Page 17 of Love with a Notorious Rake

Visiting with Riordan had helped ease the way for the next step, which consisted of facing his father. All his life Aidan had been a disappointment; he’d seen it clearly on his father’s face on numerous occasions. It started in childhood: misbehaving, tantrums, destruction of property (of which he was heartily ashamed; it was the reason he was sent to school before Riordan). Instead of trying to improve his behavior, he had purposely and stubbornly sought out more wickedness. Rather childish, when he reflected on it. It was well past time to grow up.

The trees took on a familiar look; he was close to the edge of the vast Wollstonecraft property. Aidan rode past the duck pond and was given quacking greetings from the feathered occupants. Every shrub and hedgerow was immaculately groomed. Wollstonecraft Hall and its grounds spoke of a more affluent age.

The hall itself was initially owned by a baronet in the medieval age, and once purchased by the seventeenth century Earl of Carnstone, renovations began immediately. He retained the use of the word “hall,” even though the current residence did not resemble the original timbered structure, except at the front entrance. Eclectic in look with its Georgian and Gothic wings, the rambling residence had seen its share of heartache.

With regards to a more affluent age, how prudent that his father and grandfather had seen the change approaching decades ago, and took steps to ensure that their family had not become complacent when it came to the economic shift of the country. Many peers were nearing complete ruin because they hadn’t kept up with the times or, more recently, had invested in dodgy railway schemes. His grandfather had invested the family’s money in solid industrious ventures, and because of it, they were wealthier than ever.

Someday, long into the future, this would all be his. In the past, the prospect had terrified him. Bloody hell, he didn’t ask to be born ten minutes before his fraternal twin. Riordan would have made a better heir; he was responsibility and sturdiness incarnate.

But fate had a sense of humor and laid the duty at his feet instead. Fingers crossed Riordan and Sabrina had a son, then there would be no need for Aidan to marry. His nephew could be the damned heir. How easy it would be to hand the responsibility off to someone else. His past self would have done it quick as a wink.

But Aidan wasn’t that man anymore. Surely not. He hadn’t come through opium hell only to slip into old habits. Besides, after all his father and grandfather had done to improve the family’s circumstances, it would be reprehensible of him to allow it to founder.

Turning onto the tree-lined circular drive, he felt like a soldier coming home from battle. At least, how he imagined one would feel. No doubt soldiers felt strange, elated, to be sure, but also apprehensive, with everything holding a type of unfettered unfamiliarity. Not that he was any kind of hero. Far from it. Hero was something he would never be.

With a deep breath, he pulled up on Nebula’s reins and halted before the front entrance. Slipping from the gelding, he patted his neck. Christ, his insides were churning. He grabbed the brass knocker, but before he could use it, the door opened. Martin, their venerable butler, opened the door. “My God, Master Aidan!” Martin quickly arranged his features into professional neutrality. “You were not expected, sir.”

Aidan had instructed the staff long ago not to bother with the courtesy ‘lord’ designation when addressing him. He must have arrived before the letter from Dr. Bevan. “Are my father and grandfather within?”

Martin stepped aside to allow him to enter the front hall. “The viscount is visiting at the Eaton residence, but the earl is presently in his study.”

“No need to announce me, I remember the way.”

“It is good to see you, sir.” Martin’s deep voice had a soft, affectionate tone, something he didn’t show often.

Aidan was genuinely touched. “And you, Martin. It is good to be…home.”

As he made his way through the long hallways, nodding to a few footmen, it was as he’d surmised. All was familiar, but also strangely removed from reality. A door burst open and a dog bolted past him, with a young girl following close behind, her red hair flowing to her shoulders. They had nearly knocked him off his feet.

“Laddie! Come back here!”

The dog woofed playfully and disappeared around the corner, as did the girl. Out of the same room barreled a young man who knocked Aidan off balance. He hit the tiled floor hard, and his shoulder ached from the impact.

“Oh. Sorry, sir.”

The man was huge, almost as tall as Garrett’s six and a half feet, and their collision had Aidan gasping for breath. All at once he was pulled upright, causing another blast of pain to shoot through his shoulder.

“Laddie has Meg’s new gloves,” the golden-haired giant said.

“How exciting,” Aidan replied drolly.

“Are you Aidan?”

“I am.”

The young man thrust out his huge hand. “I’m Jonas Eaton.”

The simpleton. Easy. A little compassion would not go amiss. He took the man’s hand. Jonas was as breathtakingly handsome as Garrett had described. Good God, this young man would set London society on its ear. The young ladies would be completely agog, in spite of his limitations. “Good to meet you.”

Before he could speak further, the dog and the girl whirled around the corner and made a complete stop before them. The dog eyed him suspiciously, and a warning growl emitted from the beast, who opened his mouth far enough that the gloves dropped to the floor. The girl, Meg, picked them up, frowning at the saliva dripping from them.

Aidan held out his hand toward the collie. “We’ve met before, Laddie, remember?”

Laddie gave him a good sniff, and recognition dawned. Garrett had brought the Scotch collie—more of a half-grown puppy at the time—for a short visit in February when Garrett had been in Standon. Laddie’s tail wagged and he gave Aidan a friendly woof. “There we are, friends again.” He scratched the dog’s ears for good measure.

“Meg, this is your cousin, Aidan,” Jonas enthused.

Jesus, it was as if a feminine version of Garrett stood before him. Her hazel-green eyes blinked, then a shy smile broke out, making her prettiness all the more apparent. She had as many freckles as his uncle. Aidan reached for her hand and bent over it. “My distinct pleasure, Miss Hughes.”