Free Brook Street: Fortune Hunter by Ava March Page A

he doubted Oscar would appreciate any blatant coddling. “I didn’t say you weren’t fine, but a glass of whisky can do wonders for the soul. Come along.” Clasping Oscar’s shoulder with one hand, he turned him toward the stairs.
    Oscar didn’t offer up another protest. Weariness etched in every line of his body, he allowed Julian to usher him up to the study.
    ***
    A nudge toward the couch and Oscar sat down. It was more allowing his legs to give out from under him than anything, but he didn’t much care at the moment. Elbows resting on his knees, he dropped his head into his hands.
    He had known his aunt and uncle did not care for him. Had known they had merely tolerated his presence in their home for a decade. And he had just breached that line of tolerance. Their disdain, their contempt for him had been on full display in the entrance hall. All because he hadn’t bowed his head and allowed them to do as they pleased.
    Thank heaven for Julian. If he had not stepped in, Oscar was certain he would still be in the entrance hall, his refusal still falling on deaf ears.
    Head bowed, he scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “They never listen to me.”
    A pair of black shoes stopped at the edge of his line of sight. He could feel Julian hovering over him like a mother hen. A part of him wanted to bristle in affront, to demand that he was fine, thank you very much. But another part warmed at the notion. It felt good to have someone concerned about him. To have someone care to the point of worry.
    “Why do you tolerate their behavior?” Julian asked, as if he was truly befuddled by the notion. “I understand they are family, but it’s not as if you are dependent on them. Or are you?”
    “No, not anymore. They usually aren’t that, well, rude. Distant and cold, but not outright rude. I cannot believe they showed up unannounced, as if the house was their own, never mind that they made use of it for the past few years without a single word to me.” Honestly, he shouldn’t be surprised or shocked. His aunt and uncle had taken every possible opportunity to get at his inheritance over the years. The new servants who needed to be hired if he was to reside at their home, along with the “necessary” renovations. The traveling carriage and landau his aunt had assured a trustee a thirteen-year-old Oscar had desperately needed. The small fleet of private tutors that had also seen to her two sons’ educations. He should have protested long ago. Should have done something beside the nothing he had done. Perhaps if he had… Hell, what was he thinking? He let out a sigh. “Ah well. I can either lament it or accept it, but I cannot change them. And I didn’t have a choice for most of my life. When my father passed, they took me in. My uncle—my father’s brother—never married and he traveled frequently. He couldn’t keep an eleven-year-old in tow. So my mother’s sister and her husband agreed to take me.”
    And they had been his only option. Well, besides being assigned a guardian by a judge. A complete stranger or family. He’d chosen family. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d chosen unwisely.
    There was a light tap against wood. He heard the sound of footsteps, the faint jangle of glass against silver, then the soft click of a door shutting.
    “Here, drink this. All of it.”
    Oscar lifted his head, his gaze going to the quite full glass in Julian’s outstretched hand. “Are you trying to get me foxed?”
    Julian arched a brow. “Possibly.” Then he lifted one shoulder. “Just drink it.”
    “All right.” He took the proffered glass.
    Julian settled in the chair angled toward the couch and watched as Oscar brought the glass to his lips.
    The man was doing a very good imitation of a mother hen. At least he was far more attractive than an actual hen.
    Oscar took a long swallow. The whisky burned a path down his throat, settling in his stomach. Warmth radiated from his belly, easing the tight knot of