Page 94 of The Vagabond Viscount
Flynn lowered his gaze to the floor, not wanting to meet his uncle’s eye. The baby was only one reason why his wife had taken to enjoying naps in the afternoon. No one had ever told him how some expectant mothers were near insatiable. He was having a hard time keeping up with Augusta and her sexual demands.
* * *
Charles Cadnam waved his nephew and wife goodbye, then returned home to his own wife, who was waiting for him upstairs in their private sitting room. Erin rose from her chair and came to his side. She smiled up at him as he wrapped his arms around her.
“Do I take it from the smile on your face that your visit went well?”
Her husband nodded. “Yes, the house looks wonderful, and Flynn has done exceedingly well in choosing Augusta. She is already settling into the role of Countess Bramshaw.”
Erin sighed. “Thank heavens that whole nightmare is finally over. And you are right, my love. He did select the perfect girl. Augusta is a fine young woman, and I am relieved to know that the title is once more in safe hands. And that Christopher is no longer under the sway of his uncle. I feared in time our son would succumb to Ronald’s temptation, and he would be lost to us.”
What his own late father would have made of his brother’s terrible treatment of Flynn, Charles couldn’t begin to imagine. The Cadnam’s had once been a happy and close-knit family, and he hoped that with the recent changes, it might well be a loving one again.
Erin kissed her husband, then drew out of his embrace. “I had better go and talk to cook about this evening’s supper. Do you know if Christopher will be home to join us?”
Charles nodded. “Yes, he mentioned he would be. I think the events of the last month or so have given him pause.”
His uncle had been grooming Christopher to take over as Earl Bramshaw, but with the return of Flynn, his life had reached an unexpected fork in the road. It would take time for him to figure out his own future. Charles intended to be there for his son.
As he would be for his firstborn son.
After Erin had left the room, closing the door behind her, Charles crossed the floor to the small rosewood nightstand which sat under the window. He unlocked the top drawer and took out a piece of folded yellowed paper.
The Morning Herald
June 12, 1791
One has to wonder, dear reader, as to what has transpired at Bramshaw House over the past few weeks. For several months now, the Honorable Charles Cadnam has been seen in the company of Lady Alice Henn, and it was noted from their happy disposition that they made quite the handsome couple. Yet, one reads in the Times yesterday morning that it is the older Cadnam brother, Earl Bramshaw, whom Lady Alice is now set to marry.
The paper might have aged, but the pain and anger still burned brightly. His brother had stolen the woman he loved. Valuing the connection of a noble title, Lady Alice’s father had ignored her heartbroken wishes and forced her to marry the earl. With his victory against Charles complete, Earl Bramshaw had then treated his new bride most cruelly. Following the birth of their only child, Flynn, both the countess and her son had been banished to the Bramshaw estate near Southampton. Never to return to London.
Charles read the note one last time, then did something he had always promised himself he would do—he threw it into the flames of the nearby fire. As he stood and watched it turn to ash, a soft smile crept to his lips.
“You might have wanted Christopher to eventually become Earl Bramshaw. Assumed you could take my son and mold him into being someone bitter and twisted just like you. But I would have killed you myself, and gone to the gallows a happy man, rather than standing idly by while you stole yet another of my sons from me.”
Epilogue
The Morning Herald
Social Pages
A party full of laughter and wonderful food was held at Bramshaw House last week. The Earl and Countess Bramshaw shared the evening with close friends and family.
The Bishop of London, Lord Hugh Radley, the countess’s uncle, gave a blessing to the newlyweds, who our readers will recall were married in Rome earlier this year. More than one guest was overheard to mention how handsome and happy the new Earl Bramshaw appeared as he paid special attention to his expectant wife.
Dear readers, it makes your correspondent’s heart sing to know that the former Vagabond Viscount is a happily married man, and his clothes now match his elevated status. He makes a particularly fine specimen of the English nobleman.
Augusta smiled as she read that last sentence. It was wonderful to know that the rest of London's high society no longer considered her husband to be someone open to such public scorn. Flynn had suffered long enough with that horrid moniker.
She was about to set the newspaper down and get on with the rest of her breakfast when her eye caught the letter to the editor section. Her pulse quickened as she took in the all-too-familiar words. “They have published one of Victoria’s letters to the editor.”
Across the table, Flynn’s mouth opened in a small ‘O’ of surprise. She handed him the paper and sat watching the expression on her husband’s face as he read her sister’s hastily penned tirade.
A letter to the editor
My good man, I wish to take issue with your choice of food critic. As displayed in his weekly column, the fool is clearly lacking when it comes to the fundamentals of the culinary arts. This reader is forced to endure his bumbling words of praise for both restaurants and chefs who have no business offering their wares to unsuspecting customers. One would think that in a city the size of London, you would be able to find someone with a better understanding of what is good food, and what is most certainly not.
Your continually dissatisfied reader.
