Theodore, however, was not to be distracted. “But I would be the logical one to bring any such action against you, and it’s not like I’m going to prefer charges against you for giving my money to me!”
“You might not do so, but your father’s lawyer might,” his brother pointed out. “ ’e’d be within ’is rights, too. In fact, ’e might even consider it an obligation to ’is grace.”
“Crumpton is my lawyer now—and he’d do well to remember it!”
“Aye, that ’e is. And if you know ’e can’t be trusted to look out for your father’s interests, ’ow can you trust ’im to look after yours?” Seeing that this observation had momentarily deprived his young relation of speech, Sir Ethan added gently, “What’s the matter, you young fool? Surely you ’aven’t got yourself rolled up within a se’ennight of in’eriting the title?”
“I’m not ‘rolled up,’ ” Theodore protested. “I’ve got plenty of money—or I will have, as soon as it comes into my possession.”
“Is it that little ladybird you’ve ’ad in keeping?”
“No—that is, not entirely, but—dash it, Ethan, she expected me to marry her! I may have been green, but I’m not such a flat as all that! And when she saw I couldn’t be persuaded, or seduced, or coerced into it—” He broke off, shuddering at the memory.
“Didn’t take it well, did she?” Sir Ethan observed knowingly.
Theodore gave him a rather sheepish grin. “Lord, you never saw such a shrew! It made me think that perhaps I’m well out of a bad business—Iversleigh may have her with my blessing! But I couldn’t let it get about that she’d ditched me, so I went to Rundell and Bridge and bought her the most expensive thing they had.”
Sir Ethan, who had bestowed upon his wife more than one bauble from this establishment and thus had a very good idea of the prices to be found therein, gave a long, low whistle.
“And then,” Theodore continued, “I went to White’s and—well, I just wanted to forget about it, just for a little while—not just Fanny, mind you, but all of it: the dukedom, and the steward and his blasted ‘improvements,’ and the House of Lords, where I’ll no doubt be expected to take my seat, and—oh, you don’t understand!”
“Actually, I do,” said his brother with a faraway look in his eyes. “More than you think.”
Theodore, intent on his own troubles, paid no heed to the interruption. “And I can’t let it get out that the Duke of Reddington don’t pay his debts, for we’ve had quite enough of that in the family already! But I don’t have to tell you that—God knows you shelled out enough blunt, towing Papa out of the River Tick.” At this recollection, a new possibility occurred to him. “I say, Ethan, I don’t suppose you would be willing to lend me the ready? Just until the will is probated, you know, and at any interest rate you care to name,” he added hastily, lest his brother-in-law balk at agreeing to this proposal.
Sir Ethan gave him an appraising look, and asked, “ ’ow much do you need?”
Theodore told him.
“You’ve managed to run through that much in less than a fortnight?” demanded his brother-in-law, staring at him.
“No!” Theodore said, bristling. “That is, I’ll admit I’ve spent more than I should, but old Crumpton says the will could take months! A fellow has to have something to live on in the meantime, you know.”
“Never mind that! ’ow much will it take to settle your gaming debts and pay for the trinket you gave that game pullet?”
This figure, while still much higher than it ought to have been, seemed quite reasonable compared to the sum Theodore had felt necessary to sustain him for the few months it might take for the will to go through probate.
“All right, then,” pronounced Sir Ethan. “It’s yours.”
Theodore was moved to seize his brother’s hand and wring it gratefully. “I say, Ethan, you’re a great gun! You’ll have every penny of it back, I promise—and, as I said, at any rate of interest you care to name.”
Sir Ethan shook his head. “There’ll be no interest. As for paying me back, you don’t ’ave to do that—at least, not in pounds, shillings, and pence.”
This assurance left Theodore more than a little puzzled. “What do you want, then? Does it have to do with your Parliamentary bid? I’ll be glad to use any influence I may have—”
Sir Ethan had to smile at this sincere but misguided offer. “I’m not sure but what the influence of a Tory might do me more ’arm than good.”
“I daresay it might,” Theodore acknowledged with a grin. “What, then—?”
“You’ll pay me back by working it off.” In case further explanation was needed, he added, “In the mill.”
Theodore’s grin faded, replaced by an expression that combined bewilderment with indignation. “Me? Work in a cotton mill? You can’t be serious!”
“Perfectly serious,” Sir Ethan assured him, and although his tone was pleasant enough, there was something in his eyes that gave Theodore pause.
“Dash it, Ethan, I won’t do it!”
“I guess you’ll ’ave to wait until the will is probated, then,” Sir Ethan said sympathetically, and rose to take his leave.
“No, but—but dash it, Ethan!” Theodore expostulated. “You can’t—you really can’t expect me to work in a cotton mill!”
“Why not? Men do it every day,” pointed out Sir Ethan.
“But—but I’m the Duke of Reddington! How would it look for me to—to—?”
“No one need know ’oo you are unless you choose to tell ’em,” his brother assured him. “I can promise you that I won’t. In any case, it won’t be for long—only until probate is granted.”
“But old Crumpton says that could take months!”
“Most of the mill workers will
