He doesn’t think about Demeroven at all, except to note that it’s poetic that a man who found Demeroven a disappointment could take such pride in melting Bobby into a puddle of want.
Chapter Eight
James
“They are making a spectacle of themselves.”
James glances down the stands through a sea of top hats and bonnets to spot Mason, Lady Gwen, and MissBertram. They are indeed garnering a lot of attention heckling Lord Mason, who has the misfortune to be on the field today. James’ stepfather insisted they attend the Cambridge vs. Oxford alumni rugby scrimmage, and James couldn’t come up with a reasonable excuse.
James doesn’t enjoy watching his former classmates and whatever relation-in-law Lord Mason is to him being injured on the field. No matter how much Lady Gwen and Mason seem to revel in it.
So instead of watching, James sits and stews, trying to find the words to ask his stepfather to either confirm or deny Mason’s accusation about Miss Bertram and Lady Havenfort from Prince’s party, here, where he can’t walk away. The thought has left him with a sour stomach all week.
He doesn’t know why Mason would lie. And the strained discussions Lady Gwen and MissBertram keep having, about MissBertram’s almost-marriage to Viscount Montson last season...
The past two years his stepfather has told him his aunt, Lady Demeroven—Lady Havenfort now—wanted nothing from herlate husband and refused his stepfather’s offers of funds from James’ inheritance while he was acting as executor. But James isn’t sure why he ever believed that.
He needs to confront his stepfather, tell him it was craven and horrible to leave their relatives with nothing, to put them in the position of either needing to marry or become destitute. That they owe Lady Havenfort and MissBertram a sincere apology, and reparations for their actions.
Because despite not being aware of what happened, James feels guilt burrowing deep into his gut. He should have asked. Even before he came of age and took over the title, he should have pushed his stepfather, should have donesomethingto assert himself, rather than tumbling arse backward into his seat.
“Sir,” he says, blurting the word out before he can properly brace for the conversation. Thinking about it too hard will only lead him to chicken out, like he always does.
His stepfather lets out a loud whoop when one of the teams scores on the other. James doesn’t even remember whom he’s meant to be supporting.
“Sir,” he tries again, squaring his shoulders. “We need to discuss—”
“Ah, Lord Demeroven.”
James turns and feels his spine go rigid. Lord Raverson has vaulted up to scooch into the seat beside him. He’s even more resplendent in daylight, and somehow twice as ominous a presence.
“Lord Raverson,” James forces out, gritting his teeth against both regret and foreboding.
“You must be the viscount’s stepfather—Mr.Griggs, isn’t it? I’m Lord Raverson,” Raverson continues, leaning across James to extend his hand.
And that, of course, his stepfather hears. “Raverson, did you say?” he asks, turning to take Raverson’s hand, further pressing James into the back of the stands.
“Indeed. I believe you knew my father,” Raverson says, all charm, flashing those bright, straight teeth at James’ stepfather, who looks delighted to be recognized.
It’s all he’s ever wanted, after all.
“I did, I did,” Stepfather says. “Stand-up man, truly fought for his ideals. He and Demeroven’s uncle were allies.”
“Oh, I know,” Raverson says, retracting his hand slowly so it brushes against James’ chest. James shivers. “My father spoke regularly of his and the late Lord Demeroven’s combined efforts to push through their agenda, and that’s exactly how I plan to comport myself in the Lords now. Fighting for what’s right.”
“Excellent,” Stepfather says. “You can help Demeroven here have an opinion. He’s always been a bit noncommittal. You knew each other at school?”
Raverson looks to James, all wide-eyed innocence, forcing James to grit out a tight “Yes, we did.”
“Splendid. Good to know there’s at least one positive influence for the sorry lad. No insult intended, Demeroven,” Stepfather says.
James shrugs jerkily, though there was very much insult intended. He should feel more irritated that his stepfather is willfully undermining him in public, but he’s too busy fighting the clutch of panic in his chest. His stepfather and Raverson being so close—Raverson being here at all—is terrifying.
“Perhaps I could take you to lunch sometime soon, sir. Pick your brain about the agenda,” Raverson says. “I’d appreciate your counsel. I know how much the late Lord Demeroven relied on your sage advice.”
What utter sniveling, two-faced drivel—
“Of course. I would be delighted, Viscount. It would be marvelous to discuss the agenda with a man who truly understands. I’ll have my valet arrange it,” Stepfather says.
