To Have and to Hoax(100)

“It will take a fair bit of work to catch up, from the smell of you,” Penvale said severely as he, too, entered the room, sounding slightly like a disapproving governess, much to James’s amusement. His disapproval, however, did not stop him from crossing to the sideboard and filling two glasses. He handed one to Jeremy, who had already sunk down into a chair opposite James, and kept the other for himself as he leaned against the mantel.

“Where’s your wife, Audley?” Penvale asked, apparently having no time for niceties.

“At tea with her mother.” James took a healthy gulp of brandy, then rubbed a hand over his forehead. “And then dining with your sister,” he added, directing his words to Penvale. “And then at a godforsaken musicale with Lady Emily.” He cast a dark look at Jeremy.

“You can’t mean to imply that you have any desire to join her at any of those events,” Jeremy said incredulously over the rim of his glass.

“Of course not. But I did have every intention of retrieving her from her mother’s house approximately a quarter of an hour after her arrival and bringing her home again, with no intention of departing the house again for several days.”

“What seems to be the problem, then?” Penvale asked lazily, swirling the liquid in his glass. James wasn’t deceived by his casual demeanor; he knew Penvale was paying close attention to every word that was spoken.

James debated for a brief moment trying to explain the whole story, then quickly rejected this idea; for one, it would take too long. Additionally, he thought he might yell with frustration.

“I need to convince her that I trust her,” he said shortly. “And also that I’m not allowing my father to run my life.”

“So just visit him and give him his bloody horses back,” Penvale said practically. He sounded casual, even disinterested; James, however, stared at him.

“What?” Penvale asked, shifting uncomfortably. “You’ve been killing yourself trying to manage the damn stables, just to prove to your father that you can. Why not just give them back? Won’t that show Violet that you trust her judgment?”

Give them back.

It was a simple idea—deceptively so. And one that he didn’t really have a strong motive for rejecting—Violet’s dowry was generous, his inheritance from his mother fat. Did they truly need a house in the country? He suspected Violet’s answer would be no, if in return she received a husband who was not spending a sizable portion of his waking hours trying to prove himself to his bastard of a father.

It seemed outlandish somehow, and yet—why not? He needed to make some sort of grand gesture, and he needed to do it fast. He refused to spend another night without her in his bed.

In his life.

He tossed back the last of his drink, then stood, clapping first Jeremy, then Penvale on the shoulder. “Thanks for the friendly advice, chaps,” he said, striding for the door.

“I didn’t say anything,” Jeremy called after him in protest.

“Probably for the best,” James tossed over his shoulder. “You can show yourselves out, I trust?” he asked, pausing briefly at the doorway. Without waiting for an answer, he strode into the hall, bellowing for Wooton and his horse.

It was the habit of the Duke of Dovington to pass several afternoons a week at his club when he was in town. The duke was fastidious in his routine, taking great pains to appear at the venerable doors of White’s at the same time on each afternoon, so that any who might have business with him would know just where he might be found. He being a duke, there were any number of men who took advantage of this predictability.

Until that day, however, his younger son had never been one of them.

James found his father in the library at White’s, his head bent over a volume of Pliny the Elder. The duke did not look up as he approached, apparently so absorbed in his reading that he did not hear the sound of rapidly advancing footsteps. James, who had never seen his father read for pleasure in his life, took this for the nonsense that it was and, in one neat motion, reached out beneath the duke’s very nose and flipped the book shut.

“Audley,” the duke said stiffly after he had looked up to see what audacious soul had the gall to do such a thing. “I might have known it was you.”

“Father,” James said, but for once his voice didn’t sound as stiff as it often did when he was in the presence of his father. He had taken his gloves off upon his arrival at White’s, but now held them tightly in one hand, slapping them against the palm of the other with a soft thwacking sound.

“Sit down,” his father instructed, gesturing to the chair opposite him rather like a king receiving visitors to court. His manner was one with which James was very familiar—and one for which he had no patience today.

“Thank you, but no,” he said. “This won’t take long, in part because I’m in rather a rush, and in part because I frankly don’t have much to say to you.” The duke blinked in surprise, but James barely even registered this small victory, so intent was he on saying what he had come here to say. “Tomorrow I am going to meet with my man of business and instruct him to start the proceedings of transferring ownership of Audley House back to you.”

The duke blinked again—it was clear that whatever he had been expecting of his son, it was not this.

“Violet and I will, of course, move our possessions from Audley House back to Curzon Street,” James continued, growing more confident with each word that he was doing the right thing. “I would also, at a later date, be happy to discuss with you some of the financial arrangements I have made with a view toward securing the future of the stables, as you may wish to continue with them yourself.”