Page 22 of The Vagabond Viscount
The tray of food was a welcome attempt at a distraction, but Flynn’s gaze kept darting to the sofa where Charles sat, pouring over the notes.
He had just stuffed a small cucumber and cheese sandwich into his mouth when his uncle let out a huff and spoke. “This is a lot of money you are asking me for.”
Flynn set the plate of food on the sideboard and returned to the sofa. Borrowing from his uncle was the only way he could move forward with his plans. “Yes, I know. I will repay it with good interest when the time comes.”
The time in question being when he eventually became Earl Bramshaw. It went without saying that Charles could be waiting many years for his money.
Charles lifted his head, and his gaze went to the ceiling. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, and Flynn’s heart sunk immediately to his stomach. His uncle didn’t like his plan.
“Do you have any idea as to the amount of Lady Augusta Kembal’s dowry?”
Flynn shook his head. “I put an estimate in, but no, I don’t.” He pointed at the sheet of paper where he had written down the number. “If her father is as wise as I suspect he is, he will no doubt have tight settlement clauses. A good deal of the money will be held in trust for her and our children. The rest will be remitted over a period of time. And while Augusta will have some pin money, it should be hers. Which is why I shall have to find paid employment.”
He hoped the Duke of Mowbray had structured his daughter’s dowry that way. Flynn couldn’t bear the notion of something happening to him and his father then attempting to access the money, which was meant to keep a roof over Augusta’s head.
The late Countess of Bramshaw had left Flynn a little money from her dowry. He had lost count of the number of times the earl had tried to get his hands on it. Knowing how moneygrubbing his father was, he had to make certain that any funds which Augusta brought to their marriage were kept safe.
But without his uncle’s money, he wouldn’t be in a position to set up a separate home for him and Augusta. The other option of moving into Mowbray House with her family would cause the sort of scandal for which his father would seek retribution.
“Am I asking too much of you?”
Charles shook his head. “No, the numbers all make sense. There is, of course, a strong family obligation to support you. But even if that wasn’t the case, I would still lend you the money. You have to get out from under my brother. This is your life, Flynn, and that of your future children.”
The thought of his wife and their offspring had been the final deciding factor for Flynn. He couldn’t in all good conscience bring children into the world, knowing that he was condemning them to a life under the harsh yoke of his father. The abuse had to end with him.
He wouldn’t dare risk their physical safety, nor accept the possibility that, in time, his wife and family would come to hate him for trapping them in a life not of their choosing. His own suffering had shown him the dark path they would be forced to follow him on.
No. I won’t do that, not for all the money in the world.
“My actions may cause a ripple or two in society, but I’m now at peace with that outcome. It’s what the earl will do that concerns me more. I’m worried that my father will possibly seek revenge. The loan is only part of the reason why I am here today. I fear that he will lay the blame for my escape at your feet.”
They had been here before, dealing with the threats from the earl when Flynn had attempted to leave home a few years previous.
Charles drew in a shaky breath, but Flynn caught the look of quiet determination on his uncle’s face. “I will protect my wife and family. Christopher is no longer a child, and he knows enough about my brother to understand the risks. I don’t think our family will come to a state of open war, especially not if you take the Duke of Mowbray’s daughter to wife.”
Not yet at war. Could now be the final peace before an open raging battle?
“If anyone can stand up against your father, it is Clifford Kembal. He won’t hold for anything untoward to happen to his eldest daughter.”
Flynn nodded. He had considered that notion. “The Duke of Mowbray won’t have to fight my battles. Since my father will have no ability to wield financial influence over us, he shouldn’t have any reason to come near Augusta. Setting up our family and life away from him will keep my wife safe.”
He was going to have to explain a lot of this to the duke before he asked for Augusta’s hand in marriage. That was going to be a tricky conversation. But Flynn was set in his course of action. Even then, there was always the chance that the duke might not agree to the marriage.
Deal with that problem if and when it arises.
Flynn raked his fingers through his short brown hair. What he was going to tell Augusta was yet another thorny problem he would have to overcome. In an effort to protect her from the ugly truth about his father, he had lied to her about some things. She deserved to know what he had planned, and why. He couldn’t allow the woman he loved to walk blindly into a marriage where, despite his best endeavors, her new family may eventually be set for bloody battle.
“I need to speak to Augusta before I talk to her father. I want her to understand that if we do marry, we won’t be living at Bramshaw House. Nor do I intend to be using the title Viscount Cadnam for the foreseeable future. The break with my father has to be complete.”
His sire couldn’t disown him, but Flynn could refuse to use his courtesy title. He wouldn’t be living under the same roof as the earl, something which wasn’t unusual—married sons often set up separate households—but by refusing to be associated with his father’s titles, he would be making a bold public statement. One which would no doubt have tongues wagging within thehaut ton.
That had been a moment of inspiration in the early hours of the morning. A preemptive strike against the earl to show him that he meant to keep his word and not return to Bramshaw House until the day he became Earl Bramshaw. He would go about town as Mister Flynn Cadnam.
“Ronald will not take that well,” replied Charles.
It was strange to hear his father’s Christian name. Flynn didn’t use it, nor did he think of his sire in that way. To him, he was Earl Bramshaw, a stranger who just happened to live in the same house. A cruel man who he had met a mere handful of times before the countess’s death.
“No, he won’t. But it’s time I made a stand. I’m under no illusion that when I finally do come into the title, he will have frittered away much of the family fortune. That most of the property, that which is not entailed, will likely be all gone.”
