by blessed silence. That is, until he heard his father start bellowing. There was an answering yell, and finally even Edmund was curious.
He walked over to the door, opening it a crack so that he could better hear.
“Your son will marry my daughter!” roared an indignant, portly man as he walked backward down the corridor, one hand in the air, a finger pointed toward Edmund’s father. Beside him walked a pretty young woman, with what Edmund assumed was her father’s jacket wrapped tightly around her. “Or I will see you as ruined as she now is!”
Finally, they were gone, and Edmund opened the door wide enough to step out into the hallway, looking down to see his father pushing his brother into his study.
Edmund decided he best simply avoid the entire sordid affair, but his father unfortunately caught sight of him.
“Edmund!” he called out. “Come here.”
“Thank you, Father, but I’m off to bed,” he responded, but his father would have none of it.
“My study, Edmund,” he said, his face hardened into a mask that even Edmund had difficulty ignoring, “now.”
Edmund sighed and, despite every cell in his body telling him to do otherwise, he strolled lazily down the hallway, just to provoke his father.
Fortunately, upon his arrival in the study, he found that he was not the object of his father’s chagrin – how could he be, when he had remained hidden in the library all night?
His father, Lord Heatherstone to everyone else, was pacing the study floor, his hands behind his back. Every now and then he looked up at his first son, Byron, who stood by the fireplace, one elbow upon the mantel as he stared his father down with nonchalance.
“I really don’t see issue, Father,” Byron said casually as Edmond entered, taking a seat in the corner. “It was a simple tryst, that’s all. It means nothing.”
“A simple tryst in front of half the ton! How could you be so stupid? You have ruined her,” his father bit out. “How am I supposed to show my face in society now? Her father is a marquess!”
“And you’re an earl,” Byron said, shrugging. “Hardly a difference.”
“Hardly a difference, you say,” Lord Heatherstone muttered. “You’re a fool, Byron.”
“A fool and your heir,” he said. “Besides, I am already engaged. Do you not recall the entire purpose of tonight’s party?”
“One you apparently forgot,” his father huffed, his pacing resuming across the navy Aubusson that covered the middle of the room. He looked up at the portrait of his father, Edmund’s grandfather, that hung above the desk as though seeking his advice. The portrait stared down in disapproval and Edmund shuddered. He preferred to avoid reminders of his grandfather. “You’ve ruined one woman, yet we need you to marry the other.”
“Why?” Edmund asked, the first thing he had said since entering the room.
His father shot him a look of disdain. “Had you paid any attention to this family’s affairs, you would know, Edmund,” he said, though the question did cause him to stop pacing. “We need Lord Exner’s money.”
“Ah, so the young woman has a significant dowry, then.”
“She does,” his father confirmed. “We’ve had some… losses lately.” He looked over at Byron, who didn’t show any remorse, his lips twisted in a wicked smile. Edmund was aware that some of that money had gone to paying off the families of women who were not particularly pleased with where Byron’s affections had led. “Unfortunately, there were too many witnesses tonight to buy their silence.” He looked at his eldest son. “Why now, Byron, why here?”
Byron shrugged again. “Melody enjoys my… taste of seduction,” he said, his lips turning in remembrance, causing his father to nearly choke.
After a few minutes of silence, Lord Heatherstone sighed, running a hand through his hair. “If only you hadn’t chosen your mother’s sitting room,” he said, shaking his head. “Lord knows she will never be able to remove such an image from her mind.” He took a deep breath. “You will have to marry the chit, Byron, though in your actions, you have likely ruined both this woman and your betrothed, though you don’t seem to overly care. I had the fathers of both women nearing apoplexy as they left, determined that each would marry you.”
If only they knew the truth – then they would be running from the family.
Lord Heatherstone finally took a seat behind his desk, drumming his knuckles on the table, once, twice… until they stopped. His head tilted as though an idea had come