felt a hint of despair. God, would he never be free of the damnable tyrant who had sired him?
He refused to accept that notion, and he closed his eyes, shoving all the raked-up despair back down, burying it, working until he once again didn’t give a damn.
“Well,” he said at last, and opened his eyes, “this has been a most fascinating conversation, Freebody. But then, it’s always fascinating to see what Landsdowne’s got up his sleeve. Thank you for informing me.” He stood up, indicating this meeting was at an end. “I wish you good day.”
The attorney also rose to his feet. “You father desires an answer to his proposition. What do you wish me to tell him?”
“Tell him . . .” Nicholas put on his most genial smile. “Tell the autocratic old bastard he can go to hell and take my trust fund with him.”
Mr. Freebody did not seem surprised by his answer, but then, he was accustomed to such communications between father and son. This latest skirmish was nothing new. “Very well, my lord,” he said, then he bowed and departed.
Nicholas sat back down with a sigh. As satisfying as it always was to tell the old man to go to hell, it did little to resolve his problems, which had now been made even more acute due to a sordid scandal sheet. With that thought, he snatched up the copy of Talk of the Town that Landsdowne’s solicitor had left on the table. Just what had this damnable rag said about him?
Nicholas read the whole sordid essay, and with every word, his anger grew. Elizabeth Mayfield was mentioned, of course. And Mignonette, though the fact that he had broken with her before leaving Paris had somehow escaped their notice. Apparently the scandalmongers at Talk of the Town hadn’t appreciated the fact that a man with no money could no longer afford an expensive Parisian courtesan. There were also snippets about several other women he’d been involved with over the years, though thankfully, there was no mention of Kathleen.
By the time he’d finished the story, he was angry as hell, but he was also convinced beyond doubt that Landsdowne was in no way responsible. His father would never air the family’s dirty laundry this way, not in a thousand years. So just how had the news of his situation fallen into the hands of the gutter press?
I’ll stop you any way I can.
Lady Featherstone’s voice rang in his ears as if she were sitting at his table and he had the answer to his question.
Yesterday, he’d been reasonably sure that any attempt on her part to warn young ladies away from him would fail because young ladies seldom heeded that sort of warning. But this was a different tactic, one he had not had the wits to foresee.
A man couldn’t spend a season in town looking for a bride if he had no money and no credit. And how in blazes was he to obtain said bride, with his intentions laid bare and his reputation besmirched all over again in London’s most prominent scandal sheet, where every wealthy American family in London could read it?
It was an open secret that many transatlantic marriages were a trade of social position for money, but no girl wanted her social-climbing ambitions or her future husband’s mercenary motives so flagrantly displayed. A public pretense of romantic love was expected on both sides, something which for him and his future bride was now off the table thanks to Belinda Featherstone. And even if some heiress were willing to ignore this bit of dirt as well as his rather notorious past, and if by chance he succeeded in obtaining her consent to wed him, what about her family? No father worth his salt would agree to the match. Eloping to Gretna Green might become his only option.
Since the incident with Lady Elizabeth, he was rather persona non grata with London society, which was why he’d gone to Belinda Featherstone in the first place. Little had he known his visit to her would have the opposite effect of the one he’d intended. In making his situation and chosen