Chapter 19
Algenon paced outside his father’s study. Lord Rupert had come to call this morning, confirming his fear that the earl meant to court Phillipa. This time, his father’s meddling had gone too far. He might push him around, but he would not endanger Phillipa’s life for his own vanity.
Taking a deep breath, he gathered everything he wanted to say and knocked.
“Come in,” came his father’s booming voice.
Algenon’s hand stilled on the door handle. The irritation present in his father’s reply made him wonder if he ought to wait. If Father was already on edge he might fight him merely out of spite.
Javenia’s pained face flashed in his memory, and he set his shoulders. He may not have been able to help her, but he’d not let Phillipa suffer as well.
His father’s face darkened when he entered. “What is it, Roberts? Can’t you see I am busy?”
Algenon stopped in front the desk where his father sat hunched over a letter, quill in hand. “We need to talk.”
“I would love to,” he said, voiced laced with sarcasm, “but I have correspondence of an urgent nature to attend to.”
“As urgent as your daughter’s life?”
That stopped him. He placed the quill back on its holder. “What has happened?”
“Lord Rupert is what has happened.”
Lord Roberts scoffed. “That.” He reached for the quill again, but his hand quivered.
“You know what sort of man he is, Father. Why on earth would you allow him to court Phillipa? I know how much you love each of your girls, even if you are loath to admit it. What if he sends her to an early grave like his other two wives? Do you really wish to bury a daughter?”
His father’s brow pinched, accentuating every wrinkle on his aging face. The trembling in his hand increased as he dipped the quill into the inkpot several times, his gaze unfocused. Then he shook his head and sighed.
“Because I have no choice.”
“No choice? You are her father. You have the ultimate choice.” Algenon planted his hands on the desk.
His father dropped the quill onto the paper, the ink splattering on its neat surface. “Blast it, Roberts. You wouldn’t understand.” Using both hands, he rubbed his temples.
“I think I understand more than you allow, Lord Roberts,” Algenon spat out. “Tell me, did you lose a bet? Maybe wager too much at the card tables?” He straightened, his heart sinking. “Please don’t say you used Phillipa’s hand as collateral.”
His father glared at him. “I may have wagered too much at the tables, but I would never use my own daughter as a bargaining chip.”
Algenon nearly sighed in relief but stopped himself. “How much did you lose?”
“What?” His father squinted at him.
“The money, how much did you lose at the tables?”
One hand to his forehead, Lord Roberts mumbled. “Ten thousand pounds.”
Algenon cursed under his breath. He’d had such faith in his father’s restraint, but apparently Eddie had been right to question. Ten thousand pounds was the sum of his sisters’ dowries. Had he wagered Phillipa’s dowry?
His father rose unsteadily, wincing with the effort. “I cannot speak of this now.”
Algenon placed himself in his way. It was obvious his father had a megrim coming on, and perhaps that was why he’d opened up in a way he rarely did. He couldn’t let this chance pass.
“This cannot wait, Father. Did you wager Phillipa’s dowry?”
A slight shake of the head and another wince met his question. “I have been paying down my debt of honor to Falcross for a year. The girls’ futures are safe.”
“Except Phillipa’s. You must dismiss Lord Rupert. He is not a good match.”
“Can’t,” his father rasped out, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Why not?”
Lord Roberts’s hands flew to his ears, and he ducked his head away from Algenon’s shout.
Algenon tried to muster some compassion, but it seemed to have fled at his father’s continued stubbornness.
Stumbling backward, his father grabbed the side of his chair and sat. His face paled, and he reached for the bin near his feet, casting up his accounts.
Only then did Algenon’s temper cool. Perhaps his father wasn’t being stubborn. Maybe he really couldn’t speak now. It was obvious he was ill.
Even if some stubbornness fueled his words, he was in no condition to have this conversation. Algenon crossed to the bellpull and gave it a tug. A few minutes later, the butler appeared.
“Send for the physician, Ames. Lord Roberts is ill.”
Ames nodded, but Lord Roberts protested. In a raspy voice, he said, “No, no doctor. It is only an ache in my head. I shall be well after a day’s rest.”
The butler glanced between the two men, his eyes finally settling on Algenon. Interesting that the man had turned to him for the last word.
“After you send for the doctor, have a footman come help Lord Roberts to bed.”
“Very good, sir.”
As soon as the butler quit the room, Algenon’s father folded his arms on the desk and laid his head on them. Algenon thought he might have fallen asleep, but a small groan let him know he was still conscious.
“I don’t want Lord Rupert around any more than you do,” he said into his arms. “But I have no choice. Lord Falcross knows something he shouldn’t, and no doubt he’s told Rupert.”
Algenon moved closer, not quite sure he’d heard his father’s quiet muttered words correctly. “And what is that?”
“I can’t… it’s not—” His father swiftly moved back, again emptying the contents of his stomach.
The footman entered at that moment and Algenon had compassion on his sire. Lord Roberts needed to be in bed where the curtains could be drawn and no noise would filter in.
He motioned the footman forward. “Help me get him to his room.”
Apparently, the butler had sent word ahead to Lord Roberts’s valet, because by the time they reached the room, the man had already drawn the curtains and brought willow bark tea.
Face drawn and breathing labored, Lord Roberts held out his feet for the valet to remove his shoes. In the good care of the servants, Algenon moved to the door.
“Thank you, Roberts.”
His father’s soft words stopped him. When had he ever thanked Algenon for anything? A faint memory of his boyhood, before he’d gone away to Cambridge after finishing school at Harrow, rose to the surface.
During his holidays home, his father had often taken him out to the stream to fish. They spoke very little, sitting in companionable silence as they listened to the bubble of the water. He’d often thanked him when they passed fishing lines or hooks to one another.
While his father had been demanding of the most upright behavior, he’d at least been active in his life as a young man.
Yes, he’d shown preferential treatment to his daughters and expected a lot from Algenon, but he’d not been absent like so many other men.
Perhaps that was why Algenon had desperately wanted to live up to all the expectations he’d set. He’d seen the effort.
“You are welcome, Father. Get some rest.”
The door clicked behind him as he left, and an odd sensation settled over him. Somewhere in the progression of their argument, there had been a shift in their dynamic. He had become the voice of reason. The one who looked out for the welfare of the family.
Reflecting on the past few years, he realized all his flamboyant clothes and ridiculous flirting had equaled that of a clean faced youth rather than a man nearly eight and twenty. Like a toddling babe, he’d thrown a tantrum with his actions rather than simply standing on principle.
If he’d declared his love for Javenia to his father and refused to budge, would he have had any power to threaten him? Certainly he could, but maybe respect would have grown if Algenon had just removed himself to the cottage in Essex and worked to support himself.
What of Javenia, though? His father still held the power to humiliate her.
Of course, Algenon hadn’t done much better.
If Lady Plum was correct, he’d already ruined Javenia.
Her modest dowry and connections could still make her a match, but not one founded on love—a foundation Javenia held to with fervor.
He needed to see her, to speak to her. If he’d truly put her in such a position, it was his responsibility to get her out of it. Flagging down a servant, he requested they ready his phaeton, before gathering his outerwear.
She had been terribly hurt yesterday, so there was a great chance she wouldn’t see him, but he had to try.
It would set more London tongues to wagging, but what did he care anymore?
No matter which direction he turned, Javenia was bound to be hurt.
She at least deserved the truth before everything came crashing down around them.
Donning his top hat, he bounded down the steps of Roberts House and into the waiting carriage with its sleek black body and bright yellow wheels. Ribbons in hand, he gave them a flick, and the roan mare sped into a trot.
On the way, he passed several couples out for afternoon strolls, their walking apparel especially fine. The small detail didn’t register until he reached Lord and Lady Upton’s house, and the butler declared the family to be out.
“And when will they be back?” Algenon asked.
“When services are finished, I presume.” The tall angular man furrowed his brow, looking at Algenon as if he’d lost his mind.
Services? His shoulders fell. It was Sunday.
The Harrises always attended St. James on Sunday.
Algenon had only attended haphazardly through his youth and adult years, his father never having been much of a churchgoing man.
He’d been so caught up in relieving Phillipa of Lord Rupert’s repugnant attentions that he’d not even paid attention to the day of the week.
Why then, had Lord Rupert come to visit at all? Sundays were reserved for close family and friends. Did he consider himself as such with only a short acquaintance?
Algenon reached in his pocket to retrieve a card, then stopped. “Could I wait until the family returns?”
The butler’s face twisted into a grimace. They were not strangers to one another, as Algenon had visited on several occasions over the years, so it was easy to read the man’s reticence.
“Not today, Mr. Roberts. Lord Upton requested no visitors.”
“But he is not even home.”
“No visitors at all, even after they return. The family needs time to… rest.”
The family needed to rest, or Javenia needed to rest from him? Was she really that upset? Had his father told her about his presence the night Penwick assaulted her? It was possible.
If so, she probably hated him. Did she think he’d broken his promise? He wanted to march right back to Roberts House and shake his father until he told him what he’d said to her.
It would do no good, and he knew it. He was becoming completely irrational. He needed to wait, give Javenia time like he always did. She would come around.
Only this time, he worried they didn’t have time. If rumors continued to spread, she could find herself alienated from Society before the season had even fully started.
Pulling the card from his pocket, he handed it to the butler. “Please let the whole family know I came to call.”
He hoped the butler would take the hint and not keep his presence this afternoon a secret. Then he placed his hat back on his head and left.
There was nothing left to do but wait.
Algenon hated waiting.