“Do not attempt to cast the blame for this upon my shoulders. I may have sunk myself too deeply into a pit of debauchery to still be considered respectable, but I have not done that so deeply that I would miss or forget weeks of desperate messages from my own sister. Most days I am able to tend to the business that keeps us all fed and clothed. I believe I was more than capable of reading a message or two from my sister or the baroness as well. Why did I not see or hear anything, Wilkins?”
Wilkins replied in an unsteady voice. “Her ladyship warned me that your sister was having some childish fit over the marriage being arranged for her and that you should not be troubled by any of it.”
“Should not be troubled by the news that my mother means to force my sister, a girl newly turned sixteen, into a marriage with a man more than thrice her age, a man so debauched and reviled that even his great riches can no longer gain him entrance into any of the better homes? So reviled that despite his good birth he is considered by most to be no better than some dockside heathen?”
“Her ladyship warned me that you did not like the man she had chosen for young Lady Agatha.”
“Did she? So you not only denied me the right to read my own correspondence but you discussed the matter with my mother. Since you apparently bow to her ladyship’s will, and not mine, I believe it is past time you joined her household.”
“But, m’lord . . .”
“No, Wilkins, I will heed no more of what you have to say unless it includes other secrets you have kept from me. The ones who work for me owe me their loyalty. You have chosen to give that loyalty to my mother instead. Now, before you leave to join the one you truly work for, I would like the names of any others within my household that she holds in her service.” When the butler said nothing, Brant shrugged. “I suspect I can determine who on my staff bows to my mother without your help.” He looked at the boot boy, the child that was by blood his own brother. “Perhaps, Thomas, you would be so kind as to accompany Wilkins to his rooms and make certain that he takes only what is truly his when he leaves.”
Wilkins leapt to his feet, startling Pawl, who had stepped back to allow the man to leave the room. “You would put that misbegotten brat in charge of me? I am the butler. He . . . he is naught but the boot boy and a by-blow.”
Brant crossed his arms over his chest and studied Wilkins. “Might I remind you that you are no longer the butler in this household? Did you just miss the moment when I quite clearly dismissed you? I am curious, however, to know just how long you have known the truth about young Thomas.”
“From the beginning, m’lord,” Wilkins replied, the regret he felt over being forced to tell the truth clear to hear in his voice. “Her ladyship made it very clear to all of us that no one should speak of the matter. Ever. Especially to you. It was a shame she preferred to keep hidden away.”
Shaking his head, Brant asked, “Are there any others?”
“I can tell you about the others, m’lord,” said Thomas. “You do not need to talk to this fool about it.”
“You watch how you speak to your betters, lad,” snapped Wilkins.
“Out,” Brant ordered Wilkins, knowing that he was very close to hitting the man and he refused to stoop to such behavior. “Gather up what is yours and leave here now.”
It was several moments before Wilkins, still reluctant to be escorted by Thomas, had to accept his fate. Pawl went along with the boy to keep an eye on the butler. Olympia watched as Brant walked to a window and stared at the sadly neglected gardens it overlooked.
“It appears I have paid a gardener to do naught as well,” he muttered. “When I discover what the man actually does instead of tending to my gardens, I will send him trotting off to my mother right behind Wilkins.”
Olympia knew the words of annoyance about the neglected garden were not the subtle change of subject some might think. Or even just a quiet statement of annoyance over the many machinations his mother was involved in within his own household. Brant was in shock. She could read the echoes of the strong emotions wrenching through him; they marked the air wherever he stood. The man was groping to accept the truth he was far too intelligent to ignore. He may have turned his back on his mother, but she had never taken her claws out of him, had continued to keep a close eye on all he did and said.
Not certain what to do, Olympia moved to stand beside him. It was not a comfortable place to be as it left her sadly torn between the urge to comfort and the urge to demand that he hurry up and do something to help his sister. Accustomed to stubborn, even moody, men, Olympia quietly studied the neglected garden, could see the bones of an elegant design amongst the overgrown flowers and weeds, and decided Lady Mallam cared nothing about Fieldgate. It did not fill her coffers enough to make the woman happy. Olympia also suspected that the blatant neglect of her son’s properties probably delighted the woman. Lady Letitia Mallam was not the sort to have even her own blood turn a back to her and ignore what she wanted of him.
“I suspect my family can help you find trustworthy, hardworking people to replace the ones your mother has corrupted,” Olympia said.