Wizard's Daughter (Sherbrooke Brides 10)

Sophie said, "I've heard it said his father gave him naught but a title and a dilapidated property, and he did it apurpose. I wonder why. Is this young man in debt? I don't know. But I do know, Ryder, that pride and arrogance meld very nicely together in him, don't you think?"

Ryder laughed. "Yes, they do. I wonder if he realizes he is all the talk of London."

"Oh, yes, of course he does. I imagine it amuses him."

Neither of them noticed Rosalind staring after Nicholas Vail, who looked neither to the right nor to the left as he strode from the ballroom.

Nicholas was accepting his cane and hat from a liveried footman, palming him a shilling for his service, when a voice said, "Well, well, if it isn't the new Earl of Mountjoy, the sixth, I believe, in the flesh. Hello, brother."

Nicholas fancied he remembered that voice from his boy­hood, but it took a moment for him to recognize that the young man facing him was his eldest half brother, Richard Vail. It occurred to him in that moment, staring at the young man, that he minded very much sharing his name. He looked into Richard's brilliant eyes, dark as his own, nearly black, and they glittered—with anger? No, it was more than simple anger, it was impotent rage. Richard Vail was not happy. Nicholas smiled at the young man. "It's a pity your memory has failed you, and here you are so very young—I am the seventh Earl of Mountjoy, not the sixth, and the eighth Vis­count Ashborough."

"Damn you, you shouldn't be either!"

"And you, Richard, should consider growing up."

The rage smoldered as Richard's hands clenched, un­clenched. A knife to the gullet? Surely a possibility. Richard was a handsome young man, nearly Nicholas's size, big enough to look down on many of his peers. Richard said, "I am a man, more of a man than you will ever be. I am wel­come in London. You are not. You do not belong here. Go back to your savage life. I heard you came from China. That is where you have lived, isn't it?'

Nicholas smiled and turned to look at another young man standing at Richard's elbow. "I recognize you. You are Lancelot, are you not?"

They could not have looked less like brothers. Unlike ei­ther Richard or Nicholas, this young man was slight, fair, and pale, the image of a delicate poet. Nicholas looked at his artist's hands, with their long fingers and beautiful shape. He wondered what his father had thought of this pretty son, who resembled his mother, Miranda, if Nicholas remembered aright.

Out of his pretty mouth came a petulant voice. "Everyone knows I am called Lance."

Nicholas drawled, "No knight then?"

"Make no jest with me, sir. It was paltry."

Nicholas raised a dark brow. "I? Certainly I wouldn't consider a jest with you. You are my family, after all."

"Only by bitter and unjust circumstance," Richard said. "We don't want you here. No one wants you here."

"How very strange," Nicholas said easily. "I am now the head of the Vail family, I am your eldest brother. You should welcome me, delight in my company, look to me for advice and counsel."

Lancelot made a rude noise.

"You are nothing more than a ne'er-do-well adventurer, sir, who should probably be in Newgate."

"An adventurer, hmmm. That has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" Nicholas smiled at both young men impartially, strangers, both of them, and they hated him, doubtless made to hate him by his father and their mother. They'd been in­nocent children once; he remembered them from their last visit to Wyverly Chase, just before his grandfather had died. He'd been an ancient twelve. He said slowly, "I remember there are three of you. Where is—what is his name?"

"Aubrey," Richard said, tight-lipped. "He studies at Ox­ford."

Oxford, Nicholas thought; it sounded alien, it felt alien. "Do give Aubrey my best," he said, nodding to Richard and Lancelot.

"I heard you were staying at Grillon's," Richard called after him. "A pity Father didn't leave you the town house."

Lancelot snickered.

Nicholas turned back. "To be honest with you, Wyverly Chase is more than enough. I am relieved that decrepit Geor­gian pile on Epson Square wasn't entailed to me. The repairs alone must cost you at least three nights' winnings at the gaming table, if you ever win, that is."

Lancelot said, "Father wouldn't have left you Wyverly Chase either if it hadn't been entailed. A pity now that it will molder into the ground."

"It moldered long before my arrival," Nicholas said.

Lancelot said, "And you will not be able to do anything about it. E

veryone knows you're poor as a rooster catcher on the heath."

"I don't believe I am familiar with that term," Nicholas said.