Page 55 of Love Lessons for a Lady

Berkeley Square

Sutton House

25 August 1818 - half past four in the afternoon

With a frustrated glance toward the mahogany bracket clock, Aston paced his grandfather’s study. Almost forty minutes since Lowell had shown him to the office, and the viscount had yet to put in an appearance.

Leave it to the old man to refuse to cooperate. He always had to be in control, to have the last word. Always. Well, not today. Not anymore, if Aston accomplished what he set out to do. And by God, he would succeed.

His attention shifted to his cousin, looking far worse for wear.

Unshaven, his neckcloth stained and partially untied, Werner slouched in an armchair. He wore the same clothes Aston had found him in the night Uncle Conley had died. From his rumpled, unkempt appearance, he’d been pished nonstop for days. A glass of brandy dangled from his left hand—his second since tottering in half an hour ago.

“For God’s sake, sit down, Aston.” Werner took a noisy slurp. “I’m bloody exhausted just watching you pace back and forth.”

As impossible as it seemed, Werner looked even unhealthier than he had mere days ago.

“Werner, did you see another physician? I don’t mean to press the issue, but you don’t look well.” Mayhap the Earl of Clarendon or one of the other co-investors could recommend a physician. One who did more than bleed their patients.

“So nice of you to be concerned, Cuz.” Werner belched and then chuckled. After draining his glass, he glanced around dazedly. He skewered the empty brandy decanter with a nasty glare. “He’s hidden the good stuff from me.”

“You’ve had enough. Far too much, in truth.” Aston plucked the glass from his cousin’s limp fingers. “And you didn’t answer my question. Have you seen another physician?”

Werner kicked his legs out before him and, with a hearty sigh, laced his fingers together atop his belly and closed his eyes.

“I did indeed,” he grunted. “More than one, truth be told.”

“And?”

The study door flew open, sparing Werner from answering.

Grandfather stomped across the room, the Corinthian blue and beige Aubusson carpeting muffling his heavy, uneven tread. He leveled Aston and Werner thunderous scowls in turn. Cursing foully beneath his breath, Grandfather tossed the paper he held onto his desk.

Even in his youth, Milton Terramier, Viscount Woolbury, hadn’t been an attractive man. Bowlegged and practically chinless, he rather resembled an oversized bird or mayhap a tortoise. At six-and-seventy, bald, with bad teeth, and gone to fat, he was even less so.

“Your horse-faced betrothed has run away, Werner,” he snapped as if it were Werner’s fault. Which, if his affianced had ever met Werner, it likely was. “Ungrateful, homely chit. At her age and with an arse as wide as a barn door, you’d think she’d be grateful to become a future viscountess.”

Prying an eyelid open, Werner smirked. “S’pose that means the weddings off then.”

“Until I can find another bride with a heavy dowry, it is.” Grandfather practically gnashed what remained of his yellowed teeth.

Werner lifted a fist. “Huzzah. One prayer answered.”

“Bah. You always were an ungrateful wretch.” Woolbury cut the air with a sharp gesture as he wedged himself into the leather chair behind his monstrous desk. “There’s no shortage of gels eager to marry themselves a title. The older and uglier, the more desperate they are. That’s how I found your grandmother. Two-and thirty, a lazy eye, and a face her mother couldn’t even profess to love.”

Unconscionable cad.

Aston literally bit his tongue to keep from telling his grandfather what a revolting piece of excrement he was. No woman should be spoken of so disparagingly. Losing his temper before he’d had his say wasn’t the way he intended this meeting to go. Nevertheless, that didn’t stop him from sending his grandfather a murderous scowl and wishing him to hell’s deepest level.

Seemingly oblivious to Aston’s glower, the viscount steepled his hands, then tapped his fingertips together. “Truth be told, the wench hightailing to kingdom come might work to our benefit. Some of the ton believes it was crass to continue with the wedding when your father had just died.”

“It was rather,” Aston put in. “Crass, that is. Uncle Conley deserves a modicum of respect after the unhappy life he lived.”

Other than narrowing his eyes, Grandfather didn’t respond.

Hmm, he was behaving exceptionally genial today. Notably, after he’d just received upsetting news. Which meant he was scheming something devious.

Grandfather screwed his face into a calculating expression. “Yes, yes, indeed. A few weeks, a couple of months perchance might play in our favor.”