***
John had gone first to the bank, where he paid the tailor’s debts—the full outstanding amount and not just what he owed, so that the family could be released from debtors’ prison. Then he made his way to Bond Street, to the bootmakers and milliners and gunsmiths. Without fail, each thanked him profusely, surprised that he’d come good at all. How horrific that that was their expectation.
He could have had someone else deliver banknotes to the rest of his creditors. There was no legal reason to do it himself, just the desire to show people that while they may not have been able to rely on the previous Lord Harrow, they could rely on him.
By the time John reached the home of Lady Hornsworth—the last creditor on his list—the uncomfortable limp with which he’d started the day had deepened into an excruciating jab of pain every time he placed his weight on his left leg. The boot he’d taken to his kidney had left a deep purple bruise and a reminder of the night every time he pissed or took a step.
The old dame noticed his wince and immediately called for tea, shooing him into an armchair. She barely registered the banknote he handed to her, tucking it between a cushion and the side of the chaise longue.
“Yes, yes, very well. I take it this is why we haven’t seen you about this past week?” She waved her cane in his direction. “What did you do to yourself?”
“I came off a horse, my lady. Deuced embarrassing.” It was Charlotte’s lie, and a good one at that.
“Oh, that is unfortunate. I hope you got right back on it. Can’t drag that out or it becomes dreadfully difficult to try again. Sugar?”
John nodded, and she added a large spoonful before stirring and handing it to him.
“I’m sure I’ll be riding again in no time,” he said, accepting the cup.
“Good. That’s good,” she said, settling back in her seat. “After all, you can hardly host a hunt without getting on a horse.”
“A hunt?” His teacup rattled in the saucer.
A flicker of confusion crossed her face. “In August. It is quite the tradition for your family to kick off the hunting season.”
Damn. It had been a tradition, one John had chosen not to think about. His father had never allowed him to attend. The past viscount had been too embarrassed by his son’s deficiencies to allow John’s presence. Walter had always attended as the golden child. John shouldn’t have been surprised that his brother had continued on with the tradition.
“I’d quite forgotten about it. I had not planned anything.”
Lady Hornsworth smiled over the lip of her teacup. “Well, when you marry Lady Charlotte, I’m sure she’ll take it in hand.”
“Pardon?” Their engagement was not common knowledge. They’d still not even told her family. They’d planned to do so tomorrow night at dinner, once John had settled all his affairs.
Lady Hornsworthtsked. “There is no need to pretend around me. It’s quite clear what the two of you feel for each other. One just needs to see the way you look at her. Why haven’t you announced it?”
His mouth opened and closed for a moment before he could respond. “We are just waiting for the right time.”
“The right time isnow, boy. Some of us despaired of ever seeing that girl in an appropriate position. She turned down many excellent matches, but while I rarely approve of such choosiness, it seems her dawdling has come up trumps. She’ll have a title, wealth, and love. Just as a sweetheart like her should. Lucky girl.”
It was he who was lucky. Charlotte had chosen him. “I hope I can make her happy.”
“She’s about to take her place as one of theton’s greatest ladies. Let her host her own balls and preside over your hunts, and she’ll never be happier.”
It was with that conversation in mind that John spent the carriage ride back to the house whistling as he considered what would once have been unthinkable—the guest list for their engagement ball. Now that the estate accounts were flush, he could open Harrow House. Fully staffed, fully refurbished. If they got started tomorrow, then perhaps Charlotte could host events before the season ended. As long as there was somewhere quiet for him to go every few hours, it could work.
She was attending a soiree at Cossington’s residence tonight. They were to meet there. He would ask her then if she wanted the Harrow Hunt to continue this year. They would be married by August, after all.
Climbing the stairs to his front door hurt more than walking down the drive. He winced with each footfall.
Mosely opened the door as he reached it, his face white.
“Never mind it,” John said. “It simply needs ice and rest.” He handed the butler his hat and shucked his coat.
“It’s not that, my…oh lord.” He made a face, looking for all the world as though he’d just swallowed rancid castor oil.
“What is it, man?” John leaned against the wall to give his leg some relief. “Just come out with it.” They’d squared their debts with Brunel. Surely he hadn’t the gall to approach John’s home.
“I…Uh…” The butler shook his head, open-mouthed.
