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Chapter Twenty-One

J ohn left London and headed north, leaving instructions for Owen to pack his things and bring them to the estate. As he climbed into his traveling coach for the fifth consecutive day, every miserable word of his conversation with Lady Geny came back to haunt him. The accusation that he had kissed her while he was attempting to expose her father was particularly galling for how true it was. She would have felt that to be the worst betrayal of all.

The pain of having her send him off scorched. It had been so final, mitigated only by his fury against Dowling which he had allowed vent to and which left his knuckles sore for two days. John clicked on the reins urging his rental team to pick up their pace.

There was nothing he could do to salvage his relationship with Lady Geny, and it left him with a raw ache. All that remained to him after that was to leave. London held no interest; the orphanage was off-limits. He no longer even cared all that much about regaining his reputation.

The decision to visit his brother had been a simple one since he could not bear to go to his newly acquired estate and had nowhere else to go. His brother lived in Mossley, West Riding—a trip of six days—and he halted for his last night in Cheshire, at an inn in the town of Cheadle. As he requested a room, John attempted to remember why the name of the town sounded so familiar. He must have come through here before when he visited his brother.

No! The realization of why came to him at once. Cheadle was where Barnsby’s estate was located, the man he had ruined. This fact he had learned in the aftermath of his card game when the rumor mills spread about just how much of a fortune John had stripped from the poor fellow. Well , John thought as he followed the innkeeper to his room, that is the nature of a card game. You know going into it that you will either win or lose.

Despite that resolution, he spent the evening over his solitary supper remembering the card game’s evolution. His mind brought forth the desperate look on Barnsby’s face when John won the last hand which separated him from the remainder of his fortune. It made him sick to think about it, which was probably why he generally chose not to. But with the other alternative being to think about Lady Geny, he allowed his mind to dwell on the unwisdom of his conduct, replaying the events of the card game over and over. By the time morning arrived, he had reached a decision.

When he went to pay his shot, he decided to try and see what the innkeeper knew.

“I am looking for an estate in Cheadle owned by a man named Barnsby. Do you know of it?” A sudden, desperate hope shot through him that he would not be informed that Barnsby had been forced to sell.

“Ay, that I do. It is not three miles from here. You’ll want to take the road past Gatley. Stick to the main road until you cross the Mersey River—there’s an old stone bridge—and take the path on your right. The estate’s at the end of it. ”

“I am much obliged.” John went outside where a stable hand stood at the head of his lead horse. He climbed in and gave the pair a signal to start forward in the direction the innkeeper had indicated.

John did not know what sort of reception he would receive there, but he had decided on his course. He knew the financials of his estate well and had come to the conclusion that he could return the money to Barnsby without in any way reducing the funds needed for his own estate, although it would require two years of sober living. Given his current situation, that would not be a hardship.

Besides, he had hardly spent any of his winnings from that night, having fallen out of society within weeks of the event. He directed his horse over the stone bridge and followed the shady path on the other side that led to the estate. When he pulled up, a servant came from around the house to hold the reins for him while he went up to the door and knocked. After some time, another servant came to the door and asked him to state his business.

John handed the man his card with the name of Mr. John Rowles. He had had the notion on his ride over that a card bearing the name “Mr. Aubin” would likely have him turned away without being granted an audience.

“Tell him that we met in London.”

“Very well, sir. Please wait, and I will see if he will receive you.”

The servant went down the large corridor, and John looked at his surroundings. The hall was shabby, but not as decrepit as he might have imagined. In fact, the estate did not seem to be in terrible disrepair, and there were at least two servants. This was a consolation. If he had truly destroyed the man’s fortune, such a thing would not be possible. He would still give the money back, but he was relieved that Barnsby had not suffered great want in the months since .

“Follow me, sir.”

The servant moved forward, and John fell in behind him until he was shown into a study. Inside, Barnsby was standing next to his desk, and he looked up when John stepped in. His mouth gaped open in shock.

“You!”

John sent an uneasy glance toward the servant, hoping he would not be thrown out before he had a chance to explain.

“The nature of my visit is not an unfriendly one, and I beg you will grant me five minutes of your time. If you are not satisfied, I will leave immediately.”

Barnsby looked at him with hard eyes for a long moment, then nodded at his servant who withdrew quietly.

“You may sit,” he said, curtly.

John took the seat across from him and swallowed, more nervous than he would like to admit. He had better just plunge right in since he had promised only five minutes.

“I have regretted the effects of our card game last autumn and that I allowed myself to win so much from you. It was beyond what is reasonable between any two gentlemen, especially two who are at least on nodding acquaintance.” This statement was met with a fraught silence. And then?—

“Go on,” Barnsby said, but John heard a softening in his voice.

“I wish to make restitution. I understand that the money I won from you was necessary for the running of your estate, and that it left you in quite a precarious situation. I am prepared to return the sum in full.”

A look of incredulity spread across Barnsby’s face. “Wait right here.” He got up and went to the door and called out for his servant. “Bring us a bottle of Burgundy.”

He returned to his seat and clasped his hand around the armrest of his chair, looking John fully in the face .

“Let me understand this correctly. You wish to return the winnings of a game that you won fairly? For I, in any event, do not accuse you of cheating, though I heard rumors afterwards that some of society thought you did.”

John gave a shake of his head. “I did not cheat. I was just extraordinarily lucky that night. And yes, I am ready to restore it to you. I am sure that you have heard, but my presence is no longer welcome in London society for other reasons, and I know a little of what it’s like to be in a disagreeable position. Let us just say that I’ve come to my senses.”

Barnsby shook his head in disbelief, but there was a gleam of something warm, like approval, in his eyes. And he even smiled when the servant came in bringing a bottle of Burgundy. He poured a glass for each of them, then raised his own.

“I never thought that I would wish to drink to your health, Aubin, but I do so now. It took courage and…nobility of mind to come here to speak with me, and I appreciate it.”

Something eased inside of John, a tension he had been carrying for months without allowing himself to realize it was there. Despite the fact that he had lost all chances with Lady Geny—he had no hope that he would be given a second chance in her regard—at least he could make amends in other areas. They each drank, and Barnsby set down his glass.

“However, I will not take your money.”

When John looked at him in surprise, Barnsby had a smile on his face that made him wonder why they were not better friends. There was an openness to him that John had not perceived before.

“You did win it fair and square. And Fortune has been kinder to me than I deserved, for a Miss Bradshaw, who is the lovely daughter of a local merchant and who comes with a handsome dowry, has consented to be my wife.” His smile turned wry, almost wistful. “I consider the loss of my fortune to be a painful, but fair, price to pay for having learned a very good lesson. I am now ready to care for my wife and the fortune she brings into our marriage without any foolish conduct that might lose her respect.”

John took in this most surprising turn of events. Of all the things he had thought might happen, it had not occurred to him that Barnsby would refuse his offer. But perhaps that had been an insult to Barnsby, for he was a gentleman and had lost the game fairly.

John returned his smile. “Well then, allow me to drink to your health—and to that of your future wife.”

They drank once again, and he set his glass down. “That will be enough for me. I have been abstaining as of late.”

Barnsby laughed. “Funnily enough, so have I. Let us just say that we have both come to our senses? But”—he stopped with a look of confusion—“what are you doing here? Did you come all this way just to see me?”

“I am visiting my brother in Mossley, not far from here.” With the novel sensation of relief that came from having unburdened himself on one matter, he decided to invite Barnsby into his confidence on the other. “Had you heard of Lord Goodwin’s accusation which eventually had me cut from society?”

“I am sorry to say that I did and was glad of it at the time.”

John dipped his chin. He could understand why. “To be perfectly frank, I’m still not satisfied that Lord Goodwin is innocent in his own conduct. Aside from visiting my brother, I have an address for a mill in Ancoats that he is supposedly building with money from investors. I want to see if the mill exists; that is the other purpose of my visit.”

Barnsby startled John by laughing at some joke he, alone, seemed privy too.

“Well, isn’t this a small world? I am about to do you a good turn, Aubin. Miss Bradshaw’s father is in the textile business and has a mill not far from Ancoats. He knows everything that happens in the industry and will surely know everything there is to know about this. If you’d like, I’ll give you a letter of introduction from me.”

Surprise almost stole John’s speech, but he managed a nod. “I would like that very much.”

He was still marveling over the amazing stroke of luck as Barnsby went over to his desk to write the letter, then sealed it. John thanked him and took the letter as they both walked over to the door and stood in the entryway.

“I do not know that I will be spending much time in London, but if I do come, let us keep in touch.” Barnsby reached out to shake John’s hand.

“It would be my honor,” he replied, clasping his hand in return. He left the house feeling considerably lighter than when he arrived.

It was only natural that John first go to his brother’s house, because it was too late in the day to visit the mill, and his brother was not far. A short while later, he drove up to the house, wondering what his brother’s reaction would be. He knocked on the door, and Gregory answered it.

“John!”

Greg immediately threw his arms around him, and John felt an unmanly prick of tears in his eyes at the brotherly welcome. It was precisely what he needed. If his brother saw the tears, he was too kind to mention it, but he smiled and clapped him on the back.

“Anne,” he called out. “Have the servants prepare a fine feast. The prodigal son has come home.” He laughed at his own joke.

Greg’s words, lightly spoken, caused John to be seized again with guilt. “Actually, you are not far from the truth. Perhaps we might have a private conversation after dinner?”

His brother sobered as he studied him, then he nodded. “Yes, we will. But first, let us eat.”

Anne came bustling into the room at that moment and threw her arms around John without ceremony. He had always liked her, although they had not had many chances to know each other.

“Welcome.” Her eyes gleamed with kindness. “I will have the best bedchamber prepared for you.”

The dinner was a comfortable one, and John’s spirits lifted in a way they had not in a long time, surrounded by familial affection. Gregory and Anne spoke to each other in an easy, loving manner, and they made him feel included in the little family unit they had built together. He was fortunate to be surrounded by such warmth—something he knew Lady Geny did not have. This reminder saddened him almost as much as losing her, for it was too late to invite her into his own family circle.

At the end of the meal, Anne smiled at them. “Well, gentlemen, I will leave you to your port.”

Gregory glanced at him and said, “What do you say we take tea in the library instead?”

“Much better,” John agreed.

They settled in as Anne bustled about to bring the tea herself, then left them alone. The minutes of silence that followed seemed awkward. It was difficult to begin, but John knew it was necessary to have everything out.

“I came to tell you of all the ways I am not worthy to be your brother.” He had meant it as something of a joke, but those tears rose again.

“A dramatic opening,” his brother replied. “Proceed.” His eyes held a glint of his usual humor, but his compassion was unmistakable. He was well-suited for his role as rector.

John proceeded to tell Greg everything—his manner of living with women and drink, the gambling and how he had foolishly spent everything of his mother’s inheritance, his guilt over not visiting his stepfather when he was still alive—how unworthy he was to be the one inheriting the Westerly estate. He then went on to recount all that had happened with Lord Goodwin and how it led to his downfall in society, and then to his eventual position in the asylum with a plan to carry out his revenge.

Greg had listened quietly throughout, but at this he held up a hand. “Revenge is generally a terrible method for anyone attempting to secure his own happiness.”

“I believe you are correct, for my plans for a full reckoning came back to bite me.”

He explained how he had fallen in love with Lady Geny and how he had destroyed her confidence in him by lying about who he was and his purpose at the asylum. And he sealed his infamy by kissing her when he was not in a position to offer for her. He finished his confession with the argument they had had right before she ordered him to leave the orphanage. When he finished speaking, silence fell once again.

“Do you think you still have a chance with Lady Geny?” his brother asked.

John shook his head. The angry, resolute expression on her face was etched on his mind. He stood no chance of winning her back.

“I am sorry,” Greg said. He poured another cup of tea for them both, and they drank it.

“I did come north with another purpose, although it was secondary to visiting you,” John said.

“Flatterer.”

John returned a weak smile. “I plan to go to Ancoats since it is nearby. I have the directions of the mill the earl is supposedly building with investors’ money, even redirecting some of it away from the asylum. However, I received a correspondence that states the contrary—that the money has all but stopped coming in. I want to see it for myself.”

“More thoughts of revenge?” Greg asked gently.

At this, John paused to consider his motives first before shaking his head .

“No. I just want to know. I will leave thoughts of revenge to someone else who has actually invested in the earl’s project. I do not want Lord Goodwin to fall at my hands. I won’t cause Geny that pain.”

Greg reached over and patted John on the shoulder. “You are learning, young one.”