The Wild Lord (London Scandals Book 1)

by Carrie Lomax

  “You’re hopeless, Harper,” he shot over his shoulder.

  Harper returned directly to Dr. Patton's office, panting a little from the exertion of dashing up the stairs as she burst through the door. Let him mistake her agreement for enthusiasm.

  "I'll do it," she declared. "I'll go."

  The doctor beamed his approval. “I shall write the earl directly.”

  She turned toward the door. The doctor’s voice stopped her.

  “Harper.”

  “Yes?”

  “Have you read the papers?”

  She felt her shoulders droop fractionally. “Not yet.”

  “See that you do. Praemonitus praemunitus.”

  Forewarned is forearmed.

  Chapter 2

  "I cannot believe this. Your quack physician can't come himself, even after you offered him a princely sum. So, he fobs you off with some lackey?" Richard couldn't get past the absurdity that his father was spending his inheritance in a vain attempt to restore the sanity of the mad brother whose abrupt arrival had robbed him of his future—if Edward was salvageable. The only person thus far who believed this to be possible was his father.

  To Richard’s great consternation, the earl of Briarcliff ignored his second-eldest son. That was happening more and more often since the family had removed permanently to Briarcliff to avoid the constant public scrutiny they faced in town. Here, Edward could misbehave and climb walls as he chose—and he did choose, with alarming frequency—without crowds of people following him around and a constant succession of news articles appearing in the press.

  Here in the country, Richard also had license to whinge about the inheritance he had once believed his alone.

  "Dr. Patton is reputed to be the best doctor of the mind in all England. He cured Miss Arabella Rivington of her fear of leaving the house. Upon her recovery, she made a fine debut and an even finer marriage. I want the same peace of mind for my son. Nothing would bring me greater joy than if we can rehabilitate Edward, but if he is beyond reach, I need to make plans for his future. Dr. Patton’s asylum is unparalleled, nothing like the public institutions springing up like so many weeds." Richard’s father eyed him narrowly. “To which I am certain you’ll confine Edward the instant I am dead.”

  “I would get him a private room,” Richard declared, miffed. It was simply understood the heir took care of the less fortunate family members. Even if—especially if—the heir was a lunatic.

  "I expect you to stay out of the doctor's way while he examines and treats your brother. I know you think I'm as thick as an oak tree, but I assure you I am completely cognizant of your dissatisfaction with your brother's return. Allow me to reassure you that if your brother returns to sanity and the estate passes to him, it is no judgment upon yourself but a reassertion of the natural order of the world. He was born before you. That makes him my rightful heir."

  Richard paced the Aubusson rug, hands clasped behind his back. "You would rejoice in that outcome.”

  "I would, because it would mean that I have three healthy sons, counting young Benjamin. Your life did not end with Edward’s return,” replied the earl gently, through gritted teeth.

  "It is a humiliation,” Richard insisted.

  "What’s humiliating is your constant needling and whining over money and status. You are worse than a fishwife!" roared Charles.

  Richard’s entire face tightened as though he had been slapped.

  "It is in bloody fact a humiliation to be unseated by an overgrown ape masquerading as my brother!" he shouted back. His point was driven home as a pair of very large and extremely dirty feet dangled suddenly into view through the window.

  "Oh, is he climbing the facade again?" The earl moved to open the casement window and peered up. “Do be careful, Edward. I've only just got you back and couldn't bear to lose you again so suddenly.”

  The feet disappeared as Richard’s oaf of a brother clambered away. The entire house was in a state of constant uproar. In the weeks since Edward’s arrival, the staff had taken to muttering that Briarcliff Manor had turned into a madhouse. Several maids had quit, and the house was short-staffed, adding to the turmoil.

  Like most of the arguments that had preceded it in the past few weeks, this one didn't so much end as pause until Edward could be fetched back down onto terra firma.

  Charles collapsed into a wingback chair, his forehead a half moon between his fingertips.

  Richard couldn't remember the last time his father had yelled at him. It stung as badly as having a switch turned over his bare bottom had when he was a lad. He would have preferred that punishment to the ones he was currently suffering. He trailed his father room to room as the earl sought a window that would get him within shouting distance of his eldest son. Thank heavens the older man had not yet attempted to crawl out onto the steeply pitched roof with its precarious walkway. After a while, Richard abandoned his father and went outside to watch the earl’s balding head poke out of one window after another, like a mouse running through a giant brick of Swiss cheese.

  He saw his brother leap from a Juliet balcony into the branches of an oak tree, thirty feet off the ground, and gasped with horror.

  “Fall, you blithering idiot,” Richard seethed. Gentlemen did not go flying from rooftop to tree branch. They were mindful of family legacies. They kept two feet solidly on the ground at all times.

  Yet the incontrovertible fact remained that the Beast of Briarcliff was indeed his brother. His identity had been confirmed by the birthmark on his hip. Once washed, the face beneath the grim was unmistakably his brother’s. Leaving the estate to Edward would be an unmitigated disaster. His father was simply too blind to see that confinement was the best solution for everyone concerned.

  * * *

  Harper took great care not to trip over the hem of her new traveling dress as she stepped out of the carriage that the earl had sent to fetch her from the posting inn. Mrs. Patton had had it made in honor of what she had called Harper’s Grand Adventure.

  The new dress had not impressed the coachman, nor the accompanying footman. It had required half an hour of argument before the two men had permitted her to step into the gleaming black carriage with the crest of a lion mid-roar entwined with a heavily thorned rose. The driver had dropped her at the front of the house, scowling, and driven off in a huff of dust.

  Harper hefted her valise and trudged up the steps to the imposing manor house. She was tired and aching from the two-day journey. All she wanted to do was change into clean clothes and relax with a nice cup of tea.

  Alas, the door to the immense manor house remained stubbornly closed before her.

  She reached for the iron knocker and raised it high, determined to be heard. Her grip was such that she nearly fell over when the door swung open on silent hinges to reveal a bewigged and scowling butler. Letting go, she stumbled backward a step. The knocker banged loudly against the plate. Harper winced.

  “Prospective maids are to use the side entrance,” intoned the butler. Harper had no doubt that if she had indeed been inquiring about a position as a maid, she would not be receiving an offer of employment.

  Nonetheless, she smiled as warmly as she could. “I am Doctor Forsythe. The earl is expecting me.”

  So much for unflappable butlers. The man stared at her for so long and with such skepticism that she began to wonder if she had sprouted a pair of wings.

  “I have come a long way. Might I at least come in and sit down?” she asked after a long minute. The door slammed in her face.

  “Apparently not,” Harper remarked to herself. She placed her valise on the top step and picked her way down the stairs to the manicured gardens. Shielding her eyes, she looked up, and up, to the pitched roofs. For a moment, Harper thought she saw something large moving among the rooftops, but it must have been a trick of the afternoon sun. She dropped her attention to the carved embellishments flourishing across the pale Bath stone façade.

  A noise from above made her head j
erk up. Something rolled down the shingles and landed with a loud crack on the flagstone beside her. Harper bent to pick it up. An acorn. It had been nothing more than a squirrel. She tossed it into the air and caught it again. It was hard to believe that something as frivolous and noisy as a small rodent could survive in this silent, foreboding place.

  The door to the manor house swung open behind her. Harper tucked the broken acorn into her pocket as she turned. A slightly disheveled tall man with graying dark hair and hollow eyes stared murderously at her.

  “Where is Doctor Forsythe?” he demanded. Harper quailed before the man’s fury.

  “I am she,” Harper replied, returning hastily to the stoop.

  “I did not send for a nursemaid. I sent for a doctor.”

  Harper met the livid man’s eye straight on. “I am Harper Forsythe, Dr. Patton’s apprentice. Surely, he informed you of my sex?”

  “He did not,” the man spat.

  “Well. That was exceedingly careless of him.” Harper blinked, nonplussed. Dr. Patton must have believed that the earl would never accept a woman doctor. “I apologize on behalf of Dr. Patton for any miscommunication. I am sure it wasn’t intentional.”

  “Are you? I am not.” The man sagged against the door as a second figure approached from the shadowy interior. This one looked about thirty years younger and bore a distinct familial resemblance to the elder man. He was dressed in the finest wool jacket Harper had ever laid eyes on, over a shirt starched and pressed despite the warmth of the day. Harper had met wealthy families who had discreetly brought ill relatives to live at the asylum. She knew the difference between fine worsted and humble tweed. The weave on this jacket was so fine that the fabric glowed with a fine sheen. He was handsome, with thick brown hair, dark eyes and a strong jaw.

  Harper disliked him immediately.

  Especially when he stared at her for a long moment, then burst into laughter.

  “Your great doctor has sent not only a lackey, Father, but a female. You certainly know how to bring the charlatans out of the woodwork.”

  Harper’s shock was as cold as an ice bath.

  Being dismissed as a fraud was hardly a new experience, she reminded herself. It was only that she had expected to be expected. The doctor should have smoothed her way. Instead, his omission had made things far more difficult than they needed to be.

  The older man regarded his son with fury. “Richard, shut up. You have done nothing but complain about your brother’s reappearance for weeks now. Go back to London. Your club surely thinks you dead. Attend to your dancers and actresses and hangers-on while they’re still interested in you.”

  The amusement in the well-dressed younger man’s expression crystalized into icy daggers.

  “And miss the fun of watching Miss Forsythe trying to tame Edward? Never.”

  “You misunderstood me, Richard. Get. Out.”

  A footman appeared behind the two men. The earl gestured to him.

  “Pack Richard’s belongings and prepare the coach. He is returning to London this afternoon. Then take that bag upstairs and put it in the guest room. It’s the only decent thing to do while we sort this out.”

  The earl curtly indicated that Harper should follow him. She did, quickly, before the door could slam in her face a second time. Richard dashed past her, arguing with his father sotto voce. Harper’s hearing was keen enough to pick up some of their conversation, though she was careful not to appear interested.

  “You can’t possibly mean to do this. She is a woman. You have been tricked. Father, it isn’t going to work. Edward is irredeemable, beyond help. For all we know, this common little sparrow is scheming to take advantage of his disordered state—”

  Harper quickened her pace. How dare that pigeon-livered ratbag impugn her ethics!

  “Excuse me. I could not help but overhear. Are you questioning my professional ethics, your lordship?” As angry as she was, Harper was careful to accord the man a proper degree of respect. The men stopped as one.

  “Being a woman, you can hardly claim to have a profession, much less any accompanying ethics,” replied the loathsome son.

  Harper shot the man daggers with her eyes.

  “I have been treating patients of both sexes, on my own, for six years. Many have returned to their families to live full, productive lives. I assume you want what is best for your brother…” She trailed off deliberately.

  “No, I can see that you do not. Your brother is a threat to you. As it happens, I specialize in identifying and addressing the family dynamics that can exacerbate even mild cases of mental disorder.” She gave the flintiest of smiles. A crocodile could have expressed more warmth. “You are fortunate. I am able to assist you with working through the loss of your anticipated inheritance. If you wish, your lordship.”

  Harper curtsied, just for good measure.

  Both men gaped at her. Richard looked flabbergasted. “You’re not here to diagnose me.” Then he turned on one heel and stalked away.

  She had made an enemy; so be it. He was vanquished for the time being.

  The earl’s expression changed as though a ray of sun had suddenly broken through a storm cloud. “Come in, come in. That was impressive. It is a promising beginning.”

  Harper warmed at the compliment. She followed him in silence to a study appointed with dark, heavy, immaculate furniture. It reminded her of Patton’s office, only larger, colder, tidier, and appointed with far better-quality furnishings. The room was dominated by a large fireplace, over which hung a painting so dark that its subject was scarcely discernible.

  The earl rang for refreshments, then collapsed into the facing seat. Harper observed the dark circles beneath his eyes and the lines etched around his mouth. No matter how bad off the patient proved to be, she could at least help the earl manage the strain.

  The earl spoke quietly. “I must apologize for Richard’s behavior. Everyone has been out of sorts with Edward’s unexpected return, Richard most of all. He is obsessed with the issue of the inheritance, as I am certain you have gathered.”

  “It is impossible not to. Tell me more about the older boy’s disappearance,” Harper said. Though, given Richard’s age, boy no longer seemed the right word to describe the elder brother. In the absence of information, her mind tried to fill in the blank space of Lord Northcote. But all that came to her were moving variations of the cartoons in the news articles. They couldn’t be right.

  “I was an ambassador to Portugal with the Braganza royal court during the war. I took my sons with me. I believed that they would gain certain worldliness by spending time abroad, and that any educational deficiencies could be remedied by traveling with the boys’ tutor. I had also hoped the experience might bring them closer together,” the earl began.

  “Have the brothers always been oil and water?” Harper inquired, hoping to nudge the earl past a Dr. Patton-style recitation of history.

  “Ever since birth. The hostility always seems to come from Richard. Edward was–is–indifferent to Richard’s provocations.”

  “I’ve read the newspaper accounts of your ambassadorship to Portugal.” She’d had plenty of opportunity to peruse the stack of clippings during her journey.

  “You would have been a child at the time, like my sons. No one expected things to play out as strangely as they did. We urged the king, Dom João, to leave for months, but he hesitated so long that the departure was a shamble. Overnight, ten thousand people crowded onto ships loaded haphazardly with the court’s valuables. It was too dangerous to send the boys home, so we scrambled aboard a British Navy ship sent to accompany the royal court. Conditions were terribly primitive. On the Princess Carlota Joaquina’s ship, the lice were so pervasive that all the court ladies were forced to shave their heads, douse their scalps in antiseptic powder and smear them in pig lard. It was quite a sight. Also, quite a smell.”

  The earl shuddered.

  “Edward took everything in his stride, learning some Portuguese and continuing
his lessons as best he could. Arriving at Rio de Janeiro was an immense relief. A few weeks after our arrival, I decided that it would be a good distraction to send the boys on a short tour of the Amazon River. The idiotic guide allowed the boys off the boats to look at some creature they had spotted on the riverbank. That was the last anyone saw of Edward.”

  “Until a few weeks ago.” Harper reached for her tea. No sugar, only a splash of milk to cool it.

  “Yes.” The earl took his tea unadulterated. “I learned of the inheritance a week or so later. Communications were very slow. My brother had been caught spying and executed by Napoleon.”

  “Then, Edward never knew about the prospect of becoming an earl, while Richard was raised to expect that eventually it would come to him.”

  “Yes. But Edward is the firstborn. Richard regards the inheritance as rightfully his. It isn’t.”

  “It was the right decision to send him away, for now,” Harper said encouragingly. She didn’t want to contend with Richard. He reminded her of Miller—entitled, self-absorbed, and slightly malevolent in his intentions.

  The earl placed his tea upon the tray. “I trust you will overlook the rudeness of our welcome.”

  Since they hadn’t thrown her out, Harper could afford to be magnanimous.

  “I understand the shock of encountering a woman doctor. It rarely brings out the best in anyone,” she said.

  The earl propped one leg over the other knee. “Tell me, Miss Forsythe, why I should trust you with my son?”

  Harper had anticipated the question, and she launched into her speech without preamble.

  “I have worked as Dr. Patton’s apprentice, following the philosophy of cure, comfort and safe custody. This means that first we try everything we can to cure the patient of their affliction. Those whom we cannot cure, we offer comfort. Those we cannot comfort are housed at the asylum indefinitely, providing safe custody for the long term.”

  “But why should I trust you with my son?” the earl probed delicately.