* * *
“You did well today,” Papa told Adrian later when the two men removed themselves to the study for after dinner drinks.“I’m proud of you.”
Adrian almost snorted with disdain.He hated what he’d done, hated the person his father had turned him into, and the fact that this hadn’t been a one-time occurrence.He’d been his father’s enforcer for years now and knew how to make those indebted to him pay their dues.
Thankfully, most of them gave up quickly.Only a few had forced Adrian to resort to real violence.And then there were those who’d betrayed the family – those who’d been taken care of for good.
He set his glass to his lips and downed the contents before saying what had been preying upon his mind for too long.
“I want out.”
Stillness filled the room.Adrian forced himself to look at his father, unmoved for once by the anger that burned in his eyes.“There is no out.Not when you’re my only son – the heir to everything built by generations of men who came before you.My God, boy.You’re supposed to be King of Portman Square after me.”
Disgust curdled Adrian’s blood.That moniker would not apply to him.“I never asked for any of this.”
“And you think I did?”Papa scoffed.“This is a matter of building wealth and power, and the best way to do that is by having the upper hand on everyone else.”
Adrian glanced at the cabinet where the files were kept; hundreds of detailed accounts on England’s most prominent men, to be used for extortion whenever the need arose.“There’s also the assistance we’ve offered criminals, our blackmailing efforts, the smuggling, and other endeavors the law won’t look favorably on.”
Hell, if someone were to investigate them and actually manage to prove their criminal undertakings, the House of Croft would crumble.
“Bah.”Papa waved a dismissive hand and downed the contents of his glass before pushing himself to his feet.He crossed to the sideboard where he proceeded to refill his tumbler.“You know as well as I that there’s nothing more beneficial than putting others in debt.As for the goods we acquire, I’m a firm believer in every man having the God-given right to procure whatever he wants at the lowest cost.But there’s a group of puffed-up peacocks who’ve decided to raise the price of imported corn so none can afford it, ensuring English landowners profit instead.Besides, why should the government take a cut when we’re the ones doing all the work?”
“Because it’s the law?”Adrian tried.
“A law made by those attempting to gain control over the masses.”Papa huffed a breath while flexing the fingers of his left hand.He frowned before quietly adding, “I’ll not be subject to that.”
“And I’ll not hold another blade to another man’s throat on your behalf,” Adrian countered.“I want more for myself than that.”
“More for yourself?”Papa snapped, his face darkening with splotches of red.He shook his glass of brandy, sloshing the contents over the sides.“How bloody ungrateful of you.After all your ancestors and I have done to secure your life of luxury – your future.And here I was, prepared for you to take on more responsibility.Lord knows it’s time.You’re almost thirty.But I’ll be damned if you make a mockery of your good name by going soft.”
“It’s got nothing to do with going soft,” Adrian said, his voice as hard as the blade he’d threatened Macintyre with that morning.He stood, even as Papa’s expression contorted.“This is about me wanting to live a life free from all this.It’s about wanting to marry and raise a family without my wrongdoings forever nipping at my heels.”
Papa took a sharp breath.He staggered slightly, as though he’d been pushed off balance.Jaw tight, he reached for the bookcase behind him and steadied himself with one hand.Still, his gaze, sharp and unyielding, never strayed from his son.
“In case you’re unaware, you’ll never be free from all this,” Papa spat.“Not as long as my blood runs through your veins.”
“I—”
Papa suddenly groaned and his features twisted.He dropped his glass, which exploded upon the floor, sending shards of crystal and brandy across the Aubusson rug.A raspy intake of air followed.He suddenly clutched his chest with one hand.
Adrian rushed to his aid and wound one arm around him, his intention to help him into a chair.“What’s wrong?”
Papa’s lips parted but no words came.It sounded as though his breath was lodged in his throat.Until it wheezed from his lungs.His eyes went impossibly wide.
Without further warning, he pitched forward, breaking free from Adrian’s grasp as he fell to the floor with a thud.
* * *
Adrian stood immobile, his posture rigid as the velvet-clad casket was lowered into the family vault beneath St.Paul’s.Although the day was temperate, the cool granite with which the tomb had been built made the occasion uncomfortably chilly.
Evie, who suffered the loss of their father more fiercely than he, sniffed as she dabbed away tears.For Adrian, Papa’s death had come as a shock.He’d not expected it to happen yet.Despite his age.Papa had not appeared to suffer from declining health.He had, however, been a difficult man for Adrian to love.In fact, he could not say that he missed him.
“Are you ready?”he asked once the pallbearers had left him and Evie to mourn alone, their retreating footsteps echoing the loneliness of this subterranean place.This would be the last time a Croft was confined to eternity here.In future they would be laid to rest outdoors, surrounded by life.He’d make sure of it.
Evie nodded.“Yes.”
Taking her arm to lend support, Adrian guided her through the long stone hallway toward the stairs, then up into the north transept of the church and out into the bright afternoon sunlight.There, he escorted her to their waiting carriage and helped her climb in.
