“Don’t be ridiculous, Perdita,” she snapped. “His man will give him my note, and your brother will join us presently.”
The baroness proved correct. In just a few moments, the young man who had gone into No. 32 came out again. He had lost his amber bottle, but he was still wearing the unforgivable hat. Perdita recklessly threw open the window. “Julian! Over here!”
“For heaven’s sake, Perdita!” the baroness hissed. “Someone might see you!”
“No one knows us in this part of London, Mama,” Perdita answered. “No one we know would be caught dead in the City. Apart from Julian, of course.”
“Quite,” said the baroness coldly as a knock sounded on the door. “Enter!”
Julian opened the door, climbed inside the carriage, and sat next to Perdita. His hat—and Lady Devize had an excellent view of it as he leaned forward to close the door—was even worse than she had thought. In fact, it was execrable.
“Where on earth did you get that hat?” Perdita exclaimed.
“I bought it,” Julian replied. His brilliant blue eyes, rendered breathtaking by the sunlight, were fixed on his mother, and her brilliant blue eyes were fixed on him. Although there was no love lost between them, the family resemblance could not be denied. “If it offends you, I will remove it.” So saying, he took off his hat and balanced it on his knee.
The baroness closed her eyes in shame. Her son had one of those horrible close-cropped haircuts that men who do not keep creditable valets are forced to get from barbers.
“It doesn’t look like you bought it,” Perdita said frankly. “It rather looks like you stole it from the family of mice that were nesting in it. What did you do with the poor mice?”
“It’s not as bad as that,” said Julian, smiling faintly.
“I was trying to be kind,” said Perdita.
“Aren’t you going to greet your mother?” Lady Devize demanded, exasperated.
“My lady,” he said politely. “What brings you to the City?”
The baroness did not reply. “Portland Place,” she called sharply to the driver, and the closed carriage began to move, traveling northwest along Lombard Street.
Julian frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t have time to go for a drive with you just now, madam. I work for a living, as you know.”
“My son, the stockjobber,” said the baroness, drenching those four simple words in oceans of icy contempt.
“At your ladyship’s service,” Julian replied. “Are you buying or selling?”
As the baroness choked on her own fury, Perdita caught Julian’s arm. “It’s Papa,” she said quietly. “He’s very ill, Julian. They don’t seem to expect him to live much longer.”
All traces of mockery disappeared from the young man’s face.
“I see,” he said quietly. “Of course I’ll come.”
His mother sniffed. “By all means! Visit your father on his deathbed—if you wish to hasten his demise, that is. The sight of you would surely kill him on the spot.”
“Mama! No!” Perdita cried, horrified.
“Naturally, I have no wish to commit patricide,” Julian said stiffly. “I will, of course, absent myself from the touching family scene. But why take me to Portland Place?”
“Your father wants to see your brother, his heir, before he dies,” Lady Devize explained.
Perdita said quickly, “Alex is in a—a house, Julian, and we need you to get him out.”
“Have you tried knocking on the door?” Julian inquired politely.
“Your brother is in a bawdyhouse,” said the baroness impatiently. “We couldn’t possibly knock on that door.”
“And we can’t send a servant, either,” said Perdita, anticipating Julian’s next suggestion. “What if he’s drunk? What if he won’t come out? What if he creates a disturbance? There would be a dreadful scandal! And how would it look if Papa actually died while his heir was creating a disturbance in a brothel?”
Julian sighed. “Where is the house?”
“Portland Place!” the baroness said indignantly.
“Portland Place?” Julian repeated, chuckling. “Isn’t that where you live, madam?”
Lady Devize drew herself up. “I am at the top of Portland Place,” she informed him icily. “Mrs Dean’s…establishment…is at the bottom of Portland Place. Thus far, she has managed to elude detection. To coin a phrase: The law is an ass.”
“So you left your house at the top of Portland Place. You drove all the way out to Lombard Street to fetch me. And now we are on our way to the bottom of Portland Place?”
Julian was almost smiling; it was so ridiculous.
“I’m sorry to have taken you away from your labors on the Exchange,” Lady Devize said nastily, “but the matter could not be delayed if we are to reach Sussex by nightfall.”
Julian frowned. “Sussex? Is my father not in London?”
“I was forced to come to London without him this Season,” said his mother. “After what you did to Child’s Bank, sir, your father could not face his friends in the House of Lords. Some people of very high rank were affected by your underhanded dealings.”
“There is nothing underhanded about my dealings,” Julian said hotly. “Believe me, the matter has been very thoroughly investigated. If I had done wrong, I would be in prison.”
“You should be in prison,” the baroness said flatly. “It is not enough that you disgrace your family by going into Trade. No, indeed! You must break Child’s Bank, and make Lady Jersey look a perfect fool! Her ladyship won’t even speak to me now. I am having to fight my way back into Society tooth and claw because of your conduct. A gentleman does not break a lady’s bank, Julian!”
“Lady Jersey has no business running her grandfather’s bank or any other bank,” Julian replied harshly. “You’d be better off keeping your money in a china pig than in Child’s Bank.”
“All’s well that ends well,” Perdita interrupted in an attempt to make peace. “Parliament has voted to bail out Child’s Bank, so it’s all right, Mama. The on dit is that Lady Jersey called in favors from all her former lovers—a majority in the House of Lords, from what I hear,” she added, laughing. “Lady Bamph said that Lady Jersey must have a stomach lined with copper to have abased herself with so many Members, to which the Duchess of Berkshire replied, ‘My dear, I think you mean quite another part of her ladyship’s anatomy!’”
The baroness’s blue eyes gleamed. “Fortunately, there are some who take pleasure in poor Sally’s troubles. Now, if I could just find a way to cultivate the Duchess of Berkshire, I might regain my position in Society.”
“Ah, the cultivation of duchesses,” Julian murmured. “I understand they require inordinate amounts of strong fertilizer if they are to bloom by season’s end. And should your duchess chance to have aphids—”
“I understand Doctor Weston’s Elixir is very good for that!” Perdita finished gaily.
The baroness glared at them, her eldest and youngest in league against her.
“I’m sure you will find a way back into Society, Mama,” Perdita said contritely.
“It certainly doesn’t help matters that my son has insinuated himself into the marriage settlement of Lord Bamph and Lady Viola Gambol,” said the baroness. “His mother is seriously displeased. Are there no depths to which you will not sink,