Jordan raised his brows. “One he hoped to wed?” The gossip column in the last paper from London, months old, dedicated an entire paragraph to the dashing earl who had at last decided to secure a match.
“No, my lord.” A blush stained Patchahoo’s neck above his cravat. “Another woman of your brother’s acquaintance, one whom he had an existing relationship with. May we continue this conversation at Dunnings, my lord?”
The Hen’s other patrons were a curious lot. Edmonds was already giving Jordan and Patchahoo a curious look. Peg was hovering a bit too close, trying to overhear their conversation. No one in Spittal needed to know that the impoverished pig farmer they knew as merely Sinclair was now the Earl of Emerson.
“Agreed, Patchahoo. Let us retire to Dunnings.”
Chapter Two
Jordan sat back,reaching for the bottle of whiskey he’d brought back to Dunnings from The Hen. Pulling out the cork, he splashed the amber liquid into a chipped glass and swallowed a mouthful. On the ride, Patchahoo had quietly related a number of important details to Jordan concerning Bentley’s finances.
Now Jordan’s face hurt, his head ached, and he was mildly dizzy from the news Patchahoo had related. It seemed that Bentley had not been content with the insults he’d served to his half-brother for the last decade; no, he wished to continue making Jordan’s life hell from the grave.
“You’re sure?” The whiskey wasn’t helping. He hoped Drew had some brandy stashed somewhere.
“Positive, my lord. I handled Lord Emerson’s affairs personally as he didn’t employ a secretary.”
Bentley’s letters, when he cared to write something, were filled with accusations and vicious diatribe towards Jordan and his mother. There was barely enough to keep him in the style befitting an earl, Bentley insisted because Lady Emerson had squandered enormous sums on furnishings for River Crest. Demanded the finest clothing and jewels for herself.
That claim had been Jordan’s favorite. Outside of her wedding band, Mother rarely wore any adornment.
Poor investments, Bentley insisted, were the fault of their foolish father who emptied the coffers to provide for his greedy “second” family.Leeches, Bentley called Jordan and his siblings, bleeding him dry of funds so they could maintain themselves at Dunnings. The frugality Bentley forced upon them wasn’thisfault, but theirs.
He had assumed all Bentley’s posturing was little more than an excuse to punish Jordan further. Nothing more. When Bentley insisted he needed to wed, there had been no hint that the urgency was anything more than his brother’s determination to have an heir so that Jordan might never inherit.
Bentley had always liked to gamble, though he rarely won. Horses were a favorite. Hazard. Making ridiculous wagers, which rarely paid off. In the last two years, Bentley had sold every piece of property not entailed with the exception of Dunnings.
Loathing and disgust for Bentley filled Jordan at Patchahoo’s careful recital.
Bentley never visited River Crest because the house had been stripped bare of anything but the basest furnishings. A handful of other properties Father once owned, including a textile mill, were gone. Everything that was not entailed, excepting Dunnings, had been sold. He continued to keep his two mistresses in lavish style, providing both with their own houses, staff, and carriages. Clothing. Jewelry. Only the house in London had been left virtually untouched because Bentley was determined to maintain appearances.
Bentley hadneededto marry.
He took another swallow of whiskey, wishing this entire conversation was the result of being hit too hard in the head by Sisco. Jordan would wake up surrounded by his pigs to find it had all been a horrible dream and Patchahoo a figment of his imagination.
“I am ill-equipped to become an earl.”
Jordan knew what was required, or at least he had vague memories of him and his father reviewing the accounts together and visiting tenants. But the last ten years had been spent barely surviving, drowning his bitterness at Bentley with too much whiskey, and brawling. His manners, never spectacular to begin with, were now rusty. There was no need for niceties when one was a pig farmer. He didn’t even know how to dance, at least not properly. Had only a rudimentary knowledge of his peers and few polite conversation skills. The idea of going about with a cravat strangling him every day wasn’t the least appealing.
“Nonetheless, youareLord Emerson.”
“Then as Lord Emerson, I beg you to stop reminding me of my changed status. How long before the duns come beating on the doors?”
“The sum from the upcoming sale of the homes your brother kept his—companionswill be enough to see to your needs for the time being. Clothing, for instance.” He took in Jordan’s much-mended shirt and nearly soleless boots.
“You didn’t answer my question Patchahoo. What am I to expect in London?” Maybe Jordan should just pack up the entire family and flee to the Continent. Malcolm was floating around France somewhere as a mercenary. Or, at least, his last letter mentioned Paris and swordfights. Or Venice? He couldn’t recall at the moment. “How enormous are my brother’s debts, now mine? Do I owe half of London? Come now, it can’t be any worse than what you’ve already told me.”
“You’ve only one creditor, my lord. He holds all of the previous Lord Emerson’s markers. And there is the matter of Miss Odessa Whitehall. She is the heiress your brother had agreed to wed.” Patchahoo frowned. “Though Lord Emerson had suddenly become convinced he could no longer do so.”
“Bentley is dead, which I think voids his obligation to Miss Whitehall. She’ll have to find someone else to wed.” Jordan shrugged. “Is there a point to this? I’m more concerned with the entire amount of Bentley’s debts being held by one individual.”
“May I avail myself of a glass of whiskey, my lord?” Patchahoo nodded to the bottle.
“Of course.” Jordan pushed an extra glass towards the solicitor, checking first to make sure it was clean.
“Mr. Whitehall, Odessa Whitehall’s father,isyour sole creditor, my lord. Not only has he collected every marker of Lord Emerson’s, but your brother also owed Whitehall a substantial amount beyond that.”
“Who is Whitehall that he would lend money to Bentley?”
