“Fine, son. Breeding Thoroughbreds is an admirable ambition, and I shall give you considerable help in that direction, upon your return from Ireland.”
Thomas felt an urge to throw up his hands. Although he loved his father dearly, years ago he rebelled against his forceful nature. The escape from paternal domination had not been easy. He could have remained the obedient second son, subject to his father’s bidding, but instead had chosen to face his father’s wrath and declare himself his own master. Papa, to put it mildly, had not been pleased, and yet, when he saw that his son would not back down, he gave in, actually most graciously. After making his stand, Thomas most certainly would not back down now.
He refrained from mentioning that on the long journey from Jamaica, he’d been hard-put to contain his eagerness, so anxious was he to reach England, hasten to Tanglewood Hall, which sat on a lush piece of land, and begin preparations for the breeding of Thoroughbred horses. He had every confidence he could succeed, and was wise enough to recognize a certain nagging disappointment with himself for having, in essence, given up on Jamaica and come running home in defeat. His reasons for leaving were truly altruistic, and most valid—he truly could not stomach the slavery—but still, he recognized that some would call him a failure, no matter what the noble reason. “Sorry, Papa, but I most definitely do not want to go to Ireland.”
Annoyance flashed through his father’s eyes. “So once again you chose to disobey me.”
“Is that anything new?”
“God’s Blood,” declared Lord Linberry, his voice raised. “I need you to go to Ireland.”
Thomas didn’t bother to react, so accustomed was he to his father’s bellowing, which, when all was said done, amounted to all bluster with no substance behind it. In a gesture that Thomas well-remembered, Papa stabbed an accusing finger at him and was preparing to speak again when, accidentally, he moved his ailing foot, winced, and cried out from the pain.
Thomas felt an immediate rush of sympathy. In a flash of keen self-observation he realized that whereas fear of his father would not cause him to capitulate, sympathy surely would. He must not convey this new-found feeling of pity to his father, though. If he capitulated, and he was about to, it must appear to be out of filial loyalty; otherwise, Papa would be hurt and highly insulted. “If you want me to go to Ireland, I suppose it’s my duty,” he said with a reluctant shrug. “Although I do think Montague should go. When would I leave?”
“You’ll not regret it, son.”
The flash of relief in Papa’s eyes told Thomas he’d made the right decision. He returned a lop-sided grin. “I regret it already, but that’s beside the point.”
“Excellent,” his father exclaimed, and nearly slapped his hand to his leg before he thought better of it. “Now, there’s just one other small matter.”
Uh-oh. What was his wily father up to now? Thomas was suddenly alert. “And what might one more thing be?” He braced himself.
“You’re to go to Aldershire Manor to see Lord Trevlyn. Matter of fact, I’ll send a message over. He’ll no doubt want you for dinner tonight.”
“The devil,” Thomas exclaimed as memories of previous, utterly woeful dinners at Aldershire Manor came to mind. The food was always excellent, of course, but not the company. Lord Trevlyn’s brother, Walter, was all right, though rather on the meek side, but Walter’s wife, Mrs. Lydia Trevlyn, fancied herself superior to the rest of mankind, most certainly to a mere second son. She was also much given to dominating a conversation with her iron-clad opinions, pontificating in a superior tone that indicated she knew everything while her listeners knew nothing. As for the three daughters... Ah, well, he mustn’t be ungentlemanly. Three years had passed since he’d seen them. Perhaps they’d changed, although he doubted it. Thomas laughed and slowly shook his head. “If you keep this up, I shall wish I was back in Jamaica, toiling under a hot sun.”
Papa had the decency to look regretful. “I know how you feel about Trevlyn’s nieces, Thomas, but remember, Trevlyn has been a good friend to me over the years.”
“Are they married yet?”
“Er... no, not any of the three. Matter of fact, I‘m still waiting for Montague to do his duty and propose to Charlotte. Bettina is waiting for you, Thomas”—Papa raised his brows significantly—”but then there’s Amanda, who’s sixteen now and