Page 7 of Taming of the Rake
The titters of the women followed him into the corridor. His irritation had been replaced by a sinking feeling that turned his stomach, making his footsteps slow and heavy. The last time he met with Benedict, David had been told to quit London and lay low. Ben had even informed him of his intention to stay away to keep from incriminating him. That his friend now chose to act against his own plan couldn’t mean anything good.
He told himself he was being ridiculous. Benedict had only come to him for lack of anyone else to turn to. Two of the courtesans were gone on wedding trips with their wives, and the other was busy painting portraits. It was simply a fact that whenever someone needed a problem solved or a sympathetic ear, David was the last person they would consider. It didn’t bother him to be the most frivolous and lighthearted of their set, because it was how he preferred things. If someone needed to be distracted from their melancholy with a night of drinking or cards, David was their man. His skills included being able to break through tension with jokes and innuendo, and making people forget their troubles for as long as they were in his company. He did not deal well with conflict or adversity, and had a penchant for making matters worse.
Benedict must be truly desperate.
The footman awaited him at the bottom of the stairs. The man kept his expression stoic, giving no hint that he knew what had gone on in Frances’s bedchamber. He simply extended a hand toward the drawing room door, keeping his gaze averted.
David entered to find not only Benedict, but two other men. One of them was Warin Lyons, the young man who worked as Benedict’s apprentice. With the demand for gentleman courtesans growing by the day, Ben had hired Lyons to learn the ins and outs of his job as proprietor and orchestrator of contracts. David didn’t encounter him often, but he had always seemed out of place among the other courtesans. His looks were sharp and severe, his frame slender, and his bearing could only be described as cold. He was the last man David would have pegged as courtesan material. But who was he to question Benedict, who had an uncanny skill for this business?
David frowned when he noticed the third man lingering near the window, wearing a grave expression. It was Gilbert Wren, steward of his father’s estate in Lancashire. For the past few years, David had ensured the family country pile received an influx of funds through Mr. Wren—who assured him they would be put to good use. Typically, the steward wrote if he needed more money. The sight of him in a London drawing room heightened David’s anxiety.
“What’s going on?” he asked, tearing his gaze from Wren and fixing it on Benedict.
His friend had an odd expression on his face, one David didn’t think he had ever seen before. The hard slash of his mouth was softened into something like pity.
“David …”
“What areyoudoing here?” he added to Wren, who flinched at the sharpness in his tone.
“Perhaps you ought to sit down,” said Lyons, his dark eyes betraying nothing. But then, the man was always as somber as an undertaker.
“I don’t want to sit. Ben?”
Benedict approached, resting a bolstering hand on David’s shoulder. “Mr. Wren came looking for you last night. When he found you weren’t at home, a servant was sent to fetch me.”
David’s throat clenched as he glanced about the room, as if the walls might speak and offer some insight into this mystery. But then, David realized he already knew. He hadn’t wanted to acknowledge Mr. Wren’s grim expression, or the stark black band wrapped around the man’s upper arm—standing out against the gray worsted of his coat.
“It’s your father,” Ben said.
David blinked and gave his head a little shake, certain he must now be in Hell. The Heaven of a few minutes ago seemed to have happened to someone else entirely. The world tilted beneath his feet.
“My father?”
“I’m so sorry, David. He’s dead.”
A week later,David sat across from Mr. Wren in the carriage that had been sent to fetch him to Lancashire. The conveyance was an ancient one that had given them trouble and delayed their journey by two days. Making matters worse, the wheels seemed to find every rut and bump in the road, exacerbating the pounding sensation between his eyes.
Gritting his teeth, he stared through the parted curtains at the bleak countryside covered in gray, misty fog. They had been on Graham lands for some time now, and David did not like what he’d seen thus far. He hadn’t visited home in over a year, and it would seem the family estate had fallen even further into disrepair in that time.
He was by no means an expert on anything having to do with farming or the care of sheep, but the sorry state of cattle enclosures and barren fields were certainly a sign that something was amiss. It made no sense. David had sent thousands of pounds into the care of his family, to be used for revitalizing their heap-of-shite farm and breathe new life into a house that had fallen into disrepair. Even without being able to see every acre from the carriage, it was plain to David that the money had been mismanaged.
The house. That was it. Perhaps his father and Mr. Wren had decided to put the money toward renovating the manor and updating the wardrobes of his mother and sisters. But even that made no sense when David considered the amount of time that had passed and the fortune he’d parted with.
As they neared the house, David pinned Wren with his gaze, suspicion narrowing his eyes.
“What happened here? I sent money each month without fail, and I was assured it would be used for the benefit of the estate.”
Rather than squirm under his scrutiny, the steward drew himself up with a delicate sniff. “I’ve done my best, Mr. Graham. You must understand that your father—God rest his soul—hardly ever heeded my advice. As his steward, I could only counsel him as best I could. The managing of the funds themselves was left in his hands. As you can see …”
David bit back a string of epithets at the evidence of his father’s negligence and lack of sense. While he wasn’t known as the most practical of men, he had at least learned to make the best of every situation. Upon realizing that the farm was no longer enough to support his family, David had become a courtesan to not only help them but cement his own future. He might have shunned learning anything substantial about the land he was to inherit, but he never forgot that it would all belong to him someday. ‘Someday’ had arrived far sooner than he’d anticipated. His father was gone, and it appeared that all David’s efforts had been for naught.
The late Noel Graham had not been known for his business sense, but neither had he been a fool. How could he have squandered the opportunities that David’s money would have provided?
Perhaps it isn’t as bad as you think. At least wait until you see the house before you decide all hope is lost.
His optimism lasted as long as it took for the carriage to pull around the drive. Once the footman opened the door and placed the steps, David was confronted with the sorriest sight he’d ever beheld. The beloved family home, where he and his sisters had grown up—where he was expected to someday raise his future children—was in shambles.
Overgrown hedges obscured the ground-floor windows, while those of the upper floors displayed dirty panes and shabby curtains. The stone was crumbling on the edifice of the west wing, and when he squinted he noticed a massive hole in the roof.
