Andrew Lord of Despair(63)

Douglas, initially heartened by Henry’s indignation, nevertheless again heard that one off word: my brother’s choice… Not our brother’s choice. This display of righteousness on Henry’s part was not for Douglas, who was being accused of attempted murder; it was for Herbert, who had been a good-natured, immature, thieving, whoring wastrel.

Douglas wondered why it should feel good to admit that even in the privacy of his thoughts while Henry railed on against perfidious women with too many overbearing, titled relations.

Douglas interrupted when Henry paused to refresh his drink, “I will make inquiries regarding Greymoor’s background in preparation for bringing suit to be appointed guardian of Astrid’s child, assuming it’s a boy, of course.”

“You don’t want guardianship of a girl? Even a daughter would be Herbert’s child. Mother will feel very strongly about that.”

“Of course, I would like to be guardian of Herbert’s daughter,” Douglas replied with the very last of his patience, “but lawsuits are scandalous and expensive and one must be practical, Henry. The primary reason for granting me guardianship of the child over Fairly, Greymoor, or Heathgate is so I might teach Herbert’s heir what is expected of him with respect to the estate and the family responsibilities. A female has no need of that education.”

Thank God. And yet, gently bred females were deucedly expensive to rear. Douglas silently wished Greymoor the joy of the girl’s dressmakers’ bills.

“You are up against a viscount, an earl, and a marquess,” Henry conceded. “I know Greymoor and Heathgate both cut a wide swath with the ladies until a few years ago, but then Heathgate married, and Greymoor left the country. I haven’t heard a thing derogatory about either one since I came down from university. And that Fairly.” Henry shuddered dramatically. “In some ways, he’s the scariest of the three.”

Greymoor was the scary one, showing up at the exact moment of Astrid’s peril, but Fairly was deserving of a healthy respect, too. “I believe Fairly would observe the rules of engagement punctiliously. He would give warning of his intent to strike, never fire at a man’s back, and never fire on the unarmed. The most dangerous one is Astrid herself.”

Henry paused, his drink—his third, and before supper?—two inches from his mouth. “You could toss her over your shoulder one-handed,” he sputtered. “She’s a woman, I grant you, and the whole gender is suspect on general principles, but Astrid?”

Henry would take convincing, but the effort was necessary. Methodically, Douglas laid out the reasoning that could lead a prudent man to conclude Astrid resented the child she carried and would take extreme measures to end its life. By the time Douglas finished speaking, Henry was reaching for the decanter yet again.

“And to think,” Henry said dazedly, “my brother’s helpless child is going to be born to such a one as her, and we can do nothing about it. One wonders about the unfortunate turn of events her health took last year.”

My brother, again, though Henry’s point supported Douglas’s theory of events far better than it did Fairly’s—and without Douglas having to bring up such an indelicate situation.

“We’ll fight for guardianship of Henry’s son, certainly,” Douglas said, “and I’ll do everything I can to investigate Greymoor’s character. Meanwhile, there’s something you can do.”

Besides drink the last of the good liquor.

Henry stood straighter. “You have only to ask.”

“You will be our spy in the enemy camp,” Douglas said. “Whereas I am suspected of attempting to harm the mother and child, you are not. Whereas I will bring suit for guardianship, you will be the bewildered younger brother, saddened by this terrible misunderstanding, and offering Astrid a sympathetic shoulder to cry on. She is fond of you, and perhaps, if the courts are persuaded by Greymoor’s money rather than my arguments, you will have secured access to the child that I could never have.”

Henry finished his drink—there being no more left in the decanter—and left the parlor, apparently happily intent on his mission. Douglas, however, sat for an hour, watching the fire consume half a bucket of coal, and trying to decide for himself just what the purpose of Fairly’s call earlier in the day had been. Unable to come to a satisfactory conclusion to that puzzle, he then found himself wondering how much—how much more—he was willing to sacrifice in the name of duty to family.





Twelve





Heathgate scowled from his perch on the Willowdale estate desk, an unhappy raptor among the letters, reports, and ledgers of the marquessate, while Andrew wandered the room.