My Honourable Viscount - Lords of Reluctance Book 2

Chapter Fourteen

Whilst bearding a lion in his den was not something one would call prudent, it was, nevertheless, something Lord Markham needs must do. Especially if he had any hope of untangling the mess that was his wife's finances, which he had discovered upon his planned visit to Sir George's solicitor.

His fingers curled into an angry fist when he recalled the insolent way in which Mr. Melville received him. Not only had he the temerity to make him wait an insupportable amount of time, an hour by gad, but when he finally entered the inner sanctum, Mr Melville had the audacity to demand proof that Sophie was, indeed, four-and-twenty. Instead of five-and-twenty, which would forever put her fortune out of reach. What was he supposed to do then, check her teeth for signs of wear, as one would do with a horse?

He gave an inelegant snort of laughter. Well, clearly her uncle thought her no better than a broodmare, so that was not beyond the realms of possibility. However, he quickly sobered. Certainly, he could send Mr Wentworth to the parish surrounding Cloverfield to check the birth records, but that thought was not infallible by any means. Had Lord Grenville not told him that she had travelled extensively as a child? Could she not have been born during any of her father's postings on the Continent? If that were the case, then finding proof of her age was almost impossible. Peter would never send Mr Wentworth to where his safety would be in question, employee or not.

Since Bonaparte's escape from Elba, he had succeeded in raising an Army and continued in his quest to dominate Europe, leaving death and destruction in his wake. Travel for any gentleman, especially an English gentleman, would be foolhardy at best and at worst — well, he would prefer not to think about the consequences of that. Nevertheless, even if by some miracle Mr Wentworth found the information he sought, there was no guarantee that the records remained intact. They lived in turbulent times.

He sighed and leaned against the carriage squabs as he looked down to the papers he held in his hand. A frown turned down his lips and carved deep grooves between his eyebrows. In retrospect, he supposed he was quite fortunate to receive the more detailed accounting of his wife's inheritance, but he could certainly do without dealing with Sir George Fulham once more. Peter intended to confront him about the matter and was determined to resolve it in his wife's favour.

The carriage swayed to halt, and a footman opened the door to allow Peter to descend. Taking a deep breath, he glanced at the squat, nondescript edifice before him. Fulham House was not a residence in which one would call elegant. In fact, signs of neglect featured prominently as he made his way up the cracked, weed encroached path. The knocker was absent from the door, so he balled his fist and pounded upon the wood, flecks of chipped and peeling paint floating down to settle around his booted feet.

After what seemed like an age, heavy footsteps approached, and the door opened only a crack to reveal one blue, watery eye topped with an impressive, bushy, grey eyebrow. "The master ain't home to callers," came the gravelly voice that accompanied the eye.

Before Peter could even utter a word, the eye disappeared, and the door slammed resolutely in his face. A wry smile took hold of his lips as he turned to his companions and said, "I believe I am not welcome, chaps."

Behind him stood two disreputable characters who Peter had brought with him if Sir George proved belligerent. A passing glance would have dismissed them as thugs, men who looked right at home in the seedier underbelly of London, but Peter knew each held a code of honour that rivalled his own. Both had served capably in His Majesty's army in the fight against Napoleon, and both had invalided out due to injury and returned to England, not to a hero's welcome, as one would expect, but to find life as they knew it in tatters. Had Lord Ashington not found them begging on the streets and offered them employment, then both would have ended up dead. A wonderful stroke of luck for all concerned, as both showed remarkable aptitude with taking care of Lord Ashington's prime bloods despite their infirmaries.