He glanced at Lord Falcross. Even though most of his words had been for his father, the reminder should spear him into playing a more active role in the House of Lords as well.
His Lordship gave a tiny shake of his head as if to say,“This young pup is too eager and doesn’t know what he’s about.”
Algenon’s stomach clenched, making the little he’d eaten sit like a rock in his gut. Did neither one of these men care about their responsibilities to the people, to their country?
Lord Roberts dabbed a napkin to his lips. “We have plenty of time before today’s meeting begins. Besides”—he rubbed the side of his temple—“it is not until four. A day out might do us all a bit of good.”
Maybe for Phillipa, but not for him. Actually, not for Phillipa either. She hadn’t been herself since the card party. At first, he’d assumed her distraction had something to do with Lord Hamdon, but when he’d teased her about carrying a tendre for the man, she’d only smiled and glanced at their father.
It was probably the reason she was absent from the breakfast table this morning. Had Father pressured her like he’d pressured his other sisters? They had only been in town a little over a week. Surely he’d not pressured her toward one of Lady Roberts’s cousins?
Algenon pushed the thought away almost as quickly as it entered. Lady Roberts herself had apologized to Phillipa for the introduction and his father would not be imprudent when it came to a solid future for one of his daughters.
Without Phillipa as an ally, Algenon glanced at Lady Roberts for help. If anyone could persuade his father out of this excursion, she could. She, however, examined her plate with more concentration than was necessary.
If she would not help, he’d have to stand his ground. “Father, I am expected at Newhurst House this morning. Lord Newhurst and I have some pressing matters of business to discuss.”
“Nonsense. Whatever you have, you can reschedule. Johnathan will understand.”
Algenon’s fingers curled into fists on the table. Neither he nor John were children anymore, and yet his father continued to treat them both as such.
“It cannot be delayed.” He spoke slowly, emphasizing each of the words.
“It will have to be. You’d not want to disappoint Miss Weston, would you?”
The way his father had brushed off his needs for that of Miss Weston galled him. Why did everyone else’s well-being come before his?
He opened his mouth to argue, but his father spoke first. “If you must see your friend, why not have him and his wife accompany us? We can afford two more members in our party.”
Algenon swallowed down his argument, an idea forming in his mind. It would make his father angry, but frankly, he didn’t care anymore. “Very well. I need to send round a note.” He stood and tossed his napkin on the table. “Do excuse me.” He gave a slight bow to the whole table and left without a backward glance.
If Javenia had arrived at Newhurst House like he suspected, this note would find them all seated at breakfast. If worded correctly, he hoped John would assume Javenia was included and extend the invitation. She would, of course, accept—unless he’d already fallen face first into her black books again.
She would understand, wouldn’t she? She had to.
With a determined stride, he marched down the hall and into the sitting room where his previous stepmother had kept a writing desk. The cylindrical top rolled back easily, revealing its precious contents.
Picking up a paper and quill, he jotted down his request, a silent prayer on his lips. If they had other plans, or if John simply did not wish to socialize, he’d be stuck with Miss Weston for the better part of the day. They’d already been seen together at multiple places over the last two weeks. Gossip was sure to follow.
He sanded the note, then held it up by two fingers while it dried. Task complete, he turned to leave, when another idea struck him. He turned back and placed the first letter on the smooth surface.
He stared down at the swirls in the wood’s grain, his gaze unfocused. The plan was risky. It might even make matters worse, but he needed to try.
With his hand shaking but resolve firm, he began to write.
Dearest Javenia,
Forgive me for not meeting you at the appointed place and time. Please believe me, I would have if my father hadn’t stopped me and demanded I break my fast with company this morning.
He hesitated, the quill hanging suspended over the paper, nervous to pen the words that could break everything. If he told her what had actually happened all those years ago, she’d be mortified. The one promise she’d extracted out of him, the promise he’d kept tighter than any other, was that he’d not tell a soul what had transpired. And he hadn’t.
But his father had been standing in the shadows. He knew everything.
Javenia, there are so many words I wish to say, so much—
The door behind him opened and shut with such force that he jumped.
“Roberts!”
