Page 3 of Long Live the Baron
Lily smiled in joy. Since returning home, Aidan had been so busy cavorting with his friends, they had barely spent any time together. She wanted to hear about his travels to the Continent and the adventures he had had in Florence and Rome, but he had been out almost every night.
Lily knew entertaining a younger sister was not the most appealing prospect for an energetic young buck such as Aidan, but she missed spending time with him as they had once done. The disparity of their sexes and the expectations on young ladies, compared to young men, had become more obvious now that they had both entered adulthood, and she yearned for the simpler time of their youth before he had left England.
“I expect you to keep that promise, young man!” Their mother’s words were stern, but her expression was affectionate.
It thrilled the entire Abbott family to be reunited with Aidan after his extended travels abroad, and Lily was pleased to have a reprieve from her busy social schedule to enjoy the evening with her brother. She had been so lonely since Sophia had married, and an evening with Aidan was a wonderful prospect.
* * *
Brendan drew a deep breath,then reached out and opened the door to his rooms. He could put it off no longer. Lord Filminster had arrived two days earlier, his first visit to London in as much as two decades, and demanded Brendan’s presence downstairs today. The baron had sent word of his imminent arrival, but Brendan was certain he would cancel the trip, so he had been surprised despite the warning.
Most of Brendan’s acquaintances would describe him as an affable young man who always had a friendly word for everyone he met. If he were honest, he caroused too frequently with his friends. Not to mention, his days were decidedly idle. But he took the time to lift the spirits of the people around him, and he enjoyed visiting his sister and brother-in-law, the Duke of Halmesbury, as well as his nephew, Jasper.
Yet seeing Lord Filminster for the first time in some years had reminded him of the wrenching anxiety that his uncle raised in the region of his gut, which was currently twisting and writhing in his belly as he began his reluctant walk down the hall.
Fortunately, he had not seen the baron much, but today he was to meet with him in his study. The baron’s study.
Dammit, it is my study!
Brendan had been working out of it since leaving Filminster on his twenty-first birthday, and it was rotten luck that his uncle-father had finally found the courage to leave his estate. The only explanation for showing such fortitude was that the baron was a vainglorious buffoon whose craving to attend the prestigious coronation had finally outweighed his fear of travel.
Lucky me.
With an increasing sense of dread, he began his descent, the worn carpet beneath his boots speaking to how long it had been since the townhouse had been renovated while the wide wooden boards creaked in protest at his weight.
Why would the old man bother to keep the townhouse properly maintained?
It was a source of irritation to Brendan. One of many. That he was beholden to the baron, a mean-spirited old goat, was galling. Had events transpired as they should have, Brendan’s own father would be Lord Filminster and Brendan himself would be a valued heir. Instead, he was an orphan and obligated to obey his uncle so he could access his allowance.
As he reached the front hall, Brendan’s thoughts flittered to the last time he and the baron had corresponded. Three years earlier, Brendan had fancied himself in love with a lovely young woman until Lord Filminster had written to her father and informed him that Brendan would be cut off if a match was made. The baron had deemed the young woman unsuitable, being from a wealthy but untitled family.
Brendan would have proceeded despite the baron’s interference, for he would eventually inherit the title and it would restore his finances. But her father had abruptly ended their courtship, so Brendan had buried his sorrows in the arms of a friendly widow, who had been flirting with him for some time, and vowed to never make a match that his uncle approved of. Unfortunately, he was afraid that their conversation today was to address this subject because he knew of no other reason for the baron to require his presence.
Shaking the thoughts from his head, Brendan noticed he had arrived at the study. He raised a heavy hand to rap his knuckles on the door.
“Come,” intoned a disinterested voice.
Brendan entered and closed the door behind him, before finding his uncle standing by the fireplace. He choked back a laugh when he saw how the old man was dressed, raising a hand to cover his mouth as if he were coughing.
The baron was in heeled court shoes, which did little to raise his diminutive height in stature, his spindly legs revealed in white stockings while his white and gold striped trunk hose, an antiquated style of short voluminous breeches, ballooned around his hips. His doublet was form-fitting, which revealed a potbelly spilling over his codpiece while a velvet and ermine cape was fitted over his shoulders. A ruff around his neck made him appear to be all shoulders and head, while the gilt circlet on his head did nothing to disguise his thinning hair, which Brendan noted was brushed forward in the style of Napoleon. The baron was at once gaudy and clownish in the unbecoming attire.
Lord Filminster’s beady eyes narrowed in suspicion, and he tugged at his doublet with a smugness that belied any awareness of what a humorous figure he cut. But the baron had always had a poor sense of fashion, and no one could accuse him of being a Beau Brummell, so perhaps he thought his attire to be handsome. Not for the first time, Brendan was grateful that he did not view the world through his uncle-father’s eyes. He did not think he would enjoy the perspective.
“There you are, Ridley.” Brendan grimaced. Was he going to be addressed as a vague acquaintance, then? “Is it customary for you to leave your rooms so late in the day?”
Brendan once again bit back a laugh. The man probably did not know how to pull on his own stockings, but he was to lecture on tardiness? Forcing a pleasant smile, Brendan walked forward to sprawl into an armchair facing his uncle. From past experience, he knew the old man was like a dog with a bone. If Brendan revealed any reaction to any of his vicious nips, the baron would gnaw at the offending subject relentlessly to wheedle further reactions.
The trick was to keep a friendly face and steadfast composure. He had not missed these biting conversations in the least, even when he had pined for his half-sister who was the sole family connection he cared about. Fortunately, Annabel and he had reunited after her marriage, Lord Filminster no longer able to keep them apart once she gained her autonomy.
“While I am in Town, I am arranging for you to meet suitable women.”
Brendan kept the smile on his face, but mentally cursed. How long was the baron remaining? “My social calendar is currently filled—engagements with unsuitable women and whatnot.”
Lord Filminster clenched his jaw at the supercilious tone, and Brendan squashed a kindling of delight to have raised a reaction from the man who loathed him so. “Those types of engagements will have to wait until you marry.”
“You mean I should pursue the type of marriage you were attempting to force on Annabel? Her prospective husband knocking boots on the side while she waits for him in the country?”
The baron clenched his small fists, looking ready to stomp his foot in the manner of the old German fairy tale about Rumpelstiltskin. Brendan could only wish for his disappearance in such an event as the imp had done in the story.
