Riot Most Uncouth Read Free Page A

“My grandfather was a Dutch sailor. He made a few lucrative voyages before he settled in London and left a small fortune to my father, who made it much larger through prudent business maneuvers. But wealth means little in England unless it is properly aged, and the Sedgewycks and their new money are unwelcome among London society. My father perceives this as a slight, and my mother finds it humiliating.”
    He tilted his body into a seated position on the damp sofa cushion and mopped at his purple-stained lips with the back of a hand. He was a tall, striking man with white-blond hair and high, sharp cheekbones. If his eyes weren’t so red and his nose weren’t so inflamed, he’d have been nearly dashing enough to pass for the sort of person he seemed to want to pretend to be.
    â€œThere are two ways to become respectable in England. The first is to befriend the King and get him to bestow an honor upon you. The second is to marry into a good family, which has become my parents’ greatest aspiration for me. It’s easier to do that than it used to be, since people like my parents have amassed great wealth while people like Lord Whippleby have squandered theirs. Felicity’s father drank away his fortune. He needed our money, and we wanted his friends and his name. Felicity had only one older sister, a woman who has given her husband no children. With only a little luck; a fortuitous case of tuberculosis, perhaps, my own son might have been a baron. But now, Felicity is dead and my family’s hopes are dashed.”
    I imagined what it might be like to punch him. I suspected it might hurt a little. He was thin and rangy, and his face was all angles, without flat or soft surfaces to properly accommodate a fist. “You’ve clearly suffered a great loss,” I said.
    â€œFelicity had a pretty laugh,” Sedgewyck told me. “And sometimes, she played the piano.” As he said this, he looked almost wistful, and I wondered if perhaps my suspicions were mistaken, and he might be innocent.
    But then, he smiled at me again. “Tell me, Lord Byron, is it true you’re about to be kicked out of school?” he asked. “I’ve heard the faculty has finally tired of your outrageous conduct.”
    I finished my wine, rose from my seat, and left him there without giving any further response.

 
    Chapter 3
    It is very iniquitous to make me pay my debts—you have no idea of the pain it gives one.

    â€” Lord Byron, from an 1818 letter to Douglas Kinnaird, his literary agent
    It was my intense displeasure upon returning to my residence to find that cherished sanctum befouled by the uninvited presence one Frederick Burke, Esq., a solicitor retained by Banque Crédit Française to correct his client’s foolish decision to loan me money.
    Joe Murray, my manservant, apologized as he introduced the guest. The lawyer, like most vermin, had refused to leave, despite Murray’s repeated, polite requests. Burke offered his hand, and I made an elaborate show of not shaking it.
    â€œI must say, whatever is cooking smells quite delicious,” said Burke, who seemed to be possessed of the fantastic notion that I might invite him to join me at my table.
    â€œI agree,” I agreed. “I hope you will be kind enough to leave before it gets cold.”
    â€œHis preparations seem quite extensive for just one man’s midday repast.” Burke’s hope was a hard weed to kill.
    â€œI take lunch with my associate,” I said, gesturing toward the bear, who sat down heavily upon his rear haunches and asserted himself by making a noise; a sort of rumbling honk. In doing so, he opened his mouth, giving Burke full view of his teeth, which were rather impressive. The Professor, in addition to his prestigious academic credentials, was outfitted with two pairs of enormous fangs; four teeth, each as long as a man’s finger and thicker around the base than a