They might have been discussing whether to share the polonaise or the minuet. She wanted to smack him, also to remain with him on the blanket until the sun had burned her bum pink.
The duration of his enforced visit… a few days, maybe a few weeks.
No time at all, and yet Astrid had already shared more with Andrew than she’d ever thought to have with him. On a bolt of sad insight she realized she would pack more pure, genuine loving into two weeks with Andrew than she had into two years with her lawfully wedded husband.
So she answered him with a kiss, followed by a lazy exploration of his nipple with her tongue. When they rolled up the blanket nearly an hour later, Andrew, frowning at her derriere, did indeed remark that she would suffer the effects of the sun in some unlikely places.
Five
Heathgate arranged a stack of papers on the desk blotter, likely reports from the estimable Mr. Brenner. “The Amery viscountcy isn’t rolled up, exactly, but suffering an unlucky stretch. Herbert made bad investments and incurred a number of gambling losses in addition to a young lord’s usual expenses. I don’t envy his brother.”
Andrew shoved away from the mantel he’d been propped against. “Where does this leave Astrid? I personally care not one whit what befalls the Allen family, except insofar as their circumstances affect Astrid.”
The marquess and David Worthington, Viscount Fairly, who was affecting a slouch against the French doors, exchanged a look. Rather than curse the pair of them, Andrew picked up three wax seals sitting on Heathgate’s desk and began juggling.
“We’re working on that,” Fairly said. “But what aren’t you telling us, Andrew?”
There was much he wasn’t telling them, much he never would. Two of the seals were silver, one gold, and the differences in weight made juggling more of a challenge.
“I’ve listened in low places and asked a few questions, so I know the late viscount had plenty of money to drop at Tattersall’s,” Andrew said, “and plenty of money to spend maintaining a mistress—though thank God the woman had modest tastes—and plenty of money to indulge the dowager viscountess in fine style.”
While Astrid sat home, making do with her pin money and pretending her husband was considerate of her. Andrew caught the seals, one, two, three, and set them back on the desk in a tidy row.
“You are not entirely correct,” Fairly said. “Henry, the youngest brother, came down from university only a couple of years ago and is reading law in a barrister’s office. He is thus understandably dependent, but Douglas has his own investments, owns his own pleasantly situated home, and pays many of the Dowager Viscountess Amery’s bills. At present, Douglas also pays the staff at Astrid’s house. I gather, however, he is stretched thin, and making no headway on the family debts.”
Andrew liked Fairly, mostly because the man seemed comfortable with his status as tolerated outsider to Polite Society. Despite acquiring his father’s title six years after that man’s death, Fairly disdained fashionable entertainments, took the management of his commercial interests most seriously, and apologized to no one for owning a brothel.
To go along with patrician features, lean height, and acceptably Saxon gold hair, he also had one blue and one green eye, which tended to unnerve the unsuspecting.
Then too, Fairly was fiercely protective of his sisters.
Gareth came around his desk to lean a hip on it and folded his arms across his chest. “Part of me wants to confront Douglas and ask him where Astrid’s money is, and to please hand it over to any of the three of us. Another part of me knows if Fairly here attempted to act that way with me regarding Felicity’s settlement, I would be permanently offended.”
“So what do we do?” Andrew asked, because what he wanted to do would likely see him brought up before the assizes. Instead, he wandered to the sideboard and considered pouring himself a drink. “If Astrid’s funds have been mishandled, Douglas ought not to have the chance to mishandle what little may remain.”
“I agree with you,” Fairly said, “but we don’t know the funds are gone, and if they are, it was Herbert’s doing, not Douglas’s. We might consider giving the man a chance to redeem himself before pouncing on him.”
“We might,” Gareth allowed.
“We ought,” Andrew agreed, hating, loathing, and resenting the dictates of gentlemanly behavior. He appropriated three glass stoppers—a Cerberus, a chimera, and a griffin—and tossed them aloft. “The issue is not how Astrid will fare financially, because any one of us would see her well set up. The issue is whether she can trust her in-laws, who will have the raising of her child.”