Page 25 of The Moonstone Marquess
It was a wonder any of them still talked to him. How on earth could they still love him?
Well, he would start with apologizing to Cain when he and Hen returned from Bath. As for his brother, he did not know how he would ever make it up to him. John was the best brother any man could have.
He stared at Lord Crawford, who had stretched back out on his bed and once more tossed an arm over his eyes.
Cormac had behaved the same way. Indeed, there were so many uncomfortable similarities between them.
Cormac had also defied his father’s wishes and signed on for the army despite being heir. John should have been the one to serve, but he was a gentle soul and would not have survived the war years.
No, Cormac had done right in defying his father’s wishes and signing on. John had done an able job of managing the Burness holdings in the meanwhile. It eased Cormac’s soul to know John had made a good life for himself, a happy marriage, and had two beautiful daughters from it.
Unfortunately, the Crawford family was not faring as well.
He needed to turn this around, just as he had promised James.
Taking women to one’s bed was not a mark of manhood. Yes, Richard was painfully naïve and needed to gain experience. James had insisted on it. But what Richard needed more than the knowledge of carnal pleasure was how to build character.
Cormac knew he would have to start from scratch, teach Richard to understand right from wrong. Teach him to hold to his principles and have the confidence to fight for them even if it made his life more difficult. Spur him to action instead of coddling his indolence. Teach him about the running of a thriving estate.
“Get out of bed, Richard. No more pitying yourself. You are coming with me.” Cormac knew how to instill strength and purpose on a battlefield, but life in peacetime was a different matter. He hadn’t won any awards for brilliance in that himself.
In truth, too often he felt lost and out of his depth.
Well, not in running an estate. But in every other aspect of his life, those that required sensitivity and feelings. He was terrible at that.
“Where are we going?” Richard asked as Cormac hauled him out of bed.
“Down to the beach. You need a dose of fresh air in your lungs.”
The man groaned. “No, I—”
“Utter another word and I shall knock you out cold and carry you down there myself.”
This spurred the reluctant earl on. “All right. A short walk.”
They marched downstairs.
Lord Harding and the two ladies were still in the parlor, no doubt bored and already drinking heavily. Cormac hurried Richard past them.
A glimpse in passing showed the toady, Lord Harding, leering at the countess while he ran his hands up the countess’s legs. The viscountess was busy spilling wine onto Cormac’s new carpet as she tried to pour the liquid from the bottle into her glass.
Melrose was at the front door, scowling at him.
“They are not my friends,” Cormac muttered, as though this would absolve him of responsibility for their wretched behavior. He ordered the butler to shut the parlor doors and leave those lackwits to themselves.
“I need a drink,” Richard said.
“It is the last thing you need.” Cormac dragged him outdoors. “We’re taking a walk. You can do what you wish afterward.”
“I changed my mind. I hate walks.”
“I don’t care.” He led the man toward the beach, keeping hold of him by the scruff of his neck as they descended the stairs, much like a dog would hold on to its pup. “Take a deep breath, Richard. Enjoy the sea air. Appreciate the bounty you have been given.”
“I’d rather be tasting the viscountess,” he muttered.
“I’m sure she’ll be willing, assuming she hasn’t passed out by the time we return,” Cormac said with open disgust.
Yet was this not him as little as a few days ago?
