“Did you read all the other letters?” Oliver asked.
“I believe I pay a secretary to do that for me.” He turned his back to the window.
Enough people for today, and Edith wasn’t in sight. He hoped she’d surprise him and come to see him.
“Well, sometimes you should do it yourself.” Oliver handed him a postcard from Bahia, Brazil.
Perry hadn’t read the message yet, but annoyance already soured his mouth. Yes, the postcard was from Albert. His writing had acquired a flourishing quality since he’d moved to the other side of the pond.
Dear Perry, Salvador is the most beautiful, vibrant city in the world. Gabriela and I are happier than ever. Thank you for understanding. Wish you were here.
“Does his decision to renounce the title look like a fleeting affair?” Oliver said.
Fantastic. Really bloody fantastic. He tossed the postcard on the table. Frustration caused his vision to darken.
“Your brother isn’t going to change his mind.” Oliver put the postcard back on the tray. “And even if he did, unfortunately, his wife, no matter how famous she is, will never be accepted as the Countess of Ravenscroft. A Brazilian singer with no connection to British nobility? I wouldn’t wish on her the type of reception she would receive in London.”
Perry took deep breaths lest his body start to quiver. The quivering was sometimes the prelude to a seizure, but not always. Still, controlling his emotions was a good idea.
He also bit down a comment about Albert being selfish, regretting his bitterness. Albert had sacrificed years to follow Perry’s recovery, and those years had taught him to enjoy life more. Hence his renunciation of the title.
A part of Perry understood Albert’s choice. Albert had always worked hard to take care of the estate and family business, and Perry’s incident had vexed him more than Perry could probably comprehend.
Then one night, Albert had gone to a theatre in Geneva to watch theAida, met theprima donna, Gabriela, and hey presto! They’d fallen madly in love and got married. Goodbye title and responsibilities. Never mind that Albert’s brother was learning to speak and walk again. Perry was perfectly able to be the next Earl of Ravenscroft—Albert’s words, not Perry’s.
“There must be a cousin who wants the title,” Perry said. “I can certainly ask my uncle, Neville. He’s my age, born quite late in my grandfather’s marriage. He’s young and fit.”
“What else do you know about him? I remember him writing to you a few times, but he never visited you.”
Perry shrugged. “He’s a quiet man for all I know. He likes to gamble sometimes, but he doesn’t squander his money, and his name never appears on the scandal sheets. Although we had a row years ago.”
“See?” Oliver said. “He isn’t fit to be the earl.”
“We were lads. He meant to court a lady who at first was pleased by his attention, but then she changed her mind. He believed I’d influenced her decision.”
Oliver’s eyes grew wide. “Tell me the truth. Did you seduce the lady?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. My uncle looked for someone to blame and chose me. Father intervened and settled the matter. But it’s all water under the bridge. I shall write to him.”
“You don’t really mean to renounce your title.”
“I do.” He sat on a chair, suddenly tired. “Look at me. I can’t be the earl, not when I can have a seizure in the House of Lords or during a ball. People will say I’m unhinged and that I should be locked up in an asylum. Not to mention that my speech is a little hesitant on a good day, terrible when I’m anxious. Public speeches are out of the question.”
Oliver waved dismissively. “Every member of the House of Lords has fits caused by rage when in Parliament, and I don’t understand half of them when they speak, anyway. You’ll blend in without problems.”
“I’m serious.” Perry tapped the table with a finger.
Oliver took more notes. “Think about your father and your mother, bless them. They would have wanted you to be the earl.”
“No, they were more than happy Albert inherited the title. My father didn’t have any faith in my skills, and Mother said I was a rascal and a good-for-nothing.”
“Then think about me!” Oliver stopped writing, outraged. “I can’t be the personal physician of the third cousin, twice removed, of the Earl of Ravenscroft. Nobody cares about that.”
“Neville is my uncle.”
“You’re missing my point.”
“Your salary will remain the same,” Perry said. Money was often a good argument with Oliver.
