Chapter Six
The news from Scotland had been better than they’d initially thought. Apparently John was badly injured, but he was no longer on the brink of death, as they’d first thought. The duke remained there, leaving Lucian the only Eldridge in the town house.
But that good news didn’t mean his father had relented in his determination to reshape Lucian’s entire personality into one of which he personally approved.
L:
I expect you to have enacted some changes in your life by the time I return home. It is still uncertain when that will be—John is mending well, but there are certain things that need to be done, and John’s wife is no help.
My threats are not idle. My standards are high, and I expect you to meet them. I want progress following the settlement.
So Lucian had that hanging over his head.
The lawyers had sent over the settlement papers, but trying to read the legal jargon was as painful as anything Lucian had ever experienced. What he thought he knew was that all the money was gone, eaten up by legal fees, and the duke and the earl still owned a factory together, and they were given the mandate to sort it out to their own satisfaction.
“It’s not exactly settled, is it?”
Lucian remarked, his head throbbing.
Previously, the factory had manufactured sailcloth and other production materials, and there were still machines—outdated, certainly, but means of production—sitting idle inside.
What could be done with an ancient factory?
He had no answer. Not surprising, given that the closest he came to involvement with business was spending money without thought.
But that didn’t mean he didn’t want to find a solution.
The only respite was, surprisingly, dealing with household issues.
He was the one the staff went to when they had a problem or something that needed to be approved, since there was no other family member currently in the town house. If asked prior to it happening, he would have said it was the last thing he wished for. But there was a certain pleasure to be had in making decisions, in having people view him as someone who would have answers, not just a person you’d have a good time with. He wasn’t so naive as to think that making decisions about the ducal household would be enough to assuage his father’s ire. But he did feel as though this was an area he could enjoy, as opposed to the strictly regimented life the duke was holding over his head.
Already he’d reassigned a horse-mad footman to the stables, allowed one of the scullery maids who had a knack for sewing to assist the housekeeper in repairing the linens, and ensured the housekeeper herself was thanked when she thought of something before anyone else did.
Between those efforts and thinking about his Cinderella, he was thankfully occupied enough not to anticipate what would happen when the duke finally arrived home.
Instead, his father’s vaunted Mr. Bishop was arriving in a few days.
In normal circumstances, Lucian would have been sampling all the delights made available to a duke’s son prior to the venerated Mr. Bishop’s arrival.
But he’d found lately, to his dismay, that those delights weren’t as . . . delightful. Even the most delicious of ices, blackberry, didn’t give him the same exhilarating feeling.
And he hadn’t actively flirted with anyone since . . . since that night. He’d done his duty as a recognized charmer, to be sure, since he didn’t want anyone feeling as though they were not worthy of his attention.
But he wasn’t as engaged as he had been before.
Drat. Was it possible he was changing?
Did he want to change?
Mr. Bishop hadn’t even arrived yet, and Lucian already loathed him. So that hadn’t changed, to his relief.
You could learn from the gentleman; he is a sober, respectable young man. Someone any father would be proud of.
Lucian wondered just what his father thought he’d actually done in his life—perhaps he’d mistaken his second son for some sort of Casanova, shredding hearts with aplomb.
Lucian hadn’t shredded a heart since seventeen months ago, and that had been a completely platonic friendship between him and an older married lady. The relationship had ended when the lady’s husband had taken umbrage at Lucian’s attentions.
If it made the husband pay more attention to the lady, Lucian was all for it, which was what he’d told her when she’d tearfully said goodbye.
Last he’d heard, the two of them were taking a year-long trip through the Continent, so he presumed there had been a good outcome from all of it.
If his father had ever paid attention, he would have known Lucian was neither a rake nor a rogue. He just . . . liked doing what he liked doing. Eating ices on a warm day, dancing all night to excellent music with beautiful partners, or playing board games with people more clever than he. Those were his indulgences, and they were hardly some sort of bacchanalian cavalcade of decadence.
Mr. Bishop’s arrival could have some benefits. If Lucian was irritated by the visit, perhaps he wouldn’t spend so much time thinking about a woman he’d met for one night. It was ridiculous to still be thinking about her. But he could not—and would not—control either his imagination or his thoughts, so he accepted that this was his reality for now.
His reality where his uppermost concern was a long-defunct factory and the truth that his father might very well cut off his way of life.