Dunham

Chapter 39

"If you intend to lie to Fury about your lack of a countess, then the admiral's lunatic spinster is the perfect woman to marry. She would not likely make a fuss over ... well, anything. Likely she will not even notice you're gone."

Elliott pursed his lips. That was truly an advantage. The woman's lunacy was not from birth and her presence would give his mother someone to fuss over. "If Fury catches me out," he mused, "I can say my interest in her is mostly one of charity, and I wed her to give her lifelong security."

At Niall's raised eyebrow, he said, "Fury has twice as many people on board her ship as she needs to sail it. She tells me 'tis so she does not have to work so hard, but it seemed to me she is simply providing a good many of them a home. She might find my marriage in that case an acceptable exception."

"A benevolent pirate, eh?"

"She seems easily moved to pity."

Niall's mouth pursed in mild disbelief, but only said, "If you do not wed the simpleton, though, it will be even more difficult to find a wife now that you have presented yourself to the ton as a badly dressed macaroni, which should be redundant, but in your case, is not. What was your game?"

"Foremost, I need to know if Rathbone can identify me as Judas. Fortunately, Bancroft—Lucien, I mean—caught a berth to the West Indies to join the fleet there, or so I hear. No one in Society has seen me in years save Croftwood and you know how much he despises Society. When I go to Parliament, I dress like everyone else. The ton thinks I buried myself up north in utter shame, that I've only shown my face because I need a countess, and that I'm half-cocked. I am doing my damnedest to foster opinions to that effect and more, which should protect me from the most mild of suspicions I may be Judas."

"Ah."

Elliott's conversations with his mother wound through his head as they had done repeatedly since learning that the Mockslings had made a fraudulent contract.

"Niall, what do you think about Mother's constant raging against the concept of Fate? Choice without cost, totality of control over one's own life and all that rot."

He shrugged. "I don't think about it at all. Why?"

"Nothing important," Elliott muttered, dropping his face in his palm to massage it.

He had asked his mother to think about what he'd said, but he had found himself once again pulled back into the seductive idea that he could control his life. But no. He was the earl and had hundreds of people depending on him to keep them safe and prosperous.

"I thought you said Sandy would be home soon. Where is he?"

"At Lady Iddlesleigh's salón. He has a tendre for her daughter, who's just out this season."

"Mister Kerr, a Raxham, thinks he can come up to scratch for an earl's daughter?"

There was a clatter at the front door of Mélisande Gables and low male voices could be heard from the foyer.

"In the library!" Niall called.

Their nephew burst through the doors and stalked to the liquor cabinet to pour himself a more-than-generous snifter of brandy, which he proceeded to toss down his throat. And then another.

"Do you know," the boy said conversationally as he threw himself into an overstuffed chair and thunked his feet on the low table in front of him, "if I were anyone but a Raxham, I'd have been suffered to wed the chit."

Elliott and Niall exchanged suddenly unamused glances.

"We apologize for your lack of a suitable pedigree, Nephew," Elliott said frostily.

Sandy heaved a great, exasperated sigh. "I didn't say I wanted to be someone else. I want Lady Jane and a Mister cannot have a Lady. Also, I am a lawyer."

"The unforgivable sin," Niall intoned.

"Your mister-and-lady problem is easily solved." The boy looked up at Elliott. "Compromise the girl."

Sandy's mouth dropped open and Niall rolled his eyes. "Elliott, your lack of morals is quite evident at this moment."

Elliott smirked. "Sandy," he said matter-of-factly, "how is this girl disposed toward you?"

"I don't know," he muttered, slumping down in the chair.

"You are a mister who received an invitation to a countess's salon," Niall said. "I think we can draw some conclusions as to her disposition toward you."

Elliott nodded. "Aye. Well, I am obliged to prance around society for the next few weeks. I'll test the waters for you."

One of Sandy's eyebrows rose. "You?"

Niall sniffed. "You haven't seen his persona under full sail. Harmless enough, but by all reports, utterly repulsive. Milly called him a 'hideous troll.'"

"It's effective. And amusing." Elliott looked away, though, at the thought of the Honourable Miss Simpleton's feigned swoon and scowled.

"Yes, you look quite amused," Sandy drawled. "And completely harmless."

Elliott shrugged, drawn back to his nephew's charming little problem. In his complicated world, this would be a welcome diversion. "Leave it to me. But if you knew she would not object, would you seduce her?"

"Elliott!"

"People think he's mad," Niall remarked blithely, sipping at his whisky, "when he is simply evil."

"Speaking of evil people, I need you both to help me find my lover, who may or may not be in London."

"There are two of you? And you can breed? God help us. Who is this paragon of animals?"

"Lady Captain Fury," Niall drawled, and Elliott could not help his cocky grin at Sandy's astonishment. "He goes on about her like some love-struck cabin boy, such as, say, the one who's tupping his formerly betrothed."

Elliott barked a laugh.

"Fury is your lover?" Sandy whispered in awe. Niall kicked his leg. "Ow! What was that for?"

"An excessive display of hero worship."

Sandy scowled at Niall, but Elliott's amusement vanished. "Sandy," Elliott said. His tone got the boy's attention. "Don't. I am one of the least admirable men you will ever meet."

"Not true," Niall muttered, looking down into his now-empty glass. "You are ... everything I ever wanted to be." Elliott now stared at his little brother aghast. "'Tis not envy, as I have my own interests and accomplishments, but I— You are the kind of man about whom books are written."

Sandy was nodding and Elliott looked between them in utter dismay. "Uh ... You— Niall, you have a shining career ahead of you. Sandy, you too. Barristers and politicians of your caliber are written of and studied at university."

Niall laughed then. "Ah, but, my dear Captain Judas, books about men like you are read."