tree?”
Andres shrugged. “I have enough trouble with English to have to remember your sayings.”
“That is not true, Barón. Your English is very good. Or should I call you Ramigio? Most of Europe, Greece, and Turkey know you by that name.
Barón is a title you saved for London. What? Did you think we were too removed from Spain for your subterfuge not to be discovered here?”
“I’ve always claimed the title. Otherwise how would you have traced me?
And how is my sister? Or should I be clear and say half sister?”
“My man said the Contessa Delia Digassi has a gaggle of children and a husband who is a disappointment.”
“There is a God,” Andres answered. Delia had been so proud of her Italian nobleman, so anxious to leave the family compound.
“After your brother’s death, your father elevated you. But you weren’t enough. An illegitimate son never is. There is always a taint of something unsavory about him. A reminder that man is weak.”
Andres forced himself to meet Dobbins’s gaze. It was hard.
“But then, your father was weak. He died by his own hand.”
“It is a cure for disappointment.” Tight, he had to hold himself tight.
“He saw nothing worthy to live for after they took his properties.”
“And his horses.”
“Yes, the horses. You’ve tried to save them, haven’t you? From what I’ve learned, you’ve done everything in your power to keep the horses, including many unsavory schemes.”
“Some of my efforts have been perhaps a bit criminal, but not all of them,”
Andres said. “I won the silver mine in a game of cards.”
“Ah, yes, that was in the Viceroyalty of Peru.”
“Did you send a man there?” Andres knew he hadn’t. There hadn’t been enough time, and the mine was done. It had been tapped out before he’d arrived. He’d spent two years of his life searching for a rumored vein of ore and never found it. He’d given up, turned the mine over to the natives, and returned to Europe.
“Should I have?” Lord Dobbins asked.
Andres was tired of being baited. “It is true that I am the illegitimate son, but I’ve claimed the title. The blood flows in my veins. It is mine.”
“But it came from the wrong side of the covers,” Lord Dobbins argued.
“That is something you must remember. You can’t just label yourself or claim the title for yourself, knowing most of us would never question your right to it. It’s a bold move, Barón, one I rather admire—but it is ultimately dishonest. All those people in Banfield’s ballroom, even your friend Holburn, have standards. And you don’t meet them.”
“I wonder if your wife would say the same?”
That barb hit home.
The false smile vanished from Dobbins’s face and Andres found his weakness. For all of the man’s bravado, his wife was more than a possession.
They both knew Carla’s nature was such that if she wanted something, nothing would stand in her way, not even her powerful husband.
“Someday,” Andres vowed, “I shall return the name Ramigio to where it should be, title or not.” He spoke with conviction. This was his goal in life.
What he wanted. Dobbins was welcome to Carla.
His lordship’s manner changed, the smugness replaced by a grudging respect.
“I believe you, but you don’t have two shillings to your name or any other.
You’re into the duns. You own a share of that horse Holburn is holding for you, but little else. It’s a pity, really. I quite like you.”
“So, it is my finances you wish to discuss?” Andres pressed, wanting to come to the heart of this interview.
“I actually wish to offer you an opportunity.”
“To what? Disappear?”
“Exactly.” The smile—angry, vindictive—returned to his lordship’s face. “I want my wife back the way she was.” He waved a dismissive hand, as if he could read Andres’s mind. “Don’t be excited. I’m not paying you off, not in the way your type expects.”
“I wouldn’t take a payment anyway,”
Andres shrugged. “I have enough trouble with English to have to remember your sayings.”
“That is not true, Barón. Your English is very good. Or should I call you Ramigio? Most of Europe, Greece, and Turkey know you by that name.
Barón is a title you saved for London. What? Did you think we were too removed from Spain for your subterfuge not to be discovered here?”
“I’ve always claimed the title. Otherwise how would you have traced me?
And how is my sister? Or should I be clear and say half sister?”
“My man said the Contessa Delia Digassi has a gaggle of children and a husband who is a disappointment.”
“There is a God,” Andres answered. Delia had been so proud of her Italian nobleman, so anxious to leave the family compound.
“After your brother’s death, your father elevated you. But you weren’t enough. An illegitimate son never is. There is always a taint of something unsavory about him. A reminder that man is weak.”
Andres forced himself to meet Dobbins’s gaze. It was hard.
“But then, your father was weak. He died by his own hand.”
“It is a cure for disappointment.” Tight, he had to hold himself tight.
“He saw nothing worthy to live for after they took his properties.”
“And his horses.”
“Yes, the horses. You’ve tried to save them, haven’t you? From what I’ve learned, you’ve done everything in your power to keep the horses, including many unsavory schemes.”
“Some of my efforts have been perhaps a bit criminal, but not all of them,”
Andres said. “I won the silver mine in a game of cards.”
“Ah, yes, that was in the Viceroyalty of Peru.”
“Did you send a man there?” Andres knew he hadn’t. There hadn’t been enough time, and the mine was done. It had been tapped out before he’d arrived. He’d spent two years of his life searching for a rumored vein of ore and never found it. He’d given up, turned the mine over to the natives, and returned to Europe.
“Should I have?” Lord Dobbins asked.
Andres was tired of being baited. “It is true that I am the illegitimate son, but I’ve claimed the title. The blood flows in my veins. It is mine.”
“But it came from the wrong side of the covers,” Lord Dobbins argued.
“That is something you must remember. You can’t just label yourself or claim the title for yourself, knowing most of us would never question your right to it. It’s a bold move, Barón, one I rather admire—but it is ultimately dishonest. All those people in Banfield’s ballroom, even your friend Holburn, have standards. And you don’t meet them.”
“I wonder if your wife would say the same?”
That barb hit home.
The false smile vanished from Dobbins’s face and Andres found his weakness. For all of the man’s bravado, his wife was more than a possession.
They both knew Carla’s nature was such that if she wanted something, nothing would stand in her way, not even her powerful husband.
“Someday,” Andres vowed, “I shall return the name Ramigio to where it should be, title or not.” He spoke with conviction. This was his goal in life.
What he wanted. Dobbins was welcome to Carla.
His lordship’s manner changed, the smugness replaced by a grudging respect.
“I believe you, but you don’t have two shillings to your name or any other.
You’re into the duns. You own a share of that horse Holburn is holding for you, but little else. It’s a pity, really. I quite like you.”
“So, it is my finances you wish to discuss?” Andres pressed, wanting to come to the heart of this interview.
“I actually wish to offer you an opportunity.”
“To what? Disappear?”
“Exactly.” The smile—angry, vindictive—returned to his lordship’s face. “I want my wife back the way she was.” He waved a dismissive hand, as if he could read Andres’s mind. “Don’t be excited. I’m not paying you off, not in the way your type expects.”
“I wouldn’t take a payment anyway,”
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