“I wasn’t expecting you, Bragg,” Graham said. “Did you send word you intended to call, and I somehow missed it?”
“No,” Bragg said. “I spent the day in the village, and I thought I should stop by on my way back to the Sedgwick house.”
Foxglove Hall was not on the way back from the village, but Graham disregarded it. “I see,” Graham said. “And what is the reason for your visit, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I wanted to apologize,” Bragg said, “for yesterday. I fear I came over as coarse, when I now understand that you are a true gentleman. It was untoward of me to behave in such a way.”
It was the last thing Graham had anticipated, expecting Bragg to come and beratehim for attempting to steal away his betrothed. Herealized then that Bragg had no idea Bridget had spent the day with him.
“It’s quite all right,” Graham said. “I would have reacted the same way should a strange man have been visiting my fiancée. We have never met, after all.”
Bragg sipped at his brandy, then shook his head. The drink was nearly gone, and Graham could smell rank old whiskey on the man’s clothes as well. If he had to guess, Bragg had spent the whole afternoon drinking in town.
“No, Your Grace,” Bragg said. “If we are to be friends—as we must be, since my beloved considers you as dear as an older brother—I must apologize and assure you I mean you no ill will.”
“I would not assume such in the first place,” Graham said. “And besides, we are to be neighbors soon, aren’t we? I presume you shall be master of the Sedgwick Manor in Lord Sedgwick’s stead, especially with your future father-in-law abroad so often.”
“No, actually. Bridget and I shall take up residence at my home near Liverpool,” he stated. “And I had thought you would go back to London, seeing as you have been so often absent from Hertfordshire. Surely, a young man such as yourself still has much to… explore, I should say, in the City.”
His words were crass and could only mean one thing. Graham bristled at the suggestion of philandering when Bragg himself hardly seemed the most honorable type, if Warren’s words could be taken as truth. Yes, Graham had occasionally enjoyed the company of women in London, but he was no rake.
Even when Bragg hadallegedly called to apologize, he managed to insult him. Moreover, Graham couldn't deny that the news of the betrothed couple's impending move to Liverpool botheredhim. The thought of Bridget being so far away, in another part of the country, hurt him. Of course, it made sense. Sedgwick Manor would be passed down to the viscount's closest living male heir. Lady Sedgwick may be given a Dower House, but she will not be permitted to stay at the manor once the new title holder has moved in.
Bridget would be expected to live with her husband if she had one, or rely upon the kindness of the next Viscount of Sedgwick to care for her. Her move should not have surprised him, and yet it did. She had such a deep love for Hertfordshire, it almost radiated off her whenever she spoke of their home. The idea of her living anywhere else troubled him. She’d be lonely in Liverpool, he knew it. And she’d not have their willow tree to bring her memories or comfort. She would not have her familiar village nearby, nor her friends or her mother. Did Lord Bragg not care about such things?
Graham went to the liquor cabinet and pulled out a glass of his own, pouring himself a bigger snifter than really necessary. He hoped the liquor would help him tolerate the man’s insufferable company; if Bridget were to stay in his life, he would have to learn to live with Oliver Bragg as well. The amber liquid reminded him of last night’s overindulgence, but he took a few large sips regardless.
“Another helping?” Graham asked, gesturing at Bragg with the bottle of brandy.
Bragg gave him a lascivious smile. “Don’t mind if I do.”
Graham moved closer to pour him a glass, and this time he wrinkled his nose at the clear scent of stale whiskey on the man’s clothes. Bragg thanked him and immediately set once again to drinking, leaving Graham feeling as if he ought to catch up if he were to survive the visit.
“In Liverpool, you say?” Graham asked. “Tell me, how long has your family been in the region?”
“Up North?” Bragg said. “Several decades on my mother’s side. My father was a Scot, though, from Edinburgh. He secured a position in the Caribbean with the East India Company, and we spent many years there when I was a child.”
“How very… exotic,” Graham murmured, taking a seat in the armchair opposite him. “You must have many fascinating tales to tell about your time there.”
“Nothing extraordinary,” Bragg said. “You know, grappling with the locals, fighting pirates—ordinary things for a man of the New World. I am far more interested in what a man such as yourself has been doing in London for so long.”
Graham did not know how to answer that question; he told himself he had been building business connections, but he knew he had, in fact, spent most of the time avoiding his responsibilities. Indeed, half of the reason he had remained in London during the summers was for the sake of avoiding theton’scourtship rituals, desiring as he did to remain a bachelor. Graham had, of course, been invited to numerous parties over the years, and his mother had hosted a house party every year at Foxglove Hall but he had been too stubborn to attend.
If he had been more willing to return, Bridget could have been his. Now, she was trapped with this swaggering jackass!
“I spend most of my time grappling with my late father’s various business dealings in the city,” Graham said. “He owned a club in the West End, you see, and I visit nightly to make sure we still have reputable clientele and, of course, maintain the books.”
“Ah, yes,” Bragg said. “Mary spoke of it once or twice.”
Graham blinked in shock at the informality with which he spoke of his sister, but the other man did not seem to notice. He continued to speak, starting some conversation about a club he frequented in Liverpool, but Graham had to stop him.
“My apologies,” Graham said, raising his hand. “But did you know my sister well? It merely surprises me that you would address her by her first name, and without a title.”
Bragg stopped himself, an unreadable expression passing over his features. There was a certain chill in his icy blue eyes that set Graham on edge—like a winter storm that threatened to leech the warmth out of the room.
“Oh, not really,” Bragg said. “Only as well as Bridget herself. I spent many friendly afternoons with the two of them over this Season, taking tea and playing cards. Your sister was a fascinating young woman, and never failed to speak her mind.”
Graham frowned. “You say this as if the two of you sometimes disagreed. Did she perhaps disapprove of your union with Lady Bridget?”