Free Shady Lady by Elizabeth Thornton Page B

there was a close resemblance between father and son. Lord Brinsley was broad-shouldered and carried himself well. He had a piercing gaze that was known to transfix underlings who provoked his flash-fire temper. The viscount had been the object of that formidable temper on more occasions than he cared to remember. Tonight, however, his father was pleased with him.
    They were in the earl’s library, drinking brandy and sharing what should have been a companionable moment between father and son after the dinner guests had gone home and Lady Brinsley had retired for the night. The viscount, however, could never be comfortable with his father. He was always striving to please him. Even as a boy, he had never quite measured up to what his father wanted in a son. His betrothal to Lady Margaret, the daughter of a marquess and therefore a step above an earl, had helped his credit considerably.
    The earl said, “Just remember, my boy, there must be no hint of scandal before the wedding, or there may not
be
a wedding. Your future father-in-law dotes on his daughter. He believes this is a love match, and I want him to go on thinking it until long after you and Lady Margaret have made your vows.”
    The viscount made no reply. Inwardly, he was reflecting on his parents’ marriage. It was no love match either. But the earl and his countess seemed resigned to their lot. His mother could hardly be pried away from their country estate near Henley. His father preferred to live in town. Naturally, he had a mistress. What man didn’t? But his father was discreet about it. And if his mother knew, she was too well-bred to let it show.
    As if picking up on that thought, the earl said, “Lady Margaret may not be a raving beauty, but she’s a well-bred girl. Add to that, she’s an heiress. You couldn’t do better.”
    The viscount, in all honesty, was able to reassure his father that he was perfectly satisfied with the girl who had been chosen for him.
    A silence ensued, broken at length when the earl exhaled a long sigh. “We can only hope that the girl is also a breeder.” He took a long swallow of brandy. “Because, without sons to carry on our line, the whole business becomes an exercise in futility.” He looked at his son. “You know what I mean.”
    The viscount laughed and got up. “Don’t worry, Father. I know my duty. Here, give me your glass; I’ll top it up.” He walked to the solid mahogany desk, replenished both glasses from a crystal decanter, then returned to his chair. “You’ll have your quiver of grandsons before you know it.”
    “Hah!” The earl accepted the glass his son held out to him. “It’s not as easy as that. Look at your mother and me. It’s not that she didn’t conceive, but she couldn’t carry to term.”
    “Until I came along.”
    “When I was practically in my dotage and had all but given up hope. A vigorous dotage, you understand.” The viscount and his father exchanged a quick smile. “We had to keep trying. People in our position . . .”
    The viscount had heard it all before. Without a son to inherit, the estates and the title would pass to a distant relative, to a branch of the family that his father detested, who did not hold to the family motto of duty before everything.
    It was his father’s guiding principle, and his also. That was why he had to get hold of Chloë’s diary and destroy it. He would not see his family disgraced.
    His thoughts drifted to Waldo Bowman. He wondered what principles guided his actions . . . and what was really behind his relationship with the Chesney woman.

C hapter 7
    N ot far from Piccadilly House, in St. James’s Square, another party was in progress. The hostess, Caroline Walters, was feeling very pleased with herself. Contrary to expectations, Waldo had cut short his visit to Warwick and posted up to town to attend her reception. She took this as a compliment to herself and a clear indication that Waldo had decided to renew their affair.
    She