Page 17 of A Murder in Mayfair
“I’m not in the market for a wife. Maybe Philip.”
“No.” I tossed back the rest of the whisky. “Not Philip.”
“What’s he done now?”
I told him.
“What do you intend to do about it?”
“Stop him from destroying himself. But it’s damn hard.”
“You are Steele to him.”
That was my title, but Nicky’s words conveyed something else. “What do you mean?”
“You have power over him, Warwick. Indeed, all of us, Mother, Philip, and me. Without you, we have nothing, as Father did not see it fit to bequeath us any funds, not even Mother. We are dependent on you for the roofs over our heads and every morsel we eat.”
“I’ve never denied any of you.”
“Indeed, you haven’t. You’ve always been more than generous. Still, he resents it.”
“And what am I supposed to do about it? As irresponsible as he is, I can’t grant him a generous sum. He will squander it on women and ... other things.”
“Talk to him.”
“I have, Nicky. He won’t listen.”
“Then find another way.”
I poured another generous splash of whiskey into my glass and gulped it down. “I’ll see what I can do.” Eager to change the subject, I asked, “Will you be at the Walsh ball?”
His smiling countenance disappeared, and his mood underwent a drastic change. “Yes, I’ll be there.” And then, without another word, he strode off.
That had been an odd reaction, especially coming from the brother who possessed the sunniest disposition of the three ofus. Something was troubling him. Whatever it was, I would find out. He could never hide anything from me.
Chapter
Six
TEA REVELATIONS
On the best of days, afternoon tea at Rosehaven Mansion was a pleasant affair. The youngest conducted themselves like well-mannered children. No one spilled anything or slurped their Earl Grey like a walrus in a teacup. And everyone ate their pastries without causing a ruckus—even Petunia, who once declared, with great ceremony, that the last éclair was promised to her by fate and ought not to be contested.
Today wasnotone of those days.
I walked into the drawing room to find Holly and Ivy hoarding the tray of fairy cakes. Predictably, Petunia had taken objection and was trying to wrestle it away from them. Poor Chrissie was attempting to reason with the twins. But they turned up their noses at her and crammed more of the treat into their mouths. Fox, who’d been sent down from Eton after he’d fed an emetic to a group of bullies, causing them to vomit for hours on end, was staring morosely out the window.Thatwas never a good sign. And Laurel, book in hand, had withdrawn to the farthest corner of the room, more than likely hoping theearth would swallow her quarreling siblings so she could read in peace.
Desperate times call for desperate measures.
I clapped my hands to get their attention. When that didn’t work, I stomped my feet. It had the desired effect. All heads turned toward me. “Children. If you don’t stop this arguing, you will all be vanished to your rooms with no supper, no books, and no dessert.”
Laurel shot to her feet. “Why should I suffer? I’m not fighting over some silly fairy cakes.”
Scrunching my brow, I folded my arms across my waist. “The punishment will apply equally to all.”
She swallowed hard and threw herself back in her chair. “That’s not fair.”
“You’re right. It isn’t.” I glared at Ivy, Holly, and Petunia. “Well, what do you have to say for yourselves?”
