“What shall I tell him, Mother? That I have increased all our servants’ pay first to bring them in line with everyone else in London, and then again to counter his outbursts?”
“No, I don’t believe that will make him happy.”
“Or shall I tell him that he has sorely neglected the Irish estate to the point that I am afraid I shall have to visit it myself and see to repairs?”
“Good lord, he’ll despise that. Said he wants the Irish to—”
“Yes, I know what he wants done with the Irish,” he interrupted.
Meanwhile, Yihui pulled a small clay pot from her pocket and offered it to him. “It is the best Druina could find. I have mixed it to the proper amounts according to a recipe my father used with several of his patients.”
“How successfully?”
She grimaced. “There is no cure for what he suffers. Only an easement of pain. He must learn to adapt or he will be miserable for the rest of his life.”
Max grimaced. “I believe he has chosen to be miserable. And to make everyone else so, as well.” He’d had to double the pay for his father’s valet just to keep him on for another month.
“You must talk to him, Max,” his mother implored. “We cannot live this way.”
“Anything I tell him will likely enrage him further.”
“Then lie to him. Tell him that he is still the most important person in the Tory party. That Prinny himself will come to get his advice. Something. Anything!”
“And what do I say when Prinny refuses to visit?”
“We’ll tell him Prinny did, and he just forgot.”
“Father? Forget a visit from the prince?”
She shrugged. “He’s angry at his ailment anyway. Might as well blame everything on it.”
“Mother, even in his weakened condition…” His voice trailed away. His mother didn’t care. She and the duke had always survived by staying out of each other’s lives as much as possible. She ran the social whirl. He occupied his time with politics.Twice a week they shared a morning breakfast, and that was more than enough for everyone.
To have him in the house this much was an impossible situation for everyone.
Max grimaced. “Perhaps it is time for some plain speaking.”
“Oh good God, no!” his mother gasped. “Never that!”
He smiled. “Mother, you have your way of dealing with Father, and I have mine.” He looked at Yihui. They had discussed different methods of handling his father last night when he had escorted her to her home. He’d found her advice to be sound in that she didn’t offer him any. She listened attentively, helped him clarify his own thoughts, and finally kissed him sweetly on the cheek. A kiss that he rapidly changed to something a great deal more intimate.
In short, she gave him support for whatever he chose to do. She had no understanding of English norms of behavior, and so left it to him to choose. And in her steady presence, he found his way through the fog.
It was time now to speak plainly with his father. Though, he wished his surprise guest would arrive before he had to head upstairs. None of his family had ever met his old schoolmate before. They’d heard his tales, of course, because Reggie was the friend who had gone to Canton with the East India Company. Max spent as much time as possible with him whenever the man was in town. His family, however, would not know what to do with him. And Max really wanted to see the look on Yihui’s face when she met him.
His wish wasn’t granted. The knocker remained stubbornly silent, and so he finally bowed to both ladies and withdrew.
It was time to give the full truth to his father.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Max entered hisfather’s bedroom after a polite knock. He didn’t wait for any response but walked in with the assurance of a man resigned to a firing squad. What he was about to do was unforgiveable, according to English tenets of appropriate behavior. A son never laid down the law to his father, and most certainly not when the man was ill.
Oddly enough, it was harder to do in the cold light of day than it was in the heat of a half-inebriated argument. But that didn’t change his plan at all.
“Good afternoon, Father,” he said. His father was settled near the window. He was dressed in a bed jacket that had stains on it. The nearby table was empty, but Max noted the smear of some kind of sauce had stained the wallpaper. There was a wet spot beneath it as well that he guessed was tea. And no one, not even his father’s valet, was cleaning up the mess.
That had been Max’s latest order. If his father wished to throw tantrums, then he could damn well suffer the stench of bad food in his room until someone felt like cleaning it up.
