Page 5 of A Reckless Courtship (A Chronicle of Misadventures #3)

5

SILAS

S ilas opened the door to the morning room at his brother William’s townhouse in Mayfair and stepped inside.

Three heads whipped up to look at him. He smiled at the domestic scene. William had an unfurled newspaper in hand, his wife, Clara, thumbed through a periodical, and Aunt Eugenia sipped her tea.

“Thought I’d announce myself,” Silas said, shutting the door behind him.

“Rascal,” Aunt Eugenia said, but she put out a hand to usher him closer. “I hoped William had been funning when he said you were in Town. What in heaven’s name possessed you to set foot in London when you are a wanted man, boy?”

He took her hand and kissed the back of it gallantly. “How could I possibly stay away when I knew you were here?”

“Toad-eater,” she said, but she was visibly pleased with his flattery.

“Silas flocks to danger,” William said without pulling his eyes from the newspaper, “like a moth to a flame.”

“Who is this Silas you speak of?” Silas took a seat beside his aunt and reached for her tea.

She batted his hand away, and he laughed appreciatively. Aunt Eugenia’s pretended curmudgeonery had always entertained him. He had always been her favorite of the four Yorke brothers—until he had been charged with murder, and she had believed the charges. Her sense of betrayal had led her to forbid his name being spoken.

Despite all the physical deprivations Silas had experienced while trying to survive in the outskirts of Paris, the knowledge that Aunt Eugenia, William, and Frederick had all believed him capable of murder had been the most wearing thing of all. It had been the knowledge they did not wish to be near him, not his fear of Lord Drayton, that had kept him away from England for as long as he had stayed away.

He owed his brother Anthony an unpayable debt of gratitude for seeing to it that they realized how mistaken they were.

“Let me pour you a cup of tea,” Clara said, rising.

Silas put out a hand to stop her. “We need not stand upon ceremony. I can manage.”

Clara smiled and leaned back in her chair, looking relieved as she set her hand on her stomach. She was still in the early stages of pregnancy and had slept the greater part of the journey to London.

“William tells me you are going by the name Hayes,” Aunt Eugenia said as he poured his tea.

“William speaks the truth, as always.”

Her lips turned down at the corners. “It is a terribly common name.”

He chuckled. “I am attempting to be inconspicuous. I thought you would all be proud of my demure choice. Would you rather I chose a name like Percival FitzClarence?”

“I like a bit of recklessness,” Aunt Eugenia said. “But it is true that the line between too little and too much is a delicate one, and you have never been terribly concerned with details, have you?”

He waved away the allegation. “I leave those pesky things to William. He delights in details.”

William dignified this with no response.

“How was Vauxhall?” Clara asked.

Silas’s mind flashed to Miss Easton and the enchanting butterfly mask. “It was…interesting.” His attempts to track down the golden domino had proven futile, leading him back into the paths he and Miss Easton had walked. It had taken him ten minutes to find his way to the Cascade again, at which point she and the others had gone.

But he would see her at Covent Garden today.

“By the by, do you know a Miss Easton?” he asked no one in particular.

“I do not believe I do,” William said absently.

“Nor I.” Aunt Eugenia’s eyes fixed on him. “Who is she?”

“Someone I met at Vauxhall,” he said casually, taking a sip of tea.

Apparently, he had not said it casually enough, for all eyes were upon him.

“And your interest in her is…” William’s gaze was steady.

Silas chuckled. “May a man not inquire about a young woman without all sorts of assumptions being made?”

“No,” Aunt Eugenia said. “He may not.”

“Particularly not a man in your situation,” William said, folding the paper. “Take care, Silas.”

“It is Hayes,” Silas retorted. “And I shall take care…not to ask any of you whether you are acquainted with anyone, that is.”

William regarded him for a moment, then rose from his chair. “Come. I have something for you in the library.”

Silas took another sip of tea, then set it down and followed his brother out of the room and to the library, where he anticipated the something awaiting him there to be a lecture.

But he had wronged his brother, for William merely went to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a sheaf of banknotes. He strode over to Silas and handed them to him.

“What is this?” Silas asked, not taking them.

“It is money, Silas.” William pushed it toward him.

“Yes, thank you,” he said ironically. “I have heard tales of it. But what is it for?”

“Generally, it is used in exchange for goods and services. If you choose to use it in place of a handkerchief, I suppose that is your affair.”

Silas shot his brother an unamused look.

William reached for Silas’s hand, forced the fingers open, and set the money in his palm. “It is yours. Both Anthony and I sent you money in France. You never went to the bank to retrieve it.”

“I could not risk it. Drayton had people watching for precisely such a thing.” Silas had hoped that once he arrived in France, he would have been able to at least live comfortably amongst the ton there, but apparently, Drayton’s fear that he would make trouble for him even there had been too great to allow for such a thing. Silas had been obliged to make do relying on the charity of those outside the margins of genteel society and putting himself to work to earn his keep.

“Which is why I am giving it to you now,” William said. “It is your share of the interest on Father’s investments. I would have given it to you sooner, but I had to make a visit to my banker here in Town.”

Silas looked down at the money in his hand. He had not had this much since before leaving England. He spread the bills slightly and did quick arithmetic, frowning. “This is more than it should be.”

“The investments have performed well.” William turned away, going back to his desk, where he organized a stack of papers.

“Will…” Silas said significantly.

It took a few seconds before his brother looked up.

“I know a bit about investments,” Silas said, “and I know which ones Father made. Even if they had performed at unprecedented levels, this would be more than my portion.”

William shrugged. “What of it? You must get back on your feet, Silas. We both know you would not be in this position if it were not for me.”

“I know nothing of the sort.”

“Then you are being purposely obtuse,” William replied. “If I had not been so hardheaded and had put money toward your scheme rather than preaching to you about it?—”

“Then we both would have lost the money.”

“Even so, I would not have been so consumed by my own self-importance and our family’s reputation that you felt you could not come to me for help.”

Silas shook his head. “You were right to warn me against the investment. I chose to disregard it.”

“And would you have stayed in France as long as you did if you’d known you would be welcomed home by me?”

Silas met his brother’s eye, unable to counter that particular question.

William nodded. “Repay me in the future if you wish, but you will take that money. And you will invest it where you please.”

Silas was quiet. William had never approved of his aggressive approach toward business or the riskier investments he chose to make at times. It made his gesture all the more meaningful.

“I will repay you,” Silas said. “With interest.”

“Good,” William replied, but he sounded supremely disinterested. “Shall we return to the morning room?”

“No. I am for Covent Garden.” He declined to tell his brother he would be seeing Miss Easton there.

Silas was not a fool. He knew he could not allow anything or anyone to distract him from his true goal in London. But he owed Miss Easton an apology.

Did the fact that she was utterly and absolutely engaging make him look forward to seeing her? Did he wish just a bit to see what was behind the mask?

Perhaps. But that was nothing to wonder at.

He had hopes of gaining an introduction to Sir Walter Bence, but how was that to happen if he was expected to kick his heels in his bedchamber? He had done more than enough of that during his time at William’s estate, Rushlake, where Silas had been hidden away from all in the estate’s unused hunting lodge.

Now that he was in London and operating under an assumed name, he meant to enjoy the freedom he did have, even as he sought to bring about his real freedom.