Page 44 of Death of a Courtesan
‘I needed a private word with you about…well, something delicate.’
Riley raised a brow. It was unlike his brother to be anything other than supercilious and self-assured. ‘Well, here I am. Is everything all right, Henry? You don’t look yourself.’
‘We can’t talk here. Perhaps in the study.’
‘Sophia is about to play the harp,’ Riley said, an edge to his voice. ‘Don’t disappoint her any more than you already do.’
Riley was surprised when his sharp words failed to produce the expected reprimand from a brother who never allowed anyone else, especially not his younger sibling, to lay down the law. Instead he and Riley stood at the back of the room as Amelia and Sophia took their seats at a pair of harps and ran their fingers over the strings to the accompaniment of polite applause.
‘La Dance des Fées,’ Riley said, recognising the opening stanza and smiling at Sophia’s look of intense concentration.
He was agreeably surprised by his niece’s competency, although perhaps he should not have been. She was a clever girl who excelled at anything she set her mind to. She made one or two mistakes that were covered by the skill of Amelia’s playing and at the end of the piece the applause, led by Riley, was loud and appreciative.
‘You should be proud of her,’ he said to Henry, watching Sophia as she accepted the accolades heaped upon her with a broad smile. ‘She’s a credit to you.’
‘Who?’
Riley inhaled sharply. ‘Clearly you are distracted but surely you haven’t forgotten that Sophia is your daughter.’
‘No, no, of course not. Forgive me. I have a lot of my mind.’
‘How’s Jasper?’ Riley asked, watching Amelia and Sophia making their way slowly towards them, stopping now and then to receive more compliments upon their performance.
‘Troubled by his weak chest, as always.’
‘Then I am surprised you left him. I know how much you worry.’
‘I wouldn’t have to if only you would—’
‘Leave it, Henry,’ Riley responded mildly, relieved to have extracted a reaction from his brother, even if that reaction was boring in its predictability. A pompous, dictatorial Henry he could handle. It was the distracted brother who didn’t seem to know what day of the week it was that threw Riley off kilter. ‘I get enough lectures on that score from our mother and will not be coerced into doing anything I would prefer not to.’
‘Would that we could all adopt your selfish attitude and play at being policemen.’ Henry gave a contemptuous snarl that was far more typical of the brother Riley knew so well and had such little respect for. ‘Some of us care about the future of this family and take our responsibilities seriously.’
‘You are the marquess, Henry. I seem to recall then when I last offered my help and advice it was brusquely declined.’ Riley lodged one shoulder against a pillar and viewed his brother with an expression of mild condemnation. ‘You cannot have it both ways.’
‘Yes well, times change. Perhaps I was a little hasty.’
‘It’s too late to turn back the clock. I have made a life for myself here and am perfectly content with it.’
‘We have strayed from the point. As I say, I need to speak with you in private.’
‘Now?’ Riley lifted a brow. ‘This is hardly the time or the place for private discourse.’
‘You are never at home, so where else can I hope to catch you?’
Henry’s complaint lacked its customary edge. Riley noticed worry lines etched deep on his brother’s brow and felt stirrings of unease. If Henry was sufficiently distracted to share his concerns with Riley, of whom he had always been both dismissive and jealous, there had to be something seriously amiss. In the periphery of his vision he noticed his mother heading determinedly in his direction, a young woman Riley didn’t recognise at her side, which decided him.
‘Daniel’s study,’ Riley said. ‘We should be uninterrupted there.’
The brothers edged away from the throng and made their escape, much to the obvious frustration of Riley’s mother, who watched them go with a look of resigned annoyance. But even she, who constantly berated Riley for not having more in common with Henry, couldn’t criticise him for taking a moment alone with his brother.
‘What is it?’ he asked, perching on the arm of a chair.
Henry slumped into its twin and rubbed his face in his hands. ‘It’s delicate,’ he said.
‘I assumed it must be something sensitive to bring you running up to London.’ It was obvious that he hadn’t come to check up on Sophia.
‘Look, I don’t want you getting on your high horse with me…’
