CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER FIVE

After breaking his fast with Montagu and Lady Montagu and Giff schooled his friend on what was needed to attend Almack's, he realized he had not informed his own mother that he wished to attend. He trusted she would have obtained vouchers, but it never hurt to ask. He hadn't gone in years. He prayed she was awake. He'd learned at a young age never to disrupt her sleep her unless it was an emergency.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he strode down the corridor and knocked on Mamma's parlor door.

"Enter."

He opened the door and stepped into the room. His mother was sitting at a round table with various breakfast items on it. Chief of which was a bowl of porridge. "We do have vouchers for Almack's, do we not?"

She covered her mouth as she yawned. "We do. I planned to attend even if you did not. However, I am pleased you have decided to take the bull by the horns."

Giff was strongly reminded of the shaggy highland bull at his grandfather's estate in Scotland. He'd thought it would be fun to see it up close and perhaps stroke it when it charged him. He'd barely made it over the fence. "That is an interesting way to put it."

"At least there are not hidden alcoves or other places one can be compromised there." Her tone betrayed how serious she was.

But compromised? Him? "I hadn't thought of the possibility, but you are correct."

She made a shooing motion with her hands. "We will discuss it more later. Leave me to my breakfast."

"Yes, your grace." He bowed.

"Out! Now!" Mamma wrinkled her nose as she sniffed.

Giff backed out of the door and closed it. His mother had given him something unexpected to consider. Corridors, dark gardens, even terraces were all places he had taken widows before, but where one could be compromised and made to wed a person one did not wish to marry. While he'd been congratulating himself on his status and looks, making it easy to find a wife, he had not thought how that also made him a target. His temptation to flirt with a lady might also cause trouble by raising expectations. Lady Alice had not seemed susceptible—that he didn't understand at all—but some other young lady and her Mamma might decide he was about to make an offer. There was a fine line between merely social engagement and something more. He'd have to be careful. In fact, he'd have to change his conversation.

"My lord," his valet said. "Yer bath is ready."

"Thank you, Dunn." Years ago, Giff had stopped wondering how personal servants knew exactly what one wanted and when.

Shortly after he'd dressed, Dunn brought a stack of cards. He placed them in two groups, one in front of Giff and one off to the side. "These"—he touched the first stack—"are invitations her grace has accepted. Those"—he pointed at the others—"are ones she's nay seen. I'm to tell ye she expects ye to go with her on morning visits today."

"Thank you. When am I to be ready?" He hoped it was after luncheon.

"One o'clock," his valet answered.

Since neither of his parents partook of an early breakfast, luncheon was not served in the dining room. "I will eat at twelve."

"I'll tell Cook." Dunn bowed and left the room.

Giff glanced at the cards and decided they could wait until later. He'd ordered a book on new farming practices in order to be ready to take over the Whippoorwill estate once he'd married. Donning his hat and gloves, he picked up his cane, and went to the front door.

"My lord." His father's butler was holding a note. "This just came for you."

He placed the cane against a wall and opened the missive.

My dear Lord St. Albans,

I have been directed to inform you of the death of your great-uncle, the Honorable Angus Dewar.

No! How could that be? He'd just visited Uncle Angus two months ago. Granted he was old, but he seemed to be in good health.

You were mentioned in his last will and testament. Please inform me of a time I may call on you.

Yr. Servant,

Cecil Throckmorton

Solicitor

Throckmorton and Throckmorton

The address was near the Inns of Court. Giff could, and probably should, send a note back stating a time, but he'd rather not wait. "Call for my curricle. I'll want Fergus to accompany me as well."

"Straightaway, my lord."

Giff resolved to wait patiently. It wouldn't take that long, and the last time he'd ventured to go to the stables here, the stablemaster had told him to go wait in the house until he was informed that his carriage or horse, as the case may, be was ready. According to the stablemaster, it was unseemly for a future duke to go to the stables for either his horse or carriage while in Town. Although, it was perfectly respectable to do so in the country. He remembered his sisters complaining about rules. Apparently, he had to follow them as well. Albeit, probably not as many.

Ardley bowed and opened the door. "Your carriage awaits, my lord."

"Thank you, Ardley."

Fergus stood by the curricle. "Where we goin', sir?"

"To the City. My great-uncle Angus died." Giff climbed into the carriage.

"That's a loss." His groom climbed onto the back where a seat had been built. "He was a grand old man."

"That he was." Since he'd been a boy, Giff had visited his uncle every year. He'd hoped his children would know his uncle as well.

Thirty minutes later he jumped down from the curricle and his groom ran to the horses. "I'll walk 'em."

Giff nodded, looked at the names on the building and made his way to the first floor. The office was decorated in dark wood paneling, but long narrow windows lit the area.

"May I help you?" a clerk asked.

"I'm Lord Montagu." Giff handed the man a card. "I received a letter from Mr. Cecil Throckmorton this morning. I'd like to meet with him."

The clerk's jaw dropped. "I'll get him." And he dashed off.

A short time later, a tall, lean man dressed in a black jacket, knee breeches, and a starched cravat, modestly tied, bowed and greeted him. "My lord. I am Cecil Throckmorton. I would have been happy to attend you."

Giff inclined his head. "Thank you, but I have time this morning, and I'm busy the rest of the week."

Throckmorton waved his arm toward an open door. "I have had the file put in here. Would you like some tea?"

"Please." Giff wondered how long this would take. He took a seat at the head of a long table as another clerk set out the documents.

Throckmorton sat to his right. "There is a letter for you from Mr. Dewar. After you read it, I will explain your bequest."

"Thank you." Giff broke the seal and shook the paper open.

The hand that had written the letter seemed firm.

Giff, my boy,

If you're reading this, I'm dead. I've had a good life. That's as much as a man can ask for. None of that useless English mourning. When you can find a good bottle of whisky, have a dram or two and remember me life. More than any other of my nephews, you were the son of my heart despite you being half Sassenach. I never understood why your mother couldn't have found a good Scotsman to wed. But I'm taking too long to get to the point. Besides a few bequests, I'm leaving you everything. I trust you to take care of the house, land, and servants.

All the best,

Uncle Angus

Giff blinked back tears. "Do you know how he died?"

"He fell off his horse," Throckmorton said. "I must admit, I was slightly shocked to have been told he was over ninety. I'm sorry to tell you that the funeral has already been held."

Giff was sorry he'd missed the funeral but was glad his uncle had been doing something he loved. "He would have rather died riding then in his bed."

The solicitor cleared his throat and handed him several sheets of paper. "He last will and testament."

The first list was of bequests. He chuckled as he read the stipulation that every servant who wanted to retire had to replace themselves and train the replacement. "Have the servants been told of the requirement?"

"They have, my lord. According to the solicitor in Scotland, none of them were surprised."

Giff nodded. His uncle had probably informed them all beforehand. The only part that was surprising was the amount Uncle Angus had in funds and in the bank. "I had no idea he was that warm."

"According to the accounts I reviewed, he invested well. What will you do with the funds?"

"I'll not change any of the investments. I would like the direction of his man of business. If you agree to represent me, I'd like you to open an account in my name at Campbell Coutts. The principle will remain with the Bank of Scotland"—Uncle Angus would haunt Giff if he moved it all to England—"An amount of five hundred pounds will be transferred immediately to the new account."

Throckmorton bowed. "I would be honored to represent you, my lord. Would you like me to write to the steward?"

"No, I'll do it. It's better he and the staff hear from me." Giff rose and held out his hand. "I look forward to doing business with you."

The solicitor looked surprised but took his hand and shook it. "The feeling is mutual. There will be documents to sign. Would you like me to bring them to you?"

Giff considered the question. His father would not be happy about Uncle Hector's bequest. They had never got along. His mother, on the other hand, would be thrilled after she got over her uncle's death. Giff decided to keep it to himself for the time being. "No. Send a messenger when the papers are ready."

"As you wish, my lord."

When he reached the street, he was torn between weeping for an uncle he loved dearly and smiling at his good fortune. It appeared weeping was going to win out. He waved to Fergus.

"Bad news, sir?"

"Just the opposite, but there was a letter in Uncle's hand." Giff couldn't finish the sentence.

Lips pressed together his groom nodded. "Take yer time. That's what my mam told me when Granny died."

He climbed into the carriage and started the pair. Had anyone written to his mother?

When he arrived home, he was greeted with the news that his mother wanted to see him. Giff went directly to her parlor. One look at her and he knew she had been informed.

"Oh, Giff." Her eyes filled with tears.

He went to her and kneeled next to her chair. Taking one cold hand, he rubbed it between his. "I know."

"I suppose I thought he would live forever." Her handkerchief was already wet, and he handed her his.

"I did as well." She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. "My father told me he left everything to you."

"Yes. I've just come from the solicitor."

"That is good." Mamma removed her hand from his and blew her nose. "I do not think I am up for morning visits today."

"Neither am I. There will be other days." A thought occurred to him. "You don't by chance have any whisky, do you?"

She gave him a watery smile. "How very good of you to remember. It's in my dressing room on top of the first wardrobe."

He brought it out and poured them each a glass. "To Uncle Angus. Long may he live in our hearts. Fill to me the parting glass, and drink a health whate'er befalls, Then gently rise and softly call Goodnight and joy be to you all."

Three toasts later, he went to his room. The last time he saw Uncle Hector, a man who'd never married, Uncle Hector had sat him down and told him it was time for him to find a wife. He shuffled through the cards, separating them out by event. Balls, Venetian Breakfasts, a musical evening, and a soiree. The first event, though, was Almack's where he would ask one of the Lady Patronesses to recommend him for a waltz with Lady Alice.

* * *

Even though Alice had asked Georgie about Lord St. Albans, she still wanted Matt's opinion as well, but she did not know how to bring up the subject. She met her sisters in the corridor before they went down to the breakfast room. "What is the best way to go about asking Matt whether Lord St. Albans is a rake?"

Madeline just stared at Alice for a moment. Then Eleanor said, "I will do it. We all need to know."

They went down to breakfast and after the children had gone to their lessons, Eleanor glanced at Alice, then at Matt. "What do you know about Lord St. Albans?"

Madeline closed her eyes and huffed. "Is he a rake?"

His brows rose, and he frowned. "Not that I have heard, and I've made a point of discovering who should not be made known to you." He took another a sip of tea. "How did you meet him?"

Eleanor glanced at Madeline and Alice nodded. "Lord Montagu saw us in the Park, and Lord St. Albans was with him. He seems to be rather worldly."

"As he might." Matt took a piece of toast. "He's been on the Town for several years."

First Georgie now Matt. Alice did not understand why that was the first thing anyone said about the man. Now to discover if Matt had any concerns about Alice and the others dancing with him. "He has asked us all to stand up with him at Almack's."

"Lord Montagu has as well," Eleanor said and quickly turned to ask Augusta a question.

Alice wanted to know more. "Is that all right? I mean, is he a proper person to know?"

Matt looked at her for a long moment as if attempting to work out what she actually wanted to know. "I have no objection to him."

There had to be something more. "What does ‘on the Town' actually mean?"

Her brother-in-law set down his cup. "It means that he has been a carefree bachelor who has taken time to sow his oats. That is all I'm going to say."

"Oh." Well, that was disappointing. She was going to have to find out for herself. She heard Grace say that Louis and Charlotte had been nervous. "Other than you and Matt, who is attending Almack's with us?"

"Everyone who is in Town," Grace said.

"Walter and I will be there," Charlie gave them an encouraging look. "Remember. All hands on deck."

"That's right." Walter grinned. "You have nothing about which to be concerned."

Madeline's eyes filled with tears. "I am very glad you are my brothers."

Alice felt happy tears in her eyes as well. "I am too."

Phinn whispered something to Augusta. "Augusta and I will be there as well."

Everything would be fine. Alice and her sisters were the luckiest ladies to make a come out.