Chapter Three
Ralston Fairchild, the Marquess of Redington and heir to the Duke of Lindley, stalked stonily from the ballroom.
In the back of his mind, he acknowledged that he’d been a bit harsh with the young woman who’d nearly sent them both tumbling to the marble floor. He probably could’ve handled that moment better, but his concern was far too consumed by the desperately urgent tone of the note he’d just received.
Though he’d long ago accepted his role and responsibilities as his father’s heir and eventual head of the family, he wished that just once he could get through an evening or an event without having to prevent some crisis.
With nearly a dozen younger cousins—several of which were out in society—there was no end to the trials and troubles he was forced to address as the eldest and de facto custodian of his generation.
Tonight, he was already tasked with the duty of playing escort and protector, not only to his younger sister but to two of his female cousins, as well.
And, of course, his cousin Jarret Balcomb decided it was the perfect time to end up in some mysterious dire straits that obviously required a hasty note and a frantic plea for immediate assistance.
Ralston was astonished and furious that the reckless reprobate had actually dared to bring his latest trouble to the Byrne ball tonight.
Considering Jarret’s ceaseless propensity for shocking and disreputable behavior, his cousin’s presence could easily devolve into a scene of scandalous proportions.
And that was something Ralston had to prevent at all costs.
His only option was to deal with whatever this was quickly and effectively. Any time spent away from the ballroom gave his sister and cousins more time to create trouble of their own. Taken individually, the three young ladies in his charge were easy enough to manage. But when they were together…
His shoulders tensed and anxiety flashed through his mind.
Suffice it to say that Ralston knew better than to underestimate them.
Crossing the main entry hall, he strode to the small sitting room where the footman had indicated Jarret was waiting. His younger cousin was sprawled in a large captain’s chair, a drink in hand.
Ralston closed the door securely behind him. “What in hell do you think you’re doing?”
Jarret glanced toward him as he spoke and flashed an unrepentant grin. “Having a splendid night, is what. And you, cuz?”
By the slur in the man’s words, Ralston knew he was already foxed. “You know exactly what I’m doing,” he retorted. “I’m escorting our sisters and Bridget to the first ball of the season. A duty you were also tasked with, I might add.”
Jarret snorted. “As if I’d be caught dead at a debutant ball.”
“Yet, here you are,” Ralston noted stonily.
“Only for a moment,” Jarret replied, hauling himself unsteadily to his feet. “I just need a quick loan.”
Ralston clenched his teeth. The reprobate wanted money. He always wanted money.
“That is your blasted emergency?”
“A couple thousand pounds should do it,” Jarret said with a sloppy grin.
“No.”
“Aw, come on, cuz! One thousand then.”
Ralston narrowed his gaze. “Are you telling me you’ve already spent your monthly allowance?”
“Ages ago. And my dear mum won’t give me anymore.”
“Neither will I.”
Jarret’s flushed features dropped into a petulant frown. “But there’s a lovely new bird at the Lyon’s Den. She’s expensive—and French—but apparently worth every bit of what she charges. Come on, cuz,” Jarret pleaded as he stumbled forward. “I’m desperate.”
“You’re foxed and you’re delusional,” Ralston replied without an ounce of sympathy as he grabbed his younger cousin by the arm and started walking him forcefully toward the door. “And you’re going home.”
“Fuck, Ralston,” Jarret grumbled. “A couple thousand means nothing to you, but I’d give me the night of my life.”
Ralston didn’t reply as he opened the door and quickly surveyed the entry hall. Gratefully, no one else was about. He couldn’t have any witnesses to this cousin’s disgraceful behavior and the best way to ensure that was to get the cad out of there. Swiftly.
Keeping a firm grip on Jarret’s arm, he shoved his cousin from the study.
“You’re twenty-four, Jarret, and will someday become the Marquess of Loxmarch. It’s time for you to grow up and start taking responsibility for your life and your position.”
Jarret snorted in disgust. “I’ve got plenty of time to become old and irreparably stuffy like you.” He gave Ralston a sly look. “In fact…you could probably benefit from a visit to the Lyon’s Den yourself. It’d do you good to live a little. Get wild and enjoy life.”
“My life belongs to the Fairchild family and the ducal legacy,” Ralston muttered under his breath.
“That’s what I’m trying to say,” Jarret insisted, warming up to the topic.
At least he wasn’t resisting Ralston’s guidance from the premises.
“I reckon you deserve to ignore all that for a bit and do some living for yourself. I can put in a good word for you over at the Lyon’s Den, get you one of their best girls… ”
Ralston snorted. The idea was idiotic and didn’t deserve an answer.
Even if he had a life of his own to live, he was not in the habit of visiting gambling hells, especially not those reputed to offer the types of amusements that often led to scandal.
His duty was to mitigate that kind of risk. Not engage in it.
Once outside, he loaded his cousin into his own carriage making sure the driver did not take any detours in bringing Jarret home, no matter how loudly the cad protested.
“Did you ever think your mother might increase your allowance if you behaved more responsibly with your finances?”
“No,” his cousin pouted. “My mother revels in her tight grip on the purse strings. It’s her favorite way of controlling me.”
“Go home, Jarret.”
His cousin gave a mocking salute and then grinned again before pulling the carriage door shut. Ralston sighed and nodded to his driver.
Now, he’d have to wait for the carriage to return before he could even consider calling it a night. He strode swiftly into the house and angled back toward the ballroom.
Hopefully, his sister and cousins hadn’t had enough time to do anything they shouldn’t.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t be so lucky.
His cousin Bridget, who was making her debut this year, was surrounded by at least half a dozen young bucks and was somehow managing a simultaneous flirtation with all of them.
His cousin Lydia, in her second Season, was nowhere to be found.
And his sister, Eleanor, also in her second Season, stood amongst the potted ferns in a far corner where she appeared to be engaged in a rather heated argument with their hostess’s brother, Viscount Waring.
Such a private and…passionate conversation would surely be remarked upon by the gossips.
Resisting the desire to groan his frustration aloud, Ralston strode toward his sister first. The crush of guests made it slow going, however, and before he reached them, he witnessed the viscount giving a deep but still somehow irreverent bow before walking away.
Despite the subtle tension in her form, his sister’s expression was carefully devoid of emotion.
“What was that about?” Ralston muttered, stepping up beside her.
“Nothing.”
He wanted to press the issue since her response was clearly a falsehood, but Bridget’s robust laughter caught his attention, and he realized he’d have to intervene there first.
“Stay right here.”
Within twenty minutes, he had his three young charges gathered up and back under his watchful eye. He may not enjoy this particular responsibility, but he took it seriously. He had to.
“You really are the worst stick-in-the-mud, cousin,” Bridget complained. “I can’t believe I finally have my come out and I’m forced to endure your oppressive presence.”
“Be grateful,” Ralston noted dryly. “It’s me or Aunt Alice.”
Lydia groaned at the mention of her mother. “Do not invoke her name lest she appear by some wretched wizardry. Your escort is much appreciated, Rals. But you really don’t have to be so vigilant. We are quite capable of managing ourselves.”
Ralston gave her a pointed glance. “By hiding in the library?”
“I wasn’t hiding,” Lydia argued. “I was doing my best to enjoy the evening in my way.”
Ralston did not relent. “And if some disreputable gentleman had come upon you there? Alone. You’d have managed that, as well?”
Lydia rolled her eyes. The scenario apparently too preposterous for a response.
“Perhaps you should worry about yourself, brother,” Eleanor noted, “and your duty to the Fairchild family line. The dukedom has a legacy to uphold. You must produce proper heirs,” she added in a near perfect imitation of their father’s heavy tone.
Ralston narrowed his gaze. “Eavesdropping again, sister?”
She shrugged, unashamed.
“I know my duty,” he said with a familiar clenching of his stomach. His whole existence had been formed by his obligations to family and the expectations inherent in perpetuating the Fairchild legacy. “Never doubt it.”
“Really?” She arched her brows with a gleam in her dark eyes. “And how many lovely hopefuls have you danced with tonight?”
Ralston didn’t answer. There was no point. He never danced at these things. Such behavior tended to inspire hope in the matchmakers. Or worse—speculation and rumor. Just because he never had a chance to forget his duty, didn’t mean he couldn’t at least try to delay the inevitable.
His sister snorted.
Though his sister was not usually a confrontational sort, if she was in a mood to be quarrelsome, she could be a formidable foe. Considering the way she held her features in a stoic mask despite her challenging words, it was clear that something had set his sister on edge.
He thought again of the apparent quarrel she’d been engaged in with Waring. What in hell could she have been discussing with a man she’d only just met to invoke such a reaction? He’d have to discuss the incident with her as soon as they had a private moment.
If Waring had done something untoward…
Ralston took a deep breath to dispel a rush of protective ire. He would deal with Waring as he deemed necessary. Discreetly and definitely.
Gratefully, the rest of the evening went on without significant incident or concern.
Lydia stayed out of the library. Bridget limited her flirting to two or three gentlemen at a time, and Eleanor managed a few tight smiles, though she was very reluctant to leave her nest of ferns.
Eventually, all three of his young charges danced with a handful of gentlemen and were ready to leave shortly after midnight.
Once he escorted them each to their respective homes, Ralston returned to his own bachelor residence, anticipating a warm brandy and a quiet fire before retiring to bed.
Peace and relaxation were not in his immediate future, however.
He should’ve known Jarret wouldn’t acquiesce to his instruction so easily.
Though his driver assured him that the younger man had been returned to his residence, his cousin had obviously decided to go out again.
According to the note awaiting Ralston at home, Jarret was in some trouble at the Lyon’s Den.
With a harshly muttered curse, Ralston walked back out his front door. Just once, he’d like to have the opportunity to put his own comfort—his own needs—ahead of the greater needs of his family. But not tonight.
As always, duty prevailed.