevent that. To that end, you will turn over control of the finances for all of the estates to me so that I may begin rebuilding the coffers. I have enlisted the Earl of Camden’s assistance with this, as he generously advised me during the recovery of Wyldewood and my personal fortune, and I trust his judgment implicitly when it comes to matters of finance.
The man is an absolute genius when it comes to manipulating the ’Change.
I shall grant you a reasonable allowance as I undertake this monumental task, and I will expect you to abide by the terms we set forth today.
” Wylder’s gaze was stern and unyielding, enough so that his father swallowed nervously under the weight of his disapproving stare.
“There is really no other choice, Father. If you refuse, the dukedom will be lost. If that happens, I am prepared to provide a stipend for you and Mother to live upon. However, you must be aware that it will be far below the standards you currently enjoy.” Pausing, he tilted his head as he considered the duke.
“Shall I choose for you? Or will you do this as a matter of honor and help me save my inheritance, pitiful though it is in its current state?”
“This is beyond the pale, Wylder,” Albert feebly protested. “I’ve always covered my debts, son. This latest difficulty is simply a result of a string of misfortune at the tables.”
“It is your choice, Your Grace. You are undoubtedly aware that you are teetering on the verge of insolvency. If I take over the accounts, you shall at least save face within your set of acquaintances and friends. And Mother would not be relegated to the country, secluded in shame. You don’t wish that for her, do you? ”
Dismay clouded Albert’s gaze before it turned calculating. “You have me at a disadvantage, it seems, Wylder. But if I choose your solution, if I allow you to take such drastic steps, I have a request of my own.”
Wylder nearly sighed with relief. Whatever his father asked, it was sure to be something easily accomplished. Most likely, it would be the payment of some debt that had not yet come to light. “What might that be?”
“I shall give you full control of the estates. I’ll even abide by the terms of the allowance, but only if you agree to seek out a suitable wife.
An heiress with an enormous dowry would be ideal, but even if she turns out to be as poor as a church mouse, like Lucien Westley’s new bride, I will be satisfied. ”
“Ah, I see. You think blackmail will help your cause, Father?”
“It’s hardly blackmail, my boy. I do as you request, and you do something that will make your mother very happy.
” Albert leaned over the desk toward Wylder.
“Come on, son. Is it asking that much, considering I am giving up control of my estates? If this stipulation is not agreeable, then I shall recoup my losses at the tables. It may take a while, but I’m confident that eventually I will pull ahead. ”
“Fine,” Wylder growled in sudden capitulation.
How he would accomplish fulfilling the demands of his father, he did not know.
For now, he would count this as a victory.
Controlling the finances and stemming the bleeding of funds was of the utmost importance.
As for the other… Wylder clenched his teeth to control his anger. As for the other…
He would focus on that later.