Page 21 of The Vagabond Viscount
He was shown into the upstairs drawing room of number five Mortimer Street, where he waited patiently for his father’s younger brother to be informed of his nephew’s unexpected arrival. An apology was on his lips the moment Charles stepped through the door.
“I am so sorry to disturb you, Uncle. But this is an urgent matter.”
Charles Cadnam welcomed him with open arms. “You have nothing to apologize for, my lad. You are always welcome here. My home is your home.”
If only it could be. He had tried to move to his uncle’s house several times, but each time Earl Bramshaw had vowed to cause harm to his brother’s wife and children if Flynn didn’t immediately return home. The rest of the Cadnam family knew better than to treat those threats as idle ones.
His welcome was the same as it was when he visited Mowbray House—food and drink were quickly arranged. Charles offered Flynn a seat by the fire, but he politely declined. “I walked over here, and my feet still want to move.” Impatience and worry coursed through his veins.
His uncle stood, hands clasped gently together, while Flynn paced back and forth across the room doing his best to burn off his nervous energy. It was only when a sense of calm began to finally descend that Flynn came to a halt. He paused, then took in a deep breath. His whole future hung on the outcome of this meeting.
His gaze landed on Charles. The facial similarities between him and Flynn’s father were such that, for a moment, he hesitated; his mind was playing tricks and imagining that he was speaking to the earl.
“The earl informed me last night that he has decided I am to marry some young woman whose wealthy father will clear his gambling debts. What I think of this arrangement isn’t important, but to say that I am in shock that he would actually do such a thing would be a gross understatement.”
Charles screwed up his face in disgust. “Do you have any idea as to who she is?”
“No. It was one of those conversations where it wasn’t wise to linger and ask too many questions,” replied Flynn.
A brief, knowing nod was his uncle’s response. There was no point in discussing the details of the previous evening. Both men had been on the receiving end of Earl Bramshaw’s wrath. Of his fists, and his cane. Old wounds and shared experiences had never healed for either man.
Flynn hadn’t slept. He had been tempted to go for a long night walk, but history had taught him the bitter lesson that the front door of his family home would remain closed to him if he arrived any time after midnight. It was better to suffer in the warmth of the house than freeze to death out on the street.
“What are you going to do?” asked Charles.
There wasn’t a lot which Flynn could do—not unless he was prepared to risk a great deal. And that was the reason for his visit this morning. He needed someone to help weigh up the pros and cons of his fateful decision. “I could just buckle under and do as I was told. Give up the last shred of my pride and self-worth,” said Flynn.
“You mean allow him to finally destroy you? I thought you were stronger than that,” replied Charles.
Flynn closed his eyes and lowered his head. How many years had he been trying to remain strong? Withstanding all that his father had thrown at him. “I am tired. Sick to my heart with everything. But, yes, if I yield to his dictate, I may as well go and throw myself into the River Thames. Death might be the better option.”
Charles moved quickly, taking Flynn into his embrace. He hugged him. “Don’t think like that, please. I will do anything I can to help you. Just don’t give up hope.”
In the early hours, Flynn had come to a decision. His future life would be hard, but it would be one where he was in charge. He no longer cared about the title, nor keeping the family fortunes. Love was all that truly mattered. Without Augusta, life was not worth living.
“I am going to speak to the Duke of Mowbray and ask for his daughter Augusta’s hand in marriage. What Earl Bramshaw thinks of that, I honestly don’t care. I refuse to let him rule my life any longer.”
When his uncle drew back, Flynn caught the deep worry lines on his face. He wasn’t surprised. This was a radical shift in the way he usually dealt with his sire’s decrees. Normally, he pushed down his pride and buckled under. But when it came to his and Augusta’s future, he had decided he wasn’t going to simply acquiesce; he was going to fight.
“Do I take it that you and Lady Augusta have an understanding?”
Flynn shook his head. That was another difficult situation he had to deal with, but one he sensed he could overcome. Augusta cared for him, and if she wanted them to share a life, then she would have to be by his side as he took on the world.
“There is…” He stopped, unsure of what else to say. Things that had made perfect sense at two o’clock this morning didn’t quite hold their own in the cold light of day. “There is a romantic connection between us. One we have kept secret. I have tested Lady Augusta’s patience to its very end, and she has asked that since I don’t feel I can offer her marriage, that I let her go. I cannot do that and still live.”
Those words sounded trite. They spoke of the mere whispers of starry-eyed lovers. Hopes and fanciful dreams. How could such wistful thinking hold out against the iron will of the Earl of Bramshaw?
“Are you here for my counsel?” asked Charles.
“Please. I have put my thoughts down on paper, but I need someone with a wise head to tell me if my plans are all in vain. You are the only person I can trust to be honest with me, Uncle.”
A knock at the door interrupted their conversation. A footman and maid entered the room. One carried a platter of food. The other, a smaller tray with a pot of tea, cups, and saucers. Flynn silently stared at his fingernails, waiting with bated breath while the servants set the dishes on a side table, then withdrew.
As soon as the staff were gone, Charles motioned toward the food. “Come, eat, then let’s talk.”
Flynn stirred from his musings. For the first time that he could remember in a long time, he didn’t want food. Instead, he crossed the floor and took a seat on the sofa which sat under the window. Pulling the papers out of his coat pocket, he set them on the small occasional table in front of the low couch. “I went through some calculations last night. Of what sort of money, I would need in order to move out of Bramshaw House and set up a home for my own family. Could you please take a look at the numbers and give me your considered opinion? I need to know if this plan has any sort of merit.”
His uncle stopped in front of the sofa and bent, giving Flynn a pat on the shoulder. “Go and put some food on a plate, my lad, while I have a look at this.” Charles was always at pains to make sure Flynn never left his home without his belly being full.
