She scoffed. “It doesn’t take much learning or effort to demand you behave yourself.”
“I apologize that Ralston distressed you,” Gregory told her. “I’ll talk to him.”
“You don’t have to talk to him,” Caroline huffed. “I’m not a child, and I can listen to a man’s words and deduce if they seem credible or not. I don’t need you to sift through them for me. I’m perfectly capable of making up my own mind.”
“Of course you are,” Gregory hastily said. “I didn’t mean to distress you either.”
“You haven’t, but could I have a few minutes alone with you today? Just you and me, without any of your London friends butting in? I’d like to discuss numerous issues.”
“What issues?”
“Well, where you’ll be living after the wedding and how we will live after it. I’d like you home in the country rather than in town. I’d also like to have some notion of our finances so I have a better idea about our household budget and expenses.”
“Yes, we can definitely chat about all of it. How about this afternoon?”
“I’ll find you around three o’clock.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
With Gregory consenting to a private conversation, she appeared placated. She was finished with her meal, and she tossed down her napkin and left. Samson waved the footmen out so he and Gregory were sequestered by themselves.
As the door was shut behind them, Gregory scowled and inquired, “What bee has gotten into her bonnet?”
Caroline never spoke up for herself or chastised others, and Samson shrugged. “She’s about to be a bride, so her life will be dramatically altered. She’s probably suffering from a bad case of jitters.”
“I hope that’s all it is. I would hate to suppose matrimony will change her into a shrew.”
“It won’t,” Samson said. “This is Caroline. There are never any surprises with her.”
“It happens to husbands constantly. A fellow assumes he’s found a sweet, biddable girl, and next thing he knows. . . poof! She’s morphed into a harpy.”
“I don’t like Mr. Ralston being so cozy with her. We can’t have a handsome Londoner filling her head with drivel. You should tell him to stay away from her.”
“Believe me, I will.”
Years earlier, they’d decided Caroline would wed Gregory. They were so near the end, and they couldn’t have any wrenches thrown into the mix.
Gregory went over to the sideboard and retrieved the bottle of brandy that was discreetly hidden there. He returned to the table and added a huge dollop to his tea. He swallowed it down, shuddered with a sort of obscene relief, then muttered, “Ah. . . hair of the dog.”
Gregory’s disgusting habits were beginning to take a toll on his condition. He was balding and fat, his face lined from vice and dissipation, so he seemed much older than thirty. Samson, on the other hand, was aging magnificently. At fifty, he was thin and dapper, his blue eyes alert and calculating, his blond hair having faded to silver, but it was still all there.
Gregory—poor boy—took after his unattractive, deceased mother, and Samson’s physical differences from Gregory were so stark it was difficult to imagine they were father and son.
“I see your drinking hasn’t lessened,” Samson said.
“Don’t nag, Father.”
“Your gambling is out of control too. You’re at such a low point that even Caroline has noticed. How many times will you force me to mention it?”
“I never force you to mention it,” Gregory snidely replied. “You are the one who’s determined to complain about every paltry detail.”
“Maybe Caroline’s suggestion is best. Maybe you should move home. It might diminish your need for extravagance.”
“I’m not extravagant. As you’re fully aware, I have costs in the city that would never accrue in the country. I spend only what is required as a man of Quality.”
“We were never rich before. Is that your problem? You can’t moderate your conduct. You’re like a toddler who’s suddenly been given an entire bowl of candy and gobbles it down all at once.”
“I merely enjoy the finer things in life, but so do you. Don’t pretend you’re turning into a Puritan like Grandfather Walter. We both agreed on this path, and it’s a little late now for you to grow sanctimonious.”
“I realize that fact, but you’ve just requested another quarterly advance from the trust. It’s the fifth time this year. I can’t in good conscience keep funding such luxury. You must live within your means.”
“I’ll start when you do.”
“It would help matters along if you would rid yourself of Mrs. Starling. She’s too avaricious, and you indulge her whims to a ridiculous level.”
“Leave Lucretia out of it,” Gregory said. “I’ve repeatedly warned you to mind your own business about her. Why won’t you listen?”
“Don’t be smart with me. She’ll be your ruin someday. Mark my words.”
Gregory laughed condescendingly. “Let’s simply get through the wedding, shall we? Let’s get the money secured. Then we can quarrel over it.”
He stood and stomped out, and as his strides faded, Samson slumped in his chair.
For the past decade—ever since his father had died—he’d felt as if he was perched on the edge of a cliff. He could have fallen off in either direction: to fiscal affluence and ease or to fiscal destruction and the unraveling of all his plans.
He’d pushed for the betrothal, but Gregory was so reckless, so anxious to frolic in London, that he’d refused to proceed. He believed Caroline would never renege and sever their engagement.
He stupidly assumed that no other man would ever want her, that no other man could entice her, then persuade her to back out. And of course, underlying it all, there was always the possibility that she might discover the genuine source of their prosperity.
Everyone presumed his father, Walter, had been rich but miserly, and it was why they’d carried
