The Earl Claims His Wife (18 page)

Brian stepped in his path. “Digger?”

His friend paused just in time to keep from mowing Wright down. He squinted up at him.

“Wright?”

“Yes, it is,” Brian said with a surplus of male bonhomie. “How have you been?”

“Good. Married. Like it. You?”

“I’m back from the Peninsula. I commanded a regiment there.”

Digger was impressed. “Worked for Wellington?”

“I was on his staff at one time.”

“Tell me about it over lunch,” Digger demanded.

“I’m not a member.”

Digger’s head swiveled to him. “Not a member?”

“Been to war and all that. Not kept it up,” Brian replied.

But his friend was too intelligent for that. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Heard about you and your father,” Digger said. “Impressed you had the bollocks to tell him what is what. I hear he is angry.”

“Foaming at the mouth.”

Digger laughed. “Is he now? He used to make your brothers dance to his tune. Didn’t care how they looked in front of everyone. Would chew them right down to their boots in front of a crowd.”

“He’s learning I’m not so amenable. Even if he does cut off the funds. I have money of my own.” Not a fortune, but he was keeping ahead of the game.

His friend nodded. “I barely speak to my father. Can’t stand the man. Of course, he doesn’t care because I’ve got three brothers ahead of me. Why couldn’t I have been born a girl?”

“You wouldn’t want that,” Brian said, knowing that Digger especially would be miserable.

His friend gave a sharp laugh. “You are right!” He waved Brian ahead through the door the doorman held open. “Come, let’s have a good healthy drink and a hearty lunch while you tell me all of your adventures.”

And in that manner, Brian gained entrance to White’s.

He was greeted with warm respect by the staff and old acquaintances followed by an enjoyable lunch.

Several other gentlemen, most friends of Digger’s, curious about the war, joined them. They asked intelligent questions and Brian was happy to give them answers from his perspective—especially to Lord Taggert, who wondered if Napoleon could be defeated.

“He can and he will be by good British steel and bullets,” Brian answered and could feel the mood of the gentlemen around him sway in favor of the war.

Brian also made a point of speaking highly of his wife, letting everyone know that Lady Wright was under his roof. Men were bigger gossips than women. By evening his marital happiness, appearance of obvious good spirits, and opinions on the war would be circulating through the ton.

Digger had another appointment. He apologized to Brian that he could not stay but left him in the capable hands of his comrades. By the end of a half hour’s conversation, Brian had received three invitations to dinner and another to a ball. Everyone knew of his father’s displeasure. Instead of making him an outcast, he was revered and respected as a bit of a rebel.

The hour approached two and Brian debated whether he should leave or not. He chose to linger and was rewarded for his patience by the appearance of no less a person than his quarry, Lord Liverpool.

Although Liverpool carried the cabinet title, “Secretary of State for War and the Colonies,” he was of the same age as Brian and had also served in the military. However, their paths had never crossed.

Now was the time to be bold.

Excusing himself from the knot of men with whom he’d been discussing the war, Brian made ready to leave, using his approach on the door as his opportunity to have a word with Liverpool.

His lordship was of average height with a long nose and the dark eyes people attributed to his part-Indian mother. He was capable and competent, exactly the sort of man Brian liked working for.

Liverpool was accompanied by his secretary, a man named Robert Blount, who had also served under Wellington, and by Lord Chester, a personal friend.

Brian approached the door. As he came shoulder to shoulder with the great man himself, he stopped.

“My lord, how fortunate it is to meet you.”

Liverpool had been speaking to Chester. He turned to see who addressed him and his brows rose in a lack of recognition.

Brian bowed. “Brian Ranson, Lord Wright. We’ve met but I don’t know that you recall the acquaintance.”

His lordship frowned. “Know your father.”

Damn the bad luck! Brian waited, not speaking.

“I heard you fought well. You were at Talavera?”

“I was, my lord.”

“Bloody mess.” He studied Brian a moment. “Wellington wrote me. He likes to hand-pick my staff.”

He didn’t sound pleased.

“I wish only to serve my country, my lord.”

“Your father has other plans. I’ve heard talk he wishes an ambassadorship for you.”

“Based upon what experience? I know little about the intricacies of diplomacy. I’m a military man, my lord. I understand warfare, supply routes, and what will keep an army marching. What good would such information do for anyone if I were posted to Holland to drink tea and share gossip?”

“Unfortunately, the gossip an ambassador shares could mean the protection of our country,”

Liverpool countered. “A wise man should not refuse such a post.”

“A passionate one must go where he feels his comrades-in-arms need him,” Brian dared to answer.

Liverpool conceded his opinion with a shrug of his shoulders. “How far do I dare to challenge your father?”

“It’s a new order, my lord. My father is of the old. But we can discuss all of that later,” Brian said, smoothly changing the subject. “You are familiar with my wife, Lady Wright? Her father is the Reverend Isaac Hutchins.”

“And a good friend of mine,” Lord Liverpool said, all reserve leaving his manner. “One of the best lecturers I had at Christ Church. Made me think. I haven’t seen him in years but we correspond regularly. I knew you had married his daughter, but I have not had the pleasure of meeting her. Her father speaks highly of her.”

“As well he should,” Brian answered. “Indeed, I know my wife would be delighted to meet you. Her father has spoken of you often to her. Whenever she visits, one of his first questions is if your paths have crossed.” Brian didn’t know if this was true, but from his knowledge of Reverend Hutchins, it could be.

“Now that I am back from the Peninsula,” Brian said, “and we have our household set up, we’d be honored if you and your wife would be our guests for dinner.”

“I would be delighted,” his lordship said. “Reverend Hutchins is the sort of man one could trust with his soul. I assume his daughter is of the same ilk.”

“She is,” Brian replied without hesitation.

“Robert,” Lord Liverpool said to his secretary, “see that a dinner with Lord and Lady Wright is placed on my schedule. Make the arrangements with my wife.”

“Yes, my lord,” the secretary said dutifully.

Liverpool turned to Brian. “I’m glad our paths crossed, Wright. I shall give consideration to your request to be considered for a place on my staff.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Brian said with feeling.

“Now, if you will excuse us?” Liverpool started to a table set up for his party.

Brian moved out of the way with a short bow. He’d thought himself done when Liverpool looked back at him. “Holland truly is a fascinating country.”

“I have no doubt, my lord,” Brian answered.

The cabinet minister smiled, and Brian knew he was dismissed. He left the dining room but took a moment in the club’s vestibule to almost collapse. He’d done it. He’d stormed the War Office and had gained ground.

Of course there was no guarantee that Liverpool would name him to his staff, but over dinner Brian would do his best to convince him.

He went outside a happy man. The earlier threat of rain had turned out to be nothing. The wind was cold but nothing could dampen Brian’s spirits. He couldn’t wait to see Gillian and tell her what had happened. Together, they would make plans for the dinner party.

Brian had traveled about a half dozen steps when a small town coach pulled up at the curb beside him. He recognized the polished, burled wood vehicle without having to glance at the coat of arms proudly displayed on the door.

The door swung open and his father leaned out. “Climb in,” he ordered.

Brian stood his ground. His father didn’t respect anyone who jumped to his bidding.

His father frowned. At five and sixty, the marquess of Atherton was as tall and lean as Brian but with short cropped gray hair and an imperial attitude. They both shared the same light blue eyes. In fact, of any of his three sons, Brian was the one who resembled him the closest.

With a world-weary sigh, his father said, “Very well, would you do me the honor of joining me in this coach?” His words dripped irony.

Brian did so, shutting the door behind him.

The coach had bench seats on both sides of the cab so they could face each other. His father knocked on the side of the coach with the gold head of his walking stick, a signal for the driver. The vehicle jerked forward.

His father turned to him. It had been well over two months since they’d last seen each other. He stood his walking stick on the floor, resting his hands on top of it. “The last time we met in such a manner you refused to obey my wishes,” his father said without a trace of humor. “Now I see you are still defying me.”

“I’m not defying you, Father. I’m living my life. I’m doing what the future earl of Wright should do.”

“And what is that?”

“Following my conscience.”

“I did not want that child here.”

Brian tapped down a surge of temper. His voice carefully neutral, he said, “Don’t worry. You’ll have nothing to do with him.”

His father’s lips curled into a sneer. “Why do you give a damn?”

“Because it is the right thing to do. The honorable thing.”

“I see,” his father said with the awareness of discovery. “You always were the stickler. Thinking to correct my wrongs?” He snorted his opinion. “Or do you imagine you can play the game better than I? You can’t. My influence reaches every corner of this realm. Every rookery, every street, every cabinet office.”

For a second, Brian wondered if he knew of the meeting he’d just had with Liverpool. He couldn’t. It had been a spontaneous meeting. Happenstance created from careful planning. In time he would know, but not yet.

“You are debating whether or not I know of your meeting with Liverpool inside White’s,” his father surmised. He laughed quietly at Brian’s startled expression. “You believe you can defy me. I know everything you are doing. I receive reports before you can return home and take off your coat.”

“What is the reason for this visit?” Brian asked, tired of being baited.

His father turned serious. “I am giving you another chance. I understand you are angry I sent the babe away. It was the expedient thing for me to do at the time. Perhaps it was hasty of me. Then again, I did not know you had such a soft heart.”

“Expedient?” Brian shook his head. “He almost died. He still could die.”

“Children die all the time,” his father said without feeling.

“Especially when they are discarded as if they were baggage no longer wanted.”

“Brian, this is becoming a tiresome argument. What do you wish me to do? Take the child in? Very well, I shall see it is fostered by a very good and reliable family. I didn’t set up the matter anyway. Jess did.”

“She wouldn’t do that to her own child,” Brian said. Even though Brian blamed Jess for her role in Anthony’s abandonment, he’d assumed she’d done so at his father’s insistence.

“She did do that to her own child. When I said I found children under foot tiresome, she took care of the matter. My son, she has played you for a fool since the day you laid eyes on her. All she had to do was heave her bosoms at you and you’d believe any story she told you.”

The charge was true.

“What I find interesting,” his father continued, “is the dogged perseverance of yours to always play the hero. You’ve always been this way—full of noble intentions and short on common sense.”

“You are growing offensive, Father,” Brian said, his temper starting to bubble.

“Of course I am, because I speak the truth.”

Brian turned away from him, finding the air in the coach too close for this conversation.

“I did you a favor,” his father said, changing the tone of his voice. “I know you thought you were in love but you had to see Jess for what she was.”

“When did you climb into her bed, Father? How soon after I left for the war?”

His father shook his head as if it shouldn’t matter. “She came after me—”

“How soon?” Brian repeated.

“A week, perhaps two.”

“And in showing me what she was, the two of you have been together for how long…while I paid her bills?”

“You didn’t pay all of them. She may have been born in a stable but she is an expensive piece of muslin. I paid more than my share.”

Brian shook his head. “She wasn’t that way until you put your hands on her.”

“Damnation, son. She’s a sly fox. She knew what she had and she wanted more. Still does. But what she didn’t want was a brat.” He leaned close to Brian. “Do you know why she had him? She was hoping to play on your sympathies again. The laugh’s on her. You took the baby and tossed her away.”

There was an element of truth in his words, a truth Brian didn’t like. He’d loved Jess, been faithful to her…trusted her.

“I know it hurts,” his father said with a definite lack of commiseration in his words. “But you had to be taught a lesson. You can’t assume a title like mine and continue to be so naïve.”

“Who is naïve, Father? You are still dancing to Jess’s tune, aren’t you?”

His father sat back. “She means nothing to me.”

“But you haven’t given her up, have you? You can’t.”

“I like her figure, her youth. Why should I give her up? You don’t want her back, do you?”

There it was, what he’d spent his childhood combating—a twist of words, a nudge or a push. His father would bludgeon everyone into letting him have his way. His mother wasn’t much better. No wonder his brothers had been so aimless. They had been told when to think, what to believe, how to behave.