EPISODE ONE HUNDRED AND ELEVEN THE THRONE OF LOVE

EPISODE ONE HUNDRED AND ELEVEN

THE THRONE OF LOVE

T he Albany was a large brick building in Piccadilly, built for a viscount and divided into apartments for wealthy young men after his lordship realized he couldn t afford all that magnificence. Miles climbed from his carriage in front of the entrance, anger still setting his teeth on edge.

It felt as if all the corruption, unkindness, and sexual depravity he d been forced to witness-and investigate-had come down to this: a man so vile that he refused to wear a condom, resulting in children whom he discarded like snagged silk stockings: imperfect, worthy of no notice, tossed aside to be mended by someone else.

By his long-suffering wife, Lady Wharton. Or by Miles s wife.

Daisy s father apparently didn t care that most of his children were considered a disgrace, degraded from the moment they breathed air, the sins of their father visited on their heads.

The entrance to the Albany clung to the trappings of an aristocratic home, though with a touch of self-consciousness, like a noblewoman fallen on hard times. The Aubusson rug was worn before the door, but numerous candles burned brightly, and the butler who advanced to meet Miles was properly attired in black with snowy white touches.

I am Lord Devin, Miles said, pulling off his hat and gloves.

It is a pleasure to welcome you to the Albany, your lordship, the man said with a deep bow. My name is Mr. Guppy, and I ve the pleasure of butlering for all seventy-three bachelor apartments. One of the very best has recent-

I m married, Miles interrupted him. And so, by the way, is Lord Wharton, so bachelor apartments is something of a misnomer, is it not?

The famous poet, Lord Byron, also lives here, and he is married, Guppy said brightly. Am I to take it that you d like to pay Lord Wharton a visit, my lord? If you ll give me your card, I ll see if his lordship is receiving.

No, you ll take me to his door on the double, Miles said, handing his greatcoat, hat, and gloves to a footman. Daisy was waiting at home. Waiting for him in a towel .

He d been so enraged that it was only when he was driving away from the house that he abruptly realized that he d made a ludicrous mistake. He d been close to bedding the one woman whom he d desired in years. Instead, he d left her sitting on the bed in peach-cheeked perfection while fury swept him into a carriage.

When had anger and revulsion ever swayed him to this extent? He d been unkind to her, too. Wretchedly unkind, and he felt ashamed of it.

He would send a note to Lord Paget resigning his post tomorrow morning. He d had enough of the dissolute practices of the wealthy and mighty. The anger that was swilling in his gut wasn t due to his hasty marriage. It stemmed from countless hours spent listening to gentlemen with hard smiles explain away their crimes.

He wanted no more of it.

The only thing he wanted, in fact, was to return home and make peace with his wife. Because Daisy was terribly important to him. He hadn t realized how important until he was in a carriage bowling away from her.

Here you are, my lord. Number sixty-nine, and you are lucky to find his lordship in on an evening. He s a night-owl, Lord Wharton.

Miles rapped on the door, thinking that he must have met Daisy s father at some point, though he had no memory of it. To the best of his recollection, his lordship did not attend his brother-in-law s treason trial.

The door was opened by a manservant. The gentleman who languidly rose from the couch seemed surprisingly youthful for a man in his sixties. Miles might actually have thought Lady Wharton was older than her husband, perhaps because worry and anger had worn on her spirit.

His lordship s silver hair had thinned significantly on the top of his head, so he had brushed the two sides up to meet in the middle like the ridgepole of a thatched roof. His cravat brushed his jowls in a fussy style worn by young men. Even worse, he was wearing fawn-colored, closely fitted pantaloons with an opening at the ankle.

May I help you? he inquired.

Miles jerked his head at the valet, who took himself away. You may indeed help me, he said, walking into the apartment. The drawing room was pleasantly enough laid out, though a touch over-theatrical given its red velvet hangings and gilded wainscoting.

Excuse me, Wharton said in a pained tone. May I know who you are? If you are a bailiff-

I am your son-in-law, Miles said, wheeling about.

Wharton gasped, No. He might have turned pale from shock, but no sign was visible since he wore a thick layer of face paint, his cheeks dusted with rouge.

Yes, Miles said, walking close enough to confirm inadequately disguised syphilis scabs around the man s mouth. A beat of sadness went through him, not for the wretched Wharton, but for Daisy, who had lost her good regard for her father and was likely to lose him altogether in the near future.

You must have forced my girl, Wharton said, his voice rising. Daisy s too young to be married.

She is over twenty.

He blinked at this clearly unwelcome information. Did you elope with her? he demanded, recovering.

Do you care?

Of course I care! As she is mine, I may dispose of her. I ve told her mother many a time that I won t allow her to marry below the nobility. Wharton s eyes rested disdainfully on Miles s hastily tied cravat.

You re in luck, Miles said, seating himself. I am Lord Devin. My claim to nobility stretches back to a close friend of Henry VIII.

Wharton squinted as if trying to place the name. Of course, he didn t spend much time fraternizing with polite society.

I m primarily known for my fortune, Miles said, solving the problem for him.

Whoever you are, you married my daughter without asking for my permission, Wharton crabbed, his expression indicating that was a stupendous calamity. He sat down opposite Miles, plucking at his pantaloons to make certain that the openings at his ankles didn t bunch up.

As I said, I married her this morning.

I had no chance to walk my only daughter down the aisle! Lord Wharton cried with a fiery emphasis that suggested his emotions could only be alleviated by money.

Only daughter?

Miles felt like a shark closing in on a mackerel. I married Daisy after she arrived on my doorstep with a baby, he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Balderdash! her father spat. My daughter is as innocent as the driven snow. Her mother would allow no less. Besides, she s not exactly the kind of woman who has men sniffing at her heels, is she?

Miles suddenly realized that while he had idly contemplated challenging his father-in-law to a duel, at this moment he would prefer to strangle him. Strangling felt more satisfying than leveling a rapier. Your daughter is a beautiful, charming woman who had a circle of men at her feet before marrying me, he said through clenched teeth.

You must be infatuated, Wharton said with a crack of laughter.

Seized by rage, Miles lunged out of his chair, twisting his father-in-law s neckcloth and jerking him to his feet. You will

never speak of my wife again in such an insolent manner.

My cravat! Wharton squawked, pulling away. Miles let him go. The Trone d Amour took me well over an hour to perfect.

Throne of love? Miles asked. Ironic.

Wharton ignored him, running to a glass on the opposite wall. Ruined, he moaned. Ruined. He soothed the crushed folds of starched silk as if he were patting an outraged cat.

Oh, for God s sake, Miles said, dropping back into his chair.

Wharton s manservant carried in two glasses of sherry on a silver tray. He registered the state of his master s attire with a yelp.

Just so, Wharton said mournfully. I shall be very late to the club this evening, Manning. Please send a message to Chesney.

Apparently too shaken to offer sherry, the valet set down his tray and left.

His lordship strolled back across the room and seated himself, shaking his pantaloons again before he looked at Miles with a peevish expression. Not a drop of fear, Miles noticed. Daisy s plucky nature had apparently been inherited along with her hair color.

So you married my daughter, Wharton stated. I am shocked, sir. Shocked . In my day, we didn t behave with such raffish haste.

Really? Miles said genially. I was under the distinct impression that you eloped with Daisy s mother. Aren t you going to ask anything further about the baby?

My daughter s by-blow? I see nothing to discuss. He narrowed his eyes. Unless you took her precious virginity, a woman s greatest gift to her husband.

I did not.

Then I suspect you hope for a larger dowry under the circumstances, but you shan t get it from me. You could try her mother. I don t mind telling you that Lady Wharton is a terrible nipcheese. Her behavior throughout our marriage has been dishonorable and unprincipled. I say that only to you, since you re a family member.

Actually, I d describe you as dishonorable and unprincipled, Miles remarked.

Don t tell me the bailiffs have been after you already, and you only married Daisy this morning! Wharton said, straightening and looking truly indignant.

They have not.

They will, he sighed. You can t imagine how persistent those fellows are. The tailor who made these pantaloons proved himself a hawk. He leveled a finger at Miles. Don t pay him. He doesn t deserve it.

I shan t, Miles said. He was beginning-despite himself-to feel a touch of wry amusement. What I shall do is care for your offspring. I have the feeling the child s mother first applied to you for help.

Wharton let out a loud cry, throwing his hands into the air. Is there no stop to the lunacy to which a gentleman is subjected? The child is surely not mine, and I know nothing of it. If you wish, you may bankrupt yourself supporting the tarnished progeny of brothel dwellers. It is not for me to say. But I have no part in that girl s conception!

How did you know that the child was female? Miles inquired. I didn t say.

Wharton scowled. I d admit that a French vixen, Hortense, thought to charge me with the child s care since the woman was determined to return to her own country. Tis nothing to do with me! Her profession is such that she ought to have guarded against this inevitability.

Miles rose to his feet. Be prudent with that frown, Lord Wharton. The wrinkles may prove permanent.

Out, Daisy s father cried, leaping to his feet. Have you not insulted me enough? Making your way into my presence pretending to be a bailiff, and accosting me with news of an ill-begotten brat who is no business of mine?

Wharton had no conscience, no morals, and no concern for his children. To inflict his presence on Belle would be folly; Miles was caught by sincere regret that Daisy had grown up with this cold fish for a father.

In six months I intend to announce that a cousin of yours, born on the wrong side of the blanket, has died in India, leaving his legitimately born child in your care. In turn, you will allot Belle to my guardianship.

Oh, I will, will I?

From this day forward you will have no contact with either of your daughters. If you visit brothels in the future, you will wear a condom.

My behavior is none of your business! Lord Wharton blustered.

Miles narrowed his eyes and waited.

Wharton shrugged. As it happens, this, ah, gentleman s complaint has curtailed my romantic life. You may have married Daisy-and I still want to see the marriage certificate-but you ve no right to order me about!

I could remove you from this snug apartment as easily as a mouse is evicted from its hole, Miles said contemptuously. Or I could pay off those bailiffs, ensuring that my wretched father-in-law doesn t embarrass his daughters by being hounded before the courts or sent to debtor s prison.

A charged silence followed.

I suppose you shall have your way, Lord Wharton said heavily. I remember who you are now. The guardian of morality in the House of Lords, aren t you? You hounded the poor Earl of Debbleton for the grave crime of owning his own theater.

He was forcing young women from the country to engage in sexual acts on his stage.

Rubbish! They were well paid-and well satisfied. Debbleton is always generous. The men in my club took it amiss, I don t mind telling you. I don t suppose you could neglect to announce this wedding in the paper? I d rather not be associated with you.

An announcement of my marriage has already been sent to The Times . While I am proud to have married your daughter, I have no more wish to be connected with you than you to me. I certainly don t give a damn about the opinion of the hellhounds belonging to whatever club invited you to join. He headed for the door.

Hypocrite. You re a hypocrite and a liar, Lord Wharton spat.

Miles turned. Would you care to elaborate?

You? With your infamous propensity for Russian dancers? You dare to wield a holier-than-thou attitude toward Lord Debbleton? Do you think that those dancers were well paid? Well-treated? From Russia rather than the countryside? Rumor has it you paid for the attentions of any number of strumpets and only later began judging others for doing the same.

Miles s jaw tightened. His hand landed on the rapier slung on his hip-and froze. The man wasn t entirely wrong.

Who s to say that you don t have the odd bastard floating around London? Wharton hissed.

I always used a French letter, for my protection and that of the woman in question.

His father-in-law s mouth twisted, but he kept silent.

If I ever hear that you recovered from your ailment sufficiently to enter a brothel, there ll be no money from that point, Miles stated. No matter whether you re dragged off to debtor s prison or not.

My doctor seems fairly certain that I won t live to see the new year, Wharton said abruptly. The pox has spread, though it isn t visible.

Daisy will be sorry to hear that.

She always chattered too much for my taste, but she s a good lass, nothing like her mother. I suppose you ll take care of her?

My wife will always be safe with me. As will your other daughter, Belle.

That mopsie is not- Lord Wharton broke off at the look in Miles s eyes. Likely not mine, he amended.

Even though she has your hair and your daughter s face? Let me know when you re at death s door and I ll bring Daisy to say goodbye, Miles said. You owe her that.

Then he left, closing the door quietly behind him.