The Sherbrooke Bride - Catherine Coulter [2]
Ryder turned from the window and swigged more brandy. “I forgot, Douglas. There’s also Nancy.”
Douglas dropped the paper. “Nancy who?”
“Nancy Arbuckle, the draper’s daughter on High Street in Rye. She’s with child, my child. She will have it in November, best guess. She was all tears and woes until I told her she needn’t worry, that the Sherbrookes always took care of their own. It’s possible she might even wed a sea captain for he isn’t concerned that she’s carrying another man’s child.”
“Well, that’s something.” Douglas did a new tally then looked up. “You’re currently supporting seven children and their mothers. You have impregnated two more women and all their children are due this year.”
“I think that’s right. Don’t forget the possibility of the twins or the possibility of Nancy marrying her sea captain.”
“Can’t you keep your damned rod in your pants?”
“No more than you can, Douglas.”
“Fair enough, but why can’t you remove yourself from the woman before you fill her with your seed?”
Ryder flushed, a rather remarkable occurrence, and said, his voice defensive, “I can’t seem to keep my wits together. I know it isn’t much of an excuse, but I just can’t seem to withdraw once I’m there, so to speak.” He stared hard at his brother then. “I’m not a damned cold fish like you, Douglas. You could withdraw from an angel herself. Doesn’t your mind ever run off its track, doesn’t it ever turn into vapor? Don’t you ever want to just keep pounding and pounding and the consequences simply don’t come into it?”
“No.”
Ryder sighed. “Well, I’m not so well disciplined as you. Do you still have only the two children?”
“No, the babe died whilst I was in London. There is only Cynthia left now, a sweet child, four years old.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It was expected and just a matter of time so the doctors kept telling his mother. I went to London not just to see Lord Avery in the War Office but also to see Elizabeth. She’d written me about the babe’s condition. His lungs never really properly developed.” Douglas drew out a clean sheet of foolscap and adjusted last quarter’s numbers.
“Your lust becomes more costly,” he said after a moment. “Damned costly.”
“Stop your frowns, Douglas. You’re bloody wealthy, as am I. Great-uncle Brandon would be pleased that his inheritance to me is being put to such excellent use. He was a lusty old fellow until his eightieth year, as least that’s what he told me. Bragged like a bat he did.
“You’re always saying that our bastards are our responsibility and so I agree with you. I also agree with this plan of yours, for it ensures we don’t miss any. What a general you would have made! A pity you had to sell out when you were only a major.”
Ryder was chuckling when the estate room door opened. He looked up to see his youngest brother come somewhat diffidently into the room. “Ah, if it isn’t Tysen. Come in, brother, our meeting is nearly done. Douglas has already told me my lust must soon poke holes in my pocketbook. Now he is completing his mathematics, truly a meager number, particularly when one considers what one could do with more available fields to plow and sow and tend.”
“What meeting?” asked Tysen Sherbrooke, coming into the estate room. “What numbers? What fields?”
Ryder shot a look at Douglas, who just shrugged and sat back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest. He looked ironic, and if Ryder hadn’t known him so well, he would have thought him annoyed rather than obliquely amused.
Ryder said to Douglas, “Look, brother, Tysen wants to be a vicar. It’s important that he understand male frailties and that, without mincing matters, is basic lust. Attend me, Tysen, this is our quarterly meeting to determine the current number of Sherbrooke bastards.”
Tysen stared, then turned an agonized eye toward Douglas. “Your what?”
“You heard me,” Ryder said. “Now, you’re nearly twenty-one, Tysen. It’s time you come to our meetings. Isn’t it time we included him, Douglas? After all, we don’t want him sneaking in a bastard all unknown to us, do we? Think of our reputation. All right, my