Page 29 of All is Fair in Love
“It’s not pettiness; it’s principle. The man can’t just arrive in port and take over the wharf,” he snapped.
“You mean the part of the wharf embankment that the Basden Line owns? The bit along the front of his warehouse? I’m afraid I am going to have to side with your father on this one, Francis.”
Please not another lecture.
“I don’t know you anymore, Alex. I swear you have become a stranger, since taking a wife,” said Francis. It was going to be a long afternoon if this was how his family was going to take the news of his problems. More wine and brandy would be required.
I wish cousin Gideon was here. He, at least, has some understanding of my point of view.
Alex handed his half empty glass of wine to a passing footman. Francis blinked twice, unsure of what he had seen. The Marquis of Brooke, the one that he thought he knew, would never let a drink go unfinished.
“I am not a stranger, Francis; I will never be that to you. I just grew up. Set aside my childish ways and accepted that I now have responsibilities,” replied Alex. He nodded in the direction of his wife, Millie, and Francis’s gaze followed. The Marchioness of Brooke was deep in conversation with her sister-in-law, Lady Clarice Radley. From the way both women kept rubbing their pregnant bellies, it didn’t take much to discern what their discussion was likely about.
“Why don’t you go and talk to your wife?” suggested Francis. If people left him alone, he might just get through this family ordeal without committing murder. But if the expansive grin on his cousin’s face was anything to go by, Alex was just getting started.
Alex shook his head. “I am keeping well away from her.”
That doesn’t sound good. “Trouble in paradise?”
“Never. My wife is utterly besotted with me. No, I am staying clear of Millie and Clarice as they are having another one of their nice little chats. I swear, if I have to listen to one more conversation that revolves around swollen feet and indigestion, I might just head down to London Docks and shift those barrels of yours myself,” replied Alex.
Francis grinned. It was both amusing and surprisingly sweet to see the Marquis of Brooke so taken with his wife.
“Subtly is not one of your strengths, Alex. Best that you don’t pay a visit to Wapping.”
The docks had strict rules regarding behavior within its boundaries. Anyone who caused trouble suddenly found themselves waiting lengthy periods for customs and excise clearance.
“Besides, I don’t want to have to face Millie if you go blundering around and get yourself arrested.”
They both laughed at that remark.
“There has to be another way to get this Basden chap to move. Or if not, perhaps rent you part of his warehouse. One thing marriage has taught me is the value of compromise,” said Alex.
Movement behind Millie and Clarice had Francis gritting his teeth. His father, along with the Duke of Strathmore, was heading his way. His cousin David Radley was bringing up the rear. From the expressions on their faces, they were getting ready to share more words of wisdom with him.
Turning, Francis summoned a nearby footman. “Could you please get me a strong brandy?”
If he was going to survive the quickly gathering posture of males, he was going to need to down more than just wine.
Chapter Sixteen
The brandy wasn’t hitting him fast enough, or if it was, Francis didn’t feel it. An hour of listening to his well-meaning male relatives, followed by the wedding speeches, and he was ready to throw himself out the nearest window and into the street. Death seemed a pleasant option compared to the long endless hours of the wedding breakfast. Every time a footman was in reach, Francis ordered another brandy.
“You have to work with people, negotiate,” offered David.
“As the old proverb says, you get more flies with honey than vinegar,” added Ewan Radley, the Duke of Strathmore.
“But you use honey to attract flies in order to be horrible to them,” replied Francis.
“Yes, but do you really need to be horrible to the people of the Basden Line? You could always look to work with them. To collaborate,” offered Charles.
Francis threw up his hands. He had heard more than enough. His male relatives might have thought they were helping him, but all they had succeeded in doing was to make him feel a lesser man than all of them.
Among his titled and rich family members, he was the only one who had nothing he could call his own. Even his brother Will, who had always been on his side, was more exalted than him. He was a much-lauded former spy, recently knighted by the Prince Regent. He had a home full of elegant antiques, and a wife who was carrying his child.
No one seems to understand things from my point of view. They don’t appreciate just how hard it is to be the last one trying to make his mark in this family.
When he swayed unsteadily on his feet, Francis sent a silent prayer of thanks to heaven. The alcohol was mercifully kicking in. The welcome arms of inebriation were ready to take him lovingly into their embrace.
