Page 17 of How to Wed a Courtesan

Evander accepted the envelope with a nod of thanks, and waited for the butler to depart before breaking the seal and unfolding the letter.

It contained only two lines, written in his mother’s elegant, looping script.

You must return to London immediately. Your father is dead.

Chapter Six

Evander returned to London with the expediency his mother had requested. Though he’d wanted to see Lottie prior to his departure, his conversation with her father the day before left him with little choice but to write her a quick letter, to be delivered while he was en route to Westix Place.

The grand townhouse in London was silent upon his arrival, and his mother and sister were both as dry-eyed as he. There had been little love between the Earl of Westix and his family, any sense of affection discarded before it could ever begin to take root.

And so it was that Evander embraced first his mother, whose bland expression indicated no true sense of mourning, despite the severity of her black gown. Next came his sister, Eleanor, who had that quiet, tucked-in look she had acquired in his time away at school. Never again had she been the laughing, playful girl he had spent hours running wild with through the Scottish countryside.

He’d been tempted in the past to attempt reparation, and now wished once again that he could do so. But it was not the time. Not when their father’s estate had to be seen to. Not when Evander would have to fill the Earldom and ensure his sister and mother were well cared for.

He had been tempted to tell them of his intention to wed Lottie, but the oppressive silence in the house would sully such happy news. And so it was that he resolved to tell them once his father had been buried.

Through it all, at the forefront of his mind, was Lottie and the way she’d looked at him when she’d said she loved him, with her entire heart open and pure and loving. Recollections of the pleasure they’d shared rose in his thoughts and the cries of her pleasure echoed in his ears.

How must she have looked when she’d received the news of his hasty return to London?

He grimaced even to consider it.

His father’s funeral was a solemn affair, with barely anyone in attendance—only him and the estate’s solicitor, Mr Edsby. Whatever wedge had been driven between his father and the Duke of Somersville, along with the other members of the adventure club, must have been deep, as noted by their poignant absence.

Evander had difficulty summoning up sorrow for his father’s passing. The man had been irascible, short-tempered and cold. There had been nothing about him to endear him towards his children. Not after he’d punished Eleanor. Guilt inhabited the place in Evander’s chest that sorrow usually occupied upon the passing of close family—an emptiness that he could not fill with a genuine feeling of loss.

Mr Edsby wasted no time encouraging a discussion with him in the study at Westix Place following his father’s funeral.

The solicitor, who had overseen the legal affairs of the Westix estate for years, sank into the large armchair in front of the desk and pulled out several sheets of paper from his glossy leather briefcase. ‘Would you like a drink before we begin?’

Evander shook his head, realising it would be best to discuss numbers with a clear head.

Mr Edsby considered the stack of papers and lightly touched them with his fingertips, his expression one of obvious discomfort. ‘It would perhaps behove you, my lord, to have a bit of brandy in you for this discussion.’

‘Very well.’ Evander went to the small table which held his father’s best liquor and splashed some into a glass. ‘Would you like one?’

‘Please,’ Mr Edsby answered without hesitation.

Evander poured one for him as well, and returned to the desk, both glasses in hand. He offered one to the solicitor, who drained the drink in one swig.

Apprehension tightened in Evander’s gut.

‘Come, now,’ Evander said with forced lightness. ‘It can’t be all that bad.’

Mr Edsby closed eyelids withered with age behind his spectacles. He gave a long exhale and opened his eyes once more. ‘Forgive me, my lord, but it can.’

Worry squeezed at the back of Evander’s neck. Were there perhaps some issues with the estate in Scotland? Or with the manor in Southampton ?

‘Out with it, man,’ Evander prompted. ‘You cannot leave me in suspense.’

Mr Edsby’s thin chest puffed out with a great breath. ‘You’ve almost nothing left.’

Evander blinked, certain he had heard the old man incorrectly. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Your father had a great many debts,’ Mr Edsby began. ‘Your steward, as you know, simply provided your father with funds when they were requested. I am not certain the late Earl was aware of the plight into which he had plunged his family.’

A great many debts?