Brook Street: Fortune Hunter (13 page)

Julian blinked. It took a moment for Benjamin’s words to penetrate the panic flooding his senses and shove it aside. Cruel? He thought Julian cruel? How dare he? Benjamin had had everything given to him his entire life. He’d never learned a lesson in cruelty at the hands of others. Never been ostracized, never been cut, never been dragged across the damn Atlantic. “I’m cruel? You have no notion of what cruel is, Benjamin. None at all!”

“Marrying a woman solely for her fortune is cold-hearted enough. Hell, I cannot believe you would consider condemning your future wife to your father’s fate. But to intend to marry one when you don’t even prefer women is most definitely cruel, Julian.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?” Julian demanded, bristling with defensive anger. “My father didn’t have any money, Benjamin. If he had, he wouldn’t have dragged me to America.”

“Your mother believed he possessed a fortune. Don’t play dim, Julian. You know that’s why she married him.”

“Then that was her fault for marrying the wrong goddamn Parker,” he shot back. He was not like his mother. Not at all. He wasn’t cold and bitter, and his marriage would not have been anything like his parents’. His wife would have had a fortune. He would never shout over misspent pin money, never let loose with his fists. It would not have been a love match, but he would have treated her with respect.

“Whereas you’re more careful.” A sneer of disdain curled Benjamin’s lip. “No one with under twenty thousand pounds, if I remember correctly.”

“It’s not my fault that I’m not you, Benjamin! If I had your opportunities and your bank account, I would not have even considered marrying.”

“If you had but asked, I’d have helped you, assisted you with any path of employment you desired. Yet you chose to take the easiest path.”

He flinched at the truth in Benjamin’s accusation. But Benjamin wasn’t done with him yet.

“Even when we were children, Julian, you scoffed at the mere notion of work. You expected everything to fall into your hands and got upset when it didn’t. Just like your father.”

Somehow Julian managed not to stagger back as those four words slammed into him. The four words he dreaded above all. A noxious ball of anger and resentment and fear roiled up inside. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his jaw tightening, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t. Don’t you dare insinuate that I’m like him. I’m not a drunkard. I don’t chase every whore in town. It was only a hundred and fifty bloody pounds. I didn’t gamble away my family’s home.”

“But you gambled away something else. Woodhaven left Town a week ago. Was that when you pawned the watch?”

“Yes. Goddamn it, yes!” He shoved at Benjamin’s chest. “I didn’t think I had a choice. I had to—”

A hand grabbed his shoulder, whipped him around. A fist slammed into his jaw, snapping his head back, sending him sprawling onto the floor. Pain flared up the side of his face, spots dancing before his eyes.

“Don’t touch him.” The words were a growl, and they did not come from Benjamin. The tone lower, harsher, drenched in the promise of more than a nasty punch.

Pushing up onto his elbows, Julian gave his head a shake to clear it. He blinked and looked up. A man with dark blond hair, dressed only in a pair of trousers, loomed above him.

Benjamin made to step around the man, but he threw out an arm, keeping Benjamin behind him. “Cavin, we were just having an argument. You didn’t need to hit him.”

“He was going to hit you, Ben.” Cavin kept his gaze pinned on Julian, muscles poised, ready to spring into action again. Physically, the man wasn’t any taller or larger than Julian or Benjamin, yet there was something in his presence, in his stance, that screamed he had not learned how to throw that nasty punch at Gentleman Jackson’s.

With an indulgent shake of his head, Benjamin swatted Cavin’s arm aside and stepped around him. Julian had the distinct impression Cavin allowed it. Benjamin reached down, held out a hand to Julian. “No, he wasn’t.”

Well, yes, if their argument had progressed much further, Julian likely would have thrown a punch, if for no other reason than to shut Benjamin up. He grabbed Benjamin’s proffered hand and stood. He rubbed his aching jaw. Nothing like a punch to right one’s senses. “He’s right, Benjamin.”

Benjamin started then shrugged. He looked to Cavin. “Regardless, you didn’t need to hit him. The sentiment is appreciated but I can manage my own family squabbles. This is Julian Parker, my cousin. Julian, Cavin Fox, my cook.”

Suspicion nudged Julian’s mind.

The familiarity between the two men, far more than master and servant. The way Cavin Fox continued to stand close to Benjamin, that protective air, his gaze still tracking Julian’s every movement. Not to mention that the man had called Benjamin
Ben,
not “sir” or “Lord Benjamin”. The way Benjamin did not attend as many social functions as he once had and when he did attend, he was always so eager to leave, to rush home. The comments from his friends, indicating his decreased interest in balls and routs was a more recent phenomenon, as was the acquisition of his new cook.

His cousin had not liked Julian’s plan to wed an heiress, but he hadn’t grown hostile until he’d realized Julian planned to do so even though he preferred men. Yet Benjamin had not cared that Julian preferred men. It was the combination of the two that had roused his ire. But most gentlemen married. It was more expected than gambling and dancing at balls. Men like Julian married frequently—a common device used to shield their true desires from Society—and took their pleasures where they could find them. Men like Benjamin, men from good solid families, married to secure titles and add to the family’s coffers, not for love.

Yet good-natured Benjamin was just the sort to believe love and fidelity an intrinsic part of the wedded state. His parents had adored each other, so it made perfect sense Benjamin would hold the same view of marriage.

“You don’t plan to marry, do you?”

The question took Benjamin aback, yet he answered just as Julian suspected. “I’m not going to marry.”

Julian studied both men. The matching wrinkled trousers and disheveled hair. He would hazard a guess Benjamin and Cavin Fox had rolled out of the same bed, and he’d also hazard a guess the two men loved each other. “So that’s why you were so adamant Bennett not try to steal your cook away.”

“What?” Benjamin’s features blanked.

Cavin stiffened, wariness flooding his gaze.

Julian rolled his eyes. “Apparently I’m not the only one in the family who prefers men. And you needn’t bother to hide that he’s more than your cook.” A rather handsome cook at that. Julian could see the appeal, but the man didn’t compare to Oscar. Sweet, eager Oscar.

By God, he missed him.

His chest tightened, a fierce tug wrenched his heart.

He met Benjamin’s gaze. “I need to get my watch back. I have to. Please, Benjamin,” he beseeched him. “I should have never parted with it. He’ll never forgive me if I don’t get it back.”

A furrow touched Benjamin’s brow. “Julian, do you really believe that will be enough? Doesn’t Woodhaven care that you are in the market for a wife?”

“Yes, he cares, and no, I’m not looking for a wife anymore. I don’t want one. I want him.”

“Good to hear, but what do you plan to do with yourself? Do you plan to go back to living at his home, living off him?”

He dragged a hand across the back of his neck. As much as he hated to admit it, Benjamin was correct. Oscar had already given Julian one chance, had already forgiven him once for not putting Oscar foremost in his mind. That Julian stood in Benjamin’s entrance hall proved he had not learned from his first selfish mistake. It would take far more than an apology and proof that Julian had retrieved the watch to earn Oscar’s forgiveness again.

He couldn’t deny a part of him wanted to go back to exactly how they had been, yet he knew he could not ask Oscar to trust him again unless he could stand on his own two feet. Until he could prove to Oscar that he only wanted the man and not his fortune. Oscar had had enough experience with people using him for money. He deserved so much more. He deserved—no, he needed someone who could love him for him. If it took Julian getting off his lazy arse and making something of himself in order to prove to Oscar that he could be that man, then so be it.

“No, I don’t plan to go back to living at Oscar’s home. I doubt he would let me anyway.”

“I’m sure you’re correct. Well, I hope you are correct. So what do you plan to do?”

He was already asking for a loan from Benjamin. He couldn’t ask his cousin for more help. He needed to do the rest on his own. That was the only way.

“I’ll go back to America. I clerked for a few years at a shipping office, maybe I can go back there.” The snippets of conversations he’d overheard while hunched over that damn desk flittered through his head. There were definitely opportunities in that office, but he’d been too focused on only earning enough to return to England for a Season to give them any notice. “And my step-father is in trade. Perhaps I can have a conversation with him.” The old man was in money-lending, taverns, printing, candle-making—a whole variety of businesses that Julian had turned his nose up at.

Hell, he was a selfish snob. How had anyone put up with him? No wonder he’d never had a true friend until he’d met Oscar.

Julian took a deep breath, lifted his chin, kept his gaze pinned on his cousin, ignoring the doubt in Cavin Fox’s unwavering stare. “Will you lend me the money for the watch, Benjamin? You have my word I will pay you back once I have the funds.” His heart slammed against his ribs. If Benjamin said no… “Please, Benjamin. I have to get his gift back. I’ll beg if need be.” He’d drop to his damn knees if it would gain Benjamin’s agreement.

Benjamin sighed. “You don’t need to beg. Come along to the study. I should have enough in the safe.”

Julian’s spine sagged in utter relief. “Thank you, Benjamin.”

His cousin snagged the candle from the console table then motioned for Julian to follow him upstairs. After a murmured “I’ll be up in a moment” from Benjamin, Cavin Fox continued up the stairs while Julian and Benjamin entered the study.

“You love him, don’t you?”

Benjamin set the candle on his desk. “Yes. And now you know why I didn’t ask you to be my guest when you came to Town. It took a hell of a lot to convince Cavin to agree to live here, and I was hesitant to ask him to give up our nights. It’s the only time we have the house to ourselves—well, except for Cavin’s younger brother, but he knows about us. Should have extended the offer to you anyway. Cavin would have understood and it would’ve saved you all of…this.”

“I’m glad you didn’t extend the offer.” He may currently be in a version of hell of his own making, but he’d rather be there than have missed the chance to be with Oscar. “Though I’ll admit, at the time, I believed it underscored the fact you weren’t pleased with me.” Benjamin opened his mouth, concern written all over his face. Before he could utter a word, Julian continued. “It’s all right. You were correct earlier. I was taking the easiest path. I deserved your displeasure.”

“Still, you’re family. I should have been kinder to you, more understanding.”

“And I shouldn’t have been such a selfish, lazy arse.”

Benjamin held his gaze for a moment then shrugged, because really, the man couldn’t argue against the truth. Turning, he swung back a gilt-framed landscape from the wall behind his desk, revealing the steel door of a safe. “Two hundred pounds, correct?”

“Actually, could you spare a bit more? I’ll need to get back to America.”

“Yes, I can spare more, but you needn’t go back, Julian. I’m certain if we put our heads together, we can find opportunities for you here.”

“I appreciate your offer, but I need to do this on my own.”

Benjamin gave him a grim nod then pulled a thick stack of pound notes from the safe. “If you need more than that, simply ask.”

Julian took the proffered notes. “Thank you. Hell, I can’t thank you enough.”

“Woodhaven’s a good friend, Julian. Don’t hurt him again.”

If he was fortunate enough to earn Oscar’s forgiveness, he would treasure the man until the end of his days. Never do anything to cause him pain again. “I won’t. Not ever again,” he vowed.

* * *

Oscar put the note from his solicitor’s office in the ever-growing pile that needed further attention and picked up the next letter from the stack of today’s post. Every day the post arrived with a new stack to add to the never-ending stream of issues that required his attention. Perhaps he should have asked his man of affairs to limit the correspondences to a handful of concerns. Given himself time to become well versed in a few instead of stubbornly taking them all on at once.

Well, he’d wanted a distraction. Something to keep his mind off Julian Parker. He certainly had that. Days spent at a desk, surface littered with letters and ledgers and legal documents. His mind stuffed full with the contents of those letters and ledgers and legal documents. Nights had at first proved difficult. Alone in his bed, the lingering ache swelling to full-blown pain. But taking contracts to bed with him helped keep the pain at bay. He simply read until exhaustion overtook him.

He did not know how his father had managed the myriad of properties and investments on his own, never mind the effort the man had expended to acquire more. It was a wonder his father had ever emerged from his study, let alone had time to teach Oscar how to ride a horse.

Using a silver letter opener, he broke the wax seal then unfolded the letter in his hand.

October 1824 (two and a half years later)
Lancashire, England

Julian pulled the horse to a stop and swung a leg over the animal’s back. A footman materialized at his horse’s head to take the reins before Julian’s feet touched the gravel drive. He suppressed a grunt as his muscles groaned in protest. Definitely too many days spent in the saddle.

Leaving the horse in the footman’s care, he made his way up the stone steps to the front door. The house was similar to the three he had visited over the last week. This one was covered in gray stones whereas the others had been brick, but it had the same stately air, the same perfectly manicured grounds. A wealthy gentleman’s country home. Oscar had quite a few such homes.

Julian couldn’t help but wonder if Oscar’s London butler had deliberately given him a list of properties that were nowhere near each other and deliberately left the one off the list where he could actually find Oscar. At least he had received a list from Cooper. That alone he deemed an accomplishment. If the begging and pleading had not worked, his only option would have been to write another letter to Oscar, this time ask for a response, and wait at Benjamin’s for a note in reply.

Traveling across the countryside on horseback, visiting property after property only to be turned away at each, had been arduous and a huge tax on his nerves, but at least he hadn’t been reduced to merely waiting. His mind had become accustomed to the activity of a busy day and doing nothing would have been torture. The journey across the Atlantic had been long enough. To add to the wait, knowing Oscar hadn’t been in Town even though Julian had informed him he was returning to London in his last letter…

Not just torture. Beyond torture.

Yes, that letter had been sent over two months ago during preparations to leave Philadelphia and travel times across the Atlantic varied widely depending on the currents, wind and the weather. It was also October—not the time of year one tended to spend in Town. Still, he hadn’t been able to push back the disappointment when Cooper had informed him Mr. Woodhaven was tending to business at one of his properties. That same cloak of disappointment had settled over his shoulders the last three times he’d knocked on a similar door. Hopefully today would not include yet another.

And of course there was the worry lurking in the back of his mind, beneath all of his other worries—was Oscar even aware of his return to England? Had the man read any of his letters or had he noted the sender and chucked every letter in the bin? He’d told Oscar in his first letter from Philadelphia that the man needn’t feel compelled to reply. Still, what he would not have given to have received but one line from Oscar. Something to prove the man had indeed read his letters. That Oscar hadn’t dismissed him completely from his life.

Stopping before the front door, he passed a hand over the front of his greatcoat in an effort to brush off some of the dust from the road. Then he rapped his knuckles against the door.

On cue, his gut tightened, nerves and worry clutching in a fierce grip. Good thing he’d kept to a light luncheon during his last stop to change horses.

The door was opened by a butler. This one appeared closer to sixty than fifty years of age and he had a full head of gray hair, but like all of Oscar’s butlers, the man had an efficient, capable manner about him. Black coat freshly pressed, white cravat tied in a simple neat knot.

“I am here to call on Mr. Woodhaven. Is he available?” Julian pulled a calling card from his pocket.

The butler took the proffered card. “Yes, Mr. Parker. Mr. Woodhaven is at home.”

The tightness clutching his gut flared up his throat, across his chest.

With a tip of his head, Julian stepped into the entrance hall. He shrugged his greatcoat from his shoulders and handed it to the servant then he relinquished his gloves.

The man motioned to a set of double doors just off the entrance hall. “If you would be so kind as to wait in the drawing room, I will inform Mr. Woodhaven of your call.”

Julian refused the offer of a cup of tea and assured the butler the wait wasn’t a bother. Then the double doors snapped shut, the butler going off to let Oscar know Julian now waited in his drawing room.

Having spent enough of the day sitting, he ignored the settee and wandered to one of the tall windows. The gently rolling field off the side of the house was bordered in the distance by a dense forest, the late afternoon sun picking up the occasional gold and orange leaves in the wash of green. He had hoped to make it back before the end of summer, but he hadn’t been able to simply pick up and leave on his own whims. Obligations needed to be satisfied, a buyer found, the contract for the sale of the shop finalized. He’d been able to make it back before winter though, before ice and snow could keep a ship stuck in the docks for weeks on end. Before two years could push too close to three years away from Oscar.

He rubbed at the black stains on his fingers. No matter how he scrubbed, the ink never fully left his skin. A permanent mark branding him a merchant.

That’s what he was now—a merchant. And he took pride in what he had managed to accomplish in two and a half years. His step-father hadn’t had the time to devote to the print shop, his attention consumed by his other business interests. Julian had gathered his courage, pushed aside his pride and been shocked when the old man had agreed to hand it over to him. The print shop was now a thriving business. So thriving, he’d been able to sell it for a tidy sum. Enough to start over in England with a new shop or enter into another line of business. More than enough to be able to stand on his own two feet, to never need even a halfpenny from Oscar.

Letting out a breath, he turned from the window, set to pacing the length of the drawing room. Past the yellow brocade settee, the elegant writing desk, past the armchairs to the white marble fireplace and back again.

The time apart from Oscar had not been easy. Lonely, tiring, filled with long days and evenings spent at dinners and routs cultivating new business prospects for the shop. All of it necessary, and not solely for the money that filled his bank account.

If Oscar did not forgive him, at least he could now look in the mirror and not cringe.

A knob clicked. Julian spun around, his heart leaping into his throat.

It wasn’t Oscar standing in the doorway, but the butler.

No, no, no!
His soul screamed in protest. He was being turned away. Oscar had refused—

“Mr. Woodhaven is in his study. If you will follow me, sir.”

* * *

Oscar slipped his pen into the silver pen holder and closed the ledger, setting it off to the side of his desk.

Julian had tracked him down.

A giddy thrill shot through him and with it an echo of that old pain. He mustn’t forget that pain. Should not forget it. Julian had hurt him. Terribly. And in the process taught him a valuable lesson. With great wealth came responsibilities, not only to that wealth but to himself. He had once been a blind fool. An irresponsible blind fool, rashly opening his heart and inviting the pain that followed. He’d allowed not only Julian to use him, but his relatives and damn near anyone who showed even a hint of affability. With great wealth came the responsibility to cultivate his friendships much more carefully yet he’d done nothing of the sort. It was through sheer luck that he’d fallen in with Radcliffe, Parker, Anderson, Norton and the like—men who had good souls and, as Oscar had since realized, actually had his best interest at heart. He could have just as easily fallen in with men whose only purpose behind their friendship was to take advantage of him. He would have let them, too. It had taken Julian pawning the pocket watch for Oscar to put a stop to the vicious cycle. To take full responsibility for his own happiness.

Julian had tracked him down. He could not deny the giddy thrill but he also needed to remain on his guard a bit longer. He owed it to himself.

The door to his office swung open.

“Mr. Julian Parker.” His butler announced his guest as Julian walked into the room. Then the butler stepped back and closed the door.

Oscar swept his gaze over Julian. That giddy thrill surged full force through his veins. With effort, he tamped it down.

Folding his hands on his desk, Oscar held his silence and waited for Julian to speak.

Julian came to a stop between the leather armchairs situated before the desk. He was as devastatingly handsome as ever, his broad shoulders filling out his nut-brown coat to perfection, his strong yet lean thighs highlighted by his practical buckskin breeches. The strict polish of a Town gentleman was gone. In its place, cheeks tinged pink from the cool autumn air, sable hair tousled just enough to let Oscar know the man hadn’t arrived in a closed carriage. Likely he’d arrived on horseback, judging by the dust on his black boots.

“Good afternoon, Oscar.”

His voice didn’t quite match Oscar’s memories. Julian had lived a decade in America and had still sounded like an Englishman when Oscar had first met him. Yet now beneath the cultured tone of the upper class lurked more than a hint of where he had spent the last two and a half years.

“Good afternoon, Julian.”

Clasping his hands before him, Julian dropped his gaze to the desk, to the pile of the day’s post on the silver tray. “Did you receive my letters?”

Oscar nodded.

Julian shifted his weight. “Did you read them?”

Oscar nodded again.

Julian’s long exhale filled the study. “Thank you. I had feared you were tossing them into the bin, unread.”

“Then why did you continue to write?”

“I missed you.”

The words fell from his beautiful lips without hesitation, without pause, without a hint of smooth charm. Oscar kept his features schooled in a bland mask, kept the impact of those words safely hidden from view.

Taking a step to his left, Julian made to sit down but paused. “Do you mind?”

Oscar waved a hand toward the chair.

Wooden joints creaked faintly as Julian sat down. He rested his elbows on the arms of the chair then dropped them to his sides, hands clasped on his lap. “It is very good to see you again.”

Oscar held back the urge to give the polite reply and tell Julian it was good to see him, as well. Not that it wasn’t the truth. He had read every one of Julian’s letters. A fair number of them more than once. Had reread lines, lingered over lines. Had crumpled some of those early letters in his fist, thrown them across the room, only to later locate them under a couch or behind a table to carefully press them flat, fold them and tuck them in the drawer with the others.

Julian tugged on his shirt cuff, righting it beneath his coat. Oscar read the worry on his face, in every line of his body, and in every nervous gesture. It would take but a word from him to quell that worry. Yet he held back.

After a glance about the room, Julian’s hazel gaze met his again. “You have many estates. Did you deliberately choose to visit this particular property now?”

“It required my attention.”

He had known Julian was returning to England. Had known the man intended to seek him out.

Truth be told, I am worried you will have me turned away at the door.

He would not deny a part of him had been curious to discover if Julian would track him down. One could call it a test of sorts. Letters were one thing. Making one’s own fortune, even if a small one, was another. The determination to ride about the countryside for days in search of him? Well, that was quite another thing entirely.

Not that he’d intentionally chosen the property in England that was the farthest distance from London. It had been mere coincidence that he hadn’t visited Lancashire in over six months and it did in fact need his attention. Though he would admit he had not informed his household as to which property he intended to visit. He’d merely told his butler that one of the properties needed his attention and he would not be back in Town for a good few weeks or more.

Julian shifted again. “Benjamin sends his regards. I spoke to him before I left Town for the countryside. From what he said, you have been very busy of late. He rarely sees you at White’s anymore.”

“I decided the time had come to join the ranks of working gentlemen and not leave everything to my estate managers. From what I’ve read, you’ve joined the ranks as well. Congratulations on your success.”

“Thank you, but it doesn’t deserve…I don’t…” He dragged a hand across his neck. Dropped his head, gave it a shake. “It feels empty,” he murmured.

“Then why did you choose to seek a fortune of your own?” Julian had given him every detail of his business in his letters. Told him of his troubles, his set-backs, the first hint of success, the first real success. He’d shared in Julian’s accomplishment when he’d received the contract for the agricultural pamphlets. Knew of the man’s debates over which presses to purchase when he’d expanded the shop, his difficulty in finding a reliable assistant. “Your letters were filled with everything but the why behind your decision.”

A wince crossed Julian’s brow, tightening his mouth, closing his eyes. “I had hoped it would be obvious. I did it for you.” He let out a breath, the air catching in his throat, then lifted his chin, met Oscar’s eyes. “I could not come here today with the possibility you might believe I was merely attempting to trade an heiress for an heir. I needed my success to help prove all I want is you. I understand your hesitation. I more than deserve it. You were a fine friend, Oscar. The best of friends. I could lay out excuses, claim I had no experience with a true friend, did not know how to recognize one. But they would be just that. Excuses. I treated you poorly. I threw you away. I chose social standing and the possibility of a fortune over you. The absolute worst decision of my life. I knew it the moment I handed the pocket watch to the pawnbroker. Felt it in the pit of my stomach. Yet I refused to heed it. I did not believe I had a choice. I was too damn lazy and selfish to acknowledge I had choices. But if you could forgive me, if you would allow me to call you friend again, you would have my eternal gratitude.”