Rhoda.
His fiancée.
Because somehow, God had decided to give him the desire of his heart. Not the way he’d imagined it, and not without nearly insurmountable challenges, but he was being given a chance.
He’d promised her mother he’d deal with the wager. Put it to rest. But damned if he knew how to go about doing so. Perhaps her father would step up and assist him. Perhaps declaring his intent to wed her would dissolve it. These men valued honor on some level. He hoped their honor was worth seventy-five thousand pounds or so…
Justin stretched and rubbed the back of his neck.
He’d been on the road for two long days. After staying the night in a local inn, he’d cleaned up this morning to meet with Mr. Mossant. When he’d asked for directions, the innkeeper had given him an odd glance. Everyone knew where Pebble’s Gate was. Less than half an hour from town.
Except, surely, there must be some mistake? He’d expected a small country estate, under no misconceptions that Rhododendron was any sort of heiress.
But the home ahead looked to be something of a mansion. A large iron gate displaying the name of the estate proved he was in the right place. Justin gazed about in awe as he traveled the length of the drive. The mansion didn’t sit in a yard; it had been built in nothing less than a park.
A groom exited the large front doors in the distance, but just as quickly disappeared upon catching sight of an approaching guest.
Why had he expected that Rhoda’s family lacked funds? But yes, he’d heard mention of a small dowry. The grounds, although vast, were in disrepair, and as he neared the home, he could see it was in need of maintenance. Justin dismounted and loosely tethered his horse to a railing.
With a tug at his cravat, he knocked loudly once, twice… after the third time, finally heard movement from within. A tall, haggard-looking butler opened the door and stared down a rather crooked nose at him suspiciously. “Do you have your invitation, sir?”
Justin noted that the servant’s scarlet uniform was stained darker in places, and the shirt he wore beneath it appeared yellowed.
He answered with a shake of his head. “I have no invitation. I am here to meet with Mr. Mossant.” At the butler’s narrowed eyes, Justin added, “I have important business with him, sir.”
The servant’s brows rose. “Your name?”
Out of habit, Justin nearly answered Mr. White, but caught himself. “The Earl of Carlisle.”
The servant eyed him suspiciously. “And business, you say?”
Justin nodded. “Indeed.”
The butler sighed tiredly before answering, “Follow me, my lord.” He led Justin to what once must have been an elegant drawing room. “Wait here.”
Justin tried to imagine his fiancé and her sisters living here. The hair stood up on the back of his neck. This place hardly felt like a home. It seemed… off.
Although the property seemed to be eroding, it also appeared to encompass a vast amount of land. Surely, her father could have done better for them?
Justin didn’t sit while he waited. He’d sat too much in the last few days and nervous energy coursed through him. Instead, he paced back and forth across the room. Inadvertently, he noticed the wear on the furnishings and the tapestries as well as a few noticeably empty spaces on the wall where artwork had once hung. Although perhaps cash poor, the family possessed assets.
Or they had, rather.
“The master will see you, my lord.” Holding the door, the butler indicated Justin follow.
Justin had never been suspicious, and despite his lifelong vocation, he’d eschewed making judgments, but the only word he could summon at the ambiance of the house was evil. Pure and simple evil.
Perhaps he’d spent too much time alone with his horse.
They climbed one side of a U-shaped staircase and then strode along a carpeted corridor. Several paintings hung along the walls, but where pedestals stood, statues were noticeably absent.
When Justin neared a set of large double doors, a sweet acrid scent assaulted his nostrils.
His gut clenched when he stepped inside. Six or seven gentlemen lay about the room and nearly a dozen ladies draped themselves around them.
Except they were not ladies, with their nipples pushed up and out of their corsets, and a few skirts lifted to expose their nether regions; they were obviously prostitutes. His gaze passed over entangled limbs, gaping mouths, and listless eyes as he searched for the man he’d come to speak with.
“My butler says you’ve come to speak business with me.” A sardonic voice drew Justin’s attention to the settee near the hearth. The jaundiced looking fellow most certainly was Rhoda’s father. Same hair coloring. Same eyes. He lounged sideways, a plump woman beside him, her eyes closed, head tilted back, and legs spread. Mr. Mossant casually combed his fingers through the curly hair she displayed.
