“Let me worry about that.”
Angus rubbed the back of his neck and did his best to look contrite. “You don’t have to do that, Rog. I know this is my mess to clean up.”
Roger’s face flared with heat as his annoyance reached its peak. He would find Angus easier to tolerate if he would cease his feigned displays of remorse. They only lasted long enough for Roger to rescue him from one problem before he’d thrown himself headlong into the next.
“I kn-know I d-don’t h-have to!” he roared, embarrassment tangling with the anger making him trip over his words. It didn’t matter that his family were the only ones who knew about his debilitating flaw; Roger never stopped being humiliated by the betrayal of his tongue.
Angus winced with what looked like a combination of pity and unease. “Rog …”
“Get. Out.” Roger’s words came out clear and brusque, which was often the perfect way to keep from stuttering. He’d developed a reputation as a man of few words to mask his defect from the world. It never failed him.
Furrowing his brow, Angus opened his mouth to protest, but Roger held firm.
“Now.”
Without another word, Angus took his leave. Roger coaxed Emily from her chair, then cupped her face in his hands, swiping away stray tears with his thumbs.
“Don’t cry,” he murmured. “I will solve this problem for you.”
“You should not have to,” she protested, darting her gaze at the door. “Angus is the eldest, the viscount, the one we should be able to trust with our livelihood.”
“True, but he is not. So you will cease worrying and let me handle it.”
“But, how?”
Playfully tweaking her nose, he shook his head. “Let me worry about that. Accept when Lovett proposes and say nothing of the dowry.”
Emily threw her arms around him with a relieved sigh. “You are the best brother a girl could ask for.”
Smoothing a hand over her golden hair, he smiled. “I know.”
With a giggle, Emily took up the shawl she had cast off upon entering the room. “And I am the best sister a man could ask for, am I not?”
Roger wrinkled his nose and pretended to think over the question. “As you are the only one I have … I suppose you’ll do.”
She slapped his arm on her way to the door. “You will still accompany Lovett and I to the opera this evening, yes?”
He suppressed a groan, having forgotten his promise to play chaperone for the evening. “I will be there to ensure Lovett behaves himself.”
Roger wanted to insist that the man wasn’t good enough for Emily if he could not accept her without a dowry. But Emily was right—love was only part of this particular equation. He might soon need to take a wife for the purpose of pulling their family back from the brink of destitution.
Roger shuddered at the thought of marriage—though it wasn’t the idea of getting married that disturbed him. He rather thought he might enjoy having a wife if she were the type of person he could admire and make pleasant conversation with. His love for Emily created a longing in him for children of his own. His sister was eighteen now, no longer a little girl. She would marry and blossom into a fine lady, leaving Roger alone save for the burden of Angus.
However, in order to marry, one had to undergo the ritual of courtship and Roger was not built for such niceties. Conversation with strangers was a chore in and of itself. No need to compound that by trying to steady his traitorous tongue long enough to woo some woman to the altar. Never mind his concern that any child born of his blood might inherit his speech impediment.
Aside from those reservations, there was the fact that Emily’s dowry needed to be replaced sooner rather than later. His sister didn’t have the luxury of waiting for Roger to coax a woman into accepting his suit.
What was a man to do for a large influx of funds in a rather short time? Roger strode from the room in search of Angus. While he was puzzling over the matter, he might as well have a talk with his elder brother. With Christmas so near, he wouldn’t stand for Angus upsetting Emily more than he already had. If the fool could keep himself out of trouble long enough for him to get their sister settled, Roger might then have the chance to ponder his own future. One thing was for certain, he did not intend to spend what was left of his life cleaning up Angus’s messes.
Chapter 2
The next afternoon saw Roger ensconced in a drawing room with his cousin, Lady Beatrice Watson. Marriage had taken her out of the Thornton household, and widowhood had offered her independence. Yet, Roger made certain to maintain a relationship with Beatrice, as the concept of family loyalty had been drilled into him from boyhood. One glance at his surroundings, and it was clear his cousin was doing quite well for herself. Her late husband’s brother had inherited the barony, but a generous jointure would see her catered to for the rest of her days.
Beatrice had inherited the dark coloring of most Thorntons—pitch-black hair and deep brown eyes, just like Roger. Only a few years older than him, Beatrice still carried the spark and vitality of youth.
Roger had simply visited her for want of a distraction, yet somehow ended up blurting out the story of Angus’s idiotic blunder. Beatrice listened with pinched lips and tightly drawn eyebrows until he was finished. It didn’t take long, as he adhered to only the most necessary of words.
Beatrice set aside her teacup with a shake of her head. “One would think age and experience would have shown Angus the error of his ways by now.”
“It would seem that isn’t the case.”
Tapping one finger against her chin, Beatrice studied him with a pensive eye. “So it falls to you to ensure our Emily has a dowry to offer a prospective husband.”
“Not just any husband, though. She has her heart set on Lovett.”
“He is soon to come up to scratch. They have been courting for some time.”
“Yes.”
Narrowing her eyes, she tilted her head, studying Roger as if he were a butterfly pinned beneath a magnifying glass. “You know, Roger … you’re quite handsome.”
He shifted in his chair, suddenly uncomfortable with her close perusal. “Thank you.”
“I’m sorry, I never allowed myself to truly think of it before. You have a lovely head of hair and kind eyes.”
Oh God. She was going to suggest marriage. Roger steeled himself for the inevitable sentiments.
You are of an age to begin thinking of taking a wife.
It would solve all your troubles.
Don’t you want a family?
Any woman would be fortunate to have you.
“Beatrice,” he began, prepared to shoot the idea down before she even fixed her lips to offer it.
“You like women, don’t you, Rog?” she asked before he could go on. “Honestly, I cannot think of a time I have heard of you courting anyone. Though, I always assumed it was because you’re a bit shy. Is that it?”
He ground his teeth, wrestling with the usual irritation and discomfiture such questions always caused. Shyness was a convenient enough excuse to fall back on when he didn’t want to admit the truth.
“Yes,” he replied with a slow nod.
Beatrice waved a dismissive hand. “I cannot blame you when Angus is your opposite. The man talks too much, and you not enough. I suppose that was God’s way of balancing out the family.”