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Chapter Five
James sat in a hired hackney parked discreetly down the road and glanced through the curtain at his own goddamn house. After his mother’s outrageous behavior yesterday, it was past time he took his place as master of the shabby, but still large, townhome, one of the few properties he still owned. He’d be dammed if he were forced to stay in the meagre bachelor’s lodging he’d rented for another night. The Ton would never take him seriously if his mother continued her shenanigans under his roof and ostensibly under his watch, as not a soul knew that Lady Dalton had barred him from the building. James had initially let the woman get away with it, thinking that she needed time to process both her husband’s untimely death and the new arrival of her now hated son. A less charitable part of him also loathed having to deal with the inevitable hysterics that taking over the house from her would have caused. But now something had to be done, before the family’s reputation became truly irreparable. Steeling himself for what was about to be one of the most unpleasant scenes in his thirty years of life, James took a bracing inhale and left the carriage. With every step towards his home, he hardened his heart and shored his nerves, feeling like every inch the viscount he was by the time he knocked on the door. Much to his relief, the butler was the one who opened it.
“Markham,” James greeted.
The old servant peered at him with glassy eyes before his face lit in recognition. “Oh, Milord. How wonderful to see you here! I am glad that I was the one who answered and not Andrew.”
“One of the new footmen, I assume?” Likely the one who’d slammed the door in his face the last time he’d attempted a visit. From what he could gather from Markham’s letters, Lady Dalton had replaced almost the entirety of their meagre staff with new ones loyal to her. Without James around to take things in hand, Markham had been forced to agree to the woman’s demands. The old man had been keeping him abreast of the situation through letters, often begging James to assert himself properly. Now that day had come after, much to his private shame, a far too long amount of time. “Is my mother home?”
“Lady Dalton is out.” Markham cast a nervous glance about, as if waiting for another servant to emerge from the shadows and snatch the door from him. “You have come at a good time.”
James beamed. “Excellent. I will be in my study, then.” He strode in and handed Markham his hat and gloves. “I require an audience within the hour so that we may review the problem staff and fire them accordingly.”
A quiet gasp drew his attention to the stairwell where a young maid stood. James titled his head in greeting. “You are?”
She bobbed into a clumsy curtsy. “Polly, Milord. One of the laundry maids.”
“Do I have a housekeeper?”
The girl cast a wary glance towards Markham, who smiled encouragingly. She gulped before continuing. “Yes, Milord. Mrs. Needly.”
“Excellent. Inform her that my chambers will be needing prepared. My luggage will be arriving shortly.”
Her eyes widened, face paling. “That is… well…”
Markham coughed. “Lord Wardely has been given that room.”
The silence in the foyer was deafening, or was that merely the ringing of his ears? James grit his teeth so hard that he feared one of his molars might crack from the strain of it. He took a moment to gather himself and then spoke, his tone cool and brooking no argument. “Throw his things into the street.”
The girl wrung her hands. “Mrs. Needly won’t—”
“Mrs. Needly is not the viscount, now is she? You may do it if she refuses, and if there is an issue then I will be reported to. Is that clear, Polly?”
The maid’s jaw went slack for only a moment before her lips quirked with an anxious but mildly excited smile. “Yes, sir,” she answered and trotted back up the stairs.
James made a mental note to put the young woman on what was likely going to be a very short list of employees to be kept. “I am off to the study,” he announced to Markham. “Let us see how much Wardely has vandalized things.”
“I shall follow you momentarily after I inform Mrs. Needly of your presence.” The butler had a face of grim determination, and James could only assume that the housekeeper was a foreboding woman indeed. No matter. She would be gone within the week in all likelihood. Feeling far more confident with the situation, James made his way to the study and was pleasantly surprised to see that it appeared untouched. It seemed Wardely had at least a modicum of shame, enough not to go pilfering amongst his lover’s dead husband’s private room. After availing himself of some of his father’s foolishly expensive brandy, James plopped into the plush chair at the desk and leaned back with his glass. Markham popped in a moment later, carrying a stack of ledgers, and they spent the next hour making a brief examination of the household affairs. Sadly, things were about as dire as he’d been expecting. His mother still insisted on spending lavishly despite their increasingly dwindling funds. His secretary had already made the sad state of the meagre holdings in clear, so economies needed to be made yesterday. Losing their principal estate was certainly a blow, but James would never regret foiling his father’s plans to marry Sophie off to save it. Wardely no doubt held it; likely a big reason why Lady Dalton was with him. Anything to maintain the veneer of her impoverished title. By the end of the afternoon, he was tired and grumpy, but progress had been made in determining the staffing situation. Markham had also come up with a helpful list of economies they could make without damaging the maintenance of the house, and James was feeling optimistic that he could take things in hand, even if he would live in genteel poverty for a good while yet.
And then, his mother came crashing into the study.
James winced as the door smashed into the wall from the force of Lady Dalton sailing into the room. She was already sobbing her best crocodile tears. “How could you create such a sordid scene out front?”
Not even a greeting from the woman who hadn’t seen him in two years.James set his glass down to briefly rub his eyes. “Hello, mother.”
It was just about the angriest he’d ever seen her in his entire life, and her red-faced theatrics almost entertained him. Almost. “Everyone on the street is staring! Wardely’s clothes are blowing down the road!”
Polly had followed his orders, then. Perfect. “Perhaps you should have thought of that before installing him in my house for all the Ton to see. I daresay when this hits the scandal sheets tomorrow, they will applaud me for my decisive actions.” He hoped so, at the very least. In all likelihood, his admittedly impulsive public display would only fuel the fire against him even more.
“Since when did you care about what society thinks?”
“Since I became the viscount and had to take the mess you and father made in hand.”
She pursed her lips. “We had things handled until you went and ruined it like the coward you are.”
James raised an eyebrow, hiding behind sarcasm to manage his temper. “Saving my sister from misery is cowardly now?” No, what he had almost done to save them had been the true source of cowardice. He would never apologize to his mother for sparing the innocents he’d almost damned to a miserable marriage with his pathetic self, and would never even countenance the woman ever bringing up Sophie’s near sacrifice as if that dastardly plot was deserving of any consideration.
But she did not hear him and only continued ranting in her typical self-centered manner. “You have failed me and your poor father and yet come here acting all high and mighty. Wardely is twice the man you will ever be.”
