The earl had written him off years ago—not that he’d ever been the most attentive or affectionate of fathers. Nick being so far down the line of succession made him a superfluous burden.
He retrieved a fresh sheet of parchment and made a list of the best events for he and Calliope to attend, certain that Martin Lewes had also been invited to most of them. The man was popular just like Nick, and was a desirable guest many hostesses clamored after.
That done, he scribbled a hasty note to Benedict, ensuring his friend that the meeting with Calliope had gone over well and that the contract had been signed.
Only after he had done all this did Nick open his father’s message, surprised to find welcome news. His uncle was in London and staying at the family’s Town residence. He was being summoned to attend dinner with his parents and siblings, which was a rare occurrence. His father limited contact with his youngest son to the most necessary of visits, and the arrival of Uncle Paul was one such occasion.
Nick was certain his uncle was the one who had insisted on his presence. The man had been more of a father to him than the earl had, and the two had been close since he’d been a young boy seeking the approval of a man—any man in any position of authority. Paul had indulged him where his father had denied him, and for that reason Nick would attend the dinner. It would be good to see his siblings, and nieces and nephews as well.
He penned a response affirming that he would attend, and promptly sealed it. After he sent the notes off in Thorpe’s hands, he rose from the desk feeling better than he had on his arrival. His pounding head had eased to a dull ache, and he no longer felt as if he’d lose the contents of his stomach. Still, he hadn’t slept much this morning and exhaustion weighed him down.
He stripped to the waist, pried off his boots, and closed the drapes, casting the room into darkness. Falling face-first onto his neatly-made bed, courtesy of Thorpe, he closed his eyes and surrendered to oblivion.
Later that evening, Nick arrived at the Burke family residence recovered from his headache. Now that Thorpe’s concoction had done its job, he was ravenous.
Even though he was on time, he was shown into the drawing room to find that he was the last to arrive. His father and uncle sat in matching armchairs with a gaggle of children of varying ages at their feet. The cacophony of young voices mingled with the piano music produced by his eldest niece, who was so engrossed with her playing she hadn’t noticed his entrance.
The other children did, though, and promptly came to their feet to rush Nick all at once. He ignored his father’s disapproving glance in favor of greeting some of his favorite people in the world.
He went down on one knee and braced himself as two boys crashed into him, while a third latched onto him from behind, slender arms wrapped around his neck. Two girls wiggled in where they could, and little hands yanked on him from all directions. A wide grin split his face as he tried to enclose them all in his arms at once—a feat akin to wrestling with a barrel full of wriggling eels.
The piano music came to an abrupt halt as their cries and his laughter overpowered the music, and Nick came to his feet with a girl on one hip, another wrapped around his leg, and three boys pulling at his coat and vying for his attention.
“Uncle Nicky, pick me up, too!” whined Sarah, the youngest of his sister’s progeny. She was the one clinging to his leg, staring up at him with wide blue eyes, her mouth fixed into a pink pout.
“Wait your turn, Sarah,” said Louisa, glaring down at her little sister from the crook of Nick’s arm.
“Well, now … I think I can manage both of you. Let’s see. By Jove, Sarah, what has your mother been feeding you?”
The girl giggled as he perched her on his other hip, while the boys crowded around, each clamoring to tell him something. All dark haired and dark-eyed, Maurice, Owen, and Curtis were miniature images of their father. Lord Julius Burke was the eldest and the heir to the earldom. Typical of his nature, he had done his duty by marrying and producing three boys, each born within a year of one another.
Maurice pointed out that he’d grown taller than Owen, who was the oldest and did not seem happy with this development. Curtis wanted to tell him about the stray kittens he had found and convinced his mother to let him keep. Nick gave them each as much of his attention as he could while the girls giggled and kissed his cheeks.
“Will you read to us after dinner, Uncle Nicky?” Maurice asked.
“No, I’m going to show him my drawings,” Louisa argued with a glare in her cousin’s direction.
“But I want him to listen to me sing,” Sarah protested. “I’ve been practicing for weeks, and mama says I sound like an angel.”
“An angel with a frog in her throat,” Owen muttered.
“Now, now,” Nick chided, crouching to set the girls back on their feet. “I have no other plans this evening, so I have time to spend with everyone. Maurice, of course I’ll read to you. And after that, Louisa will show me her drawings and Sarah can sing her song. Jane … have you grown too old to greet Uncle Nicky properly?”
The young lady seated at the pianoforte rose with a shy smile and darted a glance at her parents. The first child of the second Burke brother and his wife—with a baby brother ensconced in the nursery—she was now thirteen years old. She grew demurer and more ladylike every time Nick saw her, but the mischievous little girl who had once joined him in pulling pranks on her father was still in there somewhere. He saw a glimpse of her—the slightest twinkling in her green eyes—just before she lost her hold on comportment and launched herself at him.
His chest grew tight as he hugged her and realized that the top of her head nearly reached his chin. She had grown so much, but it had seemed like only yesterday she’d been a baby bouncing on his knee.
“Hello, Janey my dear. How lovely you are. Your father is going to have to beat the suitors off you with a stick once you’ve made your debut.”
“I’ve already got a sturdy one picked out,” her father quipped, coming to his feet to greet Nick.
Jasper had the same long, slender frame as all the Burke men, and a headful of shining mahogany hair. He shook Nick’s hand, then draped an arm around his daughter’s shoulder.
“As her uncle, I’ll be counting on you to help keep the rakes at bay.”
“Done,” Nick said, only half-teasing. The ton was overrun with men like him, and he was never more aware of that than when thinking of his niece’s eventual coming-out. “Though, a convent is still an option.”
“Oh, stop it, all of you,” scolded their sister, pushing Jasper aside to embrace Nick. “No one is going to a convent. After how difficult the three of you made it for me to find a husband, I won’t allow you to torment my daughters and niece.”
Nick held his favorite sibling for a moment longer than was necessary, taking comfort in her nearness. Only a year older than him, Charity had always been closest to him. Marriage and motherhood had taken her out of his life, and he didn’t see her as much as he would like.
“You made it dashed difficult for us, Charity. You needed more than three brothers to keep you out of trouble … you needed an entire regiment.”
Charity gave him a wicked smile as they pulled apart. “I would have escaped them just as easily as I did you. How are you Nicky?”
“I’m well enough,” he replied, kissing her cheek. “I need to speak with you later … alone.”
There was no time for her to do anything but nod, as the children parted to admit his uncle. Paul had left his chair and waded through the tangle of bodies to get to him. Nick was momentarily taken aback by the changes that had occurred since he’d last lain eyes on his uncle.
The man had always been slender, but now appeared emaciated, the sharp lines of his cheekbones and jaw downright gaunt. He was the second son, a few years younger than the earl, yet somehow looked years older. The change in his features made the gray strands more prominent along his jaw, the snow spreading from his temples to tangle with thinning brown hair
.
“Uncle Paul,” he choked out, trying not to allow his shock to show. “It’s been an age since I saw you last. Where have you been hiding yourself?”
The older man took Nick in an embrace, and the startling weakness in Paul’s limbs made itself apparent.
“When you’ve grown as old as I have, country life becomes more appealing by the year,” his uncle declared with a shaky smile. “But city life seems to agree with you, my boy. You look well.”
“And you …”
Nick choked on the lie, his brows drawing together as he tried to make sense of this. His grim-faced parents looked on in silence. Something was wrong, and in typical fashion for this family, Nick would be the last to know. His siblings were now avoiding his gaze, and Charity chewed her lip the way she always did when something was bothering her.
“I am glad you were able to join us tonight,” Paul said, taking his shoulder and giving it a weak squeeze. “I had hoped we could talk, like old times.”
Suddenly, the matter he wished to discuss with Charity seemed inconsequential, as did anything having to do with Calliope or his courtesan duties. A fretful premonition opened in his middle, and his appetite waned.
“Of course.”
The butler arrived to announce that dinner was ready, and the family began moving en masse toward the connecting door. His mother halted him before he could enter, taking his hand and raising it to her lips.
“You are as handsome as ever, my son,” she said, casting an adoring, green stare up at him. “I’ve missed you. You ought to visit more often.”
Guilt tugged on Nick’s conscience, as he was faced with the evidence of his neglect. The tension between him and his father shouldn’t keep him away from his mother—who had been patient with him even when he didn’t deserve it.
“Forgive me,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her brow. “I have been occupied, but will make an effort—”
“Busy gambling what little funds you have,” the earl said with a derisive snort, his gaze dark and cold. “Though, Lord knows how you manage to find two sixpences to rub together these days.”
Nick couldn’t help a sly smile, tickled as always by his father’s ignorance of how he earned his own money. The earl had been needling him over it, his inquiries disguised as derision as he seemed to try to puzzle it out.
“A gentleman never discusses money, Father,” he said with an indolent shrug. “It is gauche. You taught me that, remember? Though I do find your concern touching. Never you fear … you cast me into the ocean, and I’ve learned to swim.”
He’d barely learned to keep his head above water, but his father didn’t need to know that.
The earl scowled, a ticking muscle in his jaw hinting at his agitation. “Your insolence isn’t as charming as you think it is.”
“And your disapproval isn’t as frightening as you think it is.”
“Wilfred, Dominick, please,” his mother pleaded, stepping between them. “This is the first time in over a year that the entire family has been together. We don’t want to spoil Paul’s visit.”
The gravity of her words sent panic resounding through Nick’s mind. The look his parents exchanged was heavy with meaning, and it irritated him not to know what it meant. Rather than ask, he straightened and smoothed the mocking smile from his face.
“Of course. Forgive me.”
His father went on scowling, but Nick ignored him. He’d find out what was wrong soon enough—if not through Paul, then through his sister.
He did his best to enjoy dinner, pushing the mystery to the back of his mind. As always, he opted to sit far enough down the table that he needn’t suffer his father’s disapproving glares. He preferred to be surrounded by the children, who were excited about being allowed to join the adults. Paul was at his father’s right, too far away for Nick to engage him in conversation, though Charity sat across from him, her eyes lowered as she spooned soup into her mouth.
Every now and then, she would glance up at him, her mouth pinched at the corners. Nick raised his eyebrows at her in silent question, but she gave a slight shake of her head. He took the hint and let the matter rest through dinner. After several courses and many spoonfuls of peas flung amongst him and the boys—despite Charity’s admonishment—the family adjourned back to the receiving room, where games of cards were begun and Jane resumed her place at the pianoforte.
Nick had hoped to corner his uncle, but Paul had been coerced into a game of whist with his brothers. Besides, there were his promises to be fulfilled. He spent the next few hours entertaining the children, which seemed to suit the other adults in the room. Most of his family thought him a childish scapegrace, but none could deny that he was good with his nieces and nephews. He read to them from a book presented by Maurice, producing giggles and exclamations in reaction to his dramatic narration and funny voices for the characters. He applauded when Sarah sang, and made a fuss over Louisa’s drawings. He produced a deck of cards from his coat pocket and entertained them with an array of tricks he’d picked up while practically living in the hells.
He soaked up what little time he would have with them, for in a matter of a few weeks they would leave London with their parents and Nick wouldn’t see them again until Christmas. When, at last, the ladies ushered the children from the room to take them off to bed, Nick found his opening.
His father and brothers had stepped out onto the terrace to indulge in cigars, leaving him alone with Paul. The man stood to approach Nick, who still sat on the floor near a basket of tin soldiers he and the boys had been playing with.
Sinking into an armchair near him, Paul studied Nick with a wistful expression. For a moment, he was transported back to the days of his youth—sitting in similar rooms with toys scattered about him, and his uncle looking at him the way he’d always wished his father would. When he had hurt himself after some reckless stunt or other, it was Paul he had run to in a fit of tears. It was Paul who had praised his high marks in school and reminded him that being born last did not mean he could not aspire to make something of his life.
He didn’t usually feel shame over the choices that had led to him becoming a courtesan, chiefly because he didn’t believe in putting on airs or pretending to be anything other than what he was. He was a third son who had the liberty of not taking himself too seriously—a man who loved to laugh, enjoy himself, and bed beautiful women. A man who enjoyed the thrill of the turn of a pair of dice, or flip of a card.
But, just now, he found himself wishing he could look Paul in the eye and offer proof that his life wasn’t being wasted. He wanted, just one more time, for his uncle to say he was proud of him for some reason. Any reason.
“Now that we’re alone,” Paul said, “you can regale me with the stories of your latest exploits.”
Nick laughed, leaning back to rest on his elbows. “Careful. If Father hears you talking that way, you’ll fall out of his favor just as I have.”
Paul snorted and shook his head. “Wil was always too stodgy for his own good, even as a lad. Come now … I’m too old for such excitement, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be young and too handsome for your own good.”
Nick could hardly argue with that, so he spent the next few minutes thinking up the most entertaining bits to occur over the past year—though he steered clear of any mention of the Gentleman Courtesans. Paul was one of the few people who didn’t chastise him for his exploits, but he wasn’t likely to laugh upon hearing that his nephew had earned his funds by contracting himself out as a highly-paid whore. And there was no mistaking it, he was a whore. Some of the other courtesans were known for their courtly manners and romantic sensibilities, but Nick was in a league of his own. Women came to him for only two things—a hard, thorough tupping, and an earful of filth.
Paul seemed amused enough to hear of the raucous parties he’d attended, the women he’d wooed when he wasn’t in an arrangement, and the exorbitant bets he had won at the card tables and the occa
sional boxing match. He chose not to mention that he’d lost more than he’d won. Paul was as aware of his proclivities as everyone else.
“I’ve always admired your zeal for life, Nicky,” his uncle said with a wistful smile. “You remind me very much of myself as a young buck. Those of us who will never inherit are free to pursue our whims. Though, I often think it a waste that Wil hasn’t seen fit to entrust any of the family holdings into your care. Julius will inherit the title and country seat, and Jasper—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Nick interjected, though he wasn’t certain his words held conviction. He didn’t need Paul to remind him that each of his brothers had been entrusted with some piece of the family’s assets. He’d been the only one left out, and while he understood his father’s reasoning, the reminder still left a bitter taste in his mouth. “I’d probably ruin anything I got my hands on, so it is for the best.”
Paul inclined his head and frowned. “Men with a purpose to help fill their idle hours often find they don’t have time to get themselves into trouble. I’ve always thought your gambling was a symptom of a larger problem.”
“And what problem is that?”
“You’ve nothing better to do, and no one has ever gone out of their way to change that.”
Nick shrugged and picked at a loose thread on the rug. “Father offered to purchase a commission for me years ago, but I declined. I am not well-suited for military service, and I think even he knew that. Then there was his suggestion that I become a clergyman … I don’t think I stopped laughing for days after that conversation.”
Paul chuckled. “No, I don’t suppose you’d make a very good clergyman. But, you know … you’ve a good head for numbers and inspired ideas. Your suggestions regarding crop rotation and resting the fallow lands for half the year have increased my profits exponentially. Planting turnips every third rotation miraculously rejuvenates the soil, and it’s cheap fodder for the livestock.”
“A useful crop, the turnip,” Nick remarked, uncertain how to handle his uncle’s praise. He was so unused to being applauded for anything.
Making of a Scandal (The Gentleman Courtesans Book 3) Page 7