Page 21 of Making of a Scandal
Nick had hoped to corner his uncle, but Paul had been coerced into a game of whist with his brothers. Besides, there were his promises to be fulfilled. He spent the next few hours entertaining the children, which seemed to suit the other adults in the room. Most of his family thought him a childish scapegrace, but none could deny that he was good with his nieces and nephews. He read to them from a book presented by Maurice, producing giggles and exclamations in reaction to his dramatic narration and funny voices for the characters. He applauded when Sarah sang, and made a fuss over Louisa’s drawings. He produced a deck of cards from his coat pocket and entertained them with an array of tricks he’d picked up while practically living in the hells.
He soaked up what little time he would have with them, for in a matter of a few weeks they would leave London with their parents and Nick wouldn’t see them again until Christmas. When, at last, the ladies ushered the children from the room to take them off to bed, Nick found his opening.
His father and brothers had stepped out onto the terrace to indulge in cigars, leaving him alone with Paul. The man stood to approach Nick, who still sat on the floor near a basket of tin soldiers he and the boys had been playing with.
Sinking into an armchair near him, Paul studied Nick with a wistful expression. For a moment, he was transported back to the days of his youth—sitting in similar rooms with toys scattered about him, and his uncle looking at him the way he’d always wished his father would. When he had hurt himself after some reckless stunt or other, it was Paul he had run to in a fit of tears. It was Paul who had praised his high marks in school and reminded him that being born last did not mean he could not aspire to make something of his life.
He didn’t usually feel shame over the choices that had led to him becoming a courtesan, chiefly because he didn’t believe in putting on airs or pretending to be anything other than what he was. He was a third son who had the liberty of not taking himself too seriously—a man who loved to laugh, enjoy himself, and bed beautiful women. A man who enjoyed the thrill of the turn of a pair of dice, or flip of a card.
But, just now, he found himself wishing he could look Paul in the eye and offer proof that his life wasn’t being wasted. He wanted, just one more time, for his uncle to say he was proud of him for some reason. Any reason.
“Now that we’re alone,” Paul said, “you can regale me with the stories of your latest exploits.”
Nick laughed, leaning back to rest on his elbows. “Careful. If Father hears you talking that way, you’ll fall out of his favor just as I have.”
Paul snorted and shook his head. “Wil was always too stodgy for his own good, even as a lad. Come now … I’m too old for such excitement, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be young and too handsome for your own good.”
Nick could hardly argue with that, so he spent the next few minutes thinking up the most entertaining bits to occur over the past year—though he steered clear of any mention of the Gentleman Courtesans. Paul was one of the few people who didn’t chastise him for his exploits, but he wasn’t likely to laugh upon hearing that his nephew had earned his funds by contracting himself out as a highly-paid whore. And there was no mistaking it, hewasa whore. Some of the other courtesans were known for their courtly manners and romantic sensibilities, but Nick was in a league of his own. Women came to him for only two things—a hard, thorough tupping, and an earful of filth.
Paul seemed amused enough to hear of the raucous parties he’d attended, the women he’d wooed when he wasn’t in an arrangement, and the exorbitant bets he had won at the card tables and the occasional boxing match. He chose not to mention that he’d lost more than he’d won. Paul was as aware of his proclivities as everyone else.
“I’ve always admired your zeal for life, Nicky,” his uncle said with a wistful smile. “You remind me very much of myself as a young buck. Those of us who will never inherit are free to pursue our whims. Though, I often think it a waste that Wil hasn’t seen fit to entrust any of the family holdings into your care. Julius will inherit the title and country seat, and Jasper—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Nick interjected, though he wasn’t certain his words held conviction. He didn’t need Paul to remind him that each of his brothers had been entrusted with some piece of the family’s assets. He’d been the only one left out, and while he understood his father’s reasoning, the reminder still left a bitter taste in his mouth. “I’d probably ruin anything I got my hands on, so it is for the best.”
Paul inclined his head and frowned. “Men with a purpose to help fill their idle hours often find they don’t have time to get themselves into trouble. I’ve always thought your gambling was a symptom of a larger problem.”
“And what problem is that?”
“You’ve nothing better to do, and no one has ever gone out of their way to change that.”
Nick shrugged and picked at a loose thread on the rug. “Father offered to purchase a commission for me years ago, but I declined. I am not well-suited for military service, and I think even he knew that. Then there was his suggestion that I become a clergyman … I don’t think I stopped laughing for days afterthatconversation.”
Paul chuckled. “No, I don’t suppose you’d make a very good clergyman. But, you know … you’ve a good head for numbers and inspired ideas. Your suggestions regarding crop rotation and resting the fallow lands for half the year have increased my profits exponentially. Planting turnips every third rotation miraculously rejuvenates the soil, and it’s cheap fodder for the livestock.”
“A useful crop, the turnip,” Nick remarked, uncertain how to handle his uncle’s praise. He was so unused to being applauded for anything.
“Newburn has never been so well off.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
Honestly, Nick hadn’t given much thought to the offhand remarks he’d made years ago when Paul had first acquired Newburn. The estate included a manor house, as well as thousands of acres of farmlands and plots leased to tenants. His uncle had complained of poor crop yields and land that seemed to have been worked to death. Nick had merely remembered reading something about crop rotation practices and the uses of turnips and made mention of it.
“I was surprised to even remember what I had studied because it had been so long since … well, Father didn’t seem inclined to offer me what he’d so readily given to my brothers, so …”
Paul leaned closer, his expression becoming serious as he looked Nick in the eye. “Now, imagine what you could do if you actuallytried.”
Nick furrowed his brow, uncertain he liked the feeling that welled up in him at those words. He wasn’t a little boy anymore, though he did still value the thoughts and opinions of his uncle. But, he no longer needed anyone’s approval, nor did he relish begging his father to give him a chance to show himself capable. Those years had long passed.
“He’d never give me the opportunity, and I won’t go to him with my hand out. Never again.”
“I understand. I am not suggesting you ask Wil for anything. But, I am getting on in years, and such a realization has driven me to consider what I am leaving behind. As a second son without a title or a penny to his name that didn’t come from my father or brother, I never thought to have to consider it at all. Not until I acquired Newburn.”
The dread Nick had experienced earlier was back, and he once again took stock of the changes in Paul.
“Are you insinuating what I think you are?”
Paul sighed, his stare breaking from Nick’s as he gazed unseeingly across the room. “I’ve been privileged to live a long and mostly happy life. At times I regret that I never married or sired children of my own, but I was privileged to be close to my nieces and nephews … especially you. We are kindred spirits, I think, which is why you always felt like a son to me.”
