Hobsworth shook his head at Henry and groaned. “She was a—one of Madame Katrina’s girls.”
Lady Stokeford whimpered, loud enough to garner a sympathetic look from her husband, who then turned back to Henry stony-faced.
Henry smirked.You gave birth to a rotten egg, mother. There’s no escaping the consequences of your actions.
“So, this was the continuation of an earlier disagreement over a courtesan?” Lord Stokeford said.
Henry shrugged. He wasn’t going to explain about the young woman in the garden. He preferred the narrative as it stood. Let people talk about how Lady Stokeford’s son defended a harlot.
A gentleman does not strike a fellow peer in defense of—” Lord Stokeford glanced at his wife—“such a person,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Then you ought to be having this conversation with Craventhorp. I did not strike him. Yet he saw fit to strike at me with his closed fist while Hobsworth and Burdington held me back, I might add.”
“Viscount Craventhorp is not my stepson, nor my heir.” He turned to Hobsworth, who sat mutely on the couch like a schoolboy waiting in line for a thrashing.
“Tell him, Hobsworth,” Henry said.
“What he says is true. Craventhorp behaved like a brute, and now we are all barred from Madame Katrina’s—” Hobsworth stopped, obviously realizing his error at revealing too much information.
“How dare you speak of your whoring ways in the presence of my wife?” the earl snapped, and Lady Stokeford sniffed at the air as if she’d suffered an unmeasurable injury.
Henry clenched his jaw. He’d had enough of this hypocrisy. “Lord Stokeford, I came here out of respect for you, but I owe you little allegiance, and I do not intend to sit here while you berate me like a child. I took action because I saw a man brutalizing a woman, and I would do the same again.” Henry stood up.
“You were drunk and defended a peer against a harlot in a bawdy house.” Lord Stokeford stepped forward. “And then you carried your sordid disagreement into Lady Dawley’s home. I may hold no sway over you, but I hoped you would listen to reason. My heir, on the other hand—” he turned to Hobsworth—“will cease your company until you grow up and stop these antics, or he will find himself with a severely restricted allowance.”
Hobsworth groaned.
Henry’s body went rigid. “Very well. So be it,” he said, keeping his eyes fixed on the earl.
Lady Stokeford stood up from her chair like a queen ascending her throne. “May I have a few moments alone with my son, my lord?”
“Are you certain that is wise, my dear?” The earl’s demeanor softened as he turned to his wife.
Henry sighed. “Perhaps, you’d best call the armed guards. You never know when my madness will take over.” He glared at his mother and felt a twinge of satisfaction to see her flinch.
“Stop your silly talk, Henry, and give your mama a few minutes of your time.”
“You, come with me,” Stokeford snapped at Hobsworth, who leapt up and followed the earl.
Then the door closed, and Henry stood alone in the room with his mother. “When will you stop this demoralizing behavior? Your father would be ashamed—”
“Don’t you speak a word to me about my father—the man you cuckolded with your own sister’s husband!”
Lady Stokeford strode toward her son and slapped him across the face. “How dare you repeat such filthy lies to me? You believe a vindictive man over your own mother—a man who is himself guilty of cuckolding my dear sister?”
Henry smiled. “On the contrary, Mama, it is you who convinced me of the truth. You knew that my cousin Ottilie might well be my sister and so kept us apart for most of our lives, and when that was no longer possible, you grew so fearful of our close bond that you attempted to marry her to a man twice her age.”
“I did what I thought best for Ottilie. Lord Towns may be old, but he is a respectable peer with a fortune. She would have been a lady. But she refused my help. And where is she now? Stuck in Canterbury with that—that—”
“Do you mean to say that successful writer who worships her and dotes on their child?” Henry intercepted. “I have never known anyone happier than Ottilie. And your interference almost ruined her life, as you ruined mine.”
“How is your life ruined? You have a title, an estate, and a fortune.”
“But who am I? You took my identity as a peer and as a poet. I cannot serve in the House of Lords, knowing I might not belong there, and I cannot write or publish my poetry with pride because it will remind me, every day, of what you did to Papa.”
“Stop this at once, Henry! You are not and have never been a poet! But you are the 8th Baron Hudsyn. Yet, you spend your days drinking and visiting brothels instead of serving in Parliament and looking for a wife so that you can carry the Hudsyn name forward.”
“How can I marry and pass on this burden of fake peerage to my child?” Henry scoffed. “No! This farce will end with me.”
