Jordan didn’t begrudge Drew his older, wealthy lovers or his propensity for gambling. Surviving Dunnings had been difficult for all of them.
“He really is dead then?” Drew seemed less surprised than Tamsin to hear of their brother’s demise. “Jordan’s the earl?”
“It would seem so.” Tamsin answered. She stood and made her way over to the bookshelf where an assortment of unmatched goblets, teacups, and chipped crystal were displayed. They didn’t have a proper sideboard. Not at Dunnings.
Picking up an ancient-looking tin cup, she walked over to the bottle of whiskey between Jordan and Patchahoo and poured out a healthy amount before returning to her perch on the sofa.
Patchahoo turned pink, blushing like a schoolgirl.
“Mr. Patchahoo.” Jordan turned towards the solicitor. “I assume you’ve taken rooms in Spittal, or at least I hope you have. The rooms there are far better than what you’ll find here. If you will make our travel arrangements, I would be appreciative. We’ll leave at the end of the week once I’ve tidied things up here. I’m sure Lady Longwood will be more than comfortable with our absence at the funeral.”
Patchahoo opened his mouth to protest, but just as quickly pressed his lips into a thin line. “Of course, my lord. I’ll see to everything.” He bowed once more, and exited, carefully closing the broken door behind him.
Tamsin leapt up from her place on the sofa. “London? But Jordan—”
“There is a perfectly good house waiting for us, one that doesn’t have a hole in the roof and is fully staffed. You can’t expect me to brave Lady Longwood and her minions alone, can you?”
“No, but, well youcan’tbe serious.” Tamsin held the whiskey to her lips. “Society isn’t fond of me. Nor am I overly fond of it. You can’t think to send me to balls and such. Or make polite conversation,” she said in a rush. “I’ll remain a spinster, thank you. But I suppose Aurora deserves a come out, doesn’t she?”
Tamsin was lovely. Beautiful, even. The young lords she often challenged to horse races only agreed because doing so meant being in Tamsin’s presence. Even without a dowry, Jordan was sure he would have been inundated with offers for her hand except for Tamsin’s difficult nature. “You need never wed if you don’t wish it,” Jordan reminded her. “I’ve said as much. And you are beyond the age for a proper come out. At least, I think you are. But I would appreciate you playing along, Tamsin. For Aurora. You want her to make a proper match one day, do you not?”
Tamsin nodded; her gaze fixed on her whiskey. “I do. She should have the future Bentley denied her. And she possesses a romantic nature.”
Jordan regarded his sister with a great deal of sympathy. Tamsin blamed herself for their banishment, though he’d told her many times she wasn’t at fault. Even if she hadn’t broken a lord’s nose, Bentley still would have sent them to Dunnings.
“She’ll be the most distressed about Bentley,” Drew said. “Aurora has always been convinced that someday he would turn into a proper brother and arrive at Dunnings with a trunk of books as an apology for sending us all here. What utter rubbish. But Bentley’s done something worse than banishing us to Northumberland, hasn’t he, Jordan?” Strolling over to the shelf, Drew grabbed a chipped teacup and splashed it full of whiskey.
Jordan wasn’t sure how to answer. He was still adjusting to his own swirl of emotions since Patchahoo arrived at The Hen.
“There were quite a few guests from London at Mrs. Pryce’s little gathering, none of them decent at cards. I won an obscene amount at whist alone. Sir Thomas Glascomb,” Drew waved his cup about, “is much better at gossip. He’s also an unmitigated arse. Glascomb made a point of informing me that Bentley’s mistress, he had two I believe—”
A snarl of disgust left Tamsin. “Two. While we starved at Dunnings.”
Drew raised a brow. “Both expensive creatures, according to Glascomb. However, one of these delightful young women was currently on the hunt for a new protector. Her modiste bills weren’t being paid and Bentley had informed her that she would be limited to one carriage instead of two. She found the situation intolerable, as Bentley had spent so freely before.”
“Wonderful.” Everyone in London would know Jordan was desperate to wed an heiress because the gossip of Bentley’s financial difficulties was already making the rounds.
“When you can no longer satisfy your mistress, word tends to get out. Bentley had stopped receiving credit at any of the gaming establishments he frequented. Bills went unpaid, though it’s rumored Lady Longwood took care of Bentley’s household expenses. Then there is the speculation, at least by Glascomb and his cronies, that our brother became involved with Angus Whitehall.”
“What do you know of Whitehall?” Jordan drained his glass once more. The pounding in his temples hadn’t receded a whit.
“According to Glascomb, titled lords who find themselves with no other choice but Whitehall often end up either embarrassing themselves or taking the honorable way out.” Drew made a motion of cocking a pistol near his temple.
“Bentley wasn’t the least honorable. His barouche overturned,” Jordan replied. “But he was gracious enough to leave me to deal with Whitehall, which I will with Patchahoo’s assistance. Our brother was deeply indebted to him.”
Drew sighed and drained his cup. “Of course he was. The idiot.”
“We can sell Dunnings.” Tamsin set down her cup and looked at Drew. “You can gamble more. We—”
“Tamsin, stop. Whitehall isn’t looking for repayment of the loan.” Jordan rolled the half-empty glass of whiskey about in his hand. “He wants a title for his daughter. Something dear Bentley promised to see to, but had the audacity to get himself killed instead. It’s more than a fair trade,” Jordan insisted before his sister could protest further. “The truth of the matter is that Bentley left us in poor circumstances. Even if there was no Whitehall, I would be forced to wed a wealthy young lady with all expediency. An agreement with him ensures that not only are all debts erased, but I will also receive Miss Whitehall’s dowry, which according to Patchahoo, is obscene.”
“But Jordan,” Tamsin leaned forward. “You can’t agree to wed a girl you’ve never met. Not even for our sakes.”
“I can and I will. Aren’t you tired of being impoverished, Tamsin? I know I am. Stretching out every farthing. Eating cabbage.” A vision of his mother, trying to be brave as she stepped into Dunnings, appeared before his eyes.
“This won’t be so bad, my loves. At least we’re together.”
“My marriage,” he said firmly, “will be nothing more than a business arrangement. No different than most of those in theton.” Jordan ran a hand through his hair, dislodging another pea. “I’m not the only title who has had to wed due to pending impoverishment, nor will I be the last. It is the way the world works. This saves me the trouble of trying to find my own heiress.
