opened the door to his knock, it flew out of his hands, banging forcefully against the wall.
The viscount strode across the threshold, tearing off his gloves and throwing them to the surprised servant.
"Whom may I say ... is ... calling," huffed Barton, trailing after the viscount.
"Calling? I ain't calling. I'm here to see my boys." The viscount peered up at the servant and added, "You must be Barton. Cravenwell told me he had assigned you to the lads. Where are they? Ought to be up to greet their dear papa."
"If we had known you were coming, Papa, we would have been up," said Max, entering the room and fastening the frogs on his silk banyan.
"I will bring coffee, Master Max," said Barton, scurrying from the room.
"And where is Tristram?"
"Should be in bed, covering his head with his pillow if he has any sense at all," said Max. "Have a seat, Papa."
The viscount, who was already seated, glared at his son.
"Did you just arrive in town?"
"No, I got here last night. I'm staying with Craven-well, you know. I don't think we would deal well together, the three of us, in this pokey little house."
"Oh? Do you find it pokey?" said Max, glancing around as if seeing the house for the first time. "I find it quite charming and spacious. Just the thing for me and Tris."
"Demme, boy. Have you no eyes? Hardly bigger than those rooms you had last year. Besides, I've no desire to stay in a house where Cravenwell used to keep his mistresses."
"Ah, that would account for Tristram's pink bedchamber," said Max. "Speak of the devil. Good morning, Tris. Only see who has come to call."
"Not staying with us, are you, Papa?"
"Ungrateful wretch," growled his father. "No, I ain't. I'm with the marquess. You look like the devil."
"Why, thank you, Papa. As it happens, I was working until the wee hours of the morning."
"Were you? Good for you!" exclaimed the viscount. 'Tell me, what is she like? Listen and learn, Maxwell. So what is she like? Rich? And beautiful, too, I'll be bound. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. You would do well to take a page out of your little brother's book."
Max shouted with laughter, and Tristram twisted uncomfortably in his chair.
"Papa!" said Tristram.
"Papa, you have hit the nail on the head. The book you spoke of is just that. Our Tristram was up all night working on a book, a novel of epic proportions."
"Reading a book? All night? You're no son of mine," said the viscount, his nose scrunched up in distaste.
"Not reading, Papa," said his youngest son. "I am writing a book. My second book, if you must know. The first one will be out by the end of the week, or so my publisher tells me. He was merely waiting on the last few pages before printing and binding it."
"Your publisher? Bah! What sort of occupation is that for a gentleman? A gentleman is supposed to be a farmer, a gambler, a ..."
"A fortune hunter?" added Max, the grin on his face making his brother and father scowl at him.
"There is nothing wrong with looking to your future when you are looking for a wife," said the viscount.
Barton entered with a tray and handed out coffee all around. Then he discreetly slipped out of the room.
"So how much are you being paid?" the viscount demanded.
"I would prefer to keep such information confidential," said Tristram.
"Humph! Then it ain't enough to amount to anything. You would do better to forget that silly book and concentrate on finding you a wife. I daresay Max already has someone in mind. Right, my boy?"
"I have met a couple of girls."
"There, you see? That is more like it. What are then-names? I'll find out how deep their family pockets are."
"I'm afraid I don't know their names yet. Except for one. I know her first name. It is Iseult."
Tris swiveled to stare at his older brother.
"Iseult." The viscount drained his cup and rose. "Can't be too many fillies about with a name like that. I'll make inquiries. In the meanwhile, get busy ... both of you!"
With this, he passed into the
The viscount strode across the threshold, tearing off his gloves and throwing them to the surprised servant.
"Whom may I say ... is ... calling," huffed Barton, trailing after the viscount.
"Calling? I ain't calling. I'm here to see my boys." The viscount peered up at the servant and added, "You must be Barton. Cravenwell told me he had assigned you to the lads. Where are they? Ought to be up to greet their dear papa."
"If we had known you were coming, Papa, we would have been up," said Max, entering the room and fastening the frogs on his silk banyan.
"I will bring coffee, Master Max," said Barton, scurrying from the room.
"And where is Tristram?"
"Should be in bed, covering his head with his pillow if he has any sense at all," said Max. "Have a seat, Papa."
The viscount, who was already seated, glared at his son.
"Did you just arrive in town?"
"No, I got here last night. I'm staying with Craven-well, you know. I don't think we would deal well together, the three of us, in this pokey little house."
"Oh? Do you find it pokey?" said Max, glancing around as if seeing the house for the first time. "I find it quite charming and spacious. Just the thing for me and Tris."
"Demme, boy. Have you no eyes? Hardly bigger than those rooms you had last year. Besides, I've no desire to stay in a house where Cravenwell used to keep his mistresses."
"Ah, that would account for Tristram's pink bedchamber," said Max. "Speak of the devil. Good morning, Tris. Only see who has come to call."
"Not staying with us, are you, Papa?"
"Ungrateful wretch," growled his father. "No, I ain't. I'm with the marquess. You look like the devil."
"Why, thank you, Papa. As it happens, I was working until the wee hours of the morning."
"Were you? Good for you!" exclaimed the viscount. 'Tell me, what is she like? Listen and learn, Maxwell. So what is she like? Rich? And beautiful, too, I'll be bound. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. You would do well to take a page out of your little brother's book."
Max shouted with laughter, and Tristram twisted uncomfortably in his chair.
"Papa!" said Tristram.
"Papa, you have hit the nail on the head. The book you spoke of is just that. Our Tristram was up all night working on a book, a novel of epic proportions."
"Reading a book? All night? You're no son of mine," said the viscount, his nose scrunched up in distaste.
"Not reading, Papa," said his youngest son. "I am writing a book. My second book, if you must know. The first one will be out by the end of the week, or so my publisher tells me. He was merely waiting on the last few pages before printing and binding it."
"Your publisher? Bah! What sort of occupation is that for a gentleman? A gentleman is supposed to be a farmer, a gambler, a ..."
"A fortune hunter?" added Max, the grin on his face making his brother and father scowl at him.
"There is nothing wrong with looking to your future when you are looking for a wife," said the viscount.
Barton entered with a tray and handed out coffee all around. Then he discreetly slipped out of the room.
"So how much are you being paid?" the viscount demanded.
"I would prefer to keep such information confidential," said Tristram.
"Humph! Then it ain't enough to amount to anything. You would do better to forget that silly book and concentrate on finding you a wife. I daresay Max already has someone in mind. Right, my boy?"
"I have met a couple of girls."
"There, you see? That is more like it. What are then-names? I'll find out how deep their family pockets are."
"I'm afraid I don't know their names yet. Except for one. I know her first name. It is Iseult."
Tris swiveled to stare at his older brother.
"Iseult." The viscount drained his cup and rose. "Can't be too many fillies about with a name like that. I'll make inquiries. In the meanwhile, get busy ... both of you!"
With this, he passed into the
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