Don’t wait up.” With a flip of her hand and a smile, Honoria set out to make certain the annoying Marquis of Treymount did not forget that she possessed something he wanted very, very badly.
Marcus walked into the foyer of Treymount House, smoothing the sleeve of his evening coat. “Jeffries, has the carriage been brought around?”
Jeffries’s usually stern countenance almost froze into a grimace. “Ah… no, my lord.”
Marcus paused. “No?” he said softly. “Did I not request it?” The butler glanced uncertainly at the door behind Marcus. “Yes, you did. However, I can explain, my lord.”
Marcus raised his brows.
“Do not bum Jeffries with one of your fierce looks,” came a laughing voice from behind Marcus.
He turned to find Brandon standing in the entryway. “Well, a visit from one of my esteemed brothers.”
Brandon’s amused expression faded, confusion evident on his face. “What—”
“Nothing.” What was wrong with him that he was snapping at everyone? “Have you talked to Anthony?”
“Not since Thursday. Why? Should I—”
“No, no.” Marcus managed a smile, leading the way to the library. “Never mind. I am just at odds this evening. So tell me, brother of mine, is it your fault my carriage is not yet ready?”
“Yes, it is. I came to ask for your assistance, but I can see you are on your way out—” Brandon’s eyes widened and he came to a sudden halt. “You are dressed in formal attire. Did someone die?”
“No. I am on my way to a ball.”
“I thought you gave up on social occasions years ago.”
There it was, that hint that something was wrong with him. Marcus had to count to ten before he replied, “I do get invited out, you know. I have never been a hermit.”
“Yes, but you so rarely accept any of the hundreds of invitations that come your way. I don’t think I’ve seen you dressed in such a manner in months.”
“Did you want something?” Marcus asked, beyond irritated. He glanced at his reflection in the wide mirror over the large fireplace that graced one end of the library and adjusted his cravat. First Anthony and now Brandon. It was annoying, but… Marcus sighed. Perhaps he should listen a bit more closely; they were his brothers, after all.
Jeffries held up the evening coat. “My lord?”
Marcus waved him away. “I shall not be leaving immediately. Brandon, stay; have a seat.”
Brandon waited until Jeffries had closed the door before facing Marcus. “I hate to do this but… I must ask a favor. Verena’s father is in trouble.”
“How unfortunate. I don’t see how that affects either of us, but Mr. Landsdowne has my sympathies.”
Brandon frowned. “Marcus, it’s not that simple. I must go and see what I can do to fix the situation. He apparently ran afoul of the local authorities and then took an illness. I must sort out the paperwork and then get him back to England.”
“Why must you do such a thing?” Marcus poured two glasses of port and carried one to Brandon. “He’s not your father, after all. I believe he has several other daughters, and a son, too, if I remember correctly.”
Exasperation crossed Brandon’s face. “It’s Verena’s father, which makes him my responsibility as well as hers. If you were married, you would understand—”
“If I was married—” Somewhere in the back of his memory, he could almost hear Anthony’s voice accusing him of being judgmental. He took a sip of port and then made himself comfortable in a chair by the gentle crackle of the fire. “I’m sorry. I spoke out of turn. As you were saying?”
Brandon blinked as if surprised. After a moment, he shook his head and settled into the chair opposite Marcus’s. “I don’t think you understand. I know what my responsibilities are, even if you don’t.”
“Hm. Is Verena’s father of age?”
“Of course he is.”
“Is he incapacitated in any way?”
“He is ill, though not fatally so.”
“So he can speak
Marcus walked into the foyer of Treymount House, smoothing the sleeve of his evening coat. “Jeffries, has the carriage been brought around?”
Jeffries’s usually stern countenance almost froze into a grimace. “Ah… no, my lord.”
Marcus paused. “No?” he said softly. “Did I not request it?” The butler glanced uncertainly at the door behind Marcus. “Yes, you did. However, I can explain, my lord.”
Marcus raised his brows.
“Do not bum Jeffries with one of your fierce looks,” came a laughing voice from behind Marcus.
He turned to find Brandon standing in the entryway. “Well, a visit from one of my esteemed brothers.”
Brandon’s amused expression faded, confusion evident on his face. “What—”
“Nothing.” What was wrong with him that he was snapping at everyone? “Have you talked to Anthony?”
“Not since Thursday. Why? Should I—”
“No, no.” Marcus managed a smile, leading the way to the library. “Never mind. I am just at odds this evening. So tell me, brother of mine, is it your fault my carriage is not yet ready?”
“Yes, it is. I came to ask for your assistance, but I can see you are on your way out—” Brandon’s eyes widened and he came to a sudden halt. “You are dressed in formal attire. Did someone die?”
“No. I am on my way to a ball.”
“I thought you gave up on social occasions years ago.”
There it was, that hint that something was wrong with him. Marcus had to count to ten before he replied, “I do get invited out, you know. I have never been a hermit.”
“Yes, but you so rarely accept any of the hundreds of invitations that come your way. I don’t think I’ve seen you dressed in such a manner in months.”
“Did you want something?” Marcus asked, beyond irritated. He glanced at his reflection in the wide mirror over the large fireplace that graced one end of the library and adjusted his cravat. First Anthony and now Brandon. It was annoying, but… Marcus sighed. Perhaps he should listen a bit more closely; they were his brothers, after all.
Jeffries held up the evening coat. “My lord?”
Marcus waved him away. “I shall not be leaving immediately. Brandon, stay; have a seat.”
Brandon waited until Jeffries had closed the door before facing Marcus. “I hate to do this but… I must ask a favor. Verena’s father is in trouble.”
“How unfortunate. I don’t see how that affects either of us, but Mr. Landsdowne has my sympathies.”
Brandon frowned. “Marcus, it’s not that simple. I must go and see what I can do to fix the situation. He apparently ran afoul of the local authorities and then took an illness. I must sort out the paperwork and then get him back to England.”
“Why must you do such a thing?” Marcus poured two glasses of port and carried one to Brandon. “He’s not your father, after all. I believe he has several other daughters, and a son, too, if I remember correctly.”
Exasperation crossed Brandon’s face. “It’s Verena’s father, which makes him my responsibility as well as hers. If you were married, you would understand—”
“If I was married—” Somewhere in the back of his memory, he could almost hear Anthony’s voice accusing him of being judgmental. He took a sip of port and then made himself comfortable in a chair by the gentle crackle of the fire. “I’m sorry. I spoke out of turn. As you were saying?”
Brandon blinked as if surprised. After a moment, he shook his head and settled into the chair opposite Marcus’s. “I don’t think you understand. I know what my responsibilities are, even if you don’t.”
“Hm. Is Verena’s father of age?”
“Of course he is.”
“Is he incapacitated in any way?”
“He is ill, though not fatally so.”
“So he can speak
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