A Rake by Any Other Name Read Free Page B

poured a jigger of Scotch for himself and offered one to Mr. Witherspoon. The man of business declined with a shake of his head.
    So, this is definitely not a social call.
    â€œOh, you know how your father is,” Lady Somerset said. “He loves to look at the sea from the parapet.”
    â€œBut the leaves are out now. The ocean is only visible from Somerfield Park during winter, when the trees are bare.”
    Lord Somerset smiled vacantly at him. Then he gazed down at his hands in his lap, examining the signet ring on his forefinger as if he’d never seen it before.
    Richard’s chest constricted and he was forced to look away. “What does Dr. Partridge say?”
    â€œHe’s frankly baffled,” Lady Somerset said. “The doctor believes that your father’s faculties may return. He may even walk again someday, but we have no way of knowing when. Dr. Partridge says we’re to count ourselves fortunate your father survived the fall. He’s at a loss to explain how he lived through it.”
    â€œOh, I can tell you that. He was saved by good gardening.”
    Richard turned at the sound of his beloved grandmother’s voice. Phillippa, the dowager marchioness, appeared at the doorway dressed in a rich gown at least twenty years out of date, with a rope of gray pearls at her wattled throat. She advanced into the parlor, her back ramrod straight, leaning only slightly on her ivory-headed cane. To the rest of the world, she was the indomitable dowager, but to Richard she was just plain Gran.
    â€œYour father tumbled directly onto my lilac bush, the simply enormous one at the southeast corner of the house. It cushioned his fall.” Gran sank into a tufted wing chair as gracefully as her years allowed. “My son was spared. The lilacs, however, will never be the same. Isn’t it a mercy that I didn’t leave the thorny old gorse bush in that spot? Now don’t just stand there, Richard. Come and give us a kiss. And bring me a whisky while you’re about it.”
    Richard was quick to obey. “Gran, your charm hasn’t dulled one whit.”
    â€œPerhaps not, but my joints aren’t at all what they used to be.” She presented her papery cheek for him to kiss, took a quick sip of the amber liquor, and sighed. “Well, Mr. Witherspoon, have you told him yet?”
    â€œThere’s more?” Richard’s stomach swirled downward. It was the same sinking feeling he used to get before an exam for which he had not studied.
    In measured tones, Mr. Witherspoon gave a chilling account of the estate’s finances.
    â€œI don’t understand.” Richard paced the room, nervous energy crackling from him. His father had never failed to send sufficient funds while Richard was larking about the Continent with Seymour. There was never any hint of this kind of trouble. “How can the money be gone?”
    Mr. Witherspoon spread his hands. “An unfortunate set of circumstances. As you know, we had hardly any summer last year, due to that volcanic eruption in the South Sea Islands. The ash cloud affected the climate worldwide, I collect.”
    â€œPity those islanders couldn’t keep their ash in their own hemisphere. Beastly of them to spread the misery around,” the dowager said with a sniff.
    â€œMy lady,” Witherspoon said, “they can hardly be blamed for that.”
    â€œWhyever not? Do we trouble them when we have more rain than expected?” The elder Lady Somerset banged the tip of her cane on the floor. “Indeed we do not. We slip on our Wellingtons and keep the mud to ourselves.”
    Witherspoon’s mouth opened and closed a few times, but he couldn’t seem to find an answer for the dowager. He turned back to Richard. “At any rate, it actually snowed in July here. Crops failed. Lord Somerset’s tenants couldn’t pay even a fraction of the rents owed.”
    â€œBut none of them were