Edmund was the marquess now.
Phineas cleared his throat. “My condolences. He looked so hale when we were in Sudbury just a few weeks ago.”
Edmund rubbed his forehead. “Pneumonia. It was quick. As you know, we weren’t close. That trip was the first time I had seen him in two years. He was an arsehole and he got a better death than he deserved.”
“Well, arsehole or not, he was your father. And I’m sure your sister is grieving. Please offer her my condolences, and I would be pleased to be of service to either of you in any way I can.”
Edmund grunted and nodded.
“You’re the Marquess of Sudbury then.” Phineas tapped his knee. “So it’s both condolences and, I suppose, congratulations. Shall I arrange for a splendid dinner tonight? What are your plans?”
“Leaving in an hour to go to the march. Funeral in two days. And I need to get acquainted with the place again.”
“Probably some estate business you need to attend to, eh? Your father might have let things slide in his dotage and during his illness. Although things looked in quite good order from what I saw of the place when I was there.”
“No. No estate business to worry about. My sister sees to all that.”
Lady Caroline Haskett managed the whole Sudbury estate and not just the house? The little darling was as capable as she was enthralling.
But he should have expected no less from a virgin who had tried to take him from on top. Fearless, determined, and even more lovely because of it.
“Speaking of your sister, do you think you might bring her to London now that your father is gone?”
Edmund ran one of his huge paws through his dark hair, making it stand on end. “You’ve made me realize I’ve been a very bad brother. Yes. Yes. I’m going to try to talk her into coming back with me. Show her around.”
“Capital. A tremendous idea. Just lovely. Wonderful.” Phineas suddenly realized he was maybe being just a little bit too enthusiastic. “I mean I’m glad you’re going to make sure she sees a little more of the world.”
And a little more of me.
“Yes.” Edmund stood. “We’ll be back in London after Christmas. Until then, Phin.” He stalked out of the reading room.
Christmas? After Christmas? No, no, no, no! That was months away!
Damn.
But Phineas would see the lovely Caro in the new year of eighteen hundred and twenty. And there would be no father blocking his planned seduction. Only Edmund, and Phineas had been friends with Edmund for a long time. Surely, he could devise ways around Caro’s hulking brother.
Suddenly, the blue devils were vanquished. Phineas chuckled and felt himself again. He leapt up from the chair, full of vim. He’d go and see if he couldn’t get a boxing lesson right now at Number 13 from Mr. Jackson. There was no time to waste. The charming Earl of Burchester needed to be in peak physical condition to keep up with that darling tower of loveliness, Lady Caroline Haskett.
Eight
Her brother came back from town. Caroline didn’t like having Edmund in the manor, taking up the space her father had once occupied. Although her brother had never directed his temper toward her, his size and his voice reminded her so much of their father she couldn’t help feeling she must tread on eggs around him. And she was worn to the bone with making arrangements for the funeral. Edmund’s presence was one more call on her flagging strength.
How selfish she had become, how accustomed to her isolation. She must make her brother welcome. It was his house, not hers. It would never be hers.
“I hope you’ll help me with the estate as you helped our father. At least until you get married,” Edmund rumbled, sitting in the drawing room with her.
Until she got married? Was he making fun of her? The Edmund she knew from her childhood would not mock her, but they had lived apart for so long now. Had he become a sardonic wit after years as a London rake?
She darted a look at him. His face was serious. But he must know she would never marry. She would be thirty in January. No one had a Season at thirty.
Of course, even the daughter of a marquess might marry outside the Season. Not her, of course. But someone else might make a match with a man in trade. Or a barrister. Or a physician. Or a bookseller.
Yes, marrying a bookseller would be rather cozy. She could do his accounts, write his bills, and bury herself in written words. Surely, the bookseller would be a great reader, too, and not expect her to speak much. And with her height, she could reach the books on the tall shelves for him.
Of course, her bookseller-husband looked a great deal like Phineas Edge with spectacles which made no sense at all. Why would a bookseller have the broad shoulders and big chest and muscular thighs that a lord acquired from riding horses and boxing and fencing? No, a bookseller would be slender like herself. Together, they would have quiet, waifish children and live in a house with no stairs.
But he might have full lips. Like Phineas. That was it. She must look for a slight bookseller with spectacles and full lips. Of course, there was only one bookseller in Sudbury and he was fat, fifty, and already married. She might have to look farther afield. But when was the last time she had left Sudbury? Could it have been over twelve years ago?
