AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“That’s the one.”
“Mrs. DeWitt seems very charming,” Das said.
“We are not discussing Mrs. DeWitt.” Joshua glared at the table.Flowers. In avase. All pretty and useless and taking up space, except the square occupied by the silver salver.
On which sat a letter. Addressed to him.
He couldn’t put his hat there now, could he, so he put it back on his head.
“Das, we have work to do.”
He pivoted again, made for the door, but Filby darted in front of him, brandishing that salver.
“Your brother Mr. Isaac called again, sir,” the butler said. “He left another letter. We were going to send it after you to Liverpool.”
“Send it wherever you please. Come along, Das. Not a moment to waste.”
* * *
Back outside,Joshua headed toward St. James. Before long, Das was by his side, reading something as he walked.
Isaac’s letter.
“Send him more money,” Joshua said.
“He has not asked for money. He points out that he didn’t ask for money last time either.” Das’s voice had taken on a provokingly judgmental tone. “He has made progress in his search for your mother and sister. He wants to see you.”
The image of Isaac swam in his mind, as he had been the last time Joshua saw him. Ten years old—Fast legs—Scraped knees—Chattering faster than a magpie. Isaac, eyes bright at the thought of going to sea and not having to go back to school, pointing out that he was intended for the Navy anyway, so being demoted from the Earl of Treyford’s legitimate third son to illegitimate third son made no difference, and he might as well go immediately if Lord Charles could find a position. And now—kicked out of the Navy with a bad leg, at a loose end, young enough to think finding their mother was the answer, but too young to understand that their mother didn’t want to be found. A family reunion was a stupid idea; if they couldn’t hold together fourteen years ago, they were not going to do it now.
“Tell him I’m busy. Send him some money or find him a job or…Tell him that…”
“Perhaps you should write to him yourself,” Das said.
“I never write letters. I hire you and a dozen other secretaries to write letters. If I went around writing letters, I’d be wasting my time and you’d all be out of a job and nothing would get done and we’d all be miserable.”
“But Mr. Isaac is your brother.”
Joshua glared at his secretary, who didn’t flinch. “Do I detect a tone of disapproval, Das?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do I pay you to disapprove of me, Das?”
“No, sir. I provide the disapproval for free.”
“Remind me to bloody thank you some time.”
He should have just gone to Liverpool, never mind that the trip promised to be dull. Or back home to Birmingham. No inconvenient family members ambushed him there.
“Mr. Isaac also warns you about Lord Bolderwood,” Das added. “Apparently, his lordship is upset over the money lost on the Baltic investment.”
“Everyone lost money on that one. I told him it was speculation.”
“He reports that Bolderwood claims you swindled him and he is plotting revenge.”
“If Isaac wants drama, he can go to Covent Garden,” Joshua said. “Bolderwood is as frightening as a three-legged calf.”
The young viscount was about as useful and sensible as one as well, curse him.
