by Cheryl Holt
Then it had dawned on him. Why should he?
He’d met plenty of the daughters of the ton, and nary a one was mature enough to marry, let alone take on the chore of raising Annie. For that important task, he needed a person who was sensible and pragmatic, who could ignore Annie’s illegitimate status and love her anyway.
Why not ask Jo to be his bride?
She was pretty, friendly, and compassionate, and she had the character of a saint. She was living in the worst of circumstances, yet she always had a smile on her face, and if she could put up with her priggish brother, she could put up with anything.
He smugly supposed that she’d be flattered by a proposal. He would rescue her from dire straits, would give her her own home, but this time, with a husband who cherished her.
She’d have a daughter right away, and if they were lucky, they’d have more children. She claimed she was barren, and it was accepted fact that—when a marriage produced no offspring—it was the woman’s fault. But he’d seen several instances where barren women had become pregnant with new spouses after their husbands had died.
He was an optimist and believed that they’d have more children. And if they didn’t? He’d be happy with Jo and Annie.
The church doors opened, and he was almost giddy with anticipation. Vicar Blair emerged, and he stood on the steps, chatting with his parishioners as they exited.
Very quickly, the crowd emptied out, until Emeline Wilson was the last to appear. The vicar had some sharp words for her, and she stoically endured her scolding, then she sidled away. She waved toward the lane, and Stephen peered over to see his brother approaching in a carriage. Nicholas leapt down and was helping Miss Wilson into the vehicle when the vicar accosted him.
Stephen considered leaving his hiding spot among the tombstones in order to save the poor minister, but before he could, Nicholas said something that made the vicar blanch with dismay. Had Nicholas fired the pious dunce? Had he cursed at him? Had he blasphemed?
With Nicholas, there was no telling.
Nicholas spun away and climbed into the gig. He grabbed the reins, and as he did, he flashed a look at Miss Wilson that had Stephen wincing with alarm. If he hadn’t been observing so closely, he’d have missed it.
He knew that look. He’d witnessed it dozens, if not hundreds of times in his life. Gad, his brother was seducing Emeline Wilson! Was he insane?
Nicholas had mentioned that he’d put Miss Wilson to work, but obviously, Stephen hadn’t comprehended the exact sort of job his brother had in mind.
This wasn’t the city, where Nicholas could act however he pleased. This was a rural village, in conservative, traditional England. A man didn’t trifle with a maiden unless matrimony was his objective, and for Nicholas, it certainly wasn’t.
He was betrothed! Even if he wasn’t, he’d never pick Miss Wilson as his bride. She was about to end up ruined and disgraced, and what would happen to her then?
She’d be expecting a different conclusion, but Nicholas would never ride to her rescue. Even if he promised her a commitment, he wouldn’t keep it.
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Stephen grumbled. “What next?”
He foresaw a lengthy line of trouble, of scandal and recrimination and debts that would have to be paid, but he didn’t want any of it to flare up. Nor did he want to be the one forced to deal with the situation, and Stephen always had to sweep up Nicholas’s messes.
His brother needed a stern talking to. He had to remember who he was and who Miss Wilson was, and Stephen was the only person who could make him listen.
He had to return to the manor with all due haste, and he’d mounted his horse when Jo strolled out of the church with Benedict Mason. She was holding his arm, grinning as if he was humorous and witty. For his part, Mason seemed completely altered from the man he actually was.
The gruff, stern land agent had become the doting swain.
Were they courting? They had to be. How long had they been attached? How deep was Jo’s affection?
She’d never mentioned the relationship. Why not? What kind of woman was she? If she could tumble into a barn with Stephen, while being wooed by another, she had to have no integrity at all.
A surge of fury rushed through him. He kicked his horse into a gallop and raced from the cemetery. He flew by the cooing couple, his horse’s hooves spraying them with rocks and dirt, but he didn’t care and he didn’t glance back.
“We need to talk.”
Nicholas stared down the hall to where his brother was standing in the doorway to the library. Obviously, Stephen was peeved over some budding disaster, but Nicholas was in no mood to hear about it.
He started off, prepared to ignore his brother’s summons, and Stephen added, “Now, Nicholas.”
“Later. I’m busy at the moment.”
He’d spent a near-perfect afternoon with Emeline, chatting with tenants who’d fallen on hard times. Her view of the estate had given him an entirely new perspective, and he wasn’t ready for the encounter to end.
It had been a delicious torment, sitting with her, pretending no heightened acquaintance, and he was weary of the distance she’d imposed.
She’d gone to her room, to wash and rest before tea, and he planned to join her there for a bit of naughty dallying. His brother could wait.
“Get your ass in here,” Stephen snapped, “or I will grab you and drag you in.”
“Have you finally decided you’re man enough?”
It was an old taunt, frequently hurled.
He and Stephen had often quarreled in their lives, but they rarely engaged in fisticuffs, because Stephen knew better than to brawl. Nicholas was the elder brother, but also the tougher, stronger brother. He fought dirty. He delivered low blows. Stephen was too honorable, and he could never win against such an unprincipled opponent.
Yet to Nicholas’s surprise, Stephen loomed toward him, as if he was eager to give it another shot. Nicholas couldn’t fathom what was needling him, and he raised his hands in mock surrender.
“All right, all right. Have it your way.”
Stephen returned to the library, and Nicholas followed. He was crossing the foyer when the front door opened. Benedict Mason entered.
Nicholas nodded in greeting and said, “I need to speak with you in the morning.”
“As always, Lord Stafford, I am at your service. May I ask the topic?”
“I’m lifting the restrictions as to hunting and fishing in the park.”
“I don’t believe that’s wise, milord.”
“I’m not concerned as to whether it’s wise, Mr. Mason. It’s what I want.”
“People will come to expect such a benefit. They’ll grow accustomed. If circumstances change in the future, you’ll never be able to rescind it.”
“Why would I ever rescind it? I have more than enough. I can share; it won’t kill me.” Mason looked as if he might argue, and Nicholas decreed, “Spread the word. Make sure everyone knows.”
“If I may, milord, I should like to review the financial ramifications, so I can present a more complete case for my position at our morning meeting.”
“No.”
Nicholas walked on, and though he caught a glimpse of Mason’s dour expression, he wasn’t worried by Mason’s reluctance.
Mason might disagree with Nicholas’s decision, but he’d implement it. He was aware of who paid his salary, who provided him with his fine house behind the manor, and he wouldn’t jeopardize it over an issue as silly as fishing.
Over the prior year, Nicholas had let Mason convince him that harsh austerity measures were warranted. But Emeline had persuaded him to try a different path.
He didn’t have to be cruel or ruthless. Prosperity could be achieved as quickly with mercy and compassion as it could be with spite and malice.
Just that easily, Mason was fo
rgotten. Nicholas burst into the library and kicked the door shut with his boot. It banged hard enough to rattle the windows. He stomped to the sideboard and poured himself a whiskey. Then, fortified for battle, he seated himself at the large oak desk.
He hated the ostentatious room, with its expensive chandeliers, soft carpets, and bookshelves that rose to the ceiling. It stoked a pretentiousness he didn’t feel, as if the space was grander than he was and he didn’t fit in it.
He swiveled and gazed out at the park. From his vantage point, he could see the gate at the end of the driveway. On that horrid long-ago day, when he and Stephen had stood there like beggars, had the old earl sat in the same chair, callously observing as they’d been turned away?
Disturbed by the image, he whipped around to face his brother.
“What is it?” he demanded. “Please get on with it. I’m in a hurry.”
Stephen poured his own whiskey, then plopped into the chair opposite.
“What has you so preoccupied?” Stephen asked.
“None of your business.”
“I saw you this morning with Miss Wilson.”
“So?”
Nicholas glared, and Stephen glared back, the seconds ticking by. The silence stretched to infinity. Stephen acted as Nicholas’s conscience, and Nicholas usually heeded him, but not always. Not when he desperately craved what he wasn’t supposed to have.
“You might as well confess,” Stephen ultimately said, “and don’t lie to me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Nicholas sarcastically replied.
“What have you done?”
“I’ve started an affair.”
Stephen nodded, as if Nicholas had confirmed his every low opinion.
“Have you deflowered her, you wretch?”
“A gentleman should never kiss and tell.”
“A gentleman shouldn’t, so you don’t qualify.” Nicholas raised an arrogant brow, and Stephen bellowed, “Have you forged ahead?”
“Not yet.”
“But you plan on it?”
Nicholas shrugged.
He wasn’t sure what he wanted. He was roiling with lust, but couldn’t seem to alleviate it. For some idiotic reason, he’d decided to behave honorably toward her, but he couldn’t figure out how to accomplish chivalry while naked.
Stephen slapped a hand on the desk, a loud crack echoing off the high ceiling.
“Do you plan to ruin her?”
“Perhaps.”
“What will become of her after you’re through?”
“Why would anything happen? We’ve been extremely discreet.”
“This is a very small place. Everyone will eventually learn of it.”
“They will not,” he declared with an annoying confidence.
“What if she winds up with child?”
“She won’t.”
“Are you God now?” Stephen taunted. “Can you commence and halt procreation?”
“Shut up.”
“When your liaison is discovered—as it will be—how will you proceed? Will you marry her?”
“You know I can’t.”
“So what is your option? Will you leave her at the mercy of Oscar Blair? Would you like me to predict how he’ll deal with her?”
“She’ll be fine; you’re making too much of this.”
“She was never taught about men like you,” Stephen said. “She doesn’t realize the cold heart that beats in your chest. She believes your affection is genuine and that you have matrimony in mind.”
“She’s wrong.”
“Have you told her about Veronica?”
At the question, Nicholas’s pulse fluttered. He hadn’t mentioned his engagement and didn’t see why he should. London seemed far away, Veronica a figment of his imagination.
“No, I haven’t told her. Why would I? She’d be crushed.”
“Oh Nick . . .” Stephen sighed with disgust. He downed his drink, then went over and poured a second. He downed that too. “Here is what you’re going to do.”
“You’re issuing ultimatums? To me?”
“No, I’m saving that girl’s life. She’s endured plenty, and I won’t let you wreck what little remains for her.”
“Maybe it’s not up to you,” Nicholas snidely goaded. “Maybe for once, I’ll act however the hell I want, your fussy morals be damned.”
Stephen shocked them both by pitching his glass at the fireplace. It shattered into dozens of pieces, shards flying everywhere.
“Are you insane?” Nicholas seethed as Stephen marched to the desk. He leaned over, his palms braced on the polished wood.
“Here is what you are going to do,” he nagged again. “You will get up in the morning. You’ll eat breakfast, saddle your horse, then ride to London. You will not say goodbye to her. You will not give her any hint of your intentions. You will simply sneak away, then you will never come back until you hear—in the distant future—that she is happily married to some local boy who loves her as you never could.”
Nicholas’s thoughts reeled, the notion of his Em wed to another making him ill. He absolutely could not envision such a thing.
“I’m not ready to return to London,” he protested.
“If you don’t do as I’ve bid you, I will tell her about Veronica. I’ll tell her you’re betrothed and have been for months.” Stephen leaned even nearer and hissed, “I’ll tell her that your wedding is at the end of August! How would you guess she’ll take the news?”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t I? I’m not bluffing. Don’t force my hand.”
Stephen eased away and sank into his chair. They were silent again, glowering.
A thousand words were on the tip of Nicholas’s tongue. He yearned to explain his strange infatuation, to justify his conduct, even though there was no excuse for it.
Still, he felt compelled to plead, “She’d never understand about Veronica.”
“No, she wouldn’t.”
“Why would you deliberately hurt her?”
Stephen scoffed. “Why would I hurt her? Oh, that’s rich.”
“She’ll hate me.”
“She should hate you. You’re contemptible.”
“She doesn’t think I am. She thinks I’m wonderful.”
“Then someone should tell her the truth. It might as well be me.”
Stephen’s derision was clear, but then, he’d known Nicholas for a long time. Stephen had no illusions about Nicholas’s character, and Nicholas couldn’t abide his condemning stare. He shifted to gaze out the window again, surveying his property, all the way to the gate that held such a lonely, awful memory.
Was it so wrong to dally with Emeline? He’d never really had anything that mattered. She mattered. Stephen was asking him to let her go, and Nicholas couldn’t bear the idea. Part of it was general stubbornness. If he was ordered to behave in a certain manner, he’d do the opposite merely to be contrary.
Yet he wanted Emeline—both for the moment and into the future. Whether that would be weeks or months, he couldn’t say. But the prospect of splitting with her was galling.
“What if I . . .”—he paused, formulating nonsensical plans—“what if I took her to London with me? I could set her up in a house, and she could be my—”
“No.”
“Why not? There are worse fates than being mistress to an earl.”
“You expect she’d agree to such an immoral situation? That she’d subject her young sisters to it?”
“She might,” Nicholas persisted, even though he knew she never would.
“She’s in love with you! She’s convinced you’re about to propose marriage. You mentioned that she thinks you’re wonderful. What will her opinion be after you make another sort of proposal entirely?”
“It could ha
ppen. You’d be surprised how easily I can persuade a woman.”
“No I wouldn’t. I know you, remember? What about Veronica? You’re about to marry her. If you hook up with a mistress right before the wedding, she’ll find out. Wives always do. What would you guess her opinion will be?”
“My personal life will never be any of her business.”
Stephen barked out a laugh. “If that’s what you assume, then you’re an idiot.” He stood and went to the door.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m sick of you. I want to be out of your sight.”
“Well, I’m not too thrilled with you either. Get out before I throw you out.”
“I’m not returning to London with you.”
“You’ve already told me so a dozen times.”
“And I’m not returning to the army.”
“What?”
“I’ve written some letters. I’m trying to muster out early, so Annie can come to England later in the summer.”
Nicholas had constantly been vexed by Stephen’s attachment to his daughter. He barely knew the girl and hadn’t lived with her but for a few months when she was a baby. What had caused such a strong bond?
Nor could he fathom Stephen’s desire to settle at Stafford. Why would he?
“You’re bringing Annie here?” Nicholas sneered, terribly hurt by Stephen’s decision and covering it with spite. “It will finally be just the two of you, the happy little family you’ve always craved.”
“Yes, my happy little family.” Stephen opened the door. “I’ll give you until nine o’clock tomorrow morning. If you haven’t departed by then, Miss Wilson and I will have a long, interesting chat.”
Stephen walked out, and Nicholas tarried in the quiet, pondering, reviewing his options, finishing his drink. Then he stormed to the barn, saddled his fastest horse, and rode off into the waning afternoon.
Benedict dawdled in the foyer, observing as the earl slammed the library door, then he tiptoed down the hall and pressed his ear to the wood.
He’d had it with the Price brothers and wanted them gone. They couldn’t head for London quick enough to suit him.