“I was packing when he turned up, told me I was a disgrace, and threw me out,” said Drake. “I was so tempted to tell himthey mistook me for him.” He flashed an evil grin. “But it will be better if it comes as a surprise.”
“Much better,” Bane agreed. Colin would be meeting quite a few cold shoulders in the neighborhood next time he ventured from home. And perhaps at home, as well, for several of the matrons had apparently declared their intention to have a word with his wife. Poor Frannie. As if she did not know what Colin was like!
“I’ve a few commissions to finish up here. Can you hire a gig and pick me up in half an hour? We’ll take the last trunk to Wart.”
Wart was Viscount Wharton, who was their next-door neighbor. He was the same age as Bane and Drake, and an old companion on many a boyhood adventure. They’d seen him after Father’s funeral, and had asked him if he’d store some trunks for them, and in the following months, transferred to his place the items they wanted to keep but didn’t want to take with them.
They both had a few last things to add to the store, from Bane’s barn and Drake’s bedroom. They would take only what they could carry. Without their horses, for Wart had promised to care for them, too.
He must have seen them from a window, for he was out on the steps when the gig drew up in the carriage way, and had footmen carrying the trunks inside before Drake and Bane could reach for them.
“The grooms will look after your horses,” he said. “Come in for a drink. Stay the night, if you wish.”
“We’ll take that drink,” Bane said, speaking for them both.
“But we won’t stay, Wart.” Drake finished the thought. “We’ve been cast out into the world and are off to seek our fortunes.”
Wart grinned as he led them to his library. ‘Off to seek our fortunes’ had been one of their favorite games when they were boys. “It’ll be London then?” he asked.
Bane exchanged a look with Drake. They had decided on London, but it was not because of their childhood game. Was it?
Drake shrugged. “London is the biggest city in England; perhaps in the world. Parliament is there. Merchants from all over the world are there, and those with investments to sell. Where better?”
Where, indeed. Five years ago, when their sister Larkspur had married, Father had given Drake and Bane what Drake liked to call their dowries. Five thousand pounds each made ten thousand. They’d put five thousand into government bonds—the Funds, as they were called—and sought investment opportunities for the rest, continuing to live at home while their money went out into the world to grow. When Bane was thrown out after Father’s death, he worked for board and keep, rather than touch any part of their joint capital.
They had both taken to heart a saying of Father’s—“The rich don’t work for money. Their money works for them.”
“And the Marriage Mart,” said Wart, helpfully, as he poured them each a drink. “The quickest way to make a fortune is to marry one.”
Wart should know. After he inherited the viscountcy, he had taken the impoverished title to London and had bartered it for an heiress. One he liked, furthermore. In fact, if Bane was reading the signs right, Lord and Lady Wharton might have married on mere liking, but in Bane’s opinion, they were well on the way to becoming a love match.
“Alfred,” said the lady herself from the doorway of the library. “You did not tell me we were to have visitors.”
The gentlemen, who had been lounging in the comfortable chairs by the fire, stood as soon as they realized she was there.“We called unexpectedly, Lady Wharton,” he explained. “Bane and I are leaving, and came to say goodbye to your husband.”
“Sanderson has thrown them out and they are off to seek their fortunes,” Wart explained.
Bane winced at the frank explanation, but no doubt the Sanderson servants would have spread the news all over the countryside before nightfall.
Lady Wharton, faced with a merchant’s bastard who was also her husband’s best friend, proved her mettle, and instead of objecting to Bane’s presence, said, “You must stay with us until you have managed to settle your affairs, Mr. Sanderson, Mr. Wolfbane Sanderson.”
“I asked ’em,” Wart said. “But they’re keen to get to the fortune bit. They won’t stay.”
The lady went up further in Bane’s estimation when she did not show her relief. “I shall wish you every success then, gentlemen.”
Drake did the pretty, bowing gracefully. “Thank you, Lady Wharton. It was very kind of you to ask us to stay, and we appreciate your good wishes.”
She curtseyed in response. “You are my husband’s dearest friends. Of course, I wish you well.”
Very nicely said. Bane bowed, too. “We shall say goodbye then, my lady.”
“Farewell, rather,” said Wart. “Lady Wharton and I are for London, too. Lady Wharton believes I should take my seat in the house. And you should check out the social scene. I’m sure I can get you some invitations. Perhaps you shall be as fortunate as I am.” His smile at his lady could only be described as fatuous, and hers back was every bit as inane. It was definitely becoming a love match.
“The last thing I need,” said Drake, as they drove down the carriageway, “is a wife. Not that any woman I might meetat atonaffair is going to be interested in the third son of a merchant.”
“That goes double for me,” Bane pointed out. “Not only am I the second son of a merchant, but my mother was the man’s mistress.” Or had been. By the time she died, her erratic behavior had ended the relationship, though—to give Father due credit—he never failed to send money for his son’s upkeep, even if Ma did spend it on laudanum and other substances.
“Anyway,” said Drake, “We’re not looking for wives, are we?”
“Good lord, no,” Bane agreed. And why Lady Misrule’s lovely form should suddenly appear in his imagination, he refused to consider.
