Page 2 of The Vagabond Viscount
My poor attire is down to your tight purse strings. My lord.
He would dearly love to say that to his father, but he wasn’t a fool.
“I am as eager to find the future Countess Bramshaw as you are, my lord. If you could perhaps see your way clear to paying for a new suit, I am sure that would help with my efforts to secure the hand of a suitable young lady,” replied Flynn.
He had a monthly allowance from his late mother’s marriage settlements, but it was barely enough to keep Flynn going. The state of his boots reflected his need to save money. He walked most places rather than indulging in the extravagance of hiring a hackney cab. The Bramshaw carriage was reserved for the personal use of the earl and no one else. Genteel poverty might have a nice ring to it, but it wasn’t a pleasant way to live.
“I bought you a new suit three years ago. I am not made of money,” snapped the earl.
Money was tight in the Cadnam household, but Flynn suspected that was purely down to the gambling habits of his sire rather than the actual earnings from the family estate. Bramshaw Hall in Southampton ran a fine head of sheep, and its wool was of an excellent quality. Only the very best of London’s tailors used it to make their garments.
There was no point in continuing the discussion. Any moment now his father would start in on him about how unworthy a son he was—how much of a disappointment he was to the Cadnam name. The customary tirade of insults would soon be followed by the wailings of the earl’s self-pity.
It was when Earl Bramshaw eventually tired of feeling sorry for himself that things often turned dark. Flynn couldn’t face that tonight. He had to see Augusta, and he didn’t want to have to hide the telltale cuts and bruises from her.
“I am grateful for all that you do for me, my lord.” Flynn bowed low to his father.
Please let me get out of here.
When one of the dogs began to fuss, Earl Bramshaw bent and gave it a tender rub behind the ear. It gave Flynn a moment’s pause. Affection wasn’t something he had ever received from his father.
Stirring from his musings, he made ready to make his escape.
“I shall bid you a good night, my lord.”
He hurried toward the front door.
“Make sure she has plenty of money and a father who will indulge her. You can bed the wench while I work over her papa’s purse. And don’t do anything foolish like thinking you might marry for love.” His father’s words followed him into the street.
Once safely out in Cavendish Square, Flynn stopped and took the time to button up his coat and lift the collar. Anything to protect himself from the chilly January winter wind. From his pocket, he pulled a thin woolen scarf and wrapped it about his neck. It was a fifteen-minute walk to the party in Green Street, and if he kept up a steady pace, he would be nice and warm by the time he arrived.
He gave the front door a quick glance, then shook his head. As with a good many things, his father had it all wrong. Flynn hadn’t the slightest intention of entering into a marriage of convenience to a woman whose dowry his father would then seek to raid.
I shall never do that.
Flynn yearned for a union based on mutual affection. For him to have a wife who loved him as much as he loved her. He wanted nothing like what the late countess and her husband had shared.
His parent’s ugly connection had been a cold, hard lesson in what could go wrong. From what Flynn had gathered over the years, while the earl had been enamored with his stunning bride when they were first married, the countess could barely tolerate being in the same room as her husband. Flynn had been the first and only child of their ill-fated union.
His father had made it plain to him over the years that he held Flynn to blame for the breakdown of his marriage. And while he had never bothered to furnish his son with any particular reason for holding him to such an account, it was clear that the mere presence of Flynn was often more than enough to stir the earl’s wrath.
That is not what I want for Augusta and myself.
He had to find a way for them to be together but not have her share his miserable home life. There were many things he had learned to endure privately, but Flynn would never subject Augusta to the tyranny of his father.
I must keep G away from him and his grubby fingers off her dowry.
But getting in-between Earl Bramshaw and money was always a risky proposition. Wealth was power.
He worried that if he did happen to marry the Duke of Mowbray’s daughter, there was every chance that Earl Bramshaw would be waiting at the front door of the church, hand extended, seeking to claim Augusta’s bridal settlement the moment the newlyweds set foot outside. It was one of the reasons why he dared not propose to her.
If only I could tell Augusta the truth as to why I hold her at bay. Of the shameful family secret I have had to keep hidden all these years.
He was a grown man, fit and healthy. But he was still no match for the brute strength of his sire.
Flynn would gladly hand over every last shilling he had if it meant keeping Augusta safe. But the bitter years of his own experience had taught him that Earl Bramshaw was a man who had no interest in seeing other people happy. He thrived on misery. Especially Flynn’s.
The thought of his father wielding any sort of power over the woman he loved meant he couldn’t offer for Augusta. He wouldn’t knowingly put her in harm’s way. He shuddered at the thought of his father and his unyielding fists.
