Eleven in the morning
The silence inhis mother’s bedchamber reminded Robert of a grave—dank, heavy, and unending. Appropriate, since he knew his life as it had been had ended. It was not yet noon, and it had already been the longest, darkest, and most difficult day of his life—with the exceptional and memorable bright spot being his time with Lady Eloise Surrey. She alone had made it possible for him to gather the strength to make it through the coming interminable hours.
After Eloise had left the hell, Robert and Gilley had brought some organization back to Bill’s office, then Robert had hired a hackney to take him to Ashton House. He had crept up the servants’ stairs to his bedchamber, washed, dressed for the day in black, including his cravat, then snuck back out and returned to the Campions’ home. Nora had wanted to discuss some of the funeral arrangements with him, a delicate task in a house already teeming with relatives and mourners from the Campions’ church.
Afterward, Robert had returned to Ashton House to find the household awake and aware of Bill’s murder—but not the nature of Robert’s involvement. That fell to him, and he had gathered the family in Emalyn’s bedchamber and presented the details. The scandal he had thrust upon them left his family stunned, and they all stared at him, absorbing the implications. Exhaustion threatened to swamp him, but he pushed his shoulders back and waited.
After an eternity, Beth whimpered and sank down on the bench at the foot of the duchess’s bed. Michael, glaring at Robert, sat beside her, and she buried her face in his shoulder.
Rose, who had been standing with Thomas near Philip, joined them. She rubbed Beth’s back as she eased down beside her sister-in-law. “You will have to inform Aldermaston.”
Beth nodded, not looking up at anyone, much less the brother who had just destroyed her life.
Thomas took a step closer. “So you were not just playing the role of Robbie Green as a fluke? A way to entertain yourself between women?”
“That was part of the façade. A place to hide my real role in the company.”
“You already owned half the company. Now you will inherit the rest.”
“Yes.”
“How expansive a business are we talking about?”
“I need to go through the books carefully, but at last count, Bill owned or had controlling interest in more than forty businesses.”
Rose gasped as Thomas asked, “All related to gambling?”
Robert shook his head. “Also pubs, inns, shops.” He paused. “Brothels.”
Philip crossed his arms. “How did you manage to accomplish this? You are talking about a massive business empire.”
Robert met his father’s stare. “I bought in over the course of five years. Money saved from my allowance, from winnings. It began when one of his pubs needed to be shored up. It was meant to be a loan, but Bill asked if I wanted a stake in the business instead.”
“Wise man. You became invested in its success.”
Robert studied his father, trying to decide if his comments held derision or pride, but Philip’s face held no clue. “Yes. He began to teach me how each of the types of businesses ran, how their managers kept control of employees and finances.”
“And it never occurred to you that I could teach you the same thing, using legitimate businesses?”
Ah. So. Derision.
“To be honest, sir, you did not seem particularly interested in showingmeanything. Until you handed down this latest dictate about the three of us marrying by Christmas, my recollection is that when it came to business, your primary focus remained on my older brother.”
“Thomasisthe heir.”
“And since I had shown no interest in the law or the military—”
“If you had one time expressed—”
A crash from the table beside the bed interrupted them both. Emalyn had reached over and swept dishes off a tray onto the floor. She glared at her husband and son. “’I ’on! Op i! I i!” Her dark eyes flashed as she looked from one to the other, then slapped the bed with her right hand in a gesture of pure frustration.
Robert didn’t need the missing consonants in her crippled speech to know what his mother had yelled at them. “It’s done. Stop it. Fix it.” This had been her command to her children since birth, anytime they would squabble, wrestling over some imagined wrong. Her words had ingrained in them the plain message—what is done is done. Do not complain. Find a solution.
Philip squeezed her shoulder, then focused on Robert again. “What was your plan? If you agreed to inherit, you must have some plan in mind to deal with the social repercussions.”
“Obviously, my main plan entailed Bill living to at least eighty, and my reputation as a reprobate and rake to bolster my decision to stay out of Society until I was as tottering and bloated as the king.”
“This is not the time for sarcasm. You may have brought ruin on this entire family.”
