Page 64 of Dick Stone, Regency Stud
“Have they found a body?” he asked, hoping that this was a mistake and Horatio yet floated on a piece of wood, his rescue perhaps already underway.
The woman nodded yes; her sobs louder.
Edward needed to get out of this house immediately. He paused at the door, considering where his hat and gloves might be stored, but gave them up as lost. Dash it, he’d buy new ones. This could be just the latest in a string of injustices visited on him by Horatio.
***
When Tobias found him in his lodgings, Edward was several gulps into a bottle of finer liquor than he usually bought.
“What’s this? Having a soiree and you didn’t invite me?” asked the urchin, settling beside him on the floor next to the bed.
“Where’d you learn ‘soiree,’ kid?”
“Same place I learned all of my fancy words,” said Tobias.
“Do I really talk like that, even now?” asked Edward.
“Blood will out.”
“Will it ever,” said Edward, slumping forward.
Tobias looked at Dick Stone in alarm. He’d enjoyed his tipples, same as any young blade, but this was something quite different.
“Whatsa matter, gov?”
“Left my handkerchief at my brother’s place,” said Edward, covering his eyes with his hand. “Could have used it. My damn hat, too. A fine beaver. And m’ gloves.”
Urchins don’t live long without the ability to go hungry and to read situations. Tobias may not have known the particulars, but he recognized that something had gone terribly wrong.
“Guess you’ll just have to use my shirt,” said Tobias, offering a filthy cuff.
Lord Edward Richard Stone — born a second son, and now heir to the Chasterly marquessate — stared for ages at that stained gray shirtsleeve. And then sobbed for the first time since childhood on his friend’s shoulder.
Epilogue
London, 1820
Ten months later
“Ho there, sir!” called a familiar voice.
“Gesù, hide me,” muttered Edward, trying to slip behind Tencendor’s flank before Lady Millicent Blatherwick approached.
“Why is she waving a cane?” asked Tobias from the saddle many feet above him. “Do I need to move Tencendor away so she doesn’t strike him?”
Edward slumped against his horse. “No, her one saving grace is that she loves him. Would never dream of hurting her ‘best boy.’”
“Is that my best boy?” she cried out, sending a flock of swans scurrying into a pond.
“I don’t think hiding is going to work,” whispered Tobias as he watched the elderly woman approach. Her bonnet had fallen from her head and bobbed along at her knees, attached to her neck by a tied ribbon. Someone had rigged her gloves with string so they’d stay somewhat connected to her person while not actually being worn. They extended from her pelisse cuffs like little wings as she moved about with great excitement.
“Oh, is that you, Netherwallop?” she asked, peering around the horse’s arse.
Edward Richard Stone, Viscount Netherwallop, stared back balefully.
Upon the death of his brother, Dick Stone had provisionally inherited that ridiculous title, much to his horror.
Had he inherited his brother’s allowance, which might have offered some consolation?
