Page 23 of The Vagabond Viscount
His uncle had already done so much for him over the years. Paid for many things that society would have naturally assumed his father would have done. Flynn would forever be grateful to Charles.
And if he did go ahead, defy the earl, and marry Augusta, his father would double down on destroying his legacy. Flynn would inherit debts and a ruined estate. The price of freedom would be a heavy one.
But the woman I love, and our family will be free.
Charles rose from the sofa and made his way over to the sideboard. He picked up a small beef pie, then set it down. His shoulders sagged as he spun to face his nephew. “Your mother never wanted this for you. She did everything she could to protect you from him. I just wish she had lived a little longer.”
“So, do I. I never realized that she was the one thing which stood between him and me.”
The countess and her son had lived at Bramshaw Hall in Southampton for the first fifteen years of Flynn’s life. They were not permitted to travel to London or have guests stay with them. The only respite he’d had from a life of seclusion had been the time spent away at school.
Flynn’s first real encounter with his father had been on the day of his mother’s funeral. It had been a brief and formal introduction, after which the earl had brought him back to London. Within days, the abuse had begun.
I won’t let my children or wife be put in harm’s way. This evil has to stop.
Silence hung in the room for a minute. The subject of the late countess was always one which brought pain.
“I can lend you the money but are you really serious about working for a living?” said Charles.
Borrowing from his uncle would see him and Augusta set up, but Flynn would have to work to provide for his family. The hard financial reality was that even though he was a future earl, he was going to have to secure paid employment.
“Yes, I am. There is no other way.” In his coat pocket, Flynn had a list of things he was good at—a list he had put together when it became clear that the money, he had counted on borrowing from his uncle was not going to be enough.
“I will start making private inquiries of various connections about employment. London society knows I am always short of money, so it won’t come as too much of a surprise when people learn that the former Vagabond Viscount has taken a job.”
Charles flinched. “I hate that moniker. You shouldn’t have to work outside the estate; from what I recall, it has always provided a good income. I could perhaps offer you some work with my company. It might only be a few days a week as I am training Christopher to take over the management from me, but it would give you something.”
Flynn shook his head. He had considered that option but decided he didn’t want to get in the way of his cousin. Christopher Cadnam had his own life to live, and a right to his father’s wealth. “No, I couldn’t. But thank you. I have some ideas I might be able to put to good use. I will seek an occupation that allows me to earn a viable income for the foreseeable future.”
Moving out of Bramshaw House was a crucial first step in his plan. If he then managed to establish financial independence from his father, the earl wouldn’t be able to interfere in his marriage or his life.
“Where will you live?” asked Charles.
A shrug was the only answer Flynn could manage to that question. He had the beginnings of a plan, but some things would take time to arrange.
Today was a bright new world of questions and what-ifs. It had been many years since he had last known the simple joy of hope. Since before his mother had died.
His father had pushed him to this point, forced him to finally break free of his shackles. “It’s an odd thing, but I am grateful for the earl having made this decision. He has taken his avariciousness one step too far. I am not going to yield to him any longer.”
Flynn’s heart was racing at a fast tempo, and his mouth was dry. Adrenaline was pumping through his body at a rate of knots. But so was determination.
When he did finally meet with the Duke of Mowbray, he intended to have a solid plan in place. One which would allow Clifford Kembal to overcome any lingering doubts he may have about Augusta becoming Flynn’s wife. Failure was not an option.
ChapterEleven
Over the next few days, Flynn successfully avoided his father. During that time, he spoke to a couple of friends who were in business, making subtle overtures about the need for him to find a job. To his relief, most of them were able to look past the fact that Flynn came from the nobility and shouldn’t therefore have to work. By week’s end he had several strong leads, and he was feeling positive about his future.
Now he just had to talk to Augusta and let her know that he was done with indecision. That when he soon made an appointment to speak to her father, it would be with a clear financial plan in place.
Private musical performances were not normally to Flynn’s taste, but in order to see Augusta, he was prepared to suffer through an evening of them. After arriving at the function at a town house in Silver Street, he took a spot at the back of the room and settled in to wait.
When the supper interval arrived, he intended to approach Augusta, and hopefully over a cucumber sandwich or two, finally convince her that he was ready to havethattalk. The one they should have had a long time ago.
He shifted across several seats as more guests arrived, finally ending up in the very far corner of the elegant drawing room. It was close to the fire, so Flynn wasn’t going to complain. Hearing his father’s angry grumbles as he stomped about in his study at Bramshaw House a short while earlier had seen him dash out of the house without his gloves or scarf.
The early warning signs of the earl embarking on one of his violent rampages had been rippling through Bramshaw House for the past two days. Flynn’s well-developed sense of self-preservation had seen him do his utmost to keep out of his father’s line of sight. The earl’s temper had a tendency to escalate quickly, and he hadn’t wanted to be in the house when things eventually did explode. He was privately worried that news of his life-changing plans had somehow got back to his father, and he might return home to find the door locked permanently against him.
From where Flynn sat at the back of the audience, he could just make out the top of Augusta’s head. Fortunately, she wasn’t following the horrid, feathered cap fashion trend which so many other women embraced, so it made spotting her beautiful brown locks all that much easier.
