Page 4 of The Undaunted
For all that, he did not mind a visit. His aunt was of a very like mind and they had always got on exceedingly well. He was the only child of Lord and Lady Bertridge, now deceased. They had been a capricious and erratic couple, the house in a constant state of uproar. They drank far too much and had burned half the house down on one wine-soaked evening. They gambled excessively, took unconscionable risks with their persons, and had somehow survived three separate riding accidents and the broken bones that came with them. Finally, they had drowned after taking out a sailing boat they did not know how to sail and having failed to have the minimum of safety equipment on board by way of life rings.
He had been eighteen when the tragedy occurred. He’d been not at all surprised by it as he’d been waiting for such news all his life. The first thing he’d thought when apprised of it was:How like them. Of course that’s how they died.
Lady Easton had never set foot on a sailing boat and he could rest assured that if she ever did, there would be an abundance of life rings. His aunt had been his own life ring throughout his childhood. He’d often spent a month in summer in her steady presence and what letters he got at school were from her. She was the very reason he’d bought the house on Portland Place—he found it convenient to have the lady so nearby.
The footman had thrown open the doors ahead of him and he made his way to the drawing room on his own. It was practically a second home to him and he had no need of being announced.
“Ah, Richard,” Lady Easton said warmly, “I was afraid you’d set off for Hertfordshire already.”
“On the morrow, Aunt,” he said, pecking her on the cheek.
Bramley brought in the tea and a coffee for Richard. The butler looked inquiringly at his mistress, she gave him a small shake of the head, and he retreated. He had been employed in that house so long that it was unnecessary to have a conversation on whether anything else was required.
The door shut behind him and Lady Easton said, “My dear nephew, I have something very inconvenient to request. I was hoping to turn you from going to Hertfordshire and instead accompany us to Brighton. At least for a few weeks.”
“Brighton?” Richard asked. “Why on earth do you go there? The place is crawling with the Prince’s rather unsavory friends and the rumors of their unsavory activities erupt every summer season.”
Richard paused, thinking the matter through. “It is Uncle, is it not? He wishes to go, as he does get on with the Prince and Alvanley, he somehow finds them amusing. But surely you can overrule him on it?”
Lady Easton then laid out why she could not turn her husband from this very distasteful plan. Apparently, his uncle had decided to put his foot down. The man had never put his foot down. Richard had thought he did not even have a foot to put down, so agreeable he had always been.
If that were not surprising enough, the whole scheme involved the Society of Sponsoring Ladies. He had, at first, been entirely approving of the society. A lady without meansshouldhave help in finding her proper place in the world. However, he had since begun to wonder if it were quite the thing. This past season with Miss Yardley under Lady Heathway’s wing had verged on the bizarre.
He had at least been in all confidence that his aunt would choose a lady a deal more wisely, but now it seemed Lord Easton had chosen the girl. He’d chosen the daughter of one of his horseracing cronies. The girl would come at once and they were to squire her about Brighton, of all places. Lady Easton was to have no say in the matter.
“This is all very alarming, Aunt,” Richard said. “Why has Uncle begun to have ideas?”
“I would very much like to know,” Lady Easton said, “though I can hardly ask as that would point out that he’s never been encouraged to have ideas up to now. I would certainly like to understand which wretched person has put the thing into his head!”
“But why does the girl come now, why Brighton, why is the Prince involved?”
“I have not been told the answers to any of those questions, though I have asked them,” Lady Easton said. In a softer voice, lest someone should overhear, she said, “I have the feeling this involves some sort of gambling debt. Your uncle is over a barrel, I believe.”
Richard slowly closed his eyes and opened them again. Of all the stupid reasons… He really did not know why so many gentlemen were determined to risk bankrupting themselves to win a hand of cards, or watch their horse finish first, or engage in any of the ludicrous bets that went on in his club. Why did they bet more than they could easily lose? Were they deranged? Did they somehow think it would be easier to win money than simply take the steps to ensure their estates were profitable? Why did they not notice that they rarely came out ahead for long?
For himself, he’d seen his estate’s profits rise year after year through good management. He’d rebuilt everything his parents had torn down by hiring experienced people, paying them fairly, constantly reassessing his assets, and making improvements. The house had finally been brought back to what it once was. It was back to what it was always meant to be.
Along with his fields of wheat and barley, his cows and sheep, and his tenant’s rents, he was making a fortune on cheese these days, though he’d only begun that operation two years before. As well, a neighbor bordering his east fences had sold off and Richard had bought it, adding almost a third to the size of his current land, which had increased his income even more. The end result was he was as rich as Croesus without having to depend upon the vagaries of a gambling hell. He might choose to bet on a boxing match on occasion, but he was well prepared to say goodbye to the money if things did not go his way.
What gentleman preferred to spend sleepless nights thinking about a mortgage or what to do about a moneylender or contemplate flying to the continent? Or worse, how to tell an eldest son it was all up?
Habitual gamblers were bored men who had no care for the generations to come. They were bored because they did not read or attempt to educate themselves beyond what had been pounded into their heads at school, and they weren’t interested in real work.
His friends sometimes called him a stick for not joining them in ridiculous bets, but then his friends sometimes called him for help when they got in too deep. Along with his help would come some stern counseling and warning. He was of the opinion that some of his circle would mature and survive their wasted youth, but inevitably some would marry a lady they did not love for her dowry or slink back to their ruined estates and live as paupers in a stately house.
And of course, worse outcomes were possible. There was, on occasion, that gentleman who rashly employed a pistol to the head as a final answer to the creditors knocking on the door. The last time he’d given a friend money to clear a debt, he’d done so because he’d feared that very solution.
His uncle had always taken care of his estates, how had he fallen to such a habit?
“Naturally,” Lady Easton said, “I did suggest we delay the girl’s arrival or at least keep her at home until the London season but that is not to be.”
“Why ever not?” Richard asked.
“Apparently, it would not be easy to keep Miss Upton at home,” Lady Easton said, raising her hands as if admitting defeat. “Do not even bother asking me what that means, I do not know. Though, I feel a sense of foreboding over it.”
Richard felt a sense of foreboding too. What in the world was going on? None of it made sense. Though, he could see why his aunt called on him for reinforcements. Brighton would be a difficult place to navigate. The Prince, whose morals were on the decidedly shabby side, set the unfortunate tone. It was no place for a young lady who had little experience with the world.
“You were right to call on me,” Richard said. “At a minimum, we must guard our family’s name while in that town in such close proximity to the Prince. Though, Edgar must accompany me. I’m sure you will not mind it, he is well-behaved.”
