Page 10 of The Rake’s Absolutely Devilish Reform (The Notorious Briarwoods #4)

H ector had never been tempted to bring Leander with him to visit someone’s house before, but this seemed like a damned good time.

But he had just managed to refrain. He needed to do this on his own. Later, if he had to, he could call in the full army of the Briarwood clan. His mother would be the most formidable weapon of all, but he did not wish to trot that out at present. He didn’t want Priscilla’s father to be completely overwhelmed. After all, his mother was like a full galleon, cannons ready, sails ablaze, either to hypnotize or terrify. That was not necessarily the sort of message that would induce Priscilla’s father to allow him to court her.

And so Hector knocked firmly upon the doors of one the houses that sprawled on the west of London. It was a glorious affair. Clearly, it had cost a fortune and had been made with excellent taste.

The door quickly opened, and Hector was faced with a perfectly groomed, stoic butler. The man had impeccable manners and gave no indication of any sort of preference or deference.

He merely said, “Good morning. How may I be of assistance to you?”

Hector was used to everyone knowing exactly who he was and letting him in without question. It was one of the perks of being a Briarwood.

He smiled warmly. “I’m Lord Hector Briarwood, brother of the Duke of Westleigh. I am here to see Lord Plumhurst.”

The butler nodded. “Please, sir, do wait in the foyer. I shall see if he’s at home.”

Would he indeed?

Well, Hector was happy to wait, except for the fact that his insides were a positive riot. He’d never had to audition, so to speak, before. He wondered if that was how his mother had felt when attempting to get parts in plays.

Had his mother been terrified that she’d be left out entirely—though one could not really imagine his mother being left out entirely—if she made a wrong move?

The butler strode off in a quite dignified manner, nothing like their own butler, who had been part of the family for so long that he occasionally acted in ways one would expect an indulging uncle might.

Hector waited, looking about.

It was a beautiful foyer. There were paintings of grandmasters on the wall. But the arrangement was tasteful. There was nothing overdone or overstuffed about it. People who came to the ton with new money sometimes attempted to cram every square inch of their home with proof of their wealth.

Not Priscilla’s father. No. There was a sort of tasteful restraint, which he found surprising. He himself loved a good time, and he didn’t mind people with bold tastes, as long as those bold tastes were by choice and not in an attempt to win favor or impress.

Even so, he’d never judge anyone for it. Life was far too short. And taste was often acquired because one grew up surrounded by such things as if they were the air one breathed.

The butler came back quickly. “He will see you, my lord.”

Hector gave a nod and followed the man down another beautifully decorated hallway with more exquisite paintings on every wall.

He was quite surprised by some of them because they were not the sort of pictures one would expect to find on a newly wealthy man’s walls. Some of them were absolutely beautiful paintings—a Caravaggio and an El Greco.

He was so transported by the artwork that he suddenly found himself standing in a study and being announced. He wasn’t entirely certain what he had expected, but he realized that he’d never seen Priscilla’s father before. He’d never seen Priscilla’s mother either. As a matter of fact, he realized that Priscilla’s father and mother didn’t move about in the town at all.

She was always accompanied by a chaperone.

“How do you do, my lord?” Hector said as he strode forward.

“Very well, Lord Hector,” the man said in an accent that was certainly from farther north.

Hector immediately understood why he’d seen so little of him. There was no way one could hide such a thick, rich accent, which immediately denoted the man’s birthplace and his class. No amount of money in the world would ever be able to dispel that unless he spent time with elocution lessons, and it seemed the man had decided that elocution lessons were a waste of time.

He was a jovial-looking sort of fellow with thick, dark hair laced with silver. His eyes were a bright blue, and his face was lined with many cares, as if he had worked impossibly hard all his life. He wasn’t particularly tall. He was sturdy though, without an extra inch of flesh to him, as if he found indulgence of any kind to be a sin. Which, of course, did not bode well for Hector at all.

The man’s hands were lined and calloused, and there was nothing aristocratic or elegant about them, but nor was there about Hector’s.

He and his brothers thought it immensely important that they work with their hands, whether it be with rapiers, horse reins, or fists.

“I am here to ask you something,” Hector began as waves of nerves suddenly swept through him. It was so surprising and unexpected that he couldn’t finish his thought.

He, Hector Briarwood, was nervous.

Lord Plumhurst smiled. “I am most curious why you are here, Lord Hector. The Briarwoods are very far outside our circle. The duke, of course, is an excellent man, but you operate in lofty highs of the ton that we mere mortals can only dream of. Though the duchess has been so very kind to my daughter.”

Hector smiled. It wasn’t the first time someone had said something like that to him. “Well, we might be lofty, living in our clouds atop Mount Olympus,” he said. “But unlike the old gods, we’re actually quite welcoming to visitors there. The more the merrier we think, as long as everyone is willing to be a good sport.”

This didn’t actually seem to please Lord Plumhurst, who stared for a long moment and then smiled again, though this time a bit tightly. “Ah. Now, what can I do for you?”

Then the man’s eyes lit with excitement. “By chance, have you come about the Royal Academy? I would be over the moon to become a supporter.”

Hector blinked.

“You are interested in joining the Royal Academy’s board?”

“Of course. Of course.” Lord Plumhurst clapped his hands together eagerly. “That is of course why you are here, is it not? You’ve heard about how fine my collection is, and you know I could be of aid.”

Lord Hector paused. It had never occurred to him that that would be what Priscilla father thought, but of course. He’d not realized the man had become so passionate about art.

Priscilla seemed to believe her father did not indulge in luxuries like art, but from the excitement on Lord Plumhurst’s face, it certainly seemed he did.

“Of course, my lord. I would be happy to have you. We need many perspectives and new voices and new faces. And if you love art, that is even better. Some of the fellows don’t care at all but merely like such positions.”

“Good,” Lord Plumhurst enthused before immediately considering. “I’d be happy to set up a fund for the young artists applying, especially for those from Manchester and the North. Those lads need all the help they can get. I’m honored you’d think of me.”

And then Hector realized that, of course… Of course, Lord Plumhurst would be pleased. Of course, he would be happy to see Hector because in his mind, Hector was there to provide him another opportunity to be a part of the ton.

And that was all.

“But that is not truly why I’m here, my lord.” He straightened and looked the man in the eye. “I am here because I would like to put my name on what I understand is a rather long list of gentlemen courting your daughter.”

The joviality began to dim from Lord Plumhurst’s face. “You, Lord Hector, wish to court my daughter?”

“That is correct, my lord. She is without parallel.”

“I do not disagree with you, my lord. She has many attributes, and the ton admires her greatly for those.”

But Hector suddenly wondered if her father was not actually talking about Priscilla’s personality, but rather some sort of code for her wealth and what she could bring to a marriage.

“You come from a very affluent family, Lord Briarwood.” Her father asked with sudden cynicism, “Why are you here?”

“Because your daughter is a treasure in and of herself.”

The man stared at him for a long moment. “I see. Well, of course I will not tell you that you cannot court my daughter, but you are not exactly…” He was silent for a moment.

“I’m not exactly the sort of man you had in mind for her,” Hector finished.

“I have no wish to cause offense, my lord,” the man rushed. “Your family is a very powerful one.”

“You cannot cause offense,” he assured quickly. “And we are not the sort of family to take umbrage at your opinion.”

The man gave a nervous nod. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“But I truly would like to court her, and I understand that you might have some misgivings about my personality.”

The man stared at him again, which was as good as his admission.

Hector squared his shoulders and declared, “I would like to prove to you that I’m worthy of her.”

“Worthy of her?” the man replied, shocked. “You are a Briarwood, my lord. One might argue that you are far above her.”

“I am a Briarwood, but it is clear you do not admire a mere family name. You admire other skills too.”

The man suddenly laughed, relieved. “You have the right of it there. What do you have in mind?”

A wave of relief washed through him. He wasn’t being immediately turned down. “I wish to show you that I’m hardworking, tenacious, dedicated, loyal… That I would take care of Priscilla, and that she would be happy with me.”

“Ah, happiness.” Her father shook his head. “Happiness is an illusion.”

“I beg your pardon?” Hector stated, certain he was mistaken.

“It is an illusion,” her father repeated more firmly.

“It is not an illusion,” he countered.

“And that is the difference between yourself and me, Lord Hector. You have grown up in a position that has allowed you to believe that happiness is something that is real and attainable. A great deal of effort might result in contentment. If one toils hard enough. You have not had to put any of that effort in. Nor have you toiled. And so I am quite nervous about a gentleman who promises happiness for my daughter when they have no idea how to work for it. Or one whose own happiness is made up from the work of others.”

Hector ground his teeth together. This was not something he could easily defend. He had not had to work hard his whole life, not in the ways this man valued. But he had worked hard at happiness. He’d seen the way his own brother Leander struggled, and he did not think that the pursuit of one’s health, of heart and soul, was unimportant.

As far as he could tell, it was of the greatest importance in the world. He had never engaged in a shallow pursuit of happiness. He actually agreed that happiness didn’t exist, in the sense that most had no idea what happiness was.

But real happiness was the greatest thing in the world.

“To be frank, my lord,” the older man began, turning to his desk covered in papers. “I do not think my daughter will choose you. She has a great many men who are most interested, and at present I am trying to decide which fellow would suit her best—”

“Before you pick one,” he cut in boldly, determined not to give in. “Please at least allow me to show you that I am willing to do all the things that you want in order to be considered.”

The man tilted his head to the side. “Very well, though I cannot see you being successful. You are not the sort of person who needs my daughter.”

“And is that all that matters?” Hector asked, feeling as if he had entered a strange new land. For it was clear her father loved Priscilla, but his love was nothing like the love Hector had known from his parents. “Being needed?”

“Oh, yes,” her father replied. “It’s the most important thing there is because that’s where the power lies.”