Jack crossed his arms. “And you are willing to risk your own reputation, as well as the children’s, on his word? Even he doesn’t want you to do that.”
I don’t think you understand the inadequacy I feel when I am in your presence.
If that was truly how Mr. Dorian felt, how easy it must have been for my brother to convince him to keep his distance. My throat tightened, and I swallowed past the lump that had gathered. “Fine,” I said with more resolve than Ifelt. “But he will need to say that tome. And while I appreciate your intentions, I do not need my brother to handle my private affairs. How would you react if I tried to manage your relationship with Dolly without your knowledge? You overstepped.”
Jack stared at me for a long moment, and I watched a muscle in his jaw tighten as understanding dawned. “Perhaps … perhaps I did,” he finally said. Then he frowned. “You don’t need to look so shocked. I can admit when I’ve erred.” I raised an eyebrow, and he sat back with a chastened expression. “All right. Fine. I don’t like being wrong.”
“No one does, Jack,” I said. “But none of us are infallible. Not even you.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “I suppose.” Then he grew serious once more. “Just promise me you’ll take care.”
“I will,” I said with a nod.
Then his expression turned sheepish. “There is something else.”
“Goodness. It can’t be worse than leaving a dead baron in Aunt Agatha’s parlor, can it?”
“Well, last I heard, he wasn’t dead, but unconscious. And no, this isn’t worse than that. But it does involve the viscount. He has learned of your presence in London. Though I swear he didn’t learn it from me.”
“Ah.” I set down my teacup. “And I suppose I am being summoned?”
Jack nodded. “He would like you to visit him at Mandeville House this afternoon. And don’t worry about Tommy. He can stay with us as long as you need.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“Then … you’ll go?” Jack said in surprise.
I very much did not want to give the impression that I would be at that man’s beck and call, but the fact remained that he was the only person who could tell me the truthabout Oliver. And there were a number of unpleasant circumstances I was willing to endure for that information. “Yes. I think it’s high time we put some things to rest.”
Jack looked uncertain. “You aren’t going to quarrel with him, are you?”
“Only if he forces me to,” I said archly, as I picked up a muffin. I would need sustenance for the battle ahead.
“God help him, then,” my brother muttered.
Chapter 26
By the time I left Portman Square for Mandeville House several hours later, the effects of my mother’s nerve tonic had finally faded. Thus, the butterflies swirling around my stomach could only be on account of my destination. The feeling increased as I ascended the front steps of the imposing red-and-white brick mansion in Mayfair.
I had never met any of Oliver’s family members. His mother had died when he was away at Eton, and his father a few years before we married. Then, when his brother was made viscount, they had some kind of disagreement about money, but Oliver never divulged the particulars, and I never asked. He had a younger brother as well, Archie, but he was something of a libertine and, from what I knew, didn’t show much interest in his family. I had never even communicated with him, aside from a short note of condolence after Oliver’s death.
Harold was another matter. He had no sons of his own, so after Oliver died, he encouraged me to send Tommy to Eton, claiming that it was necessary for his heir. When I politely but firmly declined, he then tried to claim guardianship. It was an ugly business, conducted at the worst possible time. If we had been in England, he might have been able to use his position to force my hand, but it was much harder to do so from across a sea. Eventually, he relented, and I agreed to allow him to have written contact with Tommy. But privately, I still held out hope that Harold would have a son of his own so he would stop focusing on mine. Though at this point a grandson was more likely.
An ancient butler ushered me inside to an imposing drawing room: high ceilings, pale green walls decorated with Adam-style plasterwork, a gold-and-crystal chandelier, massive marble fireplace, and Louis XIV–style furniture in gold and pale green silk coverings. I was so taken by the space that I did not notice the man in the far corner of the room, standing before a large window with his back to me.
“Mrs. Harper to see you, sir,” the butler rasped.
“That will be all, Bodwin,” the viscount said in a deep voice that easily carried across the space.
I felt a little shiver of foreboding as the door clicked shut behind me, the sound echoing throughout the room and leaving us alone. I moved with slow, cautious steps, my gaze fixed on the man’s back. He was tall, about as tall as Oliver, and his hair was the same shade of blond, it was shot through with silver.
He turned around then, all at once, and his blue eyes met mine. Perhaps I should have prepared myself for the likely family resemblance, but it was still a shock. The viscount was the near picture of my late husband and I inhaled sharply, stumbling over the edge of the carpet. The viscount was beside me in an instant, his firm hand on my arm, steadying me.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice trembling.
“Of course,” he replied as he led me to the sofa.
I was grateful that at least he didn’t sound like my husband. His voice was deeper and far colder than Oliver’s had ever been. I doubted he could have sounded that stern if he had tried. The thought brought me some comfort, and I held on to it as the viscount took the straight-back chair across from me.
