* * *
Bertram Felmont strolled into his son’s room in the sponging house with his usual air of benign menace. The bailiff’s daughter curtsied as she closed the door behind him. “My dear Consideration, I bring good tidings.”
His son rose to his feet to bow respectfully. He looked healthier, but then all those baskets of home farm produce, and dear Cousin Elizabeth’s bribe to the bailiff to offer only tea or coffee, must have worked to repair a ruined constitution.
“Good morning, Father. Unless you have come to pay my debt, I doubt you are bringing me anything good.” Consideration raked a hand through his dark hair to tidy it as he offered his chair. He looked thinner, and older than his twenty-four years.
Bertram Felmont waved a hand to indicate his son should sit on the narrow bed facing him. It creaked a protest. He said in a casual tone, “The newly weds are on their way to London. I think it is safe to say Lady Felmont has forgotten all about you.”
A muscle flexed in Consideration’s unshaven cheek. “She was forced to marry him, but he shall not have her.”
Bertram sneered in a soft voice, “Behaving like a lovesick puppy does not work, my son. If you’d done as I advised, you’d be her husband now.”
“Offer for her and let her live separate from me?” his son protested. “Offer my hand and nothing else?”
“Yes, lie once to her and then, when she accepted you, lie in her bed forever after. She’d have agreed to marry you under those terms rather than wed our dear Quentin Seraphim.”
“Do you still harbor hopes of inheriting from a man half your age?”
“My dear boy, I never expected or wanted to inherit Felmont’s Folly.” Bertram shrugged and graced his only son with his most gruesome smile. “An heiress, any heiress, is far more important in my plans for you. We must find you another.”
“I love Lizzie.” An obstinate expression marred Consideration’s face, even more than the family nose detracted from its handsome shape. For a Felmont, he looked well enough, dark and dangerous on the outside, but he was stubborn and lovesick within.
Bertram tapped his cane on the floor. “My dear boy, don’t scowl at me. I shall worship at dear Cousin Elizabeth’s feet when you love another. Have some pity for poor Quentin Seraphim with such a thin, drab female in his bed.”
“She is lovely and you know it, Father.” Consideration leaned back against the wall.
“The question is, does the viscount know it? He shows no sign of it yet.” Bertram studied his son’s face. “Rather surprising he survived the war, when so many brave men met their end fighting Bonaparte.” He shrugged. “One can never rely on foreigners.”
“Dace shan’t have her! I was only trying to save her, Father. I swear the kiss was an accident. You know, I’d never have forced myself on her.”
“My dear boy, you must give up this yearning for a woman you cannot have. Even if you could marry her, she’d hate you for eternity. Do try to be sensible.”
“Pay my debts, Father, and see how sensible I’d be.”
“Money is everything, or almost, my boy! I must confess I have become attached to a degree of comfort. Living at the dower house has allowed me to save enough to gain your release, though not enough to entirely clear your debts. Show your face in London and you run the risk of being imprisoned again. Every local shopkeeper ran to dear cousin Elizabeth with your notes, you cannot risk your London creditors doing the same. I have not the funds to save you from them.”
“Have you got me released?”
“Indeed, I must be getting sentimental in my old age, for I fear I have.”
His son leaped to his feet to embrace him. “Thank you, Father, thank you!”
“Promise me you will look out for a rich wife or I will have to,” Bertram joked. “Or perhaps I’d prefer a wife with influence.”
“Have you hopes of winning a lady’s heart?” said Consideration with a glint of humor in his eye. “Be warned, I shall eat your children if you think to make me share my inheritance.”
“Rather old to win hearts or father children, dear boy. Remember, if I was as profligate as you, there’d be no inheritance, just debts.” He eyed his son sternly as he offered his snuff box.
“No, I thank you. Who is the lady?”
“No lady at all. She resides close by.”
“Gossip precedes you, Father. I hear Mrs. Thwaite has moved to the Priory with her assorted brood and its progeny.”
Bertram smiled. “Our good Quentin Seraphim, do you suppose he’d mind such an alliance?”
Consideration laughed, it made him look like himself again. “He’d want to kill you, but you’d have him checkmated. By Gads, a very clever move, sir.”
“I rather thought so myself. The Priory is such a comfortable home. If he refuses to let me live there, then the dower house is still mine for life. You must move in with me and make peace with dear Quentin Seraphim’s bride.”
“If he treats her ill, I shall kill him.”
“Dear me, think what you are about. I cannot buy you off the noose. Nor will Lady Felmont thank you for her rescue—she was always half-repelled, half-fascinated by dear Quentin Seraphim. Far better for you to search for a wealthy bride. Perhaps a brewer’s daughter. Bankers are so fussy about bills and debts.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, I have nothing with which to tempt a brewer’s daughter to marriage, now that I have no expectation of inheriting the title or the Folly.”
“Then tempt her to sin, dear boy. Marriage will follow afterwards, as your courtship is known, and they won’t be able to marry her off to anyone else. A few judicious hints, if her family tries to hide her condition, is all that is needed. Think of the challenge, the triumph.”
Bertram could see the excitement of the challenge racing in his son’s blood. If only he hadn’t loved Lizzie Tempest as fiercely as Dace had pretended to disdain her.
“Where am I to find a brewer’s daughter?”
“At the Duke of Saint Sirin’s country house. Half the world will be there and every one of them can sing. I boasted of your voice, luckily he’d heard you sing before and needs your services. I think he lacks a good tenor voice. Do not, I beg you, go rushing off.” He gave a warning glance to make his son listen carefully. “You have a few days to get yourself some decent clothes and a costume. I suppose I shall be soft-hearted enough to foot the bill for those. Find a bride. Just make sure she is wealthy. Why you have to be of a romantical disposition, I don’t know.”
“It must be inherited from my mother.” Consideration leaned down to kiss his father’s cheek.
Bertram wiped a sudden tear from his eye at the mention of his wife. “What a pity you could not have inherited her nose. Again, let me warn you, do not seek out dear Cousin Elizabeth, unless you want to seriously displease me.”
Lizzie Tempest Ruins A Viscount (Felmont Brides Series Book 1) Page 25