Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ru
“Fenella Dubarry?!” I exclaim, as my father drops his news on me. I thought I’d been summoned for business, and in a way I had. But we’d concluded the questions he wanted answers to—nothing he couldn’t have kept for the office tomorrow—which had left me with an uneasiness as I sat across the wide wooden desk from him in his study.
And now I learn the real reason why he called me here this morning.
“The Dubarrys are a respectable family. Lord Dubarry has been a long-term member of my club.”
“So?” I sound petulant, but I want to make my father spell it out for me.
He leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers, which I know is never a good sign, and I’m probably in for a long lecture, one I’ve heard before on numerous occasions.
“Rupert.” I can hear the exasperation in his voice, but I don’t let it get to me. “How old are you, twenty-eight, twenty-nine?”
I don’t answer because not only does he not require one, but the fact he can’t actually remember how old I am means he doesn’t deserve one. He doesn’t deserve my respect either, and he doesn’t have it, not really. I continue to toe the family line because tradition has been ingrained in me from an early age, but I won’t adhere to it enough to give him what he wants.
Not without a fight anyway.
Except I’m not fighting. I’m resisting for as long as possible. A conscientious objector to my own inevitable fate.
My cowardice to stand up to my father makes me fidgety, and while he goes over the same tired speech about duty and family and the Cardew line, I chew the side of my thumb and turn my thoughts to Nate as usual.
He doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who wouldn’t stand up to his own father. I bet they have a great relationship. He’s so open about his sexuality as well, that it probably isn’t a problem for him either. Twin feelings, of wishing to be more like him and envy that he probably has it easy, weave their way through me, and I almost miss the point my father is getting to.
“So, they’re coming to dinner tomorrow night. I expect you to be here.”
“What?” The exclamation bursts from me. I know what he’s up to. Fenella is just another in the long line of women he’s considered for me, hoping I’ll want to marry one of them eventually.
But he can’t make me.
“It’s not what,” my father sighs. “It’s pardon.”
His need to correct me irritates me.
“Whatever,” I mumble, but the look he gives me, shows that he heard me perfectly well.
“Rupert! I raised you better than that.”
Yes, well father, here’s the thing. You didn’t raise me, did you? As soon as I was old enough, you packed me off to boarding school.
I’m not sorry about it, though. I had a good time at Woodcourtt, but to say I was raised by my father, or even my mother, is a joke.
I don’t bother to answer him on that one, which irritates him further. Maybe if he’d shown me one tiny bit of love or even a kind word in the last twenty-eight years, then maybe I would bother, but I exist for one reason only, to be the next Lord Harrington. I’ve always suspected that I wouldn’t have been born at all if Petra had been male.
“Tomorrow, seven o’clock.” He dismisses me with his words and I leave without saying goodbye. I’m as disappointed in him as he is in me and I can’t wait to get out of his presence. Out of his house.
“He only wants to see you happy.” My mother comes out of the drawing room as I cross the hall, hoping to escape.
I stop and face her.
“No he doesn’t. All he cares is that the Cardew line doesn’t die out. Like anyone cares about my happiness.”
“Your father does.” She tries to make peace between us but I never listen. She’s never been very maternal. Petra and I were cared for by nannies when we were younger, and then both of us were sent away to school. We were tolerated during the holidays as long as we didn’t make too much noise or interrupt the functions and garden parties our parents held.
“I know he can trace us back to the thirteenth century or whatever, but really, does it matter?”
She makes a face like l’ve insulted her personally, and I finally understand. Having two unmarried children, aged twenty-eight and thirty, is an embarrassment to her. It’s not something she can boast about in her circle. She’s never been the mother of the bride or groom. Never been able to show off pictures of her grandchildren. It makes her feel like a failure, which shows how shallow her friends are too, if they make her feel like that.
I could almost feel sorry for her if she’d ever made us feel loved. Not that we didn’t have love, we just didn’t get it from our mother and father. Those who cared for us did a great job, as if they felt the need to compensate for our cold-as-fish parents, so it’s not like we didn’t grow up without hugs and bedtime stories. But it would have been nice, just once in a while, to know we weren’t a burden to our parents.
Leaving my mother in the hallway, I turn on my heel and wrench open the door. I clatter down the steps and climb into my car. I want to get out of here as fast as possible.
I stop suddenly at the end of the drive.
Fenella?
Why her?
I’m certain she wouldn’t have agreed to anything like this, because if there is one thing I do know, it’s that Fenella Dubarry hates me just as much as I hate her.
I continue driving back to my place while I keep thinking it over.
Fenella is one of those people who are just mean. It started when we were kids, at some garden party. She threw mud at me for no good reason, or not one that I could ever fathom. She used to push me over or pinch me. She always did this where none of our parents could see, of course, and the one time I did retaliate, she burst into tears—I’m certain they weren’t real—and went crying to her parents.
I was banished to my room as if I was the bully. I still have no idea why she had it in for me. Nowadays, if our paths do cross, we manage to ignore each other.
Her brother wasn’t much better. Though not openly hostile, he always looked down on Petra and me as if he was better than us. Which is a shame because Xander is extremely good looking, though very straight as far as I know.
Whilst I hate the idea of having to go to dinner tomorrow, I’m intrigued to know why she would agree to this. I’m pretty sure her sentiments toward me haven’t changed, so there must be something else.
There’s one person I can call who might know something—Gabriel Barclay-Sinclair. Gabriel went to Woodcourtt as well, and I wouldn’t call him a best friend, but we’re close enough that I can call him up to ask him. We do meet up occasionally, but I know he’s busy, so it’s usually a catch up if we meet at a function.
The last time I saw him was at the Johnson’s ball a few months ago. He does know Xander pretty well, as they both play polo, though as far as I’m aware they’re not on the same team.
I pull over and punch in his number, then I see another old friend in front of me, and all thoughts of calling Gabriel go out of my head.
“Carter?” I call out the car window.
Carter Din turns slowly. He looks just the same, even though it must be ten years since I last saw him. Another Woodcourtt boy, he left for San Francisco as soon as we’d finished. I’d heard that his parents had passed away a while ago but not that Carter was back.
I get out of the car.
He walks over and throws his arms around me.
“You alright, mate?” I ask quietly, and then hug him back because well, it’s Carter.
“I didn’t know I’d missed you,” he mumbles into my shoulder.
“Me either,” I reply, because it’s true, I have missed him.
“You still living with the lord?” he asks, falling back on the name we always referred to my father by. It’s not as if half the boys at Woodcourtt weren’t titled, but for some reason it was my father who earned that particular name, and it wasn’t meant respectfully.
“No,” I scoff. “I just came by because I was summoned.”
“Well, I’m glad you were.” His face becomes sad and he glances up at the empty house. “I’m here to pack it all up and sell it.”
“I'm sorry, Carter.” It seems an inadequate thing to say, but I mean it.
He nods and takes a deep breath, as if to shake off his sad mood.
“Do you have time to get something to eat? I’d love to catch up.”
“Do you know what?” This is the perfect opportunity to forget about my own troubles for a while. “I do, and I can’t wait to hear all about you. Let’s go.” I tip my head down the road, and Carter smiles. He knows exactly where I’m thinking of—a little Indian place we used to frequent when we were here during our holidays.
He stows his bags inside the house, and locks it up before joining me on the pavement.
“So, what’s going on with you?” he asks as we start walking down the road. I involuntarily grimace, and he shoots me a look.
“That bad? Is it romantic trouble? Or the lord?”
“Both,” I grumble. I wanted to forget about my problems, but now he’s asked... “My father wants to marry me off to a woman I hate, and the man I think I fell in love with is an arsehole who I can’t get over.”
He gives me a wide grin.
“Okay then, we’re going to need some drinks to go with our lunch, aren’t we?” He gives me a gentle pat on the shoulder. I’m sure it’s in sympathy, but if I know Carter, he’s begging for some gossip.
We’re shown to a table and we place our drinks order. I don’t speak until we have them in front of us, and I take a long gulp of the cool lager before talking.
The horror and indignation on his face are amusing when I mention Fenella, whom he vaguely knows. Well, it would be funny if the situation weren’t so serious. But he agrees with me that asking Gabriel would be a way to get the information I want. He asks about Gabriel, and also Linden and Blaine, who were part of our friends group at Woodcourtt. I tell him that all I know is Gabriel has some big development going on in the extensive grounds of his house. It stalls him for a short while but he hasn’t forgotten the second part of my woes.
The food arrives, but as soon as the waiter is out of earshot Carter leans forward slightly.
“So tell me all about this guy you’re in love with.”
“I’m not in love with him.” I grimace and spoon up some food.
“That’s not what you said just now.”
“Slip of the tongue.” I take a mouthful of food to stop myself saying more, but Carter isn’t buying it, and before I know it I’m spilling the whole story out to him. Well, not all the details. He doesn’t need to know what it felt like to have my mouth round Nate’s dick, or how good it was to be buried deep inside him, but I give him the broad strokes. How I felt we’d made a connection, but then found out he was just playing me.
“What does he look like?” he asks, as if that’s important, but I can’t help smiling as I tell him about Nate’s build, his brown hair, and beautiful green eyes.
“You have it bad, mate,” Carter chuckles, and I look up from my plate ready to scowl at him.
My heart stops and I nearly drop my spoon.
“Fuck me,” I whisper as I look across the room and see Nate. I blink a couple of times. It can’t be him, not here in England. He’s thousands of miles away. Carter follows my gaze and then looks back at me.
“That guy looks a bit like who you’ve just described.”
“It is him,” I hiss. I have no idea what to do now. Nate is here and I never expected to see him again. I try to swallow but my mouth is dry. Then my stomach drops and I nearly lose my food as I notice that Nate is not alone.