Page 6 of Long Live the Baron
A particularly spirited group of dandies dressed in elegant black coats and trousers were standing at the betting book, placing demented wagers about the King’s coronation attire. Apparently, one of the gents was privy to the details.
Brendan had come for peace, to think what to do to get the baron off his back, and to enjoy a drink. Which had been a good plan until the lads had shown up to spoil his plan. He rubbed his temples, exasperated, as the group debated how much had been incurred for the crown hatband of George IV’s plumed headpiece.
“Eight thousand pounds! I win!” A mild roar went up before an argument broke out between two of the bucks.
Brendan recalled making a few stupid wagers in his younger days, but carousing with his peers had been wearing thin this past year or so. Reuniting with his sister three years earlier, and observing the intimate connection between her and the duke, had sparked thoughts about the importance of family, especially with the arrival of his charming little nephew into the world.
The ennui with his current circumstances had really set in when one of his closest friends, the Earl of Saunton, had unexpectedly wed Miss Sophia Hayward the year before. Almost immediately, the earl’s younger brother, Peregrine Balfour, had willingly raced into the parson’s noose with a young woman from the country and left London to rusticate in Somerset.
Genuine friends were thin on the ground these days, with only him and Lord Trafford left from their group to represent the bachelors about Town. Reflecting on this, Brendan recalled he had gained a certain ace of spades from the events that had unfolded, which was an unexpected perk. Lady Slight had been so outraged at Perry’s rejection in favor of a country mouse that Brendan had finally won a place in her bed after a prolonged pursuit of the intoxicating widow.
As each of his friends had done, he would one day like to find a woman who challenged and inspired him, but today was not that day and the baron would not be the one who shepherded him into a wedding. He would follow that path when he was good and ready—and found the right woman.
And not a moment earlier.
No one would make such a monumental decision on his behalf.
Brendan finished his brandy and stood, looking about for anyone he knew, but most of the set were a couple years younger than him. He might be only twenty-seven, but he felt decidedly mature compared to this bunch.
Pulling on his fob, he checked his timepiece, exhaling in relief when he noted the time. There was a certain scarlet minx on Grosvenor Square who had intimated that his spending the night would be well received. Pulling on his gloves and gathering his things, Brendan headed for the entrance, sidestepping when one boy stepped back with a loud exclamation, oblivious to who might be passing, in the usual manner of someone who had imbibed too much.
Brendan bit back his irritation, reminding himself that Harriet would welcome him to her bed this evening. He might as well take the opportunity to enjoy himself before he had to deal with the old man in the morning.
Behind him, the boy fell to the ground with a loud thump, and Brendan came to a halt. Looking about, he noticed none of the boy’s cronies were paying the least attention to their friend passed out on the floor. Stepping back, Brendan dropped to his knee to assess the youth’s condition.
Oblivious.
Peering at him closely, Brendan thought he might recognize the youthful face. Frowning, he tapped his cheek, which made the lad open his bleary blue eyes and attempt to focus on Brendan.
“Ashby, is that you?”
“Sizzme.” Ashby’s speech was garbled.
“Lad, you are not old enough to be here! How did you get in?”
The boy raised a limp arm to point at the group writing wagers in the betting book. “Mabruther.”
Brendan whipped his head around to find that the older Mr. Ashby was indeed howling with laughter a few feet away. Shaking his head, he rose to his feet to approach the brother. “Ashby, your brother needs to be taken home.”
“Bugger off. We are busy.”
Brendan clenched his jaw and his fists, but taking in the brother’s glassy eyes, he realized that the older Ashby was too inebriated to know to whom he was speaking. Or to do anything about his family lying on the floor. Or to be of any use at all.
Easing his stance, and growling in the back of his throat, Brendan returned to check on the younger brother who was passed out and snoring on the floor. The lad was no older than fourteen, if memory served, despite an obvious recent growth spurt that had added many inches to his heavyset frame. He had no place carousing with his older brother, but Lord Ashby was clearly too occupied with the coronation to be aware that his youngest son had been taken out on the Town by his heir. The club staff must have missed the much younger boy tailing the university-aged men.
Shaking his head in disgust, Brendan reached down and pulled young Ashby into a sitting position. He could hardly leave a child passed out in public. Certainly, if it were his family, he would appreciate someone stepping in and not leaving it to some strangers in a club. And the older Ashby was far too drunk to take care of his little brother.
Brendan heaved the heavy boy over his shoulder, then rose with effort to his feet, praying young Ashby did not hurl his guts without warning after imbibing so excessively.
Ye Gods, the lad must weigh twelve stone at least!
If the Ashby brothers had not arrived in their own carriage, Brendan was going to be a little late to Lady Slight because he would have to make a stop at the Ashby townhouse on the way. Hopefully, there was a brawny servant on duty to assist him to get his unconscious load into bed, before Brendan left a note for the boy’s father to apprise him of what had happened.
* * *
Lily lickedher fingertip to turn the page of her book. The encounter with Mama earlier that day had been a moment of poor preparation on her part, and she had been fortunate that Aidan had intervened. The situation had compelled her to pick up her book for another read.
Each time she readL’Art de la Guerreby the general, Sun Tzu, she gained a deeper understanding of the military concepts which improved her skills managing her mother and undesirable suitors. It was why she had developed a habit of regularly revisiting the book.
