"Married? Married!" Raphael cried out in surprise as he loaded his plate with eggs and sausage. His father's cook was a godsend and he was very happy he had brought her to the London townhouse with him. "Well, that's excellent news! Why did you wait until after the season?"
And he meant every word. He knew that his father was lonely and Raphael regretted very much that they could not spend more time together, but as long as his quarry remained at large, he could not leave London and the resources that could be found with The Collective. He had wished for many years that his father would take that final step.
"I thought perhaps it might be wise to....test the waters rather than to plunge in the high seas all at once," his father explained with a rueful shake of his head, taking his place at the breakfast table. The townhouse was in use by its master for the first time in thirty years, and the excitement of the staff was evident in the way they were standing up taller. "The last time I came to London, I was given the cut direct by almost everyone I knew. Not a single invitation, people didn't even acknowledge me on the street."
"Who?" Raphael snapped, his mind going through a catalog of his father's contemporaries. What he knew about them, what secrets he could ferret out, and how he would destroy them if need be. Raphael knew his fair share of the ton's secrets, knew how to find out more if need be. He knew that the scandal of his father's divorce had led them to become social outcasts, but Raphael was a boy no longer. He could protect the Marquess of Lindsey from society's ire.
"It matters not, Raphael. It is ancient history," his father's tone was gentle but it brokered no room for argument whatsoever. The Marquess was no fool and he knew that it was not just Raphael's financial activities that kept him in London. Though the Marquess was not privy to the exact nature of Raphael's work, or his role in the war, he had implied on many an occasion that he did not believe that Raphael had been a diplomat attached to the British embassy in Belgium; the story he had relayed to everyone in his life before he had been recruited by Thomas to work for The Collective. "I do need something from you, however."
"Of course, anything."
His father passed a folded piece of paper to him which revealed a list of names.
"These are the women I am considering for the role of my Marchioness, all of good breeding, connections, and an appropriate age."
"I see," Raphael scanned the list for anyone he particularly disapproved of. He nearly choked on his food as he spied a familiar name. "The Dowager Duchess of Rothbury?! Absolutely not!"
"Why not?" His father furrowed his eyebrows. "Granted, The Montgomery family are a little high in the instep, but Her Grace and I have an acquaintanceship from our youth. If we can work to mitigate the public unfavorable opinion of me, I think she would be receptive to a courtship."
"Because you are not making me family with a joyless, uptight prick like Rothbury," Raphael shuddered at the very thought. The Duke of Rothbury was the very example of the perfect aristocratic gentleman; too priggish, too proper, too boring, and far too concerned with his consequence. The most interesting thing about the man was the fact that he was thoroughly besotted with his wife; whom he had married purely for convenience. Their marriage had been the cause of much conjecture itself; rumors and scandal were inevitable when one of the most significant personalities of the country inherited a great deal of debt, and then subsequently wed an improper American heiress with no good bloodlines or connections to recommend her for her money. "I have no other objects, except for Lady Hellen Allan and Lady Mary Wickhurst, both of whom enjoyed the company of gentlemen in spite of the fact that they were already wed. You cannot be assured of their loyalty."
"I appreciate the advice, though that is not exactly what I sought from you," the Marquess raised an amused eyebrow, "if you could kindly cross off the women on this list that you are –ahem- acquainted with, I would be thankful."
"Ah," Raphael felt his neck heat with embarrassment, "it might be easier to list the ones that I am not acquainted with."
He recited the names as his father's mouth dropped open in shock.
"There's only three women left! Out of a list of twenty!"
"You shouldn't judge a man for his appetites," Raphael said a little defensively.
"Appetite? Son, this is gluttony! Dear god, some of these women are your friend's mothers!"
"Would have rather I let you marry one of them, then? Christmas would be delightful, no?"
That certainly shut his father up.
"Now," Raphael continued, "we just need someone to endorse your return to society. We need an influential family to throw a house party where they can invite you, some other important families, and your prospective ladies, something exclusive enough to get the rest of the ton wondering and curious. 'What do they know about Lord Lindsey that we do not?' They'll start wanting to know what exactly it was about you that warranted such exclusivity. Two things that our dear old society cannot resist; a little bit of gossip and selectiveness. By the time the season rolls around, you'd better have charmed even the most stringent society matrons."
"Perhaps we ought to keep our goals a little more humble, though I appreciate your enthusiasm. As it currently stands, no one will want to invite me to a house party with any sort of reputable attendees."
Raphael grinned at his father, "You let me worry about that."
The Marquess raised a questioning eyebrow but did not inquire further.
"While we are on the topic of marriage; what of you, Carlisle?"
Dear God, not this again. And he'd used the title to boot.
His father meant business.
"You are three and thirty, the heir to a Marquessate that has been in our family for eight generations, you have duties and responsibilities. It is nigh time you sought out a wife. What happens when you finally become Lindsey and you have duties to your people? You will need a good woman by your side to support and aid you, handle the domestic side of things. Keep you company, give you children, host dinners and balls and parties."
"You managed well enough," Raphael said pointedly.
"We both know that I did not. I haven't taken my seat in Parliament in three decades, I have been alone and isolated. I do not want that for you," it would have been easier for Raphael if his father had yelled at him the way he had when he had decided to quit university, but his father sounded concerned and caring so Raphael felt his irritation begin to wane. "Do you know, that sweet girl, Sylvia Heartwood is still unmarried."
Raphael's tea went down the wrong pipe, making him cough and splutter.
"You remember her, don't you? Thomas Heartwood's sister, used to be an adorable little thing, always following the two of you around."
More like bossing the two of them around, Raphael thought as a smile pulled at his lips.
"She has grown into such a lovely young lady," his father continued, "beautiful, well-mannered, educated, kind. Her family has good connections. You should take her as a wife."
"Sylvia Heartwood is not for me," Raphael said firmly.
"Why ever not?" His father pointed at the list. "Doesn't seem as if you are particular. She is a good conversationalist and intelligent. She has all the makings of a good marchioness."
"If she's so wonderful why don't you marry her? Add her to your list, why don't you?" Raphael snapped feeling harried by his father's insistence, and even further disconcerted by the peculiar way his heart had begun to beat. "It is not unheard of for men of your age to marry women two or three decades younger than them. Hell, men of your age often marry chits straight out of the schoolroom."
"Hmmmm," his father tilted his head in a contemplative gesture that had Raphael's hackles rising, "well I had not really considered it, but you may have a point. She is a lovely, refined young woman. Any man would be pleased to have her as his wife, she is rather beautiful. We have a shared interest in history, and I certainly do like the way she appreciates the library at Lindsey Abbey. Moreover, as I prefer to spend most of the year in Carlisle, it makes sense to shift my focus to a local candidate. She would certainly make for a good wife, Raphael, you have given me some food for thought."
Raphael stared at his father completely aghast. This was not his intention at all!
The thought of his father and Sylvie made him positively ill! Of course it was because as Thomas' friend, he owed it to his sister to warn away lecherous old men who didn't deserve her. He cast an unbiased look at his father; just shy of fifty-seven, The Marquess of Lindsey was still very handsome. Raphael may have inherited his features, but his lean physique was nothing like his sire's. His black hair had frequent streaks of white in it, his eyes bore lines, but his bearing was strong and his figure tall and impressive. Energetic, virile. Raphael hated to admit it, but his father was a catch. Not only was he handsome and titled, he was wealthy. Any young woman would be lucky to have him.
Just not Sylvie.....because of reasons!
No matter that her father would encourage and indulge her academic pursuits, that was no reason to go to bed with a man two decades your senior!
"Why, you shameless old cradle robber!" Raphael thundered. "You should be ashamed of yourself! Keep your elderly paws on someone your own age, she isn't even thirty! Really, you should be disgusted with yourself. She could be your daughter! She's three years younger than I! How can you even-! You saw her grow up! She wasn't even born by the time you became a father. Surely, you cannot be serious."
"Ah, but she has grown into a very fine young woman," The Marquess batted his eyes at Raphael innocently. "You seem overly concerned all of a sudden."
"Only because marrying a provincial nobody is hardly conducive to your attempt at reentering society," Raphael told him coolly, "with my help, I can get you a woman with a title, with an influential family. So you had better keep Miss Heartwood off your list. It's for the best."
"Ah, I see now, son. You are absolutely correct, it would not be wise for me to wed Sylvia for that sole reason," his father agreed graciously as he hid a smile behind his teacup.
Why did he look so smug?
"Would you like for the staff to open your room at the townhouse? No need for you to keep bachelor's quarters when I'm in residence," his father smoothly changed the subject. "I have missed having you at my table, son."
"Hmmm," Raphael considered. On one hand, he was pleased to spend some more time with his father. They had always shared a close relationship and Raphael had missed his company over these last few years. On the other hand, living with his father meant unnecessary scrutiny on his comings and goings. "Yes, but I can't stay here full-time. I'll stay some nights, but for the most part, I will keep my quarters because my offices have many documents that I need. Plus, with what I have in mind for you, you will be a guest at a house party very, very soon. I'll join you for meals until then."
"I would like that very much," his father nodded with a fond smile.
When he reached home that afternoon, his butler informed him that a note had arrived addressed to him and that it was waiting in the study. Raphael unfolded the missive at once as he recognized Thomas' familiar scrawl.
Raphael sighed, regret filling him.
Thomas was not well. Raphael knew that.
And if allowing these delusions gave him the will to keep living, Raphael should stop trying to talk sense into him. Thomas was not the man he had grown up with, he was a deeply troubled man who had been left broken by many hardships. What if all of Raphael's arguing prompted Thomas to make a third attempt on his life?
He was not capable of taking care of his own daughter, much less an investigation of this caliber.
Raphael should have been kinder to him, more indulgent of his illness instead of trying to make him see logic.
He sighed loudly.
He decided to go see Thomas, at least try to make amends. Perhaps if Thomas stopped thinking of Raphael as a foe, Rafe could keep a better eye on him. He arrived on Thomas' doorstep a while later only to find the house shut completely as if it hadn't been inhabited in a while. A quick interrogation of the sparse staff revealed that Thomas had gone home to see his daughter.
That was surely a good sign, wasn't it?