Chapter 2
Wallingham Place
Nothing was going according to plan.
There was no denying how frustrated Richard felt about the poor end to what ought to have been a triumphant afternoon. He was a man who prided himself greatly on accomplishing any task that he set his mind to, and he certainly did not abide failure very easily.
Even as the heir, the creditors at the Thompson townhouse had refused to listen to him. They claimed that the only person from whom they would take any sort of orders whatsoever was his father, the duke. Something that the old man had likely insisted upon.
It mattered not that he was heir to the duchy, apparently. Not to them. Richard would not deny that he had grown rather accustomed to flaunting his title around like it were his own personal key to the city.
Pair the wealth with his titleandhis good looks? There was rarely anything that he desired that he was not readily and freely given.
More often than not, he used those considerable benefits to aid him in undermining his own father whenever possible. If he could get away with irritating the ruthless man in any official capacity, he was going to do it. Yet, it seemed that this time, the duke was a few steps ahead of him. He must have warned those men today that his son might arrive and start poking about looking for trouble.
Richard understood better than most that a man’s word was his bond. He knew that one ought not to gamble with money that they did not have and to always pay his debts. It had been all but beaten into him at a young age.
His father never toyed around with money, and given the delight that he seemed to take in the news of the late Viscount Thompson’s apparent suicide was all the proof that Richard needed to know that his father had finally lost whatever was left of his soul.
To go to the home of two women still in their mourning gowns and further debase them? To pilfer and rob every joy from their home just to settle said debts? It was tasteless. In his opinion, there had been absolutely no reason as to why his father could not have waited to seize the last of the Thompson’s assets. He might as well have tossed them into the poor house himself.
Though, somehow, seeing the fiery spirit of the young Miss Thompson had given him the very distinct impression that things would work out for her. Not for circumstances alone but for the fact that she seemed to have the resilience to overcome most things. At the very least, she had the capability to make a man practically wither on the spot with nothing more than a glare and her wit alone.
It was intoxicating.
Women did not speak to him in such harsh tones.
They clung to him like leeches at every social event, naturally. He had more than his fair share of women giving him offers and appealing to his baser urges at every turn, but none of them had ever spoken to him so forcefully or wielded quite so much raw conviction.
It made him wish to aid her cause, if only because he wished to see the gale-force wind that was Catherine in action for a little while longer. Naturally, she had told him that it was the very last thing on this planet that she wished to endure. She had shouted him off of her property and nearly kicked his carriage door shut while proclaiming that she never wished to see him again.
So, Richard resolved that he would help to spite herandhis father.
Two birds, one stone.
It was not as if he could get her from his mind anyway. He kept replaying the brief moments of their first interaction over and over again. Her wide blue eyes narrowed in irritation at him.
The disbelief in him and his words that kept the corners of her rosy lips downturned into a perpetual frown. He had seen her in perhaps one of her lowest moments, and yet, the petite woman seemed to be naturally resplendent. He was so much larger than her small stature.
Assisting her meant that he would have to speak to the brute of a man who sired him. Something he avoided when he could. There was a reason that he traveled far and wide. He simply could not stand being home and under the same roof as such a noxious old man. He would have the opportunity to set things right with her. At least, he hoped so.
Richard did not bother to knock on the door to his father’s private study before inviting himself inside rudely. The man sat in a well-worn leather chair, pouring over ledgers and betting slips. He did not make any indication that he knew his son stood before him until he was finished with whatever he was presently working on.
Richard poured them both a large glass of brandy and forcefully set the crystal glass directly under his father’s nose to force his attention where Richard wanted it.
“I need an explanation,” Richard started with a firm tone.
“And you think that I owe you such a thing? I cannot fathom a single instance in which I would need to explain any of my actions to you, boy.” Edgar Landry sighed as if the very effort of speaking to his child was cumbersome.
Richard had not even started to explain what he wished to have answers for, and already, the older man was on the defensive. A default setting for the duke, it would seem.
“Do you know what I find amusing in a sad, miserable sort of way?” Richard started as he plucked up a random bauble from his father’s desk and recklessly toyed with it in his hands as he spoke.
The duke attempted to cut him off as if to, no doubt, tell Richard to piss off, but Richard continued speaking as if he could not hear the words of protest in the first place.
“One would think that after a man has passed, a titled man such as yourself would have the decency to refrain from humiliating and further debasing a woman and her daughter.
At least, one would think, that they could be given time to find employment or other means of funds.” Richard knew that morality was not a thing that his father possessed. On the very best of days, the only approximation to decency that his father possessed was a general fear of negative public opinion.
