Page 2 of Every Rake Has A Silver Lining

Drake shook his head. “No offense, Frampton. My brother-in-law’s home is fully staffed. Besides, someone needs to look after Simon, especially since I’m taking Brown while Dawson is away.”

Frampton’s lips twitched slightly.

Simon rolled his eyes. “I’ve managed without a valet before, and Dawson will return from Lincolnshire after his sister’s wedding. If you don’t trust me to not run off with the silver, fine. But at least allow the other servants to take an extended holiday while you’re away.”

Frampton turned toward Drake, awaiting approval. Simon prayed he would give it. The fewer witnesses the better if he wound up having another episode. Less chance to have it wind up in the scandal sheet for his mother to see.

“What about your meals, Simon?”

Simon forced a smile. “Frampton and I will manage, won’t we?”

Drake lifted his eyebrows, then, ignoring Simon completely, turned toward Frampton. “Have Cook stay as well. But you may relieve the rest of the staff. Tell them they will be paid fully for their time away. If Simon insists, he can make his own bed, draw his own bath water, and shave himself.” Drake gave a soft chuckle. “I give him three days before he’s begging you to call them back. I’ll write advising when we expect to return.”

“Please don’t giveThe Muckrakerany fodder while we’re away, Simon.” Her hand moving to support her large stomach, Honoria leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

“Who? Me?” Simon did his damnedest to appear affronted.

Honoria only laughed and headed out the door.

With a quick peek over his shoulder at his wife, Drake said, “Are you certain you’re well? You look a little pale.”

Before Simon could make up a lie and answer, Honoria gaveanother delicate groan, and Drake rushed over to help her into the carriage.

Simon lifted a hand, waving goodbye as his friends drove off for Somerset.

When Frampton finally closed the door, Simon collapsed into a nearby chair. “If you would, Frampton, be a good chap and help me to my room. Then dismiss the servants and send for Dr. Somersby.”

Charlotte’s handscurled into fists in her lap. Her lips pressed together so tightly that, if possible, they would fuse together. Inside, the rage seethed. Surely, she’d misheard her brother’s words.

Roland, the Marquess of Edgerton, sat before her, pompous on his throne of a chair. It had become increasingly more difficult to tolerate her eldest brother since her more amiable brother, Nash, had left for America. At least with Nash, she could commiserate in private about Roland’s brutish nature.

One of Roland’s dark eyebrows hitched. “Well? Have you nothing to say?”

She uttered the only words she dared. “I refuse to marry him.”

Roland gave a nasty laugh. “I’ve signed the marriage contract. Of course, legally you can refuse, but I would caution you, Lady Charlotte. Doing so will result in unfortunate consequences.”

Her fists tightened. Addressing her formally indicated Roland meant business. No brotherly warmth or affection shone in his voice or eyes. Still, she challenged him. “Such as?”

He leaned forward, his already cold eyes frosting her through. “How does losing your home sound? It’s well past the time you marry and become some other man’s liability. I grow tired ofsupporting you. Both you and Nash apparently believed you would live off my generosity in perpetuity.”

Charlotte snorted a derisive laugh. Generous was a word never used in conjunction with the Marquess of Edgerton—past or present. “Nashneverwanted your money.”

“Yet he was quick enough to take and spend it.” Roland’s upper lip curled, and his eyes narrowed.

It was enough to send a chill racing down her spine.

“Perhaps I should ship you off to America to be with him.”

The prospect wasn’t necessarily unappealing. Still . . .

Roland leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “But no. You’re a better bargaining tool here. Ashton, Harcourt, and that new upstart Burwood”—Roland scrunched his face as if just speaking the man’s name sickened him—“have joined forces with Commons, supporting parliamentary reform. Even Stratford has changed sides. I need an ally to oppose them.”

Charlotte found her voice. “Lord Felix Davies can hardly assist in your efforts. He’s not in line to inherit.”Unless both his elder brother and his brother’s young son die.Honoria’s husband, Drake, was proof how happenstance could bring a man to the forefront of the aristocracy. But Felix was no Drake. The man was a worm.

“Oh, I beg to differ, dear sister.” Where Roland was concerned, the term was not one of endearment. “It would seem Lord Scarborough is tiring of his son’s rakish reputation and wishes him to marry well. Naturally, he came to me suggesting analliance.Unlike our brother’s, your reputation is spotless”—Roland tugged on his ruffled shirt sleeves, then satisfied they measured exactly one-half inch from his coat sleeve, met her gaze, the sinister glee dancing in their dark depths chilling her—“so far.”

She swallowed, her jaw as tense as her tight fists. “What do you mean, so far?”

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