Chapter 2

“ A nother brandy, yes, and one for Lord Fox. His glass is nearly empty!” Simon Walker exclaimed, calling out to the steward, who gave a curt nod and hurried off across the smoking room.

Simon and his friends were drinking at Boodles club. They had spent the afternoon in pugilistic pleasures at Whites tavern and had dined on roast beef and horseradish in the club dining room. Half a dozen bottles of claret had been consumed between three of them, and the atmosphere was a merry one.

“You certainly showed old Lowry Stock your left hook this afternoon,” Simon’s friend, Connaught, the Baron Rothschild, said, raising his glass to Simon, who laughed.

“All I ask for is a worthy opponent. So many of them don’t know their left from their right. It’s quite extraordinary. But we enjoyed ourselves, didn’t we? Foxy here got knocked down a dozen times, and still got up,” he said, slapping his friend Lord Algernon Fox across the back.

Lord Fox laughed and shook his head.

“Am I forever destined to be your foil in the boxing ring?” he asked, and Simon smiled.

“You just need more practice, my friend. That’s all. Find a sparring partner amongst your manservants,” he said, as the steward returned with their brandies.

Simon was happiest in the company of his friends. They were all of them young aristocrats – Simon was the son of the Duke of Brighton, with the title of Marquess of Downbury, his father’s lesser title – and had grown up together. Simon and Lord Fox had even attended Eton together in the same year. The pursuit of pleasure was their main aim, and it was not unusual for their debaucheries to last for several days at a time.

“I’d be lucky – they’re all old maids, even the men!” Lord Fox exclaimed, and the others laughed heartily.

Simon finished his brandy, swilling the last dregs in his glass before rising to his feet. He was tired, even though he did not wish to admit it.

“There was a time you could go on all night,” the baron said, but Simon only shook his head and smiled.

“Responsibility beckons. A meeting with my lawyer tomorrow,” he replied, rising to his feet.

The steward fetched his coat and hat, and Simon bid his friends goodnight. He crossed the smoking room at Boodles, where the great and the good of the English aristocracy occupied their drinking huddles, wreathed in clouds of pipe smoke, nodding to several of his acquaintances as he went.

“Is your father well?” one of them asked, and Simon gave a wry smile.

“Too well,” he replied, and the men all laughed.

It was well known amongst the aristocracy that the Duke of Brighton was an ailing man, but one who appeared to cling to life with dogged determination. It was Simon who saw to the day-to-day affairs of the estate, even as he preferred to reside in London, rather than at the ancestral home of Fulham Park. Life with his parents could be stifling, and Simon far preferred the freedom afforded him by London life.

“Shall I summon a carriage for you, my Lord?” the steward asked, and Simon nodded.

“Thank you, yes. And have another bottle of claret sent over to Lord and Fox and the Baron Rothschild – I doubt they’ll leave before midnight,” he replied, and the steward nodded.

In the carriage, Simon smiled to himself, settling back, and recalling the pleasures of the day. He was a fine boxer and had won several sizable wagers by betting on himself at Whites tavern. He enjoyed a challenge and often sparred with his own manservant, Wilkins, a man twice his size, but whom Simon was often able to overcome by sheer ingenuity in his tactics.

It’s not a bad life, is it? he thought to himself, glancing at his own reflection in the glass of the carriage window.

Looking back at him was a handsome face, albeit once a little worse for wear after enduring several rounds of boxing that afternoon. His hair was unruly, and always somewhat messy, even when he tried to tame it. He smiled, thinking back to the fights of the afternoon and shaking his head.

I’ll be back again next week. Then they’ll be sorry they bet against me on the Rollison fight. I’ll get him right between the eyes. I shouldn’t have fallen for his right hook, he told himself.

His home – a part of the London holdings of the Duke of Brighton’s estate – was a fine townhouse in Mayfair. It was far too big for a bachelor, but Simon found it to his liking. When not with his friends, he spent his days in the library, or at his correspondence, which was sizable. He saw to most all the affairs of his father’s estate, even if he did not yet possess the title. Simon knew his world was changing – each day brought with it new responsibilities, even as he still clung to the last vestiges of the life of pleasure he so enjoyed.

“There’re still opportunities,” he told himself, stepping down from the carriage a short while later.

He was surprised to find several of the windows of the house alight, candles burning in the rooms beyond. He had instructed Wilkins to retire early if it pleased him. But it seemed his instruction had been ignored. Hurrying up the steps, he let himself in, calling for his manservant as he did so.

“Ah, my Lord…” Wilkins said, appearing in the hallway and looking somewhat perturbed.

“Whatever’s going on? And what’s that noise?” Simon demanded.

A high-pitched sound – an intermittent wailing – was coming from somewhere in the house, and Simon could hear the shouts of a maid attempting to control someone’s behavior.

“You stop that, you naughty child…oh, Wilkins, help me,” a shout came from up above, and Simon stared at the manservant in astonishment.

“A child?” he exclaimed, and Wilkins nodded.

“My Lord, your sister is here. She arrived quite suddenly. She’s in a terrible state of distress. I’ve shown her into the drawing room, but your nephew…” Wilkins began, as a new shriek came from the landing above, and Simon’s nephew, Thomas, launched himself over the banister, sliding down it with a whoop and landing on the hallway floor as the maid came running after him.

“Oh, my Lord. I’m so sorry. I can’t control him,” she exclaimed sounding more distressed than apologetic. Simon shook his head.

“It’s quite all right, Lillian. Leave the boy to me,” he said, stepping forward to grab his nephew by the scruff of his neck.

Thomas was a difficult child. He had always been so. Simon’s sister, Anna, found him impossible to control, and with his father – a naval officer – always at sea, Thomas had little by way of discipline in his life. But more than that, there was a problem with the child’s development. He did not behave as other children did and had little understanding of the norms by which society lived.

“Your sister, my Lord. She’s terribly distressed. Will you go to her? I don’t know what’s wrong with her,” Wilkins said in a hushed whisper, as Simon tried desperately to restrain his nephew.

“Thomas, stop this at once!” he exclaimed, even as the child continue to scream and whoop.

“Shan’t!” Thomas yelled, and he struggled free from Simon’s grip and rushed off across the hallway, knocking a vase over as he went.

Simon groaned.

“Lock him in a bedroom. He’ll fall asleep eventually,” he said, turning to Wilkins who looked somewhat perturbed at being given such a responsibility.

“As you wish, my Lord,” he said, rolling up his sleeves in preparation for giving chase.

Simon retreated. He was not good with children, and certainly not with his nephew, who was forever getting into trouble and causing mischief. But now his thoughts turned to his sister, and he wondered why she had made the journey from her home in Plymouth to see him. Simon’s parents had disowned their daughter after her marriage to the dashing naval officer, Jefferson Edwards. They considered him beneath her and blamed their grandson’s failings on a poor choice of father. The matter was a difficult one, but Simon loved his sister dearly, and had never condemned her choice of husband. Now, he hurried to the drawing room, anxious to discover what it was that had so upset her.

“Anna?” he said, opening the door and stepping inside.

Wilkins had lit lamps around the room, and candles burned in the sconces on the wall. A fire was kindled in the hearth, giving off a merry glow, even as the figure sitting before it seemed anything but merry. Simon’s sister was a pretty woman, with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes. But today, her hair was unkempt, matted, and uncombed, her head was bowed, and she was dressed all in black. She looked up at Simon and shook her head, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Oh Simon…it’s Jefferson…he’s dead,” she wailed, and collapsed back on the chaise lounge on which she was sitting in a fit of sobs.

Simon hurried to her side, snatching up a glass from the sideboard and pouring her a large brandy.

“Oh, Anna. I’m so sorry. Drink this. It’ll steady your nerves,” he said, putting his arm around her.

She took the glass and sniffed it involuntarily, screwing up her nose, before shaking her head before burying herself in his arms. He held her, kissing the top of her head, and feeling nothing but sorrow for his sister, who had loved her husband with all her heart.

“Drowned…the ship lost. They brought word yesterday. I couldn’t stay. I had to come. I had nowhere else to go,” she whispered, as he tried to calm her.

“It’s all right. You don’t need to explain. You were right to come,” Simon replied, knowing the welcome – or lack of it – she would have received at the hands of their parents.

Simon had always liked Jefferson Edwards. He and Anna had met at a ball and been engaged a month later. It had been a whirlwind romance, one which their parents thoroughly disapproved of. They had not even attended the wedding, nor given their blessings for it. Anna had been cut off, and even the arrival of a grandson had done nothing to thaw their icy relationship.

“In the Caribbean. That’s where it happened. There was a storm, the ship sank. It was weeks ago…oh, and to think I lived in happy oblivion, not knowing my darling Jefferson was…dead all this time,” Anna began wailing again, as Simon shushed her and held her close to him.

“You mustn’t upset yourself like this, Anna. You’ll make yourself ill. Sit back, there we are,” Simon said, trying to sound comforting as he lay her back on the chaise lounge and wondered what was best to do next.

It was no wonder Thomas was behaving so badly. But Wilkins would see to him – albeit reluctantly. He was glad Anna had come to him. He loved her dearly and would have done anything for her, even against the wishes of their parents. But even they must be told of this tragedy. Perhaps it would be a chance to thaw their relations with Anna, and even affect a reconciliation.

“I don’t know how I can go on without him. We had such plans, Simon. We were so happy,” Anna said, staring up at Simon with such a look of sorrow as to quite break his heart.

“Don’t worry, Anna. You’re not alone. You’ve got me. I’ll take care of you, and Thomas,” he said, and she shook her head and sighed.

“Poor Thomas. He doesn’t really understand, I don’t think. I tried to tell him, but…you know what he’s like. I’m sorry if he’s causing trouble,” Anna said, but Simon shook his head.

“Not at all,” he replied, picturing his nephew sliding down the banister and the fragments of the vase he had smashed, scattered over the hallway floor.

“But what now, Simon? I don’t know what to do,” Anna said, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

“You can’t be expected to. You’ve lost…the love of your life, its meaning, its all. But you must stay here as long as you wish. Permanently, for that matter. I won’t have you go back to Plymouth. What sort of life would you have there now?” Simon asked.

It was not a difficult decision to make. His sister was flesh and blood. He would have done anything for her, even as he realized such an arrangement would mean curtailing his own pleasures. There could be no more gatherings of the pugilists in the drawing room late into the night, or claret fueled dinners in the dining room lasting into the early hours. Responsibility had well and truly caught up with him.

“But I can’t ask that of you, Simon. What would mother and father say?” she said, but Simon only shook his head.

“I can well imagine what they’d say, and I don’t care for it. You’ll stay here with Thomas and let me take care of you both,” he replied, and he reached out and took her hand in his and squeezed it.

The look of relief on his sister’s face was palpable, even as now she began to weep once again. Simon rang for Wilkins and instructed his manservant – who also acted as butler and valet – to see to it a room was prepared for his sister and arrangements made for the coming days.

“Your nephew is sleeping, my Lord, but it took some persuasion to calm him down,” Wilkins said in a hushed tone, and Simon looked at him curiously.

“What sort of persuasion?” he asked, and the manservant rolled his eyes.

“A large slice of cake, my Lord, and a warm cup of milk,” he said, and Simon nodded.

“Very well. Bring my sister some chamomile tea. It may help to calm her nerves. She and my nephew will remain with us for some time,” he said, and Wilkins nodded.

“Very good, my Lord,” he replied, bowing, and leaving the room.

“I’ve asked for some chamomile tea, Anna. But I think I should see you to bed now. Thomas is asleep, and that’s just what you need, too. We’ll talk about things in the morning,” he said, going to Anna’s side and placing his hand gently on her shoulder.

She looked up at him and nodded. Her face was set in sorrow, and she had such a look as to make Simon wonder if she would ever regain her happy smile – the smile he always associated with her.

“I’m so grateful to you, Simon. And I know Jefferson would be, too,” she said, placing her hand on his.

“We’ll get through this, Anna, I promise,” he replied, hoping he could find a way to fulfill his responsibilities to both his sister and her difficult child…

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