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The footman brought the beverage. Lord Alfred tossed it back, then told the footman to bring another one. “Wait—just bring in the cart, will you? I’ll fix my own.”
“What’s going on, brother? You seem rattled. Does this have aught to do with Lady Emmeline?” asked Lady Seraphina.
“You’d be rattled, too, if you had one of the toughest criminals in London out for your blood. No, it’s not about Lady Emmeline, that cheating little whore.”
Lady Seraphina put her hand up to her mouth in surprise. Lord Alfred was usually at least respectful enough of her not to use such language in her presence.
“Sister, I need £100. Within the week. You have to get it for me.”
“That’s impossible—you know for me that’s a fortune. It’s about what His Grace the Duke gives me to live on each quarter. You can’t ask me to...”
“I can and I do. Or do you want me floating in the bottom of the Thames?”
“Oh, Alfred, what have you gotten yourself into?” moaned Lady Seraphina.
“A gambling debt. A ‘sure thing’ that went bad on me. ’Phina, you’ve got to help me. You know you’re the only person I can count on.” His voice turned smarmy and wheedling. “I know you’re the thrifty one. You have some money stashed away, don’t you? You wouldn’t deny your own brother.”
“Not that much! I’ve had to spend money on clothes for Lady Josephine’s Season. Even though His Grace gave me extra money to help me cover my bills, I’ve still had to dip into my own savings….”
“There you go. That’s what you do. Go to the Duke and tell him your dressmakers’ bills are mounting up, and you need an additional £100. It’s nothing to him, ’Phina—he spends that much in a night at his club sometimes. And remember, you’re doing him quite a favor, coming up to London and managing his daughter’s Season for him.”
“I can’t do it.”
“You can, and you will. Sister, my life is in your hands. This is a fellow who’d kill a man and not blink an eye. Johnny Shiemour, he’s called.” Lord Alfred was actually trembling in fear as he spoke.
“I’ve helped you before, when you needed money for Lady Emmeline. It’s one thing after another, with you,” complained Lady Seraphina.
“My romance with Lady Emmeline is over. She’s dumped me. After I spent a fortune on her, buying her gowns and jewels, paying off her gambling debts...she mocked me publicly, telling everyone I could never afford a woman like her.
“Yes, I’ll be Duke of Clover someday, when the old Duke dies, but I’ll get no wealth or land with the title. All that will go to little Lady Josephine. Or to her husband, once she gets one.”
“Brother, I admit it’s unfair to you that there’s no entail on the Clover wealth, but—”
“You’re damned right it’s unfair!”
“—but it’s also not fair that I should be the one scrimping and saving to pay your debts, while you play the big man around town!”
“’Phina, be that as it may, you’ve got to help me this one last time. I promise, I won’t come to you begging again! But this Shiemour fellow—he’s dangerous.
“You know that man Smith whom the Duke hired? The rumor is that he set a gang on the man last night, just because he doesn’t like him. Beat the man to a bloody pulp, they say. Do you want that to happen to me? Because if it does, it’ll be your fault, Sister.”
Lady Seraphina knew she was being manipulated. But what could she do? “All right. I’ll get the money from the Duke for you, somehow. But on the condition that—”
“—I won’t ever ask for money from you again. I know, I know. I promise.”
How many times have I promised her that? But it’s expensive, being part of the ton. There are expectations of how a man will behave, if he’s an aristocrat. A woman wouldn’t understand that.
* * *
As he left Clover House, Lord Alfred breathed a sigh of relief. His sister would get the money for him, of that he had no doubt. Then he could square things with Shiemour.
Better if he tried to stay away from Shiemour in the future; he was a cold-blooded criminal. But it was hard. Shiemour ran the best, most lucrative boxing matches in town. You could win money fast, if you took Shiemour’s advice on whom to bet.
Turning his mind away from Shiemour, Lord Alfred began to strategize about how he might win back the gorgeous Lady Emmeline. She was bankrupting him—and probably several other men—but he had to have her.
With her flashing dark eyes, her jet-black hair and her generous bosom, Lady Emmeline had won the attention of every man in theton. For a while, he had made the mistake of assuming she was willing to be his alone. But she had made her marriage terms clear, a title no lower than a duchess and enough money to live on as lavishly as she pleased.
As the next male heir, someday Lord Alfred would have the Duke’s title. But he’d never have the fortune that should go with it. That would all go for Lady Josephine’s inheritance or her dowry, because the estate was not entailed. Unless…. His mind began to scheme.
