Chapter 1 #2
“You’re not a nob,” Reg said, picking up the discarded gossip sheet. “You’re magnificent.” He threw the gossip sheet at Hunt, who caught it between deft fingers. His friend opened the carriage door, laughing hysterically.
Hunt had thought that being named the Earl of March was the worst thing that ever happened to him, but he was wrong. Being christened the Magnificent Earl was undeniably horrific.
“Get out of my carriage, you bloody sod!” Hunt flung the back of his hand at his closest friend as the carriage door opened.
“Say hello to your mother for me,” Reg called over his shoulder before taking a step down.
“I will be sure to tell both my mother and my sister you send your greetings.”
At the mention of Helen, Reg’s body froze instantly, his foot on the first step of the carriage. There was a brief pause before Reg simply nodded and exited, leaving Hunt alone.
It had been years since his friend had come to him, excited and in love, asking for his permission to marry Helen. However, Hunt’s sister had vowed to be a spinster for the rest of her life and refused him.
Hunt sat back in the carriage, desperately in need of a few hours of sleep and a hot bath. It was exhausting being a complete degenerate at times, but it was a mask he’d happily worn for years.
Anything to cover up the pain.
The carriage came to a stop in front of March House. It stood larger and more intimidating than any other house on Park Lane. The opulence and decadence were ostentatious, proof of the Wakefield family’s vast fortune and reputation throughout Society.
Exiting the carriage, Hunt tried to ignore the absolute dread that filled him ever since he’d moved into his father’s home. He would’ve left it all to his blasted cousin if his mother hadn’t insisted Hunt claim what was his by birthright.
“My lord,” his butler, Reeds, greeted, his eye twitching.
Hunt braced himself, knowing that the man had something to report.
The butler, like himself, was new to March House.
The first thing Hunt did upon accepting the earldom was release all the servants—with pay, of course.
He wasn’t his father; he’d provided a generous severance to the entire staff.
He was well aware that their true loyalty was with his cousin.
“What is it, Reeds?” Hunt asked, discarding the great coat that he was carrying into the butler’s arms. He walked into the vast home that still did not feel as if it belonged to him. It didn’t matter that his father had been dead nearly a year. Hunt still felt like an interloper.
“Your mother bid me to inform you that she and your sister are waiting for you in the parlor.” Reeds shifted his weight from foot to foot.
Bloody hell.
Hunt strolled down the hall and into the parlor, wondering what would have both his mother and his sister up at that time of the morning. Usually, they both slept past breakfast.
“You degenerate ass!” his sister screeched, throwing a small, embroidered pillow at his head before he could fully step foot into the parlor.
Hunt barely avoided the pillow colliding with his face before his sister marched across the room at him.
Identical in every way except their sex, Helen’s crisp green eyes matched his own, with the same brown skin and aristocratic nose. It was almost like looking in the mirror, except his sister was prettier.
“Helen, what have I done now?” he asked, strolling past his furious sister to walk deeper into the room.
“Don’t you dare walk past me, as if you are not the biggest degenerate in all of London.” Her voice carried as he walked over to greet their mother.
His mother sat in a blue dressing gown in her favorite armchair, looking exasperated at her children. She had perfected the art of patience, as Hunt and Helen often argued.
Hunt turned to face his infuriating sister. He loved her, he really did, but Helen had always lorded being born thirty minutes earlier over him like a storm cloud. Her one regret in life was that she wasn’t born a man and would never inherit the earldom.
“Is there a particular reason why you’re antagonizing me and not in bed?” he asked, glaring down at his sister.
Tall for a woman, Helen stood in front of him. She always refused to back down from a fight. That was one of the many things they had in common since they were children.
“I would say you making a complete mockery out of the family by being named The Rake Review’s scoundrel for March is an excellent reason to antagonize you,” she shouted, raising her arms in the air. “We’ve been waiting all night for you to return—”
“You’ve been waiting all night. I’m here to ensure that my children do not kill each other,” their mother interjected in the same bored tone she’d used to break up their numerous fights over the years.
“If I were a man, I would kill him!” Helen shouted, throwing her arms in the air as she spun around on him. “Have you no dignity?”
His sister often lamented what she would do differently had she been born a male. Killing him was high on her list, as well as riding a horse properly.
Deciding that it was too early to fight with his only sister, Hunt turned to greet his mother. “Mother, you look well.” He bent down, placing a kiss on her smooth brown cheek.
At seventy-three years, his mother didn’t look a day over fifty, except she had a full head of gray hair.
Patting his cheek affectionately, his mother peered up at him with liquid hazel eyes that always saw through him. “Hunt, we have a bit of a conundrum on our hands.” She held up the gossip sheet that had been plaguing him since it was distributed all over London the previous evening.
Hunt straightened, running his hand down his short, shaven head. He’d hoped that there was time to prepare his mother and sister for the contents of The Rake Review’s article, but of course, his sister was one step ahead of him.
“A conundrum? Is that what we’re calling possibly losing the fortune that father left to him on the condition that he doesn’t destroy the family name?”
Hunt walked over to the sideboard, where a pitcher of water beckoned him forward. “Being mentioned in a gossip sheet does not equate to losing one’s fortune.”
He poured himself a glass of water, thankful that he’d insisted the housekeeper keep a full pitcher in every room of the house. After a night of endless drinking and debauchery, Hunt found that the only thing that soothed his rolling stomach was water, food, and sleep.
Preferably in that order, but it did not seem like his sister was going to allow him any sleep at all.
Helen let out an animalistic growl of frustration. It was comical, really, since she was the least non-threatening person he’d ever met.
“Are you completely daft?” she asked from behind him. “The solicitor and our dear cousin are waiting for any excuse to rip the fortune from your hands, and now you have been crowned the Magnificent Earl of March by the most notorious gossip in all of London.”
It was true that his cousin, Augustus, wanted nothing more in the world than to take control of the Wakefield coffers. Though the late earl had more than provided for his nephew after his death, the swine had spent the entirety of his inheritance in less than a year.
Hunt understood why his sister was angry with him. The things that the Belle wrote about him could very well jeopardize their entire livelihood, but there really was no proof it was him.
Hunt faced his sister, taking a deep drink from his glass as she stood fuming in front of him. “The Belle did not mention me by name.” He shrugged one shoulder, trying to ignore the pounding in his head.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Hunt. How many other Earls of M are there in London, who happened to be born to an older mother who thought she was barren and has a sister named Lady H?” She motioned to herself.
“I don’t see how shouting will get anything done,” his mother said, gripping her elaborately decorated cane. A gift from Hunt on her seventieth birthday. The dark mahogany wood was painted with vines of pink roses—his mother’s favorite flower.
“You always coddle him,” his sister spat at their mother.
“Watch your tone, Helen,” Hunt said, raising an eyebrow at his sister. “Berating me is one thing, but you will not attack Mother.”
“I’m not attacking her!” Helen defended, looking chagrined.
“Thank you, Hunt, but I do not need you to defend me against your sister.” His mother rose from her armchair and slowly walked to stand between them, her stern gaze locked on his sister.
It broke his heart to see her moving slowly. She’d sacrificed everything for them, ensuring that they never lacked anything despite their father’s coldness.
His sister let out an exasperated breath. “I’m sorry, Mother—”
“Save your apologies, Helen. Regardless of what you think, I don’t coddle Hunt. I support him and you, unconditionally.”
“Of course, Mother,” his sister said, thoroughly chastised. “I did not mean to imply that you favor Hunt over me.”
“She does favor me over you. How could she not?” Hunt asked, before walking to take a seat on the dark brown sofa.
“Really, Hunt, now is not the time for jests,” his mother reprimanded him. “Your sister does have a point. You must be careful; the anniversary of your father’s death is nearly here. Surely, you can cease any questionable activities for a fortnight.”
A fortnight, and the fortune his mother lost would be hers again. If it wasn’t for his mother, Hunt would have never accepted the blasted title. She and Helen were the only reasons he decided not to let Augustus have it all.
“Mother, this is my life. I won’t be controlled by the earldom,” he argued gently, never liking to be cross with his mother.
He stood to assist her as she sat down on the opposite end of the sofa.
It wasn’t like he purposely set out to ruin their chances at finally keeping the family’s fortune that had once belonged to his mother. It was more that he didn’t think about it. Thinking required feelings, and Hunt hated feeling anything at all.
“Could you at least try not to do anything else to draw attention to yourself?” Helen asked, pointing a long finger at him. “Stay out of The Rake Review. You agreed to become the earl for Mother.”
“Hunt, I did not ask you to accept the earldom for me. It’s not myself that I worry about.
It is you and your sister who are most important to me in this world.
” His mother gave him a small smile. “I asked you to accept the earldom because no matter what anyone thinks, it is yours by birth, and no one, not even your father or Augustus, can ever take it from you.” She stood again, peering down at him, the way she’d done when he was younger.
“Don’t ruin yourself trying to get revenge on a dead man.
” His mother limped toward the door, all the weight from her left side supported by her cane. “Now, let’s have some breakfast.”
A sad smile spread across Hunt’s lips as his mother walked out of the room. He’d spent his entire life trying to gain his father’s favor, but it didn’t matter.
“I’m sorry I shouted at you,” Helen said, before standing.
Hunt laughed at his sister. “You shout at everyone.”
“True, but I’m still sorry. I know you would never do anything to hurt me or Mother.” She raised an eyebrow at him. The gesture made her look more like him than he’d ever thought before.
“I wouldn’t, and that is why I’m going to get through the next fourteen days without being in a single gossip sheet.”
“Really? You’ll do that for us?” she asked, peering down at him.
Hunt stood, bumping his shoulder with hers. “My dear sister, I’d do anything for you and Mother.”
It was true. His mother and sister were his only family, and despite the occasional argument, he loved them more than anything.
He could survive a fortnight without being mentioned in The Rake Review again. Once it was all over, he’d be free to do all manner of debauchery.