Chapter Six
Michael should have known there was going to be trouble the moment Reeny stormed in.
But he was an idiot.
“Oh, hullo,” he said with what he hoped was vague cheerfulness as he rose hastily from the armchair. “I was just about to go and—”
“No, you weren’t, sit down,” snapped his sister Reeny—or the Duchess of Aynor, to the rest of the world—as she gave him a severe glare. “Hold him, Wilfred.”
Michael groaned. “Oh, come on, you can’t ask him to hold me.”
“I don’t want to do it,” said Reeny’s husband cheerfully, stepping around the console table and smirking. “But I will.”
Of course he would.
Irene had always been the sister of his that Michael had admired the most. Not that the rest of his sisters weren’t admirable, it was just that—well, Reeny had decided not to care about Society or what the family thought of her and had just gone about and lived her life.
The fact she had married her best friend, a duke with absolutely no ability to say no to her, was beside the point.
“All I wanted was a quiet afternoon,” Michael protested, allowing himself to fall back into his armchair at the sight of the broad Wilfred coming his way. “What have I done to deserve this?”
He should have known the answer the moment both Reeny and Wilfred sat on the sofa opposite him, his brother-in-law leaning back with a shake of his head, and his sister glaring at him so fiercely, Michael was quite surprised his armchair didn’t get squashed into the Aubusson rug.
It wasn’t possible. Surely, they didn’t know… He had been so careful, he had taken all the precautions necessary to ensure that none of his family knew.
“What is all this guff,” Reeny said darkly, “about immigrating?”
Michael groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes,” said the relentless Reeny. “Honestly, Michael, what on earth do you think you’re doing?”
“The jig is up, I’m afraid,” said Wilfred with a chuckle. “Any chance of cake, Michael?”
It was all Michael could do to retain his sense of balance, but that was always the trouble with Reeny and Wilfred. It had been that way for years; the man had practically been raised with the Pernrith Chances, but that hadn’t prevented Reeny from falling in love with the rogue.
Which was somewhat harsh. Wilfred had never, to Michael’s certain knowledge, done anything in his life that could even remotely be described as ‘roguish.’
Reeny would never have permitted it, for a start.
“Immigrating?” Reeny repeated as her husband meandered to the bell pull. “Honestly, Michael, what were you thinking?”
“How did you find out?” Michael asked, the far more pertinent question in his opinion.
His sister waved away the question with her hand as though it were so inconsequential, she could not even be bothered to think about it. “And another thing, when, precisely, were you thinking of telling me? You know I’m with child. How can its own uncle gallivant off—”
“I’m not gallivanting, I’m immigrating,” Michael said as sternly as he could manage, holding his head high.
Irene rolled her eyes. “Sounds like gallivanting to me.”
“Well, it would do; you’ve got your perfect life,” he could not help but shoot back at her as his brother-in-law returned to the sofa. “But I want something more!”
Something more.
That was the trouble, wasn’t it? This itchy feeling in his soul, this strange knowledge that he needed to be away, doing something, something else—what, he did not know, but Michael had always felt within his soul that being a viscount wasn’t his lot in life.
If only he had a brother. Then he could have a quiet word with his father and let the title fall to the younger son.
As it was…
Reeny was still talking. “—and if you’re just going to abandon your family just as it’s growing—”
“I’m not abandoning anything,” Michael said, discomfort twisting in his gut. “I’m leaving, that’s all.”
“Forever!” Reeny said dramatically.
“Keep your voice down, Papa is in the library,” hissed Michael, glancing at the shared wall and hoping beyond hope that their father hadn’t heard anything.
For a moment, all three of them quietened, all looking at the wall. When the door to the hall opened Michael jumped, hating that he was so easily startled. It was not his father.
“You rang, Mr. Michael?” inquired their housekeeper politely. “Ah, Your Graces. Cake, I presume?”
“Lots, please,” said Wilfred gratefully. “You’re looking well, Mrs. Kinley.”
“You’re looking very hearty yourself, Your—”
“Yes, thank you,” interrupted Reeny, shoving her husband in a most unladylike way in the shoulder. “Go away, Mrs. Kinley. I’m busy castigating Michael and I don’t want anyone else to know how furious I am with the blaggard.”
Michael scoffed. “Reeny.”
“Very good, Your Grace.” Mrs. Kinley bowed, a faint smile on her face that Michael did not like.
When the door closed and his sister turned back to him, Michael glared. “Reeny, you have no right to tell me how to live your life. I don’t dictate yours!”
“And he never has; he’s got you there,” said Wilfred good naturedly.
Irene rounded on him. “I don’t know if I’d call that whole false engagement fiasco Michael crafted him not dictating my life! I could have wound up not marrying you because of it!”
Michael winced. Paying for the paper to run a false engagement announcement between Wilfred and a different woman hadn’t been his best idea.
But Wilfred himself had come to him for help in wooing Irene himself originally, and it had all felt like it had been taking a rather long time for her to recognize her own feelings for the man.
He felt awful now…but at the same time, helping a bit with the charade had been more fun than he’d had in quite some time. More fun than he’d had since.
Wilfred’s shoulders slackened. “But you did marry me. And it wasn’t him dictating, per se, just interfering a bit—”
“Shut up, Wilfred.”
“Shutting up, dear,” said her husband cheerfully.
Reeny fixed Michael with a look that was all too reminiscent of their mother, which didn’t help matters. “I’m serious, Michael. Leaving, without saying goodbye? Immigrating to a godforsaken country like…like…like America?”
He could not help but smile at that. “They have rather a lot of God, I think you’ll find. That’s how the place was filled up with English.”
Waving aside this history lesson, Reeny looked serious for a moment. That was when Michael knew he was really in trouble. “I can’t believe you would leave without saying anything.”
Michael swallowed. “I… I won’t. When it comes time for me to go, I’ll say goodbye.”
“You’re really going to immigrate? Give up all this, our home, our family?” Reeny cast her eyes about the drawing room. “You’re going to be the Viscount Pernrith.”
“Not for a long time,” he pointed out sharply.
His sister shrugged. “Depends if Papa follows his brothers’ examples, doesn’t it? Besides, either way, it’ll happen eventually. You think you can just give it up? Everything you’ve ever known, everything…everything you are?”
Michael didn’t have an answer to that. He didn’t hope to make her understand—that was why he hadn’t told anyone to begin with. Fortunately, Wilfred suggested he stuff his mouth with cake when the housekeeper returned, and Michael obliged, letting Irene wear herself out after a few more lectures.
Her words were still ringing in Michael’s ears an hour later as his footsteps took him, as he had known they would, back to the docks.
This was precisely why I had not told any of the family about my plans, Michael thought bitterly as he stomped along the pavement, only just making way for a pair of ladies approaching him, so lost was he in his thoughts.
Because they could say things like that and make him second guess everything.
But he was determined. He was going to immigrate, and if the Zephyr was not going to return in time, he would simply have to find another ship. There must be plenty of ships taking passengers to far-off lands.
And he knew just the person who would be able to give him a list.
The building where Captain Seaton’s office, for want of a better word, was situated was a tad dilapidated, but the door opened well enough as he entered. Though the stairs creaked, he was able to reach the landing with no difficulties.
The real difficulty was after that.
“What the hell are you doing here?” barked Captain Seaton as Michael stepped into her office without knocking.
Captain Seaton. It was far more pleasant to consider her as ‘Phylis,’ but as she had most definitely not given him permission to call her that, he would simply have to consider her Phylis in his own mind.
And not allow his mind to get distracted…
Michael grinned as he took in her position on the chair. “That looks comfortable. The last time I saw you on that chair—”
“Is that truly all you can think about?” Phylis rose hastily, her cheeks flushing. “Go away.”
“‘Go away’?”
“Yes, go away. You are not welcome here,” she said firmly, tucking a ledger under her arm. “Or better yet, stay here. I have business elsewhere.”
“‘Elsewhere’?” Michael’s spirits leapt. “On your boat, you mean?”
Phylis had reached the door but halted as she treated him to a sardonic and slightly tired look, her lips pursed, her eyebrow arched. “Dear God, man, you want to immigrate and you don’t even know the difference between a ship and a boat?”
Michael blinked. “There’s a difference?”
Her irritated sigh echoed down the staircase as she descended, and Michael hastened after her, almost tripping down the last step as he listened to her lecture.