Then someone stumbles into Raverson’s back.
Raverson’s knee drops, and they cleave apart. The curtain wrenches back and Bobby feels his throat constrict, terror coursing through him. He’s about to be sent to jail. His family—sitting not twenty yards away—is about to be disgraced. Albie will never recover the Mason name—
Uncle Dashiell blinks at them in the dim lamplight. Backlit by the gas lamps, he strikes an imposing, dour figure, and Bobby feels himself shrinking down, in multiple ways, horror giving way to keen embarrassment.
“Ah, Lord Havenfort,” Raverson says, straightening his lapels and stepping around Uncle Dashiell, out into the hallway like nothing’s happened. “How good to see you.”
“Raverson,” Uncle Dashiell says, glancing from Raverson to Bobby and back.
Bobby ducks out of the alcove as well, adjusting his jacket to hide the evidence of what must be a horribly shocking discovery for his uncle.
“I was just coming to collect Demeroven,” Uncle Dashiell says after a beat of the loudest silence Bobby thinks he’s ever heard. He knows there’s still an opera going on, but he can’t seem to hear it.
“Of course, of course,” Raverson says smoothly.
“I was... going to ask if you would see the girls home, Robert,” Uncle Dashiell continues, eyeing Raverson before looking to Bobby. “But if you are otherwise—”
“I would be happy to see the ladies home, my lord,” Raverson cuts in.
Uncle Dashiell looks back at him and Bobby tries to see a way out of this situation that doesn’t mean his banishment from the family.
“For a small price, of course,” Raverson continues, flashing Uncle Dashiell that winning smile. “All nice and respectable. Keep the rumors at bay.”
“The—” Bobby starts, something heavy and frantic settling in his gut.
“You’ve heard the rumors, haven’t you, sir?” Raverson asks, ignoring Bobby. “About Mason here, and Demeroven, come to think of it. I wouldn’t want any of that chatter to tarnish your daughter and stepdaughter, given what they’re already up against.”
Bobby stares, his mouth hanging open. Uncle Dashiell slips a hand into his pocket and retrieves a stack of bills without even blinking. He counts a few off and hands them over to Raverson.
“Your silence would be most appreciated, though the girls will get home without your assistance, thank you, Raverson. Good evening.”
Raverson dips his head in a bow as he pockets the money. “Good evening, Lord Havenfort. Mason, it’s been a pleasure,” he adds, winking at Bobby before he turns and saunters away.
Bobby stares after him, horrified. Was this his plan, the entire time? Did he come here simply to trap Bobby, to use him as a means of blackmail? To humiliate himandtake his uncle for a ride? Is Bobby so naive, so starved for affection, that he didn’t see a con man right in front of him?
Good God, he let the man— The man’s seen him—
“Have you completely lost your common sense?” Uncle Dashiell asks, his voice like a muted whipcrack.
Bobby nearly jumps. He’s seldom seen his uncle this angry, staring at Bobby like he’s never seen him before.
“I—” Bobby rasps, trying to find some excuse to defend his irredeemable loss of sense.
“You are in public. What if I hadn’t stumbled onto the two of you? What if it had been one of the other lords? Or worse, one of the ladies? Do you have any idea how much money, let alone political capital, your brother and I would have to use to get you out of prison? You’d never recover.We’dnever recover.”
“I know,” Bobby says, his voice cracking.
“Do you have any idea how hard your brother is working, right now, to salvage your family name? How hard we are both working to make sure there is something for his children—for your future children—to live on, and be proud of?”
“I know,” Bobby says, a little louder, stronger.
He knows how hard Albie’s working. Of course he knows. It’s like he’s lost his brother as well—like he’s disappeared and left only a husk of himself behind.
“You’ve a poor way of showing it,” Uncle Dashiell says, a bite to his cold words that makes Bobby flinch.
“I didn’t mean to—”
“What, did you fall down onto his mouth?” Uncle Dashiell asks.
