guineas, eh? He ought to owe you a stack of yellow boys for saving his purse by absenting yourself so long.”
With a final witticism from St. Ives, the men parted. Foreboding gathering in his gut, Tony hailed a hackney to return to the Nelthorpe townhouse—and confront at last his revered father, the Earl of Hunsdon.
CHAPTER FIVE
D ESPITE REMINDING HIMSELF that he was a man grown, as he stood outside his father’s chamber, Tony had to quell the urge to straighten his neck cloth. After forbidding himself to do so, he rapped at the door and limped in.
Sipping from a mug of ale while his valet fastened stays around his bulging waist, the Earl of Hunsdon looked up in surprise. “Nelthorpe? Blast you, cub, how dare you barge in here with me en déshabillé, as if I were some damned theater strumpet you wanted to ogle?”
Anger welling up, Tony remained silent, subjecting his father, whom he’d seen thus far only from a distance, to a closer inspection. In addition to the increased girth the earl was attempting to conceal beneath a corset, his years of dissipation were clearly written in his reddened face and bloodshot eyes. Little remained of the strikingly handsome, godlike figure who had awed Tony in his youth.
“It’s good to see you, too, Father,” he said at last. “Had you summoned me any time this past three weeks, I should not have had to disturb you in your dressing room.”
The earl regarded his only son with disfavor. “I suppose you expect me to say I’m pleased you survived the war. Though why you had to go haring off on such a misadventure I never understood.”
“There was a small matter of pecuniary embarrassments that rendered my immediate removal from England rather imperative,” Tony replied through tightened lips. Apparently the earl chose not to recall—or had been too drunk that night to remember—Tony’s impassioned plea for funds to stave off disaster until he could make a recover. In reply to which the earl shouted for him to take himself off and not bother Hunsdon with his problems.
“Taken himself off” he certainly had, catapulting totally unprepared into the midst of Wellington’s army. But now to concentrate on the matter at hand.
“Let us dispense with the usual courtesies and proceed to the point. I need to know how things stand with our finances—what the current income is, what funds are available for me to draw upon. You must have realized some economies by pensioning most of the servants.”
Waving away his valet Baines, who discreetly withdrew, the earl replied, “Didn’t pension ’em off, just dismissed ’em. Why should I pay to feed ’em in retirement when they could go make themselves useful elsewhere? Would have sent Carstairs, too, but the old goat wouldn’t go.”
Though he immediately recognized Hunsdon’s comments for the diversionary tactics they were, his father’s blatant breach of an earl’s duty to his retainers brought Tony’s simmering rage to a boil.
“Are you implying you’re no longer paying Carstairs?”
“Damme, why should I? Told the old relic to leave.”
“How could someone of his advanced age find other employ? Besides, he has worked here all his life!”
“And had the satisfaction of serving the Nelthorpes, whose forbears rode with the Conqueror while his ancestors were dirty Saxon serfs living on roots and berries.”
The satisfaction of serving the Nelthorpes. As he gazed at his father’s bloated face, a succession of images flashedthrough Tony’s mind: the gritty marble of the entryway…the faded draperies at every window…the parsimony of furniture, most of it dust-covered…Carstairs’s shabby livery and careworn face.
“Well, why are you still standing there?” the earl demanded. “Take yourself off and leave me in peace.”
In a rage too deep for words, Tony held his father’s gaze until, flushing, the earl dropped his eyes. With hands that trembled, he seized his ale and drank deeply.
Tony continued
With a final witticism from St. Ives, the men parted. Foreboding gathering in his gut, Tony hailed a hackney to return to the Nelthorpe townhouse—and confront at last his revered father, the Earl of Hunsdon.
CHAPTER FIVE
D ESPITE REMINDING HIMSELF that he was a man grown, as he stood outside his father’s chamber, Tony had to quell the urge to straighten his neck cloth. After forbidding himself to do so, he rapped at the door and limped in.
Sipping from a mug of ale while his valet fastened stays around his bulging waist, the Earl of Hunsdon looked up in surprise. “Nelthorpe? Blast you, cub, how dare you barge in here with me en déshabillé, as if I were some damned theater strumpet you wanted to ogle?”
Anger welling up, Tony remained silent, subjecting his father, whom he’d seen thus far only from a distance, to a closer inspection. In addition to the increased girth the earl was attempting to conceal beneath a corset, his years of dissipation were clearly written in his reddened face and bloodshot eyes. Little remained of the strikingly handsome, godlike figure who had awed Tony in his youth.
“It’s good to see you, too, Father,” he said at last. “Had you summoned me any time this past three weeks, I should not have had to disturb you in your dressing room.”
The earl regarded his only son with disfavor. “I suppose you expect me to say I’m pleased you survived the war. Though why you had to go haring off on such a misadventure I never understood.”
“There was a small matter of pecuniary embarrassments that rendered my immediate removal from England rather imperative,” Tony replied through tightened lips. Apparently the earl chose not to recall—or had been too drunk that night to remember—Tony’s impassioned plea for funds to stave off disaster until he could make a recover. In reply to which the earl shouted for him to take himself off and not bother Hunsdon with his problems.
“Taken himself off” he certainly had, catapulting totally unprepared into the midst of Wellington’s army. But now to concentrate on the matter at hand.
“Let us dispense with the usual courtesies and proceed to the point. I need to know how things stand with our finances—what the current income is, what funds are available for me to draw upon. You must have realized some economies by pensioning most of the servants.”
Waving away his valet Baines, who discreetly withdrew, the earl replied, “Didn’t pension ’em off, just dismissed ’em. Why should I pay to feed ’em in retirement when they could go make themselves useful elsewhere? Would have sent Carstairs, too, but the old goat wouldn’t go.”
Though he immediately recognized Hunsdon’s comments for the diversionary tactics they were, his father’s blatant breach of an earl’s duty to his retainers brought Tony’s simmering rage to a boil.
“Are you implying you’re no longer paying Carstairs?”
“Damme, why should I? Told the old relic to leave.”
“How could someone of his advanced age find other employ? Besides, he has worked here all his life!”
“And had the satisfaction of serving the Nelthorpes, whose forbears rode with the Conqueror while his ancestors were dirty Saxon serfs living on roots and berries.”
The satisfaction of serving the Nelthorpes. As he gazed at his father’s bloated face, a succession of images flashedthrough Tony’s mind: the gritty marble of the entryway…the faded draperies at every window…the parsimony of furniture, most of it dust-covered…Carstairs’s shabby livery and careworn face.
“Well, why are you still standing there?” the earl demanded. “Take yourself off and leave me in peace.”
In a rage too deep for words, Tony held his father’s gaze until, flushing, the earl dropped his eyes. With hands that trembled, he seized his ale and drank deeply.
Tony continued
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