The Riddle of the Reluctant Rake (3 page)

Adair put his cousin from him and looked down at her wonderingly. “It is very good of you to have come, Minna. Did my Aunt Hilda bring you up from Woking?”

“Julius—Mr. Harrington—did. Oh, but you look
dreadful,
Hastings! Poor dear! What a ghastly time you have had.”

His eyes became veiled. “Were you at the Horse Guards today, then?”

“Goodness, no!” She shuddered. “I could not have borne it. Especially since we
know
you are not guilty! As if you could ever do such—frightful things!”

He hugged her and managed to mumble his gratitude, and true to form, she wept copiously all over his cravat.

His nerves were already taut and this kind demonstration quite unmanned him. It was all he could do to take out his handkerchief and dab at her tears, and he was dismayed to see how his hand shook. Minerva smiled up at him mistily, then glanced down to the first floor landing where her fiancé waited, his round face troubled.

Adair ushered his cousin to the lower hall and put out his hand uncertainly. Julius Harrington seized and wrung it hard. He was some seven years Adair's senior, and although they were not close friends they knew and liked one another. The scion of a family that had become wealthy in shipbuilding, then gone on to greater successes in maritime trading ventures, Harrington had shown an interest in politics and had mounted a brisk campaign to become Member of Parliament for his small north-country district. Having won the election with a comfortable majority, he had at once removed to London, and returned to his district as seldom as possible. Of barely average height, inclining to portliness, his curling brown hair beginning to thin on top, he was no more handsome than Minerva was beautiful. But he had a fine pair of green eyes, a ready smile, and a cheerful and amiable disposition that had soon made him popular in both social circles and the House of Commons. He never embarked on long and boring speeches, he was a sympathetic listener, and always ready to work on a committee or lend a hand in time of trouble. Some unkind colleagues had been heard to remark that Harrington could rise to the highest office simply by having lacked the gumption to offend anyone or take a stand on any controversial issue.

He now said huskily, “My poor fellow! They have treated you vilely.”

“Thank you,” said Adair, amazed that this man should risk public censure by associating with him. “You are very good to have come, but you should not have brought her, you know.”

“If Julius had been unwilling, I would have come alone,” declared Minerva stoutly. “
Someone
in the family must stand by you, Hasty!”

“We want you to know that we're with you,” said Harrington as they walked slowly along the wide corridor. “Both of us. Even if the others—”

“Others?” The muscles under Adair's ribs tightened painfully. “Who else is here, Minna?”

She hesitated, and Harrington said, “The whole lot, I'm afraid, my dear fellow. Your parents, of course; the General; both your brothers—”

“Nigel came down?” interrupted Adair sharply.

“He said it was too—ah, uncomfortable at Oxford,” said Harrington.

The door to the drawing room opened and the butler hurried to them. “His lordship requests that you join the family, sir.”

Adair nodded. “Take her away, Harrington. No, Minna! I am more grateful than I can say that you and Julius have faith in me, but there's no need for you to be exposed to—to any more of this nasty business.”

She hugged him and said anxiously, “You won't go away or—or do anything silly, will you, my dear?”

“At the moment, I have no plans beyond the next hour.” Adair smiled, dropped a kiss on her brow and shook hands again with her devoted suitor. Then he took a deep breath and followed the butler to the drawing room.

It was a large and luxurious room, the décor reflecting his mother's excellent taste, although he always found it rather oppressively formal. The murmur of conversation ceased as he entered. It seemed to him that the air vibrated with hostility, and Harrington had been right—or almost right. A quick scan of the company revealed that two of his uncles on his father's side were present—both scowling at him; Captain Sir Joseph Adair, who commanded an East Indiaman, was absent, although his ship had returned to Bristol a week ago. Three of Mama's brothers had come, and also scowled at him. His elder brother, the Honourable Hudson Adair, a handsome and usually elegant man who now looked rumpled and distracted, darted a rageful glance at him. He suffered a shock when his younger brother, Nigel, met his eyes with a glare that could only be judged hate-filled. The boy had always put him on a pedestal; the idol had fallen, understandably. Lady Caroline Shand, every bit as proud as her parents, was the only one of his three sisters to have come, and looked ready to strangle him.

Joshua Adair, Viscount Esterwood, had taken up a position by the fireplace. A tall man who had kept himself trim, his thinning brown hair only slightly touched with grey, he was as distinguished as ever, but he had been wounded in his most vulnerable area—his pride, and there was rage in every line of him.

Hastings gathered his courage, walked forward, and bowed. “I have brought you grief, Father. I am sorry for it.”

“By God, but you have,” snapped his lordship.

Samuel Chatteris, his puffy features an even brighter red than usual, roared, “I wonder you dared show your face, Hastings! I won't name you ‘nephew,' since I refuse to acknowledge you!”

“As do we all!” Major Roger Adair had served for many years in India and thoroughly enjoyed recounting one or another of his hair-raising experiences to long-suffering friends. “Buried us in shame, be damned if you ain't!” he shouted. “Not worthy of our fine old name! Ain't that the case, Will? I haven't dared set foot in my club, by Gad, have I, Will?”

Thus appealed to, Willoughby Chatteris, the youngest of the General's surviving sons, murmured, “Right-o, old fellow.” He glanced in embarrassment at Hastings, and added apologetically, “He hasn't, y'know, Hasty. Sorry.”

Samuel Chatteris rolled his eyes at the ceiling and muttered something about “sapskulls.”

Willoughby reddened and retreated to a far corner of the room. A diffident, withdrawn individual, who lacked both the physique and the good looks of most Chatteris men, he seemed, rather, a washed-out copy of them, for he was thin and stoop-shouldered, his colouring pale, his rather protuberant eyes a watery blue, and the straight hair that sprang from his low forehead a light nondescript brown. He had never married and was generally believed to be “a little strange.” His mission in life appeared to be to make “lists,” though of what and for what conceivable purpose no one had ever been able to determine. He had inherited a sizeable fortune and a large country estate from a maternal aunt who believed that Fate had dealt harshly with “poor Willoughby.” When his brother had been slain at Corunna, Willoughby had opened his lonely house to his bereaved sister-in-law and her brood. His friends had been sceptical, but it had proven to be a success. Mrs. Hilda Chatteris ran the house and held the accounts nicely in balance. Willoughby was fond of his nephews and nieces, and enjoyed having a family around him. His niece, Minerva, had beguiled him into sharing her canine interests, so that when he was not busied over his Lists, he could usually be found at the kennels. His was not a gregarious nature, and that he and the volatile Major Roger Adair should have struck up a friendship baffled the rest of the family, but friends they were and whenever the Major desired support, he called on Willoughby.

The Reverend Mr. Taylor Chatteris, learned, handsome and soft-hearted, now fixed his gentle blue gaze on his nephew and said sadly, “Whatever were you thinking of, Hasty?”

Several of the assembled gentlemen immediately informed the clergyman exactly what Hastings had been “thinking of”; Mr. Fergus Adair, a very stout man of small means, questionable ethics, and a large thirst became so ribald, in fact, that the Viscount was obliged to remind him there were ladies present.

“Have you come here to confess your guilt?”

The querulous voice was that of his mother, and Hastings turned to her at once. In his youth Lady Esterwood had seemed an omnipotent being; seldom seen, but always gracious and awesomely beautiful. Vanity decreed that she eat sparingly, which the General often declared had caused her to be “scratchy,” and her perpetually haughty expression had given her mouth a permanent disdainful droop. But at five and fifty she was one of the foremost
ton
hostesses, and still a remarkably handsome woman, blessed with a pair of dark blue eyes, beautiful white hands, and a fine soprano voice. She had been proud of her soldier son's rapid rise to the rank of lieutenant-colonel, and overjoyed when he'd been “mentioned in despatches.” He had been her “darling boy” then. Today, striking in a gown of powder blue velvet, with a blue and white shawl draped across her shoulders, she leaned back in her chair and regarded him as she might have viewed a slug that had crawled across her slipper.

Adair said, “I came only to remove my things, Mama, and to make my apologies to you all for—”

“For making me the target of every gossip-monger in Town?” she interposed shrilly. “I dare not venture out on the streets! Do you realize I had planned a ball in honour of your brother's Cabinet appointment? Even had I the courage to hold it, no one would come!”

“You couldn't hold it now at all events, ma'am,” drawled Hudson Adair, his bitter gaze on his brother. “Any hopes I entertained along those lines were dashed, thanks to our gallant Colonel! Ten years of work! Ten years of guarding my tongue and catering to the powerful ministers whose backing I needed! And they were
ready
to back me! I
had
the appointment! Or as good as. But you bowled me out, didn't you, Hastings? I hope—”

“You, you, you!” interposed Lady Caroline fiercely. “All you ever think of is your precious career, Hudson! What of Shand, I ask you? What of
me?
The Dowager had at long last agreed to remove to the dower house and give us the mansion on Grosvenor Street. Now, she won't even let us in the front door for fear we should be recognized by some of her cronies! You're not the only one to be hurt, brother dear!”

And so it went, one family member after another, all voicing their fury and frustration, while Adair stood pale and silent, letting the storm break over him until a new voice rang out:

“If you are all done with bemoaning your fates, perhaps we may hear what Hastings has to say.”

Through the immediate silence every eye turned to the white-haired old gentleman who stood tall and proud in the open doorway, the epitome of a British General of the Army. The men who were seated rose at once, and the Viscount hurried to welcome his father-in-law.

General Chatteris gripped his hand, then turned to Hastings. “Well?”

“I'd not intended to intrude on my father, but he summoned me. I am sorrier than I can say to have caused you all such distress and humiliation, but I had hoped—” Hastings paused, then said rather wistfully, “I had hoped someone might have asked me—whether I was guilty, and—”

Lady Esterwood leaned forward. “Do you deny it, then?”

“I believe I am innocent, Mama. I cannot prove it. At the moment. But … it would have been nice if one or two of you could have stood by me. It seems that only my cousin Minerva—”

“Minerva!” exclaimed the Viscount with contempt. “The girl has not two brains to rub together, and as for that nincompoop she means to wed, she'll be fortunate if even a merchant's son don't draw back now!”

“If you are all finished then,” said the General, “I—as head of the family—will close this unfortunate chapter in our history.” He turned to his daughter as a murmur of discontent reached his ears. “What was that, Andrea?”

Lady Esterwood flushed but said boldly, “I think you heard me, Papa, but I'll not retract. From the time Hastings was a small boy you were determined to control his life. You took him out of Eton and had him tutored. If he had been allowed to go to Oxford as I wished, instead of being packed off to the Royal Military Academy, we might not now be facing utter social ruin and humiliation!”

“Is that a fact, my lady?” said her sire awfully. “I interfered with your plans for the boy because it was plain you were going to turn him into a stuffy pedantical snob—as you did with his brother! I'm sorry, Hudson, you're a good fellow, but there it is. Hastings had the makings of a fighting man, and all the qualities of a fine officer. And as for Oxford … if only half the tales I've heard about that milquetoast factory are truth—!” He broke off, glared at young Nigel, who was staring at him in open-mouthed astonishment, then went on quickly, “Furthermore, madam, I'll remind you that Hastings Chatteris Adair was not conceived by you alone, but that your husband had a hand—er, a role to play!”

“Papa!”
exclaimed my lady, red-faced and scandalized and all too aware of the grins on several faces.

“That's who I am,” agreed the General. “And it's
my
hand holds the purse-strings! Your mighty husband the Viscount has the sense to know which side his bread is buttered on—which is more than you do, Andrea, so hold your tongue!” He turned his fierce gaze from his fuming daughter to his quiet grandson. “As for you, Hastings, you must be aware that from the start of this shameful business we have all met regularly and discussed in great depth what steps might become necessary. Frankly, we did not expect things to turn out in this particular way. It now is of the first importance to try and restore the family honour which you have so sadly tarnished. To that end, it is desirable that you leave the country as soon as may be. And change your name. We will make arrangements for you to take ship to the Americas as soon as a berth is available.” He drew a paper from his pocket. “I have here a bank draft that you can draw on in the interim. A generous sum will be left with the ship's purser in your name. The same amount will be sent to you quarterly for as long as you need funds.”