Page 7 of Vanquished by a Viscount (Tales from the Brotherhood #3)

Three

T here was only so much Charlie could do to assist Hawthorne House’s footmen in unpacking his clothing and belongings and storing them safely in the wardrobe and dressing room of the suite he’d been assigned to.

Olivier would arrive in a few days, and his valet knew far more about the care and handling of clothing than Charlie did.

The least Charlie could say was that he knew how to dress himself in a pinch.

He did exactly that once the footmen had gone, after availing himself of a thorough sponge bath and exchanging his travel-worn suit for something more suitable for company. Once he had the last button fastened and his neckcloth tied, however, he paused to look out the window with a heavy sigh.

Coming to Hawthorne House had been a terrible idea.

He could feel that already. He knew his presence was required as Barbara’s only family, but in the space of the two hours since he’d stepped down from the carriage, he’d already had two unpleasant encounters with Gray.

He could still feel the intensity of Gray’s fiery blue eyes boring into him with accusatory venom.

It had been the same at Christmas. Charlie sank into a chair that had been conveniently placed by one of the windows that afforded a magnificent view of the countryside to the east of the house.

While he and Gray had managed mostly to avoid each other at Christmas, the few times when they’d been forced to be in each other’s company had been just as stilted and angry as the two passes they’d just taken at each other.

Charlie hated it. He resented Grayson’s extreme prejudice against him.

But more than that, he despised the man, no, the boy he’d been seven years ago for taking what he’d thought would be the easy way out of the only romantic relationship in his life that had truly mattered.

Just because he’d been a young fool at Cambridge did not give Gray the right to treat him as if he were a leprous dragon now, however.

After five more minutes of staring blankly out the window while rehashing the past in his mind, Charlie sighed aloud, “You cannot sit here all summer, wallowing in resentment.”

He pushed himself out of the chair and turned to start toward the bedchamber door, but halfway across the room, it was as if his feet were encased in stone.

Every step was difficult and painful. He did not want to face Gray again.

He wanted nothing at all to do with the maelstrom of feelings that yanked him this way and that, like a ship tossed in a storm.

He did not even wish to hate Gray the way Gray clearly hated him. He wanted to feel nothing at all.

He made it to the door and grasped the handle, but paused, shoulders stooped.

Nothing would go well if he left his room and went downstairs to join the others for luncheon.

He was opening himself to misery and ridicule of every kind.

But Barbara needed him, and Charlie would have paddled to South America on a rotted log if his sister asked him to.

He stood straighter, braced himself, then threw open the door and stepped into the hall.

It was a bit anticlimactic that the hallway was empty and the only sounds in that part of the house were the distant clattering of servants going about their business and the extremely faint sound of Barbara’s guests laughing that wafted in through a window someone must have had open somewhere.

Charlie proceeded down the hall, bracing himself for what was to come.

He was fortunate enough to come across a maid who was able to direction along the easiest route to the garden, where luncheon was being served under a marquee.

It was also fortunate that more than a dozen people were already congregated in the garden, enjoying a variety of small treats as they sat in several groups and bunches.

Gray was already there. Charlie could tell by the stiffness of his old lover’s back that he’d spotted his arrival before Charlie had noted him.

Gray did not turn to him with so much as a sniff of greeting, so Charlie pretended as though the man was not there at all as he made his way to the long table dressed with plates, dishes, and a bowl of punch that was being served by the same footman who had helped him with his trunks earlier.

“Charlie, here you are at last,” Barbara said, leaping up from her conversation with a group of ladies that included Lady Suzanne and Lady Carolina to rush to his side.

“I was afraid that you’d taken ill or decided to lurk in your room for the entire day,” she added quietly as she grasped and hugged his arm. “We cannot have that.”

“I would never behave badly in front of your guests, my dear,” Charlie said, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

Several feet away, Grayson made a sound that could very well have been scoffing. Of course, the resentful blackguard was also ostensibly in conversation with Robert, Pettigrew, and two other men, so he could just as easily have been reacting to something one of them said.

“You must try some of these savory tarts Cook prepared,” Barbara said, loading the small plate Charlie had just taken with a few delicious-looking morsels that he had no appetite for.

“Greene has worked at Hawthorne House since she was a kitchen maid. The late Lord Felcourt sent her to Paris to learn cookery especially, and I think that she is as talented as any master chef on the Continent.”

“I am certain she is,” Charlie said with a tight smile, allowing Barbara to mother him by loading his plate.

“I was just telling Lady Winifred about your railroad endeavors and she is most interested in hearing more,” Barbara went on, tugging Charlie toward one of the arrangements of chairs once his plate was filled.

“There has been so much speculation about railroads of late, and I am certain you will have much to add to the conversation.”

“I will converse upon whichever topic you would like me to,” Charlie said, relaxing into his role of charming older brother as they approached the chairs.

He moved as if he would take a seat near the far edge of the group, but Barbara quickly tugged him in the opposite direction. “You cannot sit there,” Barbara whispered. “Winifred’s Aunt Violet will be joining us shortly, and that seat is reserved for her. You must sit here.”

Charlie moved dutifully where Barbara tugged him, but he groaned inwardly as Barbara deposited him in an empty chair mere feet away from where Gray sat. At least Gray faced the other direction and appeared deep in conversation with the gentlemen of the other circle of chairs.

Charlie squirmed in his chair until he was as comfortable as he could be.

By all outward appearances, he was a part of the ladies’ conversation alone.

He could hear the others speaking, and indeed, the sound of Gray’s voice laughing over whatever the other conversation was about had the hair on the back of his neck standing up, but it would still be a simple thing to ignore Gray entirely.

“My brother may be a viscount, but he is also an expert on all things pertaining to the railroad,” Barbara said, beaming at him then glancing around to her friends with a proud smile just as Charlie raised one of the savory tarts to his mouth.

“He will be able to answer all of your questions pertaining to the increase of railroad lines across England.”

Every set of eyes in their small group turned to him just as he opened his mouth and prepared to bite down on the tart.

Suddenly becoming the attention of six ladies, all of them eager to not only hear what he had to say, but in the case of Lady Winifred and her aunt, to assess him as a potential mate as well killed the last of Charlie’s appetite.

He lowered the tart without taking a bite and set his plate aside on a small table by his chair.

“Er, there is much to say about the expansion of rail travel in England,” he began awkwardly.

“You must tell us everything, Lord Broxbourne,” Lady Carolina said with genuine interest.

“You must tell all,” one of the gentlemen Charlie had not met yet said behind him.

Charlie flinched and turned slightly, only to determine that the gentleman who had spoken was not addressing him, but rather Gray.

“But where to begin?” Gray asked with a laugh, his voice just a bit too loud. “There is so much to say, and so little that can be spoken of aloud.” He lowered his voice cheekily at the end, causing the other gentlemen to chuckle.

Charlie bristled at what he could not help but think was a deliberate attempt to catch his attention and rub his nose in Gray’s adventures.

“It is my understanding that within a decade, the entirety of England will be united by rail travel,” Lady Suzanne said, pulling his focus back to the conversation in front of him.

“My brother, Lord Moreland, has been keeping abreast of new developments, particularly where the formation of new companies to build railroads is concerned.”

“We are in early days,” Charlie said, smiling at Lady Suzanne, even though she could not see the gesture. “There are as many newly formed companies hoping to win government contracts and to make their fortunes as there are material advancements to the engines and trains themselves.”

“Tell us about Paris,” one of the gentlemen behind Charlie asked. “I’d wager you have a great many tales you could tell of those sinful streets.”

One of the other gentlemen guffawed. In front of Charlie, the ladies politely sipped their punch or nibbled on their savory bits, oblivious to the tone of the conversation taking place beside theirs.

Charlie cleared his throat, hoping the men would become more aware of where they were and who might overhear them.

“Paris is overrated,” Gray said, ignoring Charlie’s warning. “The real paradise of my wanderings was Spain.”

“You don’t say,” another of the gentlemen said in a ribald voice.