Last Dance in London (Rakes on the Run #1) - Sydney Jane Baily Page 0,95
she glared at him. “Did you call me old?”
“No, Mother.”
“Well, I am angry. Your father should have appointed an executor before he so thoughtlessly passed away. Clearly, you don’t have a head for anything other than females, and certainly not for finances.”
Where was his drink? He yanked the bell-pull despite knowing it wouldn’t bring Mr. Greer or the parlor maid any quicker.
“You say you expected me to be angry?” she demanded. “When was that, when you were gambling away our last farthing?”
“Yes, precisely at that moment, as I turned over the losing hand and saw my future going into the rubbish bin, I thought to myself, Mother will be angry.”
“You are mocking me,” she declared, as the maid came in carrying a tray with two crystal glasses. Wisely, she went to the dowager countess first, curtsying low so his mother could take the glass without sitting up.
Upon taking a hurried sip, a little dribble of sherry went down her chin.
“Oh!” she said, sounding furious as she sat up and drew a handkerchief from her sleeve, causing her to nearly spill her drink onto her lap.
Jasper took his own glass, nodded to the parlor maid to retreat with all due haste, and added, “Close the door after you.”
When they were alone again, and he’d had a steadying swallow of brandy, Jasper took a seat at the other end of the sofa.
“I don’t like to see you so overcome. I assure you whatever you’ve heard is an outright lie. Our accounts are as solid as ever they were. We made a substantial amount investing in the Gas Light and Coke Company, and our accountant will tell you the same. In short, it is all rumor and innuendo, a misunderstanding over my cravat pin being pawned.”
“What?” the dowager countess roared. “Why would you pawn your pin?”
Her words made him grin, which only infuriated her further. She drank the rest of her sherry in a single long gulp.
“It was an error,” he said to calm her, “and I have it back now.”
This was met with silence. Then she narrowed her eyes.
“This is about a woman.”
He flinched. Wasn’t that precisely what he’d thought when dealing with Stridewell? Women and trouble seemed to go hand-in-hand.
“I can see upon your face I’ve hit the mark with my first arrow. You must leave Town at once.”
“Whyever for?” He crossed his legs and leaned back, wondering why he hadn’t asked for the entire cask of brandy. His mother was simply being hysterical, and he wouldn’t feed her hysteria by telling her about Julia Sudbury.
“Everyone who is anyone leaves Town for the winter,” she continued. “That is if they can afford to open their frigid, drafty country manors. Can we?”
“Yes, I told you that, but—”
“Then we shall go. I’ll leave tomorrow, and you shall join me before there is a line of merchants outside your door and mine, too, with their hands out. Your tailor and my dressmaker, even Berry Brothers will be on the step soon demanding coin for their wine. Good Lord!” she exclaimed. “Every last cheesemonger will expect to be paid.”
He smiled at her again. “I don’t owe every last cheesemonger. I don’t believe I owe any, for that matter, but I will have to take that up with Mr. Greer. He would know if there are any outstanding household accounts, particularly for cheese.”
“You’re mocking me again.” His mother’s voice had turned to brittle ice.
“Because you’re being a ninny. We are not compromised, and we don’t need to run away and flee London. Besides, it’s nearly Christmas.”
“Nevertheless, you shall do as I say.”
“I won’t,” Jasper said, knowing full well he sounded like a quarrelsome brat.
She snagged his gaze and held it. It was a long, hard, cold stare — the type she’d only ever used when he’d been particularly naughty. When he’d slid down the banister and crashed into their old butler or when he’d performed vigorous somersaults along the wide upstairs hallway of their country manor and destroyed a porcelain vase and a marble bust of some dusty old philosopher.
At present, it seemed as if she could also suck all the air out of the room.
Jasper swallowed and tried to loosen his perfectly tied cravat, for he suddenly seemed to be choking. Holding her gaze, he realized they were locked in the eternal battle of mother and son.
How could she go so long without blinking? His eyes were starting to burn, and he knew he was holding his eyelids extraordinarily wide while trying to appear entirely