Chapter 4 #2
Ian turned around without speaking and left the Cunhington Mansion, not even pausing to take leave of his hosts or his parents.
That had been the last time he had seen his traitorous brother or the lovely Lisa.
He had assiduously avoided any events where they might be in attendance from that night on.
“Ian, are you listening to me?” He was brought back to the present by his mother’s soft touch, and he blinked quickly to keep the onslaught of emotions at bay. Every time the memory of that wretched night came to his mind, he fought to forget it.
“Yes, Mama, I am. I know you and father are correct, and I promise you that I will not do anything else that might embarrass you. Just please don’t ask me to get married,” Ian pleaded, willing for his parents to understand.
“You have been embroiled in countless affairs over the years. Each one more audacious than the last. You have engaged in high stakes gambling and dangerous carriage races. Every time your name comes up, people whisper about your rakish ways. I have tolerated the taunts of the ton, knowing that you were hurting. But I cannot do so any longer. You will find yourself a wife during the Season, and that is that.” His father stated in the unequivocal tone that Ian knew would be impossible to fight against.
Seeing no way out, Ian sighed in. “Yes, Father."
“Good. You will be staying at Gilendale Manor in London with us.” His father held up his hand to stifle the protest that Ian was about to utter and continued, "I know that you have enjoyed your bachelor rooms, but it is better for you to return home.
It will be easier to resist temptation when living under your mother's roof, I would imagine. "
“I am too old to live at home, Father,” Ian replied, trying to keep his anger in check. He was in no position to negotiate in the matter, yet he still tried.
“Yes, you are, son, but after the latest events I feel the need to monitor your behavior,” Lucas intoned dryly and went back to his seat.
Ian had nothing more to say on the matter, so he politely took his leave. He stalked to his study in a full temper but knew that he was powerless to disobey his father. He would be attending the Season on the hunt for a wife.
Ian walked inside White’s. He was dressed smartly in a superfine cobalt coat over a silver embroidered waistcoat.
He had reached London a couple days ago and was finally settled in at the Gilendale Manor with his parents.
He had taken the time to have his whiskers removed, and his chestnut locks trimmed and was looking as dashing as ever.
He once again looked like a respectable gentleman of the ton and more appropriately the Marquess of Ilenshire, the heir to a prominent and wealthy dukedom.
“My Lord, what a pleasure it is to have you return to our club at last,” the host remarked as soon as Ian entered.
He looked around and noticed White’s hadn’t changed much in the past few years.
The interior was still decorated with the same dark tones.
The scents of brandy and sweet tobacco hung in the air, and the same gentleman sat in overstuffed chairs reading newspapers or conversing about horses.
“Thank you, I am delighted to be back,” Ian replied graciously. He was indeed happy to be there. He enjoyed the club and wished to make his first appearance in London society there.
“Will you be playing tonight, My Lord?” A genial attendant, asked motioning towards the tables occupied by gentlemen playing whist and other genteel card games.
“Not tonight. I'd like a whisky, please,” Ian answered and walked to a place by the windows. To his surprise, he found a familiar face seated in the chair opposite.
“Ian Gilbert, now you are a sight for sore eyes,” the man laughed, standing up to give Ian a hearty backslap. Ian smiled in return as he sat across from his old friend, Mr. Jack Spencer.
“Jack, wish I could say the same, but your ugly face is enough to turn me off my drink,” Ian quipped, and the two men laughed. Jack was as handsome as Ian, with wavy black hair and a strong square jaw, and both men knew it.
“So, what brings you to London? Don’t tell me you will be participating in the Season,” Jack asked as Ian's whiskey arrived. Jack knew of Ian's most recent scandal but chose not to twit him with it just yet.
“I fear that I am. My father has given me an ultimatum. Find a bride by the end of the Season or else,” Ian replied, trying to sound blasé over his misfortune. He did not need to go into detail about what the ‘or else’ entailed. Jack would know what he meant.
“So, the last incident did not go unremarked?” Jack asked.
“You could say that,” Ian answered dryly, draining his whisky and signaling for another.
“Marriage isn’t the end of the world Ian, it might even prove to be good for you,” Jack said in encouragement.
While he had no desire to enter matrimonial bliss just yet, he didn't see why Ian was so dejected over the prospect.
“A man such as yourself will have all the young misses clamoring for your attention.
But if you want my advice, find yourself a wallflower. "
“Why would I do that?” Ian questioned, genuinely confused. Who would actively seek out a lady who every other gentleman had shunned?
“Established wallflowers generally have two or three failed seasons behind them and are desperate to get married.
They do not have the luxury to expect undying love and devotion in a husband.
They will not complain when, after you have sired an heir or two, you prefer to live separately to pursue your own, shall we say, interests," Jack stated with a wicked gleam in his eye.
There was no doubt that he was alluding to the accepted practice of wealthy men seeking their pleasure outside of the marriage bed with various courtesans and actresses.
“You are a thorough rake, Jack, but your idea does have merit,” Ian replied, smiling genuinely. Jack's plan would work beautifully. Ian would find a wilted wallflower, shower her with insincere praise, and do his duty with minimal cost to himself.
The two men continued talking well into the night, drinking and reminiscing.
When Ian finally departed, the street was practically deserted.
He made a slightly unsteady way to his carriage that was waiting a short distance down the road.
A faint scratching sound came from the dingy alley to his left, and he stopped to look for the source.
Upon drawing closer, he saw a small boy picking through the rubbish in the bins.
“Boy, what are you doing?” Ian asked with authority.
The young boy jumped out of fear and dropped whatever nasty thing he was holding as he whipped around to face Ian.
It was hard to tell in the dimness, but Ian thought the lad couldn't have been more than ten or so.
He was skinny and had on rags that were clearly too big for him, and his face was covered in grime.
“I’m sorry, guv!" The boy squeaked. "I was just lookin’ fo’ a bit of food. I wasn't stealing nothin' that nobody wanted." The child was obviously distressed and feared he would get into trouble.
Ian sighed solemnly as he realized that this boy was probably alone, just like so many urchins on the streets of London. He had to take care of himself and find creative ways to feed himself. Ian felt ashamed of his own privilege when faced with such poverty.
He took out a few shillings from his pocket and extended his hand towards the child. The lad took a step back and eyed Ian with distrust.
"What do I gotta do for the coin?" he asked warily, and Ian flinched. He could barely imagine the vile things running through the poor boy's head.
“Nothing. Go buy yourself something to eat,” Ian said softly. After a moment, the boy took the money hesitatingly, snatching it from Ian's hand and stepping out of reach a moment later.
“Thank ye,” The boy said with a gap-toothed grin before running away.
Ian couldn’t help but be humbled. He knew he was not a good man, not really.
He was selfish and had done much to earn his reputation as a jaded rake, but he couldn't help but be warmed by the genuine gratitude exhibited by the urchin.