Page 40 of Too Scot to Handle
Lord Colin’s older brother had kept him out of trouble.
“And with the ladies?” Percival asked.
They’d reached the back of the garden, and a shriek of childish laughter echoed from across the alley.
“Lord Colin was with the ladies rather a lot,” Rosecroft said. “No bastards, that I could find.”
That would matter to Rosecroft, given his own irregular antecedents. It mattered to the duke as well. Many a fine gentleman had illegitimate offspring, but in the estimation of polite society—and the Duke and Duchess of Moreland—those children deserved their father’s support.
“So Lord Colin has nothing scandalous lurking in his ancient history,” Percival said, though a man not yet thirty didn’t have ancient history. “What about recent history? Is he keeping a ladybird? Playing too deep? Making stupid wagers, or hunting for a different hat every day of the week?”
A half-grown orange cat skittered over the garden wall in a panicked leap and dodged off into the heartsease beneath the nearest balcony.
“The ladies seem to pursue Lord Colin,” Rosecroft said, as flowers bobbed in the cat’s wake. “The merry widows and bored wives.”
“And his lordship, being young, newly titled, and freshly sprung on polite society, does anything but flee over the nearest garden wall. I don’t like it, Rosecroft.”
Percival unlatched the garden gate, which opened on a shady alley. The Moreland mews and coach house sat across the alley, ranged around a small courtyard, where young Bronwyn was using a leafy twig to entertain a tomcat.
“I see you are charming Galahad,” Percival said. “Hello, princess.”
“Grandpapa!” Bronwyn abandoned the cat and pelted up to the duke, arms outstretched.
Percival caught her up in a tight hug, bussed her cheek, and set her down—with the older children, it was important to set them down quickly. Bronwyn would soon be too dignified for such exuberance, but Percival would steal a few more hugs before then.
“Galahad was taking a nap, but he woke up when he saw I had come to call. I’ve inspected the horses, Papa. They are all present and accounted for.”
“You inspected the hayloft too,” Rosecroft said. “That pinafore used to be white, Winnie.”
“It will be white again,” she said, rubbing a finger over the dust streaking her apron. “Just not today.”
Rosecroft ruffled her dark ringlets. “As long as you’ve already ensured the employment of the laundresses for another week, I don’t see any harm in a few more trips up and down the ladder.”
Bronwyn was a climber. Trees, attics, haylofts, the garden folly…She’d be atop any of them in a blink. An odd quality for a little girl, but her early years had lacked supervision. Rosecroft likened her aerial predilections to manning the crow’s nest, a safe observatory above all the fighting.
“Will you come up with me?” she asked, grabbing Rosecroft’s hand.
“Afraid I can’t,” Rosecroft said. “I must pay my respects to Sir Galahad.”
The cat was back to napping in the sun, a splendid orange comma of a feline, resting from his endless bouts in the romantic lists.
“He likes to play,” Bronwyn said, dropping her papa’s hand and scampering off.
“Does Lord Colin like to play?” Percival asked.
Rosecroft knelt to pet the cat, and stentorian rumbling filled the afternoon quiet. “His lordship doesn’t gamble to excess, he doesn’t chase the lightskirts overtly, I’ve never seen him drunk, nor found anybody who has.”
“My boy, you can either tell me what it is you’re reluctant to share, or you can tell Her Grace. I’d rather you told me and I hazard the duchess would rather you did as well.”
Rosecroft stood with the cat in his arms. The beast lolled against the earl’s chest, not a care—or shred of dignity—to its name.
“Lord Colin has debts,” Rosecroft said, scratching the cat’s chin.
“We all have debts,” Percival snorted. “Particularly at this time of year. You would be well advised to start saving now for Bronwyn’s come out, my boy. The undertaking can cost more than a military campaign, and Lord Colin has likely assisted in the launch of both sisters.”
“Something isn’t adding up,” Rosecroft said. “I mean that literally. Lord Colin is a single gentleman of means and new to Town, but for a fellow who’s never half-seas over, he has an enormous bill for liquor at every one of his clubs.”
Well, drat and damn. “You’re suggesting he has the very hard head of the former soldier?”
