An earl, God help him, and not just any earl, either, but aPrestwickearl. It was a delicate business, being a Prestwick earl, rather more delicate than being any other earl.
“Marry?” Darby repeated, staring at him. “Why the devil would you want to do a foolish thing like that?”
What he wanted had nothing to do with it. No, those days were over. It was only fair, perhaps. He’d had twenty-eight years of doing only as he pleased, and now he’d spend the rest of them doing as he must. “I’m the earl now, Darby.”
“Yes. What of it? It’s not as if any of the other Prestwick earls before you have ever…oh. I see what this is.” Darby drained his glass, and slammed it down on the table. “Damn it, Prestwick. This is about that bloody curse, isn’t it?”
“No. Not entirely.” That is, it was about the curse, yes, but it was also about the title, and the way his Uncle Freddy had died. It was about a dozen things at once, none of which would have been enough to make him mend his wicked ways on their own, but taken together—
“Come now, Prestwick. You don’t truly believe all that nonsense about your family’s curse, do you?”
Did he? Even now, he wasn’t sure. He hadn’t used to believe it. He’d been as careless of the alleged curse as every other Earl of Prestwick before him, right up until his Uncle Freddy had met a gruesome end courtesy of a pistol ball to the gut.
He’d seen it happen. He’d been Freddy’s second, and had witnessed every heartbreaking moment of it as it unfolded. After that…well, it was much easier to dismiss rumors of an ancient curse before his much-beloved uncle and last living relative had expired on a blood-soaked mattress, shrieking in pain.
It had become real to him then, in a way it never had been before.
“But surely you must see how absurd it is, Prestwick. There’s no such thing as a curse.”
“History says otherwise, Darby. My great-grandfather, my grandfather, my father’s elder brother, my father, and now—” He broke off, unable to say Freddy’s name.
Darby sighed. “I don’t deny it’s rather a long list. So you’ve come to London to choose a countess, because…what? You suppose you can cheat the curse if you marry?”
“Well, I won’t cheat it by carrying on as I have been.” Every other Earl of Prestwick before him had been an unrepentant scoundrel, only to end up dead in a duel before they’d reached their thirtieth year.
“Butmarriage, Prestwick. That’s rather drastic, surely? Can’t you just give up one of your mistresses, and stop drinking on Sundays, or something to that effect?”
“Marriage is the least of it, Darby.” Every other Earl of Prestwick aside from Uncle Freddy had been married, and it hadn’t saved any of them. “The time has come to mend my wicked ways.”
“Look, Prestwick. I own there’s been, er…rather a run on the Earls of Prestwick.” Darby drew his finger across his throat to illustrate his point. “But that doesn’t mean the curse isn’t nonsense. You realize that, don’t you?”
Perhaps it was nonsense. God knew he and Freddy used to laugh about it once upon a time, even as one Prestwick son after another met their ends in a duel.
But this time, it was different. This time, it had happened to Freddy.
And that wasn’t all. “There’s more, Darby.”
Darby must have seen something in his face, because he went still. “What is it? Let’s have it all, Prestwick.”
“Freddy has a son.” Samuel Henry Egan, a tiny bit of a boy, with a downy fuzz of red-gold hair decorating his tiny, two-month old head.
Darby’s jaw dropped. “Good Lord. A by-blow?”
“Yes.” But still a Prestwick son, if not a future Earl of Prestwick, and an Egan through and through, with that hair. “Before he died, Freddy begged me to take care of him.” Freddy’s last words had been for Sam, and thank God for it, or else Kit never would have known the boy existed. “Perhaps there isn’t a curse, but I’d rather not wager the child’s life on it.”
“Christ, Prestwick. That’s a devil of a thing.” Darby was quiet for some time before he drew a breath, and met Kit’s eyes. “Very well, then. Have you chosen your future countess?”
“Yes. Lady Harriett Fairmont.”
“Fairmont,” Darby repeated, his brow furrowing. “Fairmont…what, you mean James Fairmont’s younger sister? I believe I met her last winter, when she was in London with her aunt. Timid little mouse of a thing, with dark hair?”
“Yes, that’s her. She’s in London for the season.” And not a moment too soon. Fate might despise the Prestwick family, but she had thrown a wife right into Kit’s path when he most needed one.
“Forgive me, Prestwick, but why Lady Harriett? That is, she’s a good choice from a financial perspective. If the gossips have the right of it, she’s worth fifty thousand pounds.”
“I don’t give a damn about her money, Darby.” The Prestwick sons might be cursed to die grisly deaths, but they’d always had plenty of money.
“Well, you could do worse, I daresay. She seems to be a sweet young lady, if a bit meek for your tastes.”
