Page 42 of How to Ruin a Duke
“I will tend to the press of business,” Thaddeus said, lining up the decanters on the sideboard in order of height.“Tending to the press of business is, after all, why I was born.”
“Mama might attribute your birth to other causes.”Jeremiah took a considering sip of his drink.“According to a certain scribbling spinster, your chief pursuits are nearly breaking your neck in wild horse races, consuming vast quantities of liquor, and disappointing mistresses after you’ve made their wildest erotic fantasies come true.”
“No wonder I am usually in need of a good nap.”In truth Thaddeus hadn’t any mistresses to disappoint.At the beginning of the Season, he’d promised himself to engage the company of some friendly widow who didn’t mind an occasional frolic, but that had been several months ago, and the press of business had interfered with even that pursuit.
“Enjoy the carriage parade,” Thaddeus said, striding for the door.“I have an appointment with a certain publisher whom I hope will lead me to Lady Edith’s doorstep.”
“You intend to confront her ladyship directly?”Jeremiah set down his glass on Grandpapa’s desk.“Is that wise, Emory?She can turn even an innocent meeting into more grist for her mill.Perhaps I should go with you.”
This genuine fraternal concern was part of the reason Thaddeus continued to support his brother.Jeremiah spent money like a sailor in his home port for the first time in two years.He wiggled out of social obligations, and his naughty wagers were legendary in the club betting books.
But he was loyal to Thaddeus, and if a brother could have only one redeeming value—Jeremiah had many, in truth—loyalty was the one that would most easily earn Thaddeus’s esteem.
“If I can locate Lady Edith,” Thaddeus said, reversing course to put the empty glass on the tray on the sideboard, “then perhaps I will have you accompany me when I call upon her, but first I must find the woman.”
Jeremiah gave the library’s globe a spin, letting his index finger trail along the northern hemisphere.“Is there some urgency about this errand, Emory?Society is having a good laugh at our expense, but this is not the first such book to be published, nor will it be the last.”
When Lord Jeremiah Maitland was the voice of reason, pigs might be spotted fluttering into the branches of the plane maples.
“I’d rather it be the last such book publishedabout me.The author is said to be working on a sequel, and if I allow a second book into print, Mama will disown me.”
“Would that Mama disowned me.Why is it your fault that somebody has decided to immortalize your exploits for the delectation of bored clubmen?”
Thaddeus made for the door once again.“Immortality by way of infamy and ridicule is not a goal I aspire to.Shouldn’t you be changing into riding attire?”
“Explain to me why you take such grievous exception to a harmless spoof.I always have time to lend a friendly ear to my dearest older brother.”
This was true, oddly enough.“In the first place, the exploits are unfairly portrayed, as you well know.In the second place, the book is being read by far more than the younger sons and idlers lounging about the clubs.In the third,”—Thaddeus got out his pocket watch to compare the time it kept to the eight-day clock on the mantel—“this dratted book has Mama concerned for my prospects.”
The two timepieces were in gratifying synchrony.
“Yourprospects?”Jeremiah spluttered.“Mama thinks no decent woman will have you, a poor old homely fellow with only what—six or is it seven—titles to your name and a different estate to go with each one?Perhaps our dame is suffering a touch of dementia.We certainly can’t let that get out or the sequel will devolve into a trilogy.”
“This isn’t amusing, Jeremiah.What decent woman wants to ally herself with a man who’s the butt of a three-hundred-page joke?”
Jeremiah strolled for the door.“The book is merely a nine days’ wonder, Emory.Shall I place a wager on who will be the topic of the next such tome?I nominate old Windham.He was supposedly a rascal in his youth.”
“No wagers, if you please,” Thaddeus said, preceding Jeremiah out the door.“That rascal has three grown sons who’d skewer you without blinking if you maligned their papa, and then the in-laws would start in.”Besides, Thaddeus both liked and respected Percival, His Grace of Windham, who had passed along more than a few insightful suggestions regarding the care and feeding of parliamentary committees.
“I fancy a bit of swordplay, now that you bring up skewering,” Jeremiah said.“Shall we make an appointment at Angelo’s?”
Nice try.“You shall change into your riding attire.I will send a footman to the stables to tell them you’ll need your horse.”
Jeremiah stopped at the foot of the staircase that wound up in a grand sweep around three-quarters of the octagonal foyer.Of the house’s public spaces, this was Thaddeus’s favorite.Marble half-columns created a series of niches wherein reposed classical urns, dignified busts, and splendid ferns.Ancestors scowled down from the portraits on the walls, and the mosaic on the floor—the family coat of arms—hadn’t a single flawed or misplaced stone.
“One must concede the author has shown initiative,” Jeremiah said, foot on the first step.“Don’t you agree?She is enterprising enough to write all those pages, to find a publisher, to turn common human foibles into entertainment.That’s not something just any idle fribble could do, Emory.”
Jeremiah sounded genuinely admiring or perhaps envious.
“If another such book comes out, and I become a running joke from year to year, no duchess I could esteem would bother marrying me.That leavesyouto secure the succession, my lord, meaning your bachelor days would be over.”
“Good gracious, Emory.As dire as all that?Then be on your way, by all means.Nothing must be allowed to jeopardize my bachelorhood.The good ladies of Mayfair would go into a decline and I would have to join them.”
His lordship scampered up the steps all merriment and laughter, though Thaddeus was certain that Jeremiah’s last expostulation was only half in jest.
Lady Edith Charbonneausat on the hard chair, her outward composure firmly in place while she raged inside.Two years as companion to the Duchess of Emory had resulted in the ability to maintain her dignity, if nothing else.Little good that would do her when she had no roof over her head.
“My lady, I do apologize,” Mr.Jared Ventnor said, from the far side of a desk both massive and battered, “but at present I am not in the business of publishing books of domestic advice.Have you tried Mr.MacHugh?”
