by Regina Scott
He shook his head in astonishment. This was every bit as bad as he had feared. Edward squared his shoulders. “No.”
“No?” Mrs. Warrick broke from her usual pattern and spoke over her husband.
He simply inclined his head. “No,” he repeated. “I will not lay bare my family’s struggles for your entertainment.”
“This is not a matter of entertainment,” Mr. Warrick insisted.
“That is precisely what this is.” Edward didn’t shrink from their disapproving cases. “Your charity comes with quite a price. You want it known far and wide how generous you are. You wish to be the savior in someone’s sad story. Setting a house full of the desperate and destitute against one another makes that story all the more intriguing.”
At the end of his speech, the smile disappeared from Mrs. Warrick’s face. Censure filled the lines of her face, even as her gaze narrowed in reproof. “We are doing good. We are helping people.”
“Your ‘help’ comes at too steep a cost, and I, for one, refuse to continue paying it.” He offered an abbreviated bow. “I thank you for your hospitality, such as it was, but it is time and past that I returned home, where the resident family may not have much by way of material possessions, but we have our dignity and our decency, and I value that more highly than any estate.”
Mr. and Mrs. Warrick turned their heads in each other’s directions and exchanged knowing looks.
“He doesn’t have his brother’s diplomacy,” Mr. Warrick said, “but they clearly share similar sentiments.”
“Tom objected as well?” He was both relieved and concerned to hear it.
“He did not refuse to explain why an inheritance would be helpful in his situation,” Mr. Warrick said, “but he did quite vehemently decline to speak about anyone other than himself.”
“Our parents will be pleased to hear that.”
Mrs. Warrick’s gaze narrowed on him. “Do you feel, then, that your brother deserves this bequest more than the others who have spoken harshly of the other guests?”
Edward would not be pulled into this trap. He offered no reply, but simply stood, silent and waiting. The Warricks slowly but surely transformed back into the picture of benevolence they’d assumed the past weeks.
“It seems, Mr. Downy, that there is little left for any of us to say.” Mr. Warrick spoke calmly and clearly. “We do not require that you leave—we are not so inhospitable—but if you feel you must go, we will not stop you.”
“I understand.” One more brief bow and he left, pulling the door closed behind him.
Agatha had clearly been chosen as the next to face the interrogators. She and her father stood in the corridor. Mr. Holmwood took only the slightest notice of Edward. Agatha, however, watched his every step and, when he passed, moved away from her father to keep pace with him.
“Edward? What happened? Why are you so upset?”
He swallowed down his first response, to simply spew out every bit of frustration and disillusionment he’d felt over the past weeks. But she looked nervous enough already. “They irritate me.”
“I know.” Her gaze searched his face. “There is something more. I can see that there is.”
“I have been invited to leave.”
“No. There are three days yet. Edward?” She clasped his forearm, her expression one of near panic.
“Agatha.” Mr. Holmwood spoke insistently.
“One moment, Father.” She didn’t look away from Edward. “You are leaving?”
He set his hand on hers where it rested on his arm. “I intend to pack, take my leave of my brother, and begin my journey home by five o’clock this evening.”
“That is so soon.”
“Agatha,” Mr. Holmwood repeated more pointedly.
“Will I be permitted to say good-bye before you go?”
He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “I will wait until five, but then I must be on my way.”
“Five o’clock.” She raised up on her toes and kissed his cheek.
“Agatha Elizabeth Holmwood.” Her father barked out her name.
She obeyed the summons, but with repeated backward glances. “Five o’clock,” she mouthed in the moment before her father pulled her into the sitting room.
But five o’clock came and went. Then a quarter past five. Edward delayed until five thirty.
She never came.
Chapter Eight
“Son?”
Edward didn’t look up from his ledger at the sound of his father’s voice. Work had kept his mind occupied over the five days he’d been home. Balancing accounts and formulating plans for keeping the estate solvent prevented his thoughts from wandering down unwelcome paths.
“You have not eaten this morning, Edward.”
“I am not hungry.” He checked two numbers on separate pages, needing to be certain the amount they’d spent on beef hadn’t changed significantly. “Have we considered sending to Carlsdown for our beef? It might cost less there.”
Father sat on the corner of the desk. “What happened in Somerset?”
There was the pitying tone he was working very hard to avoid hearing. “Nothing of significance.” He scrawled a note to himself to check the price of sugar in Carlsdown as well.
“I may not be the brightest of men—bless your brother, he resembles me a little too much in that regard—but I am not so easily deceived.” Father pushed the ledger away from Edward. “You are changed since you returned. Your usual responsibility has changed to something far closer to earnest distraction.”
“I was simply brought to a greater awareness of our situation. I mean to do what I can to keep this estate solvent.”
“And I appreciate it.” Father plucked the quill from Edward’s hands. “But you are not eating or speaking or smiling, and that is unlike you. I worry because of the change I see, but also because your brother is not yet returned. He is more easily unsettled than you are. If something terrible occurred at this house party, he is likely terribly overset.”
Edward could accept that change of topic. Tom’s concerns were easier to discuss than his own heartache. “I left early. Tom will, no doubt, return shortly.” Edward made no guarantees as to his brother’s state of mind.
“I do not remember the Warricks well,” Father said, “but I recall them being a touch toplofty at times.”
Edward managed a minute smile. “That has not changed.”
“They wore on your nerves, did they?”
Edward pushed out his pent-up breath. He could admit to this much. “They were equal parts arrogant and belittling. It was often infuriating.”
“It is difficult always being the poorest at a gathering.” Father spoke as one who knew from exhaustive experience.
“Ah, but I wasn’t this time.” He received a look of intrigued surprise. “I suppose I might have been, but it was difficult to tell.”
Father snatched a nearby chair and pulled it up next to the desk, clearly settling in for a diverting tale. Edward didn’t mind sharing this part of the house party with him.
“The Warricks limited their guest list to younger sons of penniless families, dowerless young ladies, and older sons waiting to inherit impoverished estates.”
“Did they give a reason for their selection process?” Father asked.
“Oh, yes. As it turns out, the Warrick estate is not subject to entailment. The Warricks do not have any children of their own, and, apparently, they don’t particularly care for their relatives. Though if you ask me, the feeling is likely mutual.”
“Was it a charity house party, then?” Father asked.
Edward nodded. “It was more than that, though. They were on the hunt for an heir.”
Understanding began to dawn on Father’s expression. “They wish to bestow their estate upon someone who needs it.”
“Not merely needs it,” Edward corrected. “Upon someone who would be eternally grateful and willing to adequately grovel at their feet on the meager hope of being considered.”
“I see.” Father folded his hands in front of him. “They are enamored of the idea of being a benefactor.”
“And their beneficiaries, being poor, therefore decidedly beneath them, would supply them with three weeks of opportunities to congratulate themselves on their giving nature, as well as provide endless entertainment.”
“Sounds rather unbearable.”
Edward let his shoulders drop. “It was.”
“I am surprised you stayed as long as you did,” Father said. “I likely wouldn’t have lasted through the first day.”
A small measure of Edward’s unease alleviated at his father’s declarations. “Heaven knows, this family could use the money the Warrick estate would bring. I wondered at times if you would be disappointed to know your son and heir wasn’t making much of an effort.”
“I may not have much to offer my children in terms of material goods,” Father said, “but I hope I taught you to value your dignity.”
Edward had made certain to comport himself with decency and uprightness. Why, then, did reflections on the past three weeks leave him so uneasy?
“What did your brother think?”
“I don’t know that he particularly approved of the Warricks’ methods, but he did try hard to catch their notice.”
Father nodded. “Life is difficult for younger sons.”
Never before had Edward been so grateful for an understanding father. He had not condemned Edward for refusing to compete, neither had he condemned Tom for being desperate enough to take part.
“You will be proud to know that Tom conducted himself well, even when many of the other guests resorted to bickering and backbiting.”
Father offered a small smile. “I would not expect anything less.”
“Unfortunately, his adherence to basic decency will likely cost him the inheritance. They weren’t terribly happy at his outright unwillingness to speak ill of the other guests. Doing so was one of their final requirements.”
Father looked appropriately shocked. “To inherit the estate, guests had to be unkind to each other?”
“Essentially. That was the point I could no longer bear it in silence. I told them precisely what I thought of their scheme. They, in return, asked me to leave.”
“And here you are.”
“Here I am.”
Father watched him a moment longer. “I am glad to know what transpired.” He rose. “Perhaps in a few more days, you will be willing to tell me what else is weighing on you.”
“What else?”
Father chuckled lightly. “I’ve known you your entire life, Edward Downy. You cannot fool me so easily.”
With that, Father left. For once, Edward did not push back the thoughts that flooded his mind. What else was weighing on him? Agatha.
Was she home? Was she happy? Had her father’s schemes succeeded? Had she participated in the final challenge? He wondered about that. He worried about that. Her participation was not her own choice, but he wanted to believe that she would not have allowed herself to be bullied into true unkindness. And yet failure to do so might cost her whole future, her family.
He wanted to hold her again. He wanted to assure her all would be well. More than anything, he wanted to have the right to have her in his life. He pulled the ledger over once more, eyeing its discouraging numbers and columns. There was hardly enough to support those already dependent on this estate.
He had nothing to offer her. Nothing at all.
The housekeeper stepped inside. “Mr. Isley to see you, sir.”
Isley? “Thank you.”
His friend entered the room, a look of uncertainty on his face. “Tell me if I am unwelcome,” he said. “I will understand.”
Edward waved that off. “Not at all. Come in.”
Isley sat in the chair Father had occupied only a few minutes earlier. He motioned to the ledger open on the desk. “Attempting the impossible?”
“As always,” Edward said. “Has your situation improved of late?”
Isley’s brow pulled in surprised contemplation. “You’ve not heard the outcome?”
“I haven’t.” That Isley thought Edward ought to know raised several interesting questions. Was the new Warrick heir someone he knew? Ought Tom to have been home already, and if so, was his continued absence related to the Warricks’ decision? “Who was chosen?”
“It isn’t my tale to tell,” Isley said.
“Then how will I know?”
Isley smiled a little. “You will know.”
“You came here to torture me, then?” Edward shook his head even as he grinned.
“I came here to apologize.” Isley was in earnest once again. “I behaved abominably. I was unkind and judgmental and dismissive and angry and—”
“—and provoked,” Edward spoke over his friend’s continued self-castigation. “The Warricks knew precisely what they were about. They dangled salvation just out of reach of the desperate masses, then pulled their strings like puppet masters. I do not blame you, my friend, for needing what they taunted you with and needing it enough to be temporarily blinded by that empty and cruel promise.”
“You weren’t pulled into it,” Isley pointed out.
Edward wasn’t certain what to say. He couldn’t argue with Isley’s logic, but neither did he wish his friend to wallow in regret. “If I were to guess correctly the name of the chosen heir, would you tell me I was correct?”
Isley’s expression lightened a little. “No.”
“It must be a particularly intriguing result, then.”
“Possibly.” Isley made a show of examining his fingers, even as a smile twisted his mouth. “Did you and Miss Holmwood depart on agreeable terms?”
“Is that meant to be a clue?” Edward wasn’t certain if he wanted Agatha to be the one chosen. She needed the windfall, heaven knew she did, but being chosen likely meant she’d participated in the final, dehumanizing challenge. He didn’t want to believe it of her.
“I am not saying a word about the Warricks’ decision.” Isley settled more comfortably in his chair. “I asked out of genuine curiosity. The two of you were thick as thieves throughout the party, and she seems a good sort of lady.”
“She is the very best sort of lady.”
Isley shot him a look of empathy. “That was perhaps the cruelest part of that scheme. They must have known some of their guests would grow attached to one another, and yet none were in any position to marry.”
It was, indeed, cruel. “Did she seem happy when the party came to a close? Content, at least?”
“Are you attempting to garner clues?”
Edward shook his head. “I am worried for her. Mr. Holmwood had staked her entire future on the outcome of those three weeks.”
“She did not seem as light and lively at the end of the gathering as she had at the beginning,” Isley said.
Edward had noticed that as well. The pressure of her father’s edict had taken a toll. “I hope she is happy,” he said quietly.
The housekeeper stepped inside once more. “Begging your pardon, sirs. Mr. and Mrs. Downy have requested Mr. Edward Downy’s presence in the drawing room.”
“Is anything the matter?” he asked.
Mrs. Jones could be counted on to share what she knew. “Your brother has returned.”
Edward caught Isley’s eye as they rose. “Perhaps Tom will tell me what you have refused to divulge.”
Isley straightened his cuffs. “Perhaps he will.”
“Are you saying that the news is Tom’s to share?”
“I’m not saying a thing,” Isley answered.
Edward slapped him on the shoulder. They turned the corner in the corridor. “If you had been this secretive at Eton, the headmaster would never have realized we were the ones who filled the inkwells with tea.”
“You ought to have told the Warricks about that bit of ingenious mischief,” Isley said. “They would have chosen you without a doubt.”
“Or tossed me out ev
en sooner.”
Isley stopped just outside the door to the drawing room. “They truly tossed you out?”
“They kindly suggested I might be more comfortable at home.” He gave his friend a sideways glance. “I couldn’t really argue with them. I doubted I could be any less comfortable than I was at their home.”
Isley motioned him inside. Edward stepped through the threshold. There, as Mrs. Jones had indicated, stood Tom. Stood wasn’t entirely the right word. He moved about, leaning forward and backward, bouncing on his feet. Energy spilled out of him like water from an overfilled pitcher.
“There you are, Edward.” Tom’s eyes darted about, settling on Isley for the briefest of moments. “And Isley. I’ve not seen you in a few days.”
“I came to beg your brother’s pardon for being obnoxious these past weeks.”
Tom nodded. “You were rather annoying.”
“I know.”
Tom’s expression turned more somber. “Did you tell him?”
Isley shook his head. “It wasn’t my news to tell.”
“Thomas.” Mother pulled his name out long as she always did when scolding them. “You have us on the edges of our seats. Do end the suspense.”
Tom grinned at them all in turn. “Wish me happy. I am to be married.”
“Married?” three voices asked in unison.
Isley did not seem the least surprised.
“Her name is Henrietta Sumner,” Tom continued on, apparently undeterred by the shock on his family’s faces. “She is an angel. I met her at the Warricks’ house party.”
“But, son,” Father jumped in, “if she was a guest at their party, then she is poor as a church mouse, as, I might add, are you.”
“But that is the beauty of it,” Tom said. “They chose us.”
“They?” Mother asked.
“The Warricks.”
“Chose us?” Edward motioned to the family.
Tom shook his head. “No. Us.” He touched his hand to his heart. “My Henrietta and me. They chose us, as a couple, to inherit their estate. Together. The papers are being drawn up even as we speak. Mr. Sumner is to arrive in Somerset at any moment, only because he must sign the marriage settlement. We also felt it imperative that he know without the slightest doubt that he will have no access to the estate’s income or wealth. It will all be tied up neatly. The estate and all that comes with it will remain whole.”