Page 38 of Again, Scoundrel

“Well enough,” Alistair answered, to which his father gave a derisive snort. Alistair glanced down the end of the table to the Marquess.

“Do you have something to add, Father?” he asked.

“I believe all of the ton knows how your return is faring. Especially after the Waverly Ball debacle last night.”

“Arthur, please,” his mother said, laying a hand on his father’s arm to stay any further conversation.

“No, Mariel. This must be said. He made a spectacle of himself. Drinking too much with that ne’er do well Pembrooke. Accosting the West girl’s cousin, who was doing Christ knows what to Miss Jenson. You’ve outdone yourself this time, son.”

“Miss Goodwin saved Miss Jenson’s life,” Alistair said. “You’d do well to treat her with respect.”

“As you did? I wouldn’t call it respect when a gentleman lays hands on a lady and then turns his back on her.”

“Father, please,” Darius cut in. “That is only gossip.”

“Is it?” the Marquess asked. He stared down the table at Alistair. “Somerville was there, if you recall. He is not prone to over exaggeration.”

“I can explain,” Alistair said.

“No need. There is only one explanation, and I’m quite sure it has to do with the bottle of whisky that seems to be permanently affixed to your lips. You’ve got to recover yourself, son. You cannot continue on in this fashion.”

Alistair breathed in deeply. It was now or never.

“That is why I came to breakfast this morning, Father. I’d like to speak with you about a business venture.”

The Marquess snorted again. “I’ll not discuss business with you. Not until you show some indication of an ability to make a good decision. Heaven help me, but I cannot understand how you commanded a ship if you cannot even command yourself.”

Alistair sighed. It was as he had expected. His father thought the worst of him. And though he’d been wrong about last night—Alistair had not been drinking—he had made one bad decision after another since he’d left the Navy, starting with the East India Company and ending with Violet Goodwin.

“You disappoint me,” his father continued, cold eyes glaring at him from across the table.

Alistair put down his knife and fork and rose from the table.

“I am aware,” he said. “You’ve been clear enough on that point. Not only am I a drunkard and a failure, but I haven’t married, much less sired any precious grandchildren.

“What I cannot understand is why these last two items would be such a blemish on my character and worth nary a mention on my brother’s.”

He gave a short bow. “If you’ll excuse me. I find I’ve lost my appetite.”

Alistair stormed out of the house. He’d known since the summer he turned fifteen what his father thought of him, and it had been foolish to believe there was any reason for that to change now.

Chapter

16

“You did what?” Violet’s mother asked. “Violet, how could you?”

Violet was curled on the settee in her mother’s room, trying to explain the happenings of the evening before.

“What would you have had me do, mother? Leave the poor girl to asphyxiate on the lawn?”

Her mother sighed and turned toward her. “No, of course not. But this can’t have been the first asthmatic episode that Miss Jenson suffered. I’m sure her family could have handled it. We’ll have to speak with Lydia right away. It is imperative that Catherine accept a good offer this season, for her sake. The new Earl has made that more than clear.”

“I know, Mother. I do. I promise I will be the epitome of a good companion from now on. Catherine will marry well before the season is out. You have my word.”

“No, Violet.” Her mother shook her head. “It will be best if you keep to yourself for the next weeks while Lydia and I escort Catherine. We’ll see it done. I’d hoped… well, it doesn’t matter what I’d hoped. This will be for the best. For you, and Catherine, and likely for Lydia too. My sister has grown far too used to seclusion, I’m afraid. And you—” Nora smiled at her daughter, “have not grown enough accustomed to it.”

Violet squelched her grin. Although a little part of her felt sorry she would spend less time with Catherine, socially at least, the rest of her rejoiced. She’d never enjoyed balls or salons or dinners with the beaumonde. She’d only tolerated them for Catherine’s sake and now she no longer had to.