Page 101 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
“I’ll bet he bloody will,” Andrew muttered.
The lawyer’s eyes widened at the profanity.
“Wait, what do you mean—when he’s recovered?” Andrew asked.
“The duke broke his leg in the accident.Hiscompanion survived unscathed.”
“Well, I’m glad forthat, at least.”
Mr. Turnbull raised his eyebrows but had the sense not to ask Andrew whether he was glad that Sawbridge’s doxy had survived, or glad that Sawbridge had broken his leg.
I bloody well hope it hurts him. A lot.
“What about my brother’s…companion?” Andrew asked. “Has Sawbridge sent her family his condolences?”
“I believe she has no family, your lordship,” Mr. Turnbull said, his cheeks reddening further. “I believe she is—was—a woman of…” He made a random gesture, his blush extending to the tips of his ears.
“I understand,” Andrew said.
Given Sawbridge’s—and, if Andrew were honest, his brother’s—reputation, Robert must have indulged in a drunken carriage race after a night’s drinking and whoring.
Sweet Lord Almighty!Pain hammered at Andrew’s mind, and he leaned forward and placed his head in his hands.
“I trust you understand the necessity of attending your father,” Mr. Turnbull said. “I have taken a room at the inn here and shall await your instructions when you are ready.”
Andrew nodded. “Yes, of course.”
“Then I shall trespass on your time no longer.” Mr. Turnbull rose to his feet and extended his hand once more, and Andrew took it. “Please accept my condolences for your loss, Lord Radham.”
Ignoring the pain in his head and his heart, Andrew took the proffered hand. “Thank you. If you would be so good as to remain at the inn for another day to give me time to settle my affairs here, I shall be ready to depart this time tomorrow.”
“Very good, sir.” The lawyer gave a neat bow. “If I may be so bold as to venture an opinion, I believe that the viscountcy will be in good hands.”
After Andrew had ushered the neat little man out, he returned to the parlor. His gaze fell upon the decanter, its rounded belly filled with dark brown liquid—and with it, the potential to bring forth oblivion.
He picked it up.
Please accept my condolences for your loss, Lord Radham.
A mirthless laugh rose in Andrew’s chest, and he surrendered to it. His voiced swelled with a crescendo until, with a final roar, he threw back his arm, then flung the decanter at the door, where it shattered on impact, exploding into shards, issuing a thick mist of brandy that clung to the air momentarily before falling to the floor.
“Loss!” Andrew cried. “You cannot comprehend what I havelost!”
That bald-headed harbinger of doom had uttered all the appropriate words in the appropriate place. But Andrew had lost more than a brother. He’d already lost the woman he loved. And now, he had lost his vocation. All hope for a quiet life away from the demands of Society had gone—and with it, his freedom.
He sank to his knees, shaking as he fought to conquer his despair. Only now, as everything he valued had been stripped from him, did he fully understand the despair thatshe, his Etty, must have felt, the fortitude with which she had fought against her fate, the strength with which she had fought for those whom she loved.
He’d been waiting all his life for a sign from the Almighty, an answer to his prayers for peace and salvation. And today, he finally understood that an answer would always be forthcoming at the end.
Even if that answer wasno.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Rosecombe Park, Hertfordshire, October 1817
“Oh mio carodolce amore…”
Etty had forgotten the pure joy to be had from a love song. The soft music from the pianoforte filled the drawing room, stilling its occupants while they listened, enraptured, as Lady Arabella’s fingers caressed the keys, providing a gentle backdrop to Etty’s voice.
