Chapter Seven
If Cedric were in London, he would meet with his banker and have detailed information regarding his accounts. He would also discover the particulars of Lord Wenshire and his daughters. Dowries were flexible things, but general details were always available if one knew who to ask.
Additionally, he would have talked to his many female friends about Miss Richards, learning if she were shrewish or had a gambling habit. And best of all, he would have danced the waltz with her several times. Enough to indicate his interest in her such that gossip one way or another would find its way to his ears.
But he was not in London. There was no way to subtly find out what he wanted to know or to communicate his desire. No way except in the crudest manner possible. And he didn’t even have another bottle of Aarack to help ease the awkwardness of the discussion.
Nevertheless, he did his best.
There were few people at the captain’s table that night. Indeed, even the captain had gone into town which left three crew aboard ship. Miss Grace Richards came to the table in her sailor’s clothing. She ate quickly, smiled at him and then rushedback up into the sails to do whatever she did up there. He got the distinct impression that staying below bothered her.
Miss Lucy Richards dressed wonderfully, though the gown was of poor quality. No doubt it was the best available to her when she’d departed China. Still, she looked beautiful to him. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes seemed to sparkle at him, and yet she remained poised at the table, eating sparingly. She reminded him of a fawn, filled with life but still skittish. Unless she was negotiating spices, of course. Then she became a tigress.
He loved the variety of that and looked forward to seeing what she would become when she was a lady of thetonas his bride.
Her father sat beside her, listening to tales of India from the sailors who joined them. He was not a talkative man. He listened, chuckled, and smiled fondly at his daughters. Then the meal ended, the sailors departed, and Cedric knew it was time.
‘If you wouldn’t mind, sir,’ he said as Lord Wenshire set down his napkin. ‘I should like to converse with you. Over cigars, perhaps?’ He didn’t have any on him, but most gentlemen puffed when they could.
‘Bah,’ Mr. Richards said. ‘I stopped that habit when I started coughing.’ He smiled at Lucy. ‘My daughters made me.’
Cedric grinned. ‘Did you smoke your last one?’
Lord Wenshire stifled a cough. ‘Last week.’ Then he narrowed his eyes to look first at Cedric, then at Lucy. ‘Dearest,’ he said as he took her hand. ‘You should take a walk on deck. Watch the port. There’s always something interesting going on out there.’
Lucy looked at her father and then at Cedric. She understood the man’s meaning, but it was clear she was reluctant to leave. ‘Perhaps I could stay—’
‘That is not how the English do it, my dear. The hour after the meal is reserved for men speaking to men.’
She grimaced then gave in. She lowered her head and clasped her hands in front of her, though she still managed to look at him. He gave her a reassuring smile as she left the room. And then he did something unusual for him.
He waited. He looked at her father and knew that revealing himself immediately would be a mistake. He had to let her father guide the conversation. Except for one thing. He was the one who asked for the time alone with him. Still, he waited, feeling anxiety build in his belly until Lord Wenshire began to muse aloud.
‘I knew your father. Went to school with him, though I was several years ahead.’ He shifted to stare hard at Cedric. ‘What do you think of him?’
As little as possible. ‘He is the Earl of Hillburn, I am his heir. In that way, he deserves my respect.’
‘Does he?’ the man challenged. ‘Do you respect your father?’
This was not a topic he wanted to confront, but it was a legitimate question from Lucy’s father. And damn the man for getting right to the heart of it. Cedric looked down at his dirty plate and wished he had some very strong brandy at hand.
He did not. Neither did he want to lie, even though polite society generally expected him to.
‘My father is a gambler. Over the years, he’s sworn to stop, but he never has. I remember one Christmas when he was flush. He burst in like Father Christmas, dropped packages for everyone, and talked of all the wonderful things he wanted to do with us that winter. I remember being so happy.’
‘How long did it last?’
‘Not even a day. To be fair, we were the ones asking him to go riding in the snow with us, to listen to my sister sing, to praise me for my marks at school.’
‘He wasn’t one to praise?’
‘Oh, he was. Deep in his cups he had praise a plenty for everything and everyone. My father is a joyous drunk whom everybody loves.’
‘And what happens when he has no more money to gamble?’
‘He comes home and waits until quarter day when he can again return to London to lose it at the tables.’
‘So your title is hollow and you came to India to make your fortune.’ He leaned back in his chair to study Cedric. It was not a comfortable moment, but Cedric had experience in enduring uncomfortable moments. He sat still and tried to explain his situation in positive terms.