“I assure you, my lord, I have absolutely no sense of humor whatsoever. ”
Bloody hell, he thought, sinking into a chair. He could thank his darling baby brother for this one, damn him. Brandon would have known perfectly well that Violet had been attempting to retire from the business, and that sending for her would open up all sorts of difficulties. Odd—it wasn’t like Brandon to play such a malicious trick on him.
“Would you be wanting anything else, my lord? Perhaps you’d like to send one of the footmen out with a note for a different establishment?”
“Stop looking at me like that, Richmond. I don’t care if you’ve known me since I was an infant—it’s not your place. ”
“Of course not, my lord. ”
And now he’d hurt the old man. His day was going from bad to worse. “Never mind, Richmond. I find I’m no longer in the mood. Tell Cook I’ll be eating at my club tonight. ”
“Yes, my lord. ”
“And Richmond. ”
“Yes, my lord?”
“It’s good to see you again. ”
The old man unbent, just slightly. “And you, my lord. ”
By ten o’clock that evening he’d discovered all that he would ever want to know about Melisande Carstairs, from her marriage to the ailing Sir Thomas Carstairs, a son of a bitch if ever there was one, to her widowhood and her unceasing good work that most people found tedious. She had come from decent if not impressive stock—an old Yorkshire family whose money had long ago disappeared. She’d made her bow more than a decade ago, putting her around thirty, married the aging and choleric Sir Thomas and devoted herself to his last, unpleasant years. She’d returned to London a wealthy widow and instead of doing the sensible thing, throwing herself into the frivolity long denied her and embarking on a series of affaires, she’d simply continued her self-sacrificing ways, eschewing parties and public gatherings to concentrate on good works.
She’d started her current crusade almost by accident, his old friend Harry Merton had told him over two bottles
of claret. A soiled dove had been hit by her carriage, and ever since that momentous occasion she’d been collecting them like so many china figurines, and taken to installing them in her town house and teaching them a respectable trade, for God’s sake. Of course she was totally ruined socially, given her associating with whores, but that didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest. The only time she ever came close to mingling with her own class was at the opera or the theater—even a saint couldn’t abjure everything, and Lady Carstairs appeared to love music. Even if she didn’t care much for men.
“But then,” Harry had added, “old Sir Thomas was enough to put even the most enthusiastic female off men for the rest of her life. ” He’d drained his wine-glass and signaled for a third bottle to be brought to them. “Imagine running afoul of her on your first day back. It could almost be a sign. ”
Harry was a good fellow but not possessed of a great deal of brain, and he was superstitious to a fault. “Simply a sign I’ve been absent too long. ” Benedick was too far gone to summon up the choler he should have.
“Didn’t have much choice in the matter, did you? You do have the damnedest luck when it comes to women. ”
“It’s not women I’m worrying about,” he said, accepting more wine from the steward. “It’s Brandon. ”
“What’s that scamp gotten up to now?” Lord Petersham roused himself from the wine-laced reverie he’d drifted into. “Always liked your little brother, Rohan. More heart than sense, but a pluck lad, game to the backbone. Dreadful what that war did to him. ”
“Dreadful what war does to any man,” Benedick said, pure heresy in these days of expanding empire. “But Brandon was always impulsive, rushing into things without thinking them through first. ” In fact, that was how Brandon had been so grievously wounded. His battalion had been under attack, and he’d gone in to pull the bodies of comrades from the fray, and nearly been killed doing so.
Author: Anne Stuart
“I don’t think you need to worry about Brandon,” Harry said, his voice still jovial despite being slightly slurred. “He’ll be just fine. Best not to interfere or ask too many questions. ”
Benedick raised an eyebrow, but Harry was too drunk to notice. Then again, there was little he could do until Brandon was willing to talk to him, to let him into the private hell that had been his dwelling place for the past six months, ever since he’d returned from the Afghan battlefield.
“So tell me, where’s the best establishment for seeking female companionship?” he said, changing the subject, unwilling to have his troubled brother the topic of conversation among a group of drunken aristocrats. “I gather Emma Cadbury has closed her doors. ”
“And moved in with Lady Carstairs,” Lord Petersham said mournfully. “And The White Pearl has been abandoned. In fact, several of the most beautiful of highflyers in town have abandoned their profession and either left London or become depressingly respectable. It’s damnable. ”
“Are you telling me I can’t find a decent whore in this city? I don’t believe you. ”
“Wouldn’t you rather have an indecent whore?” Harry said, then subsided into giggles. Benedick ignored him.
“Oh, there are still a number of reasonable establishments where a gentleman might go for a glass of wine, a hand of cards and female companionship. The night is young!”
For a moment Benedick hesitated, and the fact that he did shocked him. He’d returned to London to assuage his appetites, to feast until he was gorged on sensual pleasures, and yet for a moment he could see those blazing blue eyes, looking at him with utter contempt. Lord, there was nothing more tedious than a zealot.
“Indeed, it is,” he said, rising to his feet, pleased to note that he was almost entirely sober. Sober enough to enjoy himself. A slow, wicked smile lit his face. He looked down at Harry, but his old friend was drifting, and he’d never been one for the ladies. Or the whores, for that matter.