Bentley’s neck reddened, a flush stealing up from the edge of his neatly twisted cravat.
“Yes.” Jordan’s chin snapped to his brother. “Tell us, Bent.”
Bentley and Father had been estranged for years. Jordan’s older brother rarely visited River Crest, where the Earl of Emerson had taken up permanent residence, instead preferring to spend his time in London. Bentley made no secret of the dislike for his half-siblings or their mother. He spent flagrantly while on a grand tour of the Continent, only ceasing his pursuit of pleasure when Father threatened to cut him off if he didn’t return to England and learn some responsibility. A wasted effort. Bentley had no use for ledgers or the numbers they contained.
Jordan, on the other hand, absorbed his father’s lessons, learning not only to keep the estate profitable, but how to manage the tenants and other investments. He understood the responsibility required; alas, Bentley did not. Or more likely, he didn’t care.
“You may refer to me as ‘my lord’ or not at all,” Bentley snapped at Jordan in his tedious, pompous manner.
“As you wish,my lord.” Jordan cracked his knuckles. Could he get away with punching Bentley in his perfect aristocratic nose?
“As the Earl of Emerson, I have decided that it is in my best interests to distance myself from my father’s unfortunate choices.” Bentley tugged at the sleeves of his coat before brushing off a bit of lint.
Lady Longwood’s mouth thinned. She resembled a feral cat.
Percival, Lady Longwood’s pudgy, snot-nosed son, made a face at Tamsin before stuffing a scone in his mouth.
Bentley cleared his throat. “You will not be returning to River Crest, madam.” He turned a dispassionate gaze to Jordan’s mother. “River Crest is the seat of the Earl of Emerson, and thus, now belongs to me.”
Mother paled and fell back against the cushions of the settee.
“I cannot, in good conscience, share such an ancient and hallowed estate with those whose existence I would rather forget. I tire of living with the shame heaped upon me. As an earl, I have a reputation to protect. A duty to all those who came before me.”
“What are you saying, Bentley?” Mother sniffed.
“You will address me as my lord.”
Pompous overdressed peacock.Jordan’s finger itched with the urge to toss Bentley to the floor and pummel him.
A choking sound came from Jordan’s mother. “You would have us leave our home? He is but hours in the ground and would not have wanted this.”
“Heis dead,” Bentley sneered. “I no longer answer to my father. Thankfully. Time to sweep you all under the rug. I grow weary of enduring the humiliation I suffer from the outrageous behavior of those who share my name. Your reputation,” he glared at Mother, “is still spoken about in drawing rooms all over London. I am mocked at every turn.”
“I would venture that you are mocked for your own actions more than ours.” Jordan came to his feet and approached his half-brother. He was nearly a head taller than Bentley, broader through the chest, and had grown up wrestling and fighting the local village boys around River Crest.
Bentley took a step back, fear shadowing his smug features for a moment. “How dare you.”
Jordan knew of Bentley’s escapades. He spent lavishly. Kept a mistress. Gambled. His father had often despaired over the character of his eldest son. “Father may have turned a blind eye to a great many things, but I did not. I know all about your time in Paris.”
His elder brother’s cheeks pinked. Lady Longwood hissed like a coiled snake.
“You’ve no right to question the Earl of Emerson. The estate ishis,” Lady Longwood snapped. “How amusing it is to hear you make such an accusation when all of London equates the Sinclairs to a pack of wild dogs. The countryside surrounding River Crest lives in fear you’ll go about terrorizing them all, to my nephew’s utter mortification. Expectations were never high for any of you given your origins.” Her gaze bored into Mother.
Lady Longwood also had a patrician nose, but Jordan had never once punched a woman.
Yet.
A snore erupted from one of the chairs closest to the fire. Lord Longwood, having eaten an enormous plate of pastries, had fallen asleep.
“I want you gone from London. Gone from River Crest. Our association will still be maintained, but in a much more distant fashion.” Bentley took a step closer to Lady Longwood, who was likely the architect of this conversation.
“You wish to wipe us away as if we don’t exist,” Tamsin stated bluntly, chin lifted far too defiantly for a girl not yet sixteen. “Father would not have wanted you to treat us in such a fashion, Bent. We are your family.”
“I don’t care what he wanted. Again, allow me to remind you that our father isdead,” Bentley snapped. “Buried. In the ground.Iam the earl.”
“But what about Jordan’s schooling? He’s—” Mother’s voice trembled; her fingers clutched at the handkerchief she held.
“Been tossed out of Harrow more times than I can count,” Bentley retorted before she could finish. “Unlike the previous earl, I no longer wish to bribe the headmaster to take him back.”
