Zane shook his head. Not only did he have to deal with these two, it seemed as if he’d become both an earl and a saint almost overnight. If not for Mrs. Feld’s requirements, he’d be swearing like a drunken idiot and downing all the liquor he could get his hands on.
Out of the corner of his eye, Zane saw movement down the hallway. “Fulton,” he called. “My uncles are leaving. Get their coats.”
“Yes, yes, of course, we’re on our way,” Uncle Sylvester remarked, pulling down on the lapels of his stylish tweed coat. “We have things to do. But one more thing before we go. Did you consider whether you’ll grant your cousin Pelroy the right to build a home on the south end of Blacknight? He only wants a small cottage by the stream that runs through that hollow.”
“No,” Zane answered irritably. “You made the request this morning. As I told you and all the family a few nights ago, I’d rather know all that I’m in charge of before I start giving grants away. Everyone keeps what allowances they have, but that’s all I’m willing to do for now.”
“In that case, I’ll tell him it’s still under consideration. And what about Ivan?” Uncle Hector continued as if Zane hadn’t said what he’d just said.
Zane searched his memory for someone in the family named Ivan and came up blank. “I’ll let you know later.”
“Yes, do. Your aunt Beatrice would appreciate it if you’d see fit to buy him a commission in the army.”
Now, Zane remembered. Ivan wasn’t a Browning. He was Hector’s wife’s sister’s son. All these requests could make a strong, stable man stumble. How would he keep them all straight? He would find a way, and Zane would grant his aunt’s wish. He wanted to help any man ready to take up arms and fight for England. “I’ll set time aside in the coming days to go over all the requests.”
“Fair enough,” Sylvester answered. “There will probably be more later in the week. Now, we’ll see you tomorrow morning. Bright and early as usual.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Zane murmured tightly.
Leaving his butler to see his uncles out, Zane strode toward the book room. The tapping of Hector’s caneechoed down the corridor. He didn’t know if it was his uncles’ unwanted presence when he’d returned or the need for a drink that gave him a headache.
Rounding the doorway, he saw the mountain of ledgers still on his desk as he’d left them. A fire burned. The room was warm, quiet. What he really wanted to do was have a drink. A quick one followed by a long one, and then pick up his coat and gloves and head out to his club for a game of cards.
But he’d promised the prim widow he wouldn’t. He was going to play by her rules if it killed him.
He wanted to forget the stack of ledgers, forget about the fact that he was now the earl. That it was his responsibility to consider and answer when his family wanted something.
Damnation, he didn’t want to do it.
Life had prepared him to be a gamester not an earl. Which suddenly reminded him to write a note to Lord Lyonwood regretting that he would not be joining his card club. He would have thoroughly relished the chance to sit around the table and match skills with any one of the men in that circle.
He supposed he’d have to do some things the way Mrs. Feld, Society, and his uncles expected him to. But he didn’t have to like it, and it sure as hell wouldn’t keep him from wishing he had his old life back.
Zane seated himself behind the desk, determined to put his nose into the account ledgers and keep his uncles and Mrs. Feld off his mind. He wanted to concentrate only on what was before him—the Blacknight earldom and all its entities.
Later, obviously much later, Zane rose from the desk to stretch. Sometime during the late afternoon he had shed his coat and Fulton had come in to light the lampsand stoke the fire. Without thinking, he walked over to the side table and started to pour himself a nip of the expensive brandy that had been poured into the decanter yesterday. But as his hand reached for it, he remembered his promise.
No drink.
He slowly and with great reluctance withdrew his hand. It had taken a strong will for her to have the nerve to challenge his way of life, and she did so only because she didn’t think he could change. She’d said as much. She expected him to fail and have that drink. And she had good reason to believe that. He wanted a drink desperately. But difficult as it would be, he had to match that iron will of hers and show her he could keep his commitment. He turned away from the brandy.
Only a day had passed and already he knew it wasn’t going to be easy living up to Mrs. Feld’s standards. Long-developed habits were difficult to break.
What was he to do tonight? Spend it watching others play. He could do it; though, as he found out last night, it wasn’t as enticing as it used to be when he was young and eager to learn all he could about cards and billiards. Blast it, Hector was right. He should have asked Mrs. Feld which parties she would be attending and planned to meet her.
Zane walked over to the window and looked out. Through the tops of the trees and tall yew hedge a few lights flickered from windows of his neighbors’ houses. The twinkling sparkle reminded him of Mrs. Fe—Brina’s eyes.
Yes, he liked thinking of her as Brina. She wasn’t a Mrs. anymore. As she had so reverently pointed out, there wasn’t a Mr. Feld. She wasn’t married.
“Excuse me, my lord.”
“Yes, Fulton?”
“Mr. Robert Browning is here and wanted to know if you were available to see him.”
“Yes, tell him to join me.”
Zane didn’t know if he’d ever get used to the formality of being an earl. But he would try. For the family. He’d never minded Robert seeing him in a casual state when they were in Paris or Vienna, but things were different now. Zane strode over to the corner of the desk, picked up the coat he’d discarded earlier, and was stuffing his arms into the sleeves when Robert walked in.
