Or did they?
“Tell your step-mama not to be disrespectful,” Jerome said. “I heard your late papa holding forth more than once about what a poor marchioness the most honorable Jeanette made. Uncle chose her, so I suppose we must not blame her for being ill-suited to her role, but you don’t have to encourage her presumptions.”
Jerome paused in the consumption of his steak to sip his wine. He had mastered the art of lordly dining, of making the meal secondary to the company he offered, while Trevor longed for a dark, quiet room.
“You must not speak ill of her ladyship,” Trevor said. “She was a very young bride, and her hopes of motherhood were disappointed. Ah, the tea tray approaches.”
Jerome’s smile was sympathetic. “You need to put more meat on your bones, my boy. You’d hold your drink more easily, and then Jeanette would have less cause to rip up at you.”
The waiter took the steak away—thank God—and Trevor poured himself a cup of salvation. “Where are you off to tonight?” A change of subject seemed in order, lest Jerome wax any more eloquent about Step-mama’s nonexistent shortcomings.
And must Jerome look so casually elegant while criticizing his female relation? Whereas Trevor was too tall, too fair, and too skinny—the tailor’s word was slender—Jerome was an elegant two inches above average height, carried some muscle, and wore his golden hair a la Byron. He knew everybody, was invited everywhere, and was as comfortable at the cockpits as he was mincing through minuets.
He would have made a splendid marquess, though he never once mentioned the title. And yet, the title lay between Trevor and his only male cousin, both bond and barrier.
“Step-mama does not rip up at me,” Trevor said, dipping a lemon biscuit into his tea. “She has a care for how I go on because she is loyal to Papa’s memory.”
Jerome waved a bite of steak around on his fork. “She hated the old rooster. I didn’t like him much myself, but he saw to it I was properly educated. Mama is asking when you will visit your lady cousins.”
The old rooster. That was blatant disrespect, and Trevor ought not to countenance it, even from Jerome.
“Papa remarried because he did not want the entire burden of the succession to fall on me, and we must respect him for that,” Trevor said, though as scolds went, that was a weak effort.
“Your Papa fancied himself a cocksman. Speaking of which, shall we drop around to see the ladies tonight?”
Trevor had so far avoided any visits to the bordellos with Jerome. The whole business of choosing a woman the same way he’d choose a hack at a livery stable struck him as distasteful, also ill-advised from the standpoint of protecting his health.
Temples of Venus were temples of disease, as Step-mama’s brother had informed Trevor shortly after Trevor’s fifteenth birthday. Goddard’s warning had stuck with Trevor as various friends had cheerfully complained of contracting the bachelor’s ailment, the Covent Garden ague, or the Corsican’s revenge.
So many names for an avoidable misery.
“I will leave the ladies to you, for I must make my obeisance at The Coventry Club,” Trevor said. “I want that chore behind me.” Thank heavens Step-mama had increased his allowance, and yet, the sum he’d lost would still take some time to repay.
“Come with me,” Jerome said. “You can have your chat with Sycamore Dorning after your spirits have been lifted, so to speak.”
Trevor poured himself another cup of the tea, the previous three having had a mild restorative effect. “A gentleman pays his debts of honor, Jere.” Trevor would also ask Mr. Sycamore Dorning for a few pointers at the tables, in hopes that further losses might be prevented. At last autumn’s house party, Mr. Ash Dorning had opined that such lessons would be freely given.
“Perhaps a gentleman has his own bit of muslin secreted away in a pretty little house on a pretty little street in Bloomsbury?” Jerome mused, finishing his wine. “But no, Bloomsbury is too predictable. Knightsbridge. Easy access to the park for a morning ride after your evening ride, not as likely to be frequented by polite society, and—lest we forget the priorities—affordable.”
“Until I bring my finances ’round,” Trevor replied, “not affordable enough.” The increase in his allowance should have made such an arrangement possible. Step-mama was dignified, but she had an ease with the practicalities that Trevor lacked, and she made no inquiries about how he spent his money. Perhaps she had intended him to take a mistress, not that he’d ever ask her.
Lack of funds aside, there also remained the conundrum of how to meet a woman willing to occupy such a pretty little house, and on what terms to offer her its use. All complicated, and not a topic Trevor wanted to raise with Jerome—or anybody.
“Until you bring your finances ’round,” Jerome said, crossing his knife and fork over his empty plate, “you will be no damned fun. Tell the solicitors to arrange an advance. They send word to the bank, and darling Jeanette is none the wiser.”
“Her ladyship is not ‘darling Jeanette’ to you, Jerome. Have a care.” Besides, her ladyship read the bank statements as if they were Wellington’s dispatches from the front. She’d notice.
Jerome smiled lazily and helped himself to Trevor’s untouched wine. “So protective. Will you call me out, Tav?”
“I will beat you silly for ungentlemanly conduct. Her ladyship has not had an easy time of it, and she is dear to me.” Step-mama was family to Trevor in a way nobody else was. She had made certain his tutors were more interested in educating him than intimidating him,
