LONDON – SEPTEMBER, 1891
As far as Lord Francis Rathborne-Paxton, Earl of Cathraiche and eldest son of the Marquess of Vegas was concerned, everything in his grand, nefarious plan was moving along exactly as it should.
“I am so happy that your brother, Dean, decided to settle in London with his new bride instead of absconding to the country, like your brother Samuel did,” Francis’s mother, Lady Vegas, said with a satisfied smile as she sipped her afternoon tea. “I wish to have all of my children and any potential grandchildren around me, now that I have returned to my home, where I belong.”
Francis arched one eyebrow and sent his mother a lopsided grin over his teacup. Rathborne House, the family’s London residence, legally belonged to him, ever since his father had transferred it into his name to avoid having it snatched by one of his many creditors—or worse, having it taken by the villainous Montrose, who had all but destroyed the Rathborne-Paxton family name several months before, due to a pointless grudge.
“I think you will find, Mother,” Joseph, Francis’s youngest brother, said from his chair on the opposite side of the fireplace from where Francis sat grinning at his mother and his Aunt Josephine, “that Dean and Nanette cannot move out of the city as long as Nanette is still a star of the London stage.”
“I was quite impressed with her performance in Cristofori’s new play, The Marshall,” Aunt Josephine said with a bright smile, reaching for another biscuit from the plate in front of the sofa where she and Francis’s mother sat. “It’s terribly exciting to have a celebrity in the family, wouldn’t you say so, Muriel?”
Francis had a hard time controlling his laughter as his mother hummed judiciously, as if she were thinking of voicing disapproval. An actress was a scandalous thing to include in one’s family. Comments had been made by several members of the upper classes that it just wasn’t the thing. But Dean’s Nan was charming and vivacious; she’d won Mother over thoroughly by assisting her in standing up to Father—and in public, no less—and seeing as the entire point of Dean making a scandalous match that would raise eyebrows was to offend and alienate society, Dean had done quite well for himself.
“Samuel and his wife could move back to London, now that Montrose has been silenced,” Francis’s mother went on, changing subjects so she wouldn’t have to admit to adoring an actress. “The entire point of your scandalous marriage endeavors was to damage our own family name and remove any fuel for fires Montrose might start, was it not? He cannot ruin you if you’ve already ruined yourselves. I am not certain I agree with that, but now that Montrose appears to be gone, perhaps the idea was sound after all. Besides that, it’s high time Sam and Alice begin to expand their family as well.”
“Are you eager to have grandchildren to dote on, Mother?” Francis asked with a teasing smile. “You could always take Alice’s son under your wing.”
His mother made another silly, scoffing sound at that notion, but Francis knew how much she liked young Ryan.
Samuel had been the first of them to marry a decidedly unsuitable bride with the intention of sullying the Rathborne-Paxton name in the eyes of society. Alice had been Sam’s mistress for over a year before he’d proposed. She already had a child, Ryan, from a previous romantic entanglement. And Alice had been one of the many courtesans who operated discreetly within the boundaries of the wealthy and titled of London before settling on Sam exclusively. She also happened to be Irish, and a fantastically intelligent and engaging woman.
Of course, that had also made her the perfect target for Montrose’s nefarious schemes. As soon as the blackguard had caught wind of the connection between Alice and Sam, he’d gone out of his way to harass Alice and make her life miserable—all as a way to get back at the Rathborne-Paxton family as part of his attempts to crush Lord Vegas into the ground.
Montrose’s determination to utterly decimate the Rathborne-Paxton family in revenge for the very real and heinous wrongs Lord Vegas had done—and the mountain of gambling debts Francis’s father had rung up—had been the driving force in everything Francis and his brothers had done through the summer. When Lord Vegas had ordered his sons to marry wealthy women so that the family coffers could be restored, Francis and his brothers had decided to take that charge one step further by marrying wealthy women of the worst sort of reputation.
The unintended result of the Rathborne-Paxton sons marrying wealthy women of dubious reputation to strike back at their father was that it had freed each of the brothers to marry women they actually liked, regardless of their class or position in life.
“Little Ryan is a surprisingly delightful child,” Francis’s mother said, reaching for another biscuit. “The few times that I have met the boy, he has been sweet and lively. I would not mind having him in the house. But even you, Francis, will admit that Samuel needs a legitimate heir.”
“Perhaps, Mother,” Francis said with a smile. “But that matter is up to Samuel and not me.”
“Well, do not set your heart on Dean and his lovely bride producing an heir right away,” Aunt Josephine said, setting aside her teacup. “Not as long as Nanette is still the talk of the London stage. Mark my words, that young woman will put her career before her husband.”
Francis hid his smile behind a last sip of tea. It was a terrible thing indeed for a woman to put any sort of career ahead of her family. Or so his mother and Aunt Josephine must have believed. If he were honest, Francis would agree with that principle for most women. Nanette was unique, though, and as long as she maintained her celebrity, she maintained her income. And at the moment, the entire Rathborne-Paxton family was relying on her income to stay afloat.
For now.
Francis exchanged a look with Joseph. They both knew that their time to contribute to the financial increase and social decrease of their family was coming. In fact, Francis had already set a few things in motion where his potential unsuitable bride was concerned.
“Either way,” Francis’s mother went on, “it is well past time for Samuel and his brood to return to London. I am convinced that the threat Montrose presented has been eliminated. The man has been silent for nearly a month now.”
Francis made a dark sound and shook his head. “Montrose has been silent, yes, but I doubt we’ve seen the last of him.”
“Men like that do not give up their ways easily, Mama,” Joseph added with a frown. “From the little we’ve been able to discover about things, Montrose’s chief problem at the moment is a lack of funds.”
“Samuel and Alice discovered that Montrose has done most of his damage to the noblemen he’s targeted on credit,” Francis picked up the story. “And while that gives him a great deal of capital to operate with, it means he is in as much debt as the noblemen he targets. And after he failed to extort a single farthing from Nanette to keep her true identity hidden, he lost a source of income that he desperately needed.”
“Which must have ruined him,” Lady Vegas concluded with a shrug. “A villain without money can only grumble and growl in his teacup. He cannot lash out and hurt anyone.”
“Until he finds another source of capital,” Joseph said quietly. He sipped the last of his tea, then put his cup down and leaned back in his chair. “If you ask me, I think that strange Prince Petrus of Aegiria who keeps showing up around London has something to do with Montrose. Princes have vast sources of income, don’t they?”
Francis shifted uncomfortably in his chair, then cleared his throat. “He might.” In truth, he didn’t want to think about the implications of Montrose luring a prince to his side. If Prince Petrus was somehow connected to the man, not only could Montrose have the income he needed to continue to attack noble families, he would have the authority of an entire nation, albeit a tiny one, behind him.
He was about to say something to that effect when his mother said, “Prince Petrus is not in league with Montrose.”
Her voice was so certain and so laced with dread that both Francis and Joseph sat up straighter.
“And how would you know, Mama?” Joseph asked, staring intently at her.
“I know,” their mother said, her eyes downcast.
Francis itched to know what his mother did. He’d suspected from the start that his mother knew a great deal more about Lord Vegas and his sins and shortcomings than she’d let on to anyone for years. The woman was extraordinarily tight-lipped about those things, though, as if she wished to forget about it all and could do so by not speaking of it.
All the same, Francis attempted to fish for information. “Perhaps we should invite Prince Petrus for supper to—”
“No,” his mother said, snapping her eyes up to meet Francis’s. “I do not want that man in my house.”
Francis shut his mouth carefully. He supposed that was the end of that.
The discussion was suspended in any case as Flynn, the butler, stepped into the room with a salver full of envelopes. He cleared his throat and said, “My lord, these have just arrived for you,” as he presented the salver to Francis.
With a curious frown, Francis took the stack of letters and shuffled through them, opening them to glance at their contents. His frown turned to a scowl of frustration as he noted that every one of them was some sort of bill for goods or services that had been originally sent to Lord Vegas at the flat where the awful man had been installed several weeks before, but that had remained unpaid. The creditors were nipping at their heels again.
“Am I to judge by your expression that your father has something to do with that correspondence?” his mother asked.
Francis sighed and folded the letter he’d just looked at—an exorbitant bill from a tailor for clothing Lord Vegas most certainly didn’t need. “Yes,” he said. “Father seems to think that living in a flat on his own is a sign that our fortunes have been fully restored and that he can purchase whatever he’d like with impunity.”
His mother huffed in irritation and exchanged a bitter look with Aunt Josephine.
“He should know better,” Joseph grumbled.