~ * ~
“You are to be congratulated, Watson. Your sister has become an exemplary hostess,” David said, meaning every word. He hadn’t enjoyed a meal more in a very long time. Abigail had been warm and gracious, including him in the conversation when Imogen and Watson had returned to their contention over the wide appeal of K. L. Brahms’ work. He could easily see Imogen found Watson’s views amusing that some of the novels touched on the vulgar. As the author, she alone knew the source of her topics and why she’d chosen to write of them.
Despite his opinion that the works were inappropriate for very young ladies, Peter Watson appeared to be an avid fan. Watson could recall the precise order of publication and he could even quote certain passages that appealed to him.
“She enjoys entertaining.” Watson pulled a bottle from a sideboard cupboard and filled two glasses. He passed one to David. “Not that we have done much of late.”
David sipped, noting the flavor was not as agreeable as he was used to enjoying in the great city. However, Peter had given him the opening he needed to start their business discussion. He just needed to follow through. He set the glass down, but the words clogged in his throat. He swallowed, for the first time ever, utterly speechless when it came to discussing his client’s finances. He had to do this. He coughed several times but nothing came to him as a way to start. In desperation, he returned to discussing Abigail. “I understand your sister had a successful visit to London,” he said at last.
“Not so successful that she made a match, though she had a fair few interested. A pity. She really enjoyed her time in London. She was disappointed to return home when our month was up,” Peter confided. He drained his glass and refilled it again.
It surprised him that Abigail had regretted leaving London when she’d been so dismissive of the gentlemen she’d met there. “I’m sure she was much admired,” David agreed, resting back in the chair. “I was surprised some lucky fellow hadn’t snapped her up.”
“They’d have to catch her first.” Peter shook his head. “My sister has very strong notions about marriage.”
If she had dressed as she had tonight, wearing the sheerest of gowns with tiny capped sleeves, then the gentleman would have been clamoring all over themselves to reach her. She could have had any man she wanted. Keep his eyes from her low bodice had taken a toll on David’s nerves during the meal. He’d imagined any number of ways to peel her out of the dress. “And what of you? We haven’t really talked since my return. Have you set your heart on making a match yourself?”
Peter stared at him steadily. “That’s unlikely.”
“The right woman could do wonders for your circumstances,” he said quietly. There, he’d done it. He’d introduced a subject that could lead to discussing Peter’s finances and securing a bride with a fortune at the same time. Abigail should be pleased with him.
Peter sat forward in his chair suddenly. “I don’t see a wife on your arm.”
“My circumstances are different.” He shrugged. “I’ve no need for a wife.”
“You have the money to support one,” Peter countered bitterly. “You’re as rich as Croesus. You could have a wife and a mistress and not feel the pinch to your pocketbook.”
“But I have little time for either.”
“And I have ample time, but barely any money to support anyone but my sister.” Peter loosened his cravat, face turning a deep shade of red at his confession. For a man normally full of jovial good spirits, the situation had severely curbed his lighter side.
David sighed. “I had hoped never to have this conversation with a friend. I wish our fathers had never started this. But you must understand what my partner demands I do while I am here. The debt cannot stand as it is. You must find a way out of this. A good marriage could considerably improve your life.” Slowly, David removed the sealed letter from his pocket and slid it across the table.
Peter stared at it. “How long?”
“A month. I will return on the day to take possession of the house,” David said quietly. He wouldn’t let his partner come to Brighton. Knight would not be kind or patient as the Watsons took their leave.
Peter’s shoulders sagged, his gaze dipping to the floor in defeat.
For the first time ever, David felt evil. He was robbing a friend of his home. He’d become the antithesis of all he had hoped to be in his career. He wanted people to live a comfortable life. He simply couldn’t do what he wanted for a man in Peter Watson’s position.
As he reached for his wine glass to wash the sour taste from his mouth, Peter spoke. “Leave.”
“Peter,” David started.
But his friend’s chin lifted. His eyes blazed with hate. “Take your money-grubbing ways out of my house. You are not to set foot within until month’s end.”
David sighed and stood. “As you wish.”
He strode from the room and picked up his hat and gloves from the entrance table. A movement inside the parlor drew his eye. Abigail waited with Miss George by her side, her clenched hands and panicked expression the final sign he could no longer call himself a good man.
He knew this could happen but it hurt far more than he’d anticipated. Rather than speak to her, and risk Peter’s temper, David backed toward the door and quickly let himself out. He should not have come to Brighton. He should have let Knight handle the matter himself and mourned the loss of friends at a distance.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Glass shattered within the dining room. Abigail rushed there to see what Peter was about. She ducked as a wine bottle flew over her head to smash against the cream-papered walls. “Peter, what on earth is the matter with you?”
But the brother she knew and loved had fled. In his place was a caged beast, striding from one end of the small room to the other, hands waving about i