“Weren’t they just,” Otto murmured. Returning half his attention to the billiard table, he fastidiously adjusted the placement of one of the ivory balls. “All the world loves a rich nephew. And the London lawyer? Was he there on the docks too?”
“No, he was in London.”
“Ask a silly question,” Otto murmured.
“My uncle said it would be best not to go to London until after the first of the year—because of the weather. We set off for Warwick Palace the very next day. And here I am.”
“And here you are,” said Otto, chalking his cue. “But why? Strictly speaking, shouldn’t you be at Camford—or Candleford, if you prefer? It is Christmas, after all. No doubt, the good people of Candleford—the Candlefordians—will expect their new lord to show an interest. Who will crack open the poor box on St. Stephen’s day, if you are not at hand to do the job?”
“Uncle Hugh said it would be better—”
“To wait until after the first of the year,” Otto finished, smiling.
“Well, yes,” said Nicholas. “One does not want to speak ill of the dead, but, apparently, the estate was not in good form when my uncle passed away. There were debts, and liens, and whatnot against the property. My uncle tells me the house is empty, uninhabitable. The servants have all gone, and, of course, there would be no getting new ones at this time of year. My uncle was good enough to ask that I be included in the invitation to spend Christmas here. Was that not generous of him, considering we had never even met before?”
“Very generous indeed,” Otto agreed pleasantly.
“We’re to stay through Twelfth Night, then travel to London. I have to take my seat in the House of Lords when Parliament opens,” he added, a cloud passing over his face. “Life is so much simpler in the navy!” he lamented. “One has one’s orders. One knows what to do, and when to do it. Uncle Hugh says I shall have to be presented at the Court of St. James, too.”
Otto bent to study his shot at eye level. “Just imagine them all naked; you’ll do fine.”
Nicholas laughed nervously. “You mustn’t tease me, sir. This…This is a whole new world for me, and I’m not sure I’m up for it.”
“It is not without its hardships, I daresay. Tell me, have you met the girls yet?”
Nicholas blushed. “My uncle has warned me that I shall be pursued relentlessly by adventuresses,” he said, “but so far, I have only met my cousins. All five of them. Or is it six? It seemed rather like six at times on the journey.”
“I meant your cousins,” Otto said dryly, “of which there are only five, you’ll be happy to know. Octavia, Augusta, Cornelia, Flavia, and, last, but not least, Julia.”
Nicholas stared at him with admiration. “You know their names! I confess I can’t seem to remember them all, try as I might.”
Otto leaned on his cue stick. “Oliver’s aunt cooked five jellies,” he said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Oliver’s aunt cooked five jellies,” Otto repeated patiently. “That is how I remember their names. From eldest to youngest, in order of precedence, as it were, they are: Octavia, Augusta, Cornelia, Flavia, and Julia. Oliver’s aunt cooked five jellies.”
“I see,” said Nicholas. “That’s very clever. But why not Otto’s aunt?” he asked, smiling.
“I don’t have an aunt.” Dissatisfied with his cue stick, Otto went to the rack to select another. “I should probably tell you there is some talk of Octavia’s being engaged,” he went on. “I’ll believe it when I see it. But, if so, that puts Miss Augusta on the chopping block. She’s not a bad sort, really. As far as I can tell, there’s nothing in her head but dogs and horses. What say you to Miss Augusta?”
Nicholas stared at him, bewildered. “I do not understand.”
Otto looked slightly surprised. “Naturally, you’ll be expected to marry one of your cousins. It’s the usual way of things. Didn’t you know?”
Nicholas gave a startled laugh. “Marry one of my cousins? You are joking me!”
“I never joke about the human tragedy. As the Earl of Camford, your first duty is to marry and produce an heir,” Otto said patiently. “After all, there’s no one behind you, is there?”
Nicholas actually looked over his shoulder before Otto’s meaning dawned on him. “You mean there’s no one to inherit Candle—Camford—if I were to die unexpectedly? No. No, I’m the last of the St. Austells. But I’m only twenty!” he added hastily. “I’ve plenty of time!”
“Youth is no protection against the Angel of Death,” Otto told him bluntly. “Accidents happen all the time. Forgive me, but you could die at any moment. Any one of us could, after all. If you were to die without an heir, that would be the end of it. Camford would revert to the Crown.”
“I had not thought of that,” Nicholas said haltingly. “As a poor lieutenant, I never thought I’d have the opportunity to marry, let alone the duty to marry! I am not against the idea of marriage, of course,” he added, “but I—I hardly know my cousins. I am sure they are good girls, but I only met them a few days ago. I can’t even remember their names. Oliver’s aunt cooked five jellies. Octavia, Augusta…Cornelia…” He grinned suddenly. “I say! It does work.”
Otto did not smile back. “You’re caught in a trap, boy. You just don’t know it yet.”
“I am not in a trap,” Nicholas protested.
“Quiet, please,” said Otto, leaning across the table.
At the exact moment he took the stroke, the door opened, causing him to scratch again.
“Damnation!” he growled as his sister ran into the room.
Emma was in tears. Sobbing, she threw herself at her brother, oblivious to everything else. “Thank God you’re here!” she babbled in German. “I don’t know what to do. He’s here. He arrived in the night. He knows about Aleta!”
Otto had been trying to stop the flow of words, but at the mention of Aleta, he frowned.
“What?” he said sharply.
“He has my letter. He wants money. What are we going to do?”
“Emma,” he said.
“I shall have to pay him, of course,” she yammered on, unheedingly. “That’s all there is to it. And you wanted me to be civil!”
“Emma!” he barked, giving her a hard shake.
She blinked up at him. “What?”
“We are not alone,” he told her.
Emma turned slowly, grinding the tears from her eyes with the heel of her hand. Nicholas stood at the other end of the billiard table, looking down at his feet, his hands folded behind his back. Slowly, he raised his eyes to her. Slowly, he bowed.
Silently, Emma answered his bow with a curtsey. “I beg your pardon, sir,” she said breathlessly. “I did not—I did not see you.”
“Do you see me now?” he asked, with a quick smile.
Emma caught her breath. “Oh, it’s you,” she said, recognizing him. “That is—it is you, isn’t it? You are Lord Camford, are you not?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
They stared at one another for a long moment. The germ of a diabolical