Page 2 of A Hint of Scandal

Damn Julian and his generosity. Any other brother might be all too happy to add Max’s inheritance to his own wealth and actively encourage the potential recipient not to marry. Not Julian. It was a subject he brought up every time he and Max met. Which was several times a day here at Bratton Park. So it might be a relief to get away from his nagging.

“And poor Arabella has so set her heart on coming out this year,” Maria put in, still following the line of her original excuse to persuade him to come. “She’s talked of nothing else for the past month. No, longer than that. You know what girls are like, Max.”

Did he? Not really. His exploits with the gentler sex had been more along the lines of encounters with camp followers, but Maria didn’t need to know that.

Under this onslaught, what was he supposed to do? Give in, of course. Let the two most important women in his life have their way. “Very well. But as soon as she finds herself a husband, I mean, gets herself engaged, then I want to be absolved of any further escort duties. The whole point of her having a Season is for her to make a match, and I can see the point in that, I suppose. But once that’s done, I’d appreciate it if we could regroup and change the plan.”

His mother shot him a narrow-eyed look. Clearly she saw this journey to London as the opportunity to marry her younger son off and see him “settled” into his inheritance, rather than to do the same for her granddaughter. In fact, Arabella seemed to be just an excuse.

Maria, however, smiled at him in obvious relief. “Oh, thank you, Max. I shall go and tell Arabella straightaway. She was so upset when I told her that her papa wouldn’t be able to present her, and that I couldn’t see myself doing it alone.” She dimpled at him, as charming as she’d been as Julian’s bride, nineteen years ago, but Max knew her sweet exterior housed a core of inner steel. “And we’ll be able to see Grey and Louis as well. They’re sharing rooms in London for the Season. I daresay a few mamas will be setting their caps at my boys in the hopes of snaring them for their daughters.” She giggled. If Max hadn’t known better he could have been forgiven for thinking her a simpleton. Which she was not.

He’d almost forgotten about Maria’s two sons from her first marriage. Henry, Lord Grey, and his younger brother, Louis, had been seven and five when their widowed mother had married Julian, and the age gap had been just a little too big for Max to have ever been able to make lasting friendships with them. And then, of course, he’d gone off to Harrow at thirteen, something Maria had refused for her two boys, keeping them at home with a tutor instead, much as she was doing for her two sons by Julian. Still, they were in their early twenties now, and although he’d never seen much of them, having gone up to Oxford straight after Harrow, and from there to take up his commission, Max had always tolerated them, much as one would tolerate a pair of boisterous puppies.

“That’ll be nice,” he said, for want of any other remark to make. A spell in the army would have done those two would-be rakes the world of good.

Maria got to her feet. “This will be such fun. You’ll see. I promise that you won’t regret your decision for a minute.” And with that she bustled out of the room with a light and airy tread, as though she were the same age as her oldest daughter.

When she’d gone, Max turned back to his mother. “Is Julian really so bad he can’t go up to Town?”

Since he’d been back from Portugal, via London and several well thought of and very expensive doctors, he’d only fleetingly seen his brother each day—just long enough to be reminded of what Julian saw as his obligation to wed. The earl tended to rise late and spend most of his time either in his study, where no one was permitted to disturb him as he was writing a book on Egyptian antiquities, or resting in his room.

His mother’s eyes took on a troubled expression, her brow furrowing. “When I spoke to Dr. Ellison after his last visit, he seemed hopeful that there’d been an improvement since your brother went onto the new medicine.” Her tone was doubtful. “But I don’t know. He seems to me to be just as your father was… toward the end. I see the parallels all too clearly.”

John, the fifth Earl of Westbury, father of Julian and Max, had died of the same thing Julian was suffering from. There was no denying that. Despite having been sixteen when it happened, though, Max had little recollection of his father’s illness due to having been away at school throughout most of it. He eyed his mother in speculation. “And how near the end was Father the way Julian is now?”

She pressed her lips together in a hard line and gave an eloquent shrug of her shoulders. “I wouldn’t like to say.” Her brown eyes, normally so calm and emotionless, clouded. “A mother should not outlive her children.”

What was there to say to that? They both knew Julian couldn’t go on forever the way he was. Neither of them wanted to put it into words, but it seemed likely the dowager would outlive her oldest son by some years. And then, of course, there’d been the children born between Julian and Max who hadn’t lived. Children who were never mentioned, but whose names were written in the front of the large family Bible, along with their birth and death dates. As a small boy, Max had been fascinated by their phantom, almost denied, presence and had memorized their names. Rose and Emily who’d died on the same day in 1769, but what of, he had no idea. And Richard, who would have been six years his senior had he not succumbed and died as a three-year-old. Their documented presence accounted for the nearly eighteen year age gap between Julian and Max.

“Your brother has a strong sense of what is right,” the dowager said. “And what is right is that you should inherit your grandmother’s property.” She tutted her tongue. “It has always irked me that your father put such a caveat on the inheritance, although as you’ve grown older it has become evident to me that he knew you better than I do.” The ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Julian wishes to see you married before he dies. He wishes to pass on the property you should have inherited when you came of age, had I had my way. It is yours by right, in my eyes. Unfortunately for both of us, your papa’s opinion differed. All you have to do is marry, Max. No one is asking you to love. That is altogether a far too modern idea. Just choose yourself the sort of woman you feel you could rub along with. One who could run your house for you and perhaps give you an heir. That’s all I ask of you. And do it before you turn thirty or you won’t have a house for anyone to run.”

Did she think Julian would be dead by April then? Perhaps Max himself should speak with Dr. Ellison. Julian hadn’t seemed all that bad when Max had seen him yesterday. Well enough to chide Max about his still being unattached, at least. Although he mentioned that every time they met, so what was different? But who was he to know? And his mother was right, his marriage was further to the front of his brother’s mind than Arabella’s was.

“I shall propose to the first girl who crosses my path,” he said, with a disgruntled huff. “For, like you, I don’t believe in love. If she has a brain in her head and isn’t too ugly, then I shall marry her. And retire to my new estate.”

His mother rose to her feet, spine stiffening. She wasn’t the sort of woman to allow grieving to be obvious. He could have taken her hand in reassurance, only he didn’t. She would have frowned on any show of weakness or acknowledgement of her sorrow. “You will do as you should, I’m sure. Now, I shall go and speak with Mrs. Howard about tomorrow’s menu. Good afternoon, Maxim.” And she was gone.