“That will be no help at all, m’lord,” Olympia said, pausing in her pacing to stand before the large stone fireplace. “You do not need it.”
“No?” He sighed. “I barely finished breaking my fast when you arrived. My butler is now laid out cold on the floor in the hall, you have had a fight with the cook’s assistant, whom I have just dismissed, and have had it made known to me that the boot boy is actually my half brother.” He glanced at Thomas who gave him a big grin. “Now you tell me my mother is trying to sell my sister, a mere child, to the worst, most depraved debauchee in the aristocracy. A drink might be just what I need.”
“I doubt that Minden is truly the worst debauchee in the aristocracy,” Olympia murmured and leaned back against the wall next to the fireplace.
She tensed as images flickered through her mind. A blond woman pressed against the wall. Brant rutting fiercely with the woman. His eyes closed. There was another half-naked woman behind him running her hands all over his body. Olympia quickly stepped away from the wall.
“Men,” she said, disgust weighing her tone. “The wall? Against the wall, Fieldgate?” She shuddered, silently admitting that part of her disgust came from the sharp stab of furious jealousy that had struck her heart. “And two at a time?”
Brant blinked slowly in confused surprise. Then he recalled what Olympia’s gift was. He nearly cursed when the heat of a blush seared his cheeks. Some of the embarrassment he suffered was from the fact that he had only the haziest of memories about what she had seen. If he recalled her particular gift as well as he believed he did, Olympia probably knew more about that incident than he did and that was even more humiliating.
“Shall we return to the subject of my sister?” he asked and waved a hand toward a chair opposite him in a silent invitation for her to sit down.
Olympia eyed the chair a little warily before she sat down. She wanted no more images of Brant’s dissolute behavior crossing her mind. Sitting down cautiously, she breathed a sigh of relief when no memory of some past scandalous event entered her head.
“I met your sister Agatha a fortnight ago when she came to the Warren in an attempt to find Radmoor. Since she arrived alone, I knew there was some trouble brewing. It took awhile to get the whole tale from her.” Olympia helped herself to some tea. “As I said, your mother is bargaining with Lord Sir Horace Minden, the Baron of Minden Grange, for young Agatha’s hand in marriage. Your sister is utterly terrified that a deal will soon be reached and she will be forced to marry the man. ’Tis quite bad enough that she is being offered to a man old enough to be her grandfather, but he is . . .” Olympia groped for a word that was bad enough to describe Sir Horace yet not completely profane.
“A swine,” Brant said and dragged his hands through his hair. “I do not associate with the man but know enough about him to know that no mother should ever wish to give the man her daughter.”
“I fear yours does.”
“There will be money in it for her. I send her a most generous allowance but she has ever been greedy.” Brant made himself more tea but doubted it would do much to ease the rage burning ever hotter inside him. “The need for more has always led her.”
“And I believe your dear mother and Minden deal for far more than a simple payment for a sacrificial virgin.”
It pained Brant to hear the child he recalled, one who had been all smiles and curls, being named so, but he suspected it was close to the truth. Agatha had barely taken her first steps into womanhood. It was true that many girls had been married at very young ages for centuries, but that practice had begun to fade away. It was also true that marriages amongst those in society had little or nothing to do with love or romance, or even compatibility, but to marry a girl barely out of the schoolroom to an aging roué old enough to be her grandfather would be frowned upon by most all of his contemporaries. It was not even excusable by Minden desperately needing a fertile young wife to breed him an heir for he already had several.
“Mother is evidently not seeking out the approval of society with such a match.”
“Nay.” Olympia idly finished off a piece of shortcake as she thought over all Agatha had said. “I believe your mother seeks Minden’s help in some business venture. Agatha complained that much of what she overheard sounded more like merchants bartering than the settling of a betrothal agreement. ’Tis true that many betrothals are little more than business arrangements, but there had to be something unusual in the discussion she heard to make her think such a thing.”