Page 5 of The Viscount's Seduction
He firmed his mouth to fight the grimace that threatened. “This is not the place to discuss—”
“Oh, excuse me, I forgot, this ball is too bluestocking for her tastes,” Charley went on. “Not quite as fashionable. I know you have a far better allowance than I, but how ever do you keep her in silks, brother?”
He didn’t. Her late husband had settled her quite well, and he was not going to discuss it.
“So gloomy, you are, Bakeley. I take it you had the talk again tonight from Father?”
“Tonight, this afternoon, this morning, last night, and so on, and so forth.”
“Father just will not do the noble thing and pass on so you can live the life of a wealthy bachelor earl, gadding about town, fighting with the Commissioner of Sewers about the stench.”
Charley grimaced. “Though I must agree, if London could conquer the miasma, we could conquer the rest of the world.” He paused for a grin. “And there’s not even a need to beget an heir, since you have me.”
He fought the urge to sigh. Charley was almost bosky again. “One of us will have to procreate and produce a legitimate male. It might as well be you.”
“Pity that Bink is a bastard—his boy would do. No, Bakeley. I’ll be like the royal dukes, leaving the business until the very end. And perhaps you, like Bink, will find love and save me the trouble.”
Not likely. “Cupid’s arrow was surely a woman’s invention.”
“Hmm?” Charley had been diverted by something across the room. Bakeley followed his gaze.
Charley snickered. “Perhaps, but Bink is well and truly shackled, and a boy produced. He does look happy.”
Bink was dancing, of all things, with his wife.
Bakeley handed Charley his glass. “Cheer me up more by bringing me another one of these, will you?”
“Do I look like your footman?” Charley took the glass. “Very well, and...I say. There’s a fine piece stepping up with her mother.”
Bakeley refused to look. Charley spotted fine pieces everywhere. And he doubted any woman attending Lady Hackwell’s bluestocking ball would appreciate being called such.
His brother perched the glass in a potted plant and meandered across the ballroom, leaving him to steadfastly examine the wainscoting on Hackwell’s restored walls, and wonder who he could send for more refreshments.
He would not dance tonight. He would not mingle. Not because Lady Arbrough had teased him about attending—she had no say in such matters. No. It was because of the complicateddancewith Shaldon. The crafty old man had grumbled about attending this ball given by people who were not goodton,and Bakeley knew it had been one of his many ruses. What game was afoot, he didn’t know.
He’d been competent and able until Father’s return to England. Now, he never felt quite nimble enough to keep up with the old man’s wanglings. Perhaps there would be rich, titled, women of child-bearing capacity—his father’s three bridal requirements for his heir—in attendance tonight.
Lady Arbrough might meet those requirements, except that her elderly husband hadn’t been able to get any children on her, all the blame falling upon her of course, and except for the fact that Bakeley would rather harvest the cesspit than marry the temperamental widow.
And what the devil was Father about tonight? He’d tottered in on a cane and collapsed in a chair. Not complaining of any ailment though. Father didn’t complain. It added to his mystery.
He must wait the old man out. Shaldon had pretended to die two years earlier in order to catch a traitor, almost getting Bink and his wife killed in the process. One day Shaldon truly would meet St. Peter, and Bakeley would be free to go on as he pleased.
“Get out there and dance, boy.”
Bakeley groaned. In his musings he hadn’t heard thetap-tapof the cane. A fine spy he would make.
“And who would you have me stand up with, Father? Have you spotted a rich, titled, nubile maiden here?”
His lordship stood very erect, his face void of expression. “No. There is no one here for you to marry. And I am glad to see that yourcherie amourdid not attend.”
He bristled inside. If he but allowed it, his father would try to pick his mistresses also.
“Arbrough was a cagey fellow. Fattened his calf entirely too much while serving in the Ministry.”
Lady Arbrough had been barely out of leading strings then, Arbrough was gone, and the war was long over.
“He’s dead. There’s no loose end to tie up there, Father.”
