Page 20 of Lady Willa's Divinely Wicked Vicar
“Charlie—” the old man pleaded and shook his head. “This will not gain you your wife. De Courcy would never approve.”
“He would not know.”
“Your name, sir, appears…does it not?” The duke narrowed his eyes and leaned toward him. “But then…Wait. I’ve read the latest issue and seen no author there named Compton.”
Charlie shook his head. “No one knows I write for them, save you and the publisher of theReview.”
“How’s that?”
“The author is a Reverend Peoples.”
The duke sat back in his chair, his mouth open.
“A false name. I confess I had not the courage to write under my own name. My fault. My grievous fault.”
“No fault, my boy. A courageous move.”
“And one, as you say, that will gain me no merit with the Earl de Courcy.”
“What of merit with his daughter?” the duke pressed.
“She does not know, either. But I have the feeling she would approve.”
His father sighed. “Yet what they pay you for those may never equal the hardship of the repercussions if the Archbishop learns of your politics.”
“I have thought of that.” He took another sip of his port. “Not much I can do about that now. I won’t give it up. Even if Wills disapproves and never agrees to marry me.”
“You were always one to choose the moral high road. I am not surprised at this. Not at all.” He put his empty glass to his desk and said, “But I have good news.”
Charlie had to laugh. “You always find a way out of troubles.”
“Do I? I hope so. Hope you are right now, too.”
“How so?”
“I need you to help me with Oliver.”
Unsurprised, he recoiled. If the duke wished him to drag Oliver from a sordid lair or his latest mistress, he resented the need for the task.
Charlie and his older brother Oliver did not get on. Never had. He didn’t approve of Oliver’s licentious behavior, nor of his dereliction of duty to assist their father in running the dukedom. Charlie was the one who did that. Crops had been bad last year and this, the weather cold and wet, and inflation was eating away at everyone in Britain. The war was resuming, troops amassing to fight Napoleon who had escaped Elba. Add to the financial problems, his brother gambled and lost on horses, boxers and cards.
Charlie took another drink. “What has he done now?”
“Nothing. The very problem.”
Nothing new there.“Where is he?”
“London. New rooms near the India docks.”
A squalid part of town. And a new low for his brother. “More debts?”
“Perhaps. Certainly less attention to our land.”
“Ah. And you would like me to go to London and persuade him to return to his duties.” This was not the first time his father had requested it.
“No. I want you to assume the roll of estate manager.”
What? Charlie had never taken over the tasks completely. “Here?”
