by Heather Boyd
“Surely one of them should do? Or perhaps one of our past clients has an unmarried brother who’s well off. I can’t be without you again. You’re all I have.”
Sylvia exchanged a glance with Eugenia to judge what she thought of the idea. Eugenia appeared speechless, so Sylvia stood and moved close to Aurora and hugged her tightly. “I love you too,” she whispered. “Did you pick out a husband for yourself already?”
“No, but,” her gaze switched to Eugenia, “I thought with Eugenia being the eldest, she should have first pick. She probably knows who would make a good husband already.”
“I do not have a favorite, and I am not in the market for a husband,” she said crisply.
Aurora took a deep breath, and then nodded. “Well, then there’s nothing for it. We put the name of our favorite into a hat and choose among ourselves who will have him.”
Sylvia shook her head, “I am not going to do any such a thing. You know how I feel about marriage. It’s love or nothing for me, and not one of our current or former clients could claim my heart. I guess I’ll stay a spinster forever then.”
A man cleared his throat—and then all spun about to face the door.
Only Sylvia knew the man, and she gaped. “Mr. Prendegast?”
“Well, I have to say after hearing that, I’m not sure whether being already married is cause for celebration or regret, Miss Hillcrest.” He shuffled awkwardly.
But Eugenia was suddenly standing in front of the man, hand extended in greeting. “My younger cousin has an extraordinary fondness for taking ideas to extremes. Pay her no mind. I assure you, none of us are seriously considering matrimony as a means to our salvation.”
She smiled upon Mr. Prendegast, and the man stared back, seemingly mesmerized by Eugenia looking at him so directly. She settled her other hand over Prendegast’s and stoked his skin like a lover of old.
Sylvia hid a smile as her cousin’s actions deftly wrapped the unwitting man round her dainty fingers with just a few gentle touches. Eugenia had a talent for handling married men. She could charm them into doing anything she wanted without them even knowing it. Of course, it worked best on men who were unhappily married and ignored by their spouses.
Prendegast suddenly shook himself. “I’m very glad to hear such a scheme merely idle speculation.”
“What else could it be?” Eugenia gently withdrew her hand. “How may we help you?” She spun about and took her customary position behind the desk.
The man blinked, coming out of his stupor at last. “Yes, well. I do hope you will forgive my unexpected arrival at this late hour.”
He kept his attention on Eugenia, and Sylvia found it impossible to catch his eye. “What are you doing here? Is Lady Wharton all right? Is she awake at last? Is she—”
The man threw his hand up to halt the flow of Sylvia’s words. “Lady Wharton’s situation is unchanged, I’m afraid.”
Sylvia nearly collapsed in relief. “Then what are you doing here? How did you find me?”
“I spoke to her maid, and she was kind enough to give me your directions.” He frowned. “I came here hoping we might find a way around a particularly thorny problem I face.”
Sylvia swallowed. “What problem?”
“In all my time caring for the dying, I’ve never met anyone with greater compassion than you. I believe you want to be at the marchioness’ side still, and more importantly, she expected you to still be there now. Unfortunately, the marquess has forbidden anyone to allow you through the front door. But you are exactly the right woman to help care for the marchioness as the end draws near.”
“He won’t stop me trying to see her again.”
The man grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that. I think, too, I have found a way around his restriction, but it is not at all an honest endeavor. But I’ve no choice. I’ve come today because I have a proposition for you, Miss Hillcrest. One that should meet both our desires to care for the marchioness. Unfortunately, there’s bound to be additional risk to your reputation if you are discovered. I saw what happened. I believe the marquess’ anger has brought ruin down upon your heads unfairly.”
“A trifling matter easily resolved once the marchioness recovers,” Eugenia assured Mr. Prendegast with a saucy smile.
The man’s face reddened. “I’m sure of that, too. The lady was quite taken with her friend, which is why I feel confident she would approve of my desire to help you return as soon as possible. Today.”
“I would like that, but…” Sylvia glanced at her cousins, seeking their permission. Sylvia’s reputation was in tatters, the family business shut down. Her cousins were supported for now and the future was still up in the air. But Sylvia had given her word, and keeping her promise to Lady Wharton was important.
Eugenia sighed. “You have to go, if only for your own peace of mind.”
She smiled at Mr. Prendegast. “What did you have in mind, sir?”
Chapter 16
“I think that bonnet will make you look fat,” Amelia whispered somewhat callously to their younger sister behind Alexander’s back.
“It’s better than yours,” Jocelyn hissed. “It’s so hideous it will drive all gentlemen of taste away.”
Amelia choked. “Barnaby likes my choice very well. He even complimented me on the extraordinary colors yesterday when he came to call on you.”
Jocelyn, who’d revealed her partiality for the young lord, laughed. “He was shading his eyes at the time.”
“That’s so mean,” Amelia cried.
“You started it,” Jocelyn muttered.
Alexander pinched the bridge of his nose as the bickering continued. Despite the best education possible, his sisters were often silly twits about certain things. They constantly bickered over nothing and, after only a few days of listening to them, he was contemplating arranging their murders.
Or hasty marriages that sent them as far away as possible.
He marveled that his mother had put up without complaint—or voiced too few. And the greater wonder still was that Mother had found any suitors for his sisters at all, given the way they talked to each other. But their callers seemed oblivious to their shallow minds and kept coming back.
Alexander turned around to face the pair. Amelia and Jocelyn were not cut out for the sickroom. He had already severely limited their time there, hoping to somehow instill concern and worry for their mother’s welfare in them. A few days of near silence had been all the reprieve he’d been granted before they’d returned to form. “Keep it down.”
“Yes, Alex,” the pair murmured, eyes lowering in contrition.
Alexander hadn’t been sure bringing them back to Mother’s townhouse was a good idea, but they absolutely couldn’t be left at his home alone without his supervision. Why, the day he’d found out about Mother’s condition, he’d returned home briefly after being gone a few hours, and he’d discovered Amelia and one of her less-favored suitors enjoying a private tête à tête behind a partially closed drawing room door.
Amelia had seemed bewildered by his initial ire, but the young man was wiser and utterly guilty of trying to take advantage of his sister while he was out. The fellow had quickly fled Alexander’s wrath, and Alexander didn’t expect to hear of him calling on Amelia again anytime soon.
Or he’d better not.
Alexander had made his opinion of the man quite clear. Scoundrels could not court his sisters.
So there had been no option but to bring them home to Mother and seriously curtail all future interactions with suitors in the future unless he could be present. They hadn’t liked him for carting them back to Berkley Square, but they claimed to understand the need to gather round Mother during this crisis.
Alexander had had time to decide who among their suitors was acceptable, surprisingly agreeing with Mother’s original choices, and he had written them, informing them of their change of address and the unfortunate reason for the move. Both gentlemen had shown a gratifying concern for Mother’s welfar
e and for the rest of the family.
He turned back to face Mother and sighed. She was not doing as well as he wanted, and he’d no idea what to do next to help her. The wound was said to be healing, with no sign of infection so far. That was the only good news he’d really had about her health.
“Do you think Mama would like us to sing to her?” Amelia asked in a low tone meant only for Jocelyn to answer.
“I don’t think we should. Alex insists we be quiet now,” Jocelyn reminded her.
“But Mama loves our singing,” Amelia claimed a little too loudly.
“Shh,” Jocelyn warned. “I’m not going to sing until Mama says she’d like to hear me herself. What if she has a bad head again?”
“Yes. She does often say she can feel a headache coming on in the mornings.”
Alexander nearly laughed at that. Mother most likely had meant the pair was causing her headache to grow, only they didn’t understand that. They never stopped talking until they were fast asleep, he suspected.
Alexander suddenly reviewed their last conversation, and realized to his shock that Jocelyn had finally found her voice after years of deferring to the older Amelia. Would wonders never cease? Perhaps there was hope that Jocelyn might turn out all right, after all. Alexander wholeheartedly approved of any newfound independence from her and hoped it continued. Sooner or later, his sisters’ lives would be very different and lived very separately from their siblings, when they were brides.
Mother would probably miss them not being at home with her at least a little bit of the time, he supposed.
He turned the page of the book he’d tried to read all morning but soon lifted his head again to study the woman lying so still in the bed for the third day…or sixth from the day of the operation. Every year of her one and sixty years was showing on her familiar face this morning. He still couldn’t imagine a world where he didn’t have to answer to Mama for his shortcomings as she saw them.
He wished he could turn back the clock and have Mama recuperating at home at Wharton House where she belonged. But he’d been warned that Mother could not be moved under any circumstances for quite some time. So he was stuck here waiting on her to recover.
He’d had his valet pack up a few trunks of his clothing, clear his schedule, and had moved himself immediately into this tiny townhouse. A great number of his important documents from his study had come to this house as well because he could not, ever, neglect the estate or be idle for long periods of time.
He’d sent off men to try to find his brother, but didn’t expect to see him back in London anytime soon. Toby would be almost as useless in the sickroom as Alexander was, and much too loud, too. But Alexander still wanted him close to hand should the worst come to pass and they lost Mother.
He glanced over his shoulder. His sisters were quiet again, working on their hideous bonnets by the window. They smiled as they compared their work, and it was as if the earlier disagreement had never happened.
They never held a grudge.
He stood up, stretched his back, and put his book aside by the door to take back to his room later.
Something also had to be done about Sylvia Hillcrest, and soon. He couldn’t get the blasted woman out of his mind.
He kept remembering her defiant little face as she’d argued with him over Mother, kept hearing her moans of passion every time he closed his eyes for a few minutes’ rest. How had someone he’d thought so unremarkable once become someone he couldn’t seem to forget? He didn’t quite know if he wanted to put her over his knee or put her on her own again.
Perhaps it was a little of both. And perhaps he was simply too tired to make sense of his feelings right now.
Alexander cocked his head when a knock sounded on the front door below, and he listened hard. He had arranged for an hour or so of peace for himself, and Mama, too, by default. Since yesterday he’d been inundated with letters from concerned acquaintances, offering support and hoping to hear good news. From that number, he’d called in a few favors in a bid to distract and amuse his sisters.
He waited impatiently for the butler to arrive to announce the first one—Lady Norrington and Lord Barnaby Miller were scheduled to take his oldest sister Amelia out driving for an hour.
The butler eased into the room to whisper the announcement a few moments later.
“May I please go?” Amelia begged, casting a worried glance toward their mother.
Alexander pretended to consider the matter then gave her a nod. “Very well.”
Amelia jumped up to kiss his cheek and then flew out the room, her hideous bonnet going with her. Jocelyn watched her go in silence, and then flounced into a chair—clearly disappointed to be left behind. However, Alexander hadn’t forgotten Jocelyn. He was simply waiting for the next callers to be announced, Lord and Lady Carmichael, and Sir Fredrick Mosely.
When the Carmichaels came in their carriage, asking for Jocelyn’s company, he suffered another enthusiastic kiss on the cheek.
He glanced at his pocket watch, disapproving of Sir Fredrick Mosely, who seemed to be running late to join them. But when Alexander strolled to the window, he was just in time to see Mosely rushing up the front stairs and knocking upon the door.
Alexander reveled in the silence of a nearly empty house. But eventually his sisters would return, and he would have to endure more of them for a good long while without help. He couldn’t start sending them to bed at eight o’clock like they were still little children just to get some peace. Something had to be done about them, and soon. Mama had insisted Amelia and Jocelyn were ripe for marriage. Only now did he understand why she’d considered the matter of their marriages so urgent.
He wished he’d understood before she’d done all of this to herself.
“Well, that’s them gone for a few hours, Mama. Let’s enjoy the silence while it lasts. Mosely isn’t so bad once you spend a little time with the fellow. He isn’t brilliant or clever. But he’s earned your approval, so that counts for a lot.”
“It took you long enough to get rid of them,” his mother whispered suddenly behind him. “I was starting to fear I’d have to suggest it myself.”
“My God!” Alexander spun about to see Mother lift her fingers in a wave. Alexander’s eyes stung with the first tears he’d considered shedding in two decades, and he rushed to her. “Mama! What took you so long?”
She stiffened. “Don’t shout, boy. I’m in terrible pain here.”
He caught her hand. She was warmer than she’d been before but not feverish anymore. “What can I do?”
“Water.”
He found a glass, poured water into it, and carefully lifted her head enough that she could take a few sips. “More?”
“Wine next,” she gasped. “Lots of wine, I think.”
He already had a glass of his own, so he held that to her lips rather than leave her for a single moment. Mother drank it all and then lay back, gasping for breath.
Her breathing took some time to quiet and grow steady but her face became clouded by pain. He smoothed his fingers over her cheek very gently. “Mama, why wouldn’t you tell me what you were doing?”
“You would have tried to stop me.”
“Damn right. I would have succeeded, too.”
“That’s why I didn’t tell you.” Her eyes fluttered open again, and her gaze darted about the chamber. “Where’s my girl?”
“I’m afraid Amelia and Jocelyn won’t be back for an hour.” He left her to refill his glass and returned to the bedside quickly.
Mother’s eyes were narrowed on him. “I meant the other one. Fetch her to me.”
Alexander was fairly sure Mother was referring to Sylvia Hillcrest. It seemed Sylvia’s professed friendship with his mama was a fact, and apparently reciprocated. “You’ll be better in no time. Here, drink this.”
“Liar.” She huffed but sipped some more wine before turning her head aside with a groan. He waited patiently for her to speak again. “I intend to suffer for as long
as it takes. Now what have you done with my Sylvia? She promised to be here when I woke.”
“I sent her away,” he told her.
Mama’s jaw worked, and then her eyes flashed with anger. “You had no right.”
“I have every right.” He tried to hold her hand but she pulled away. “I am the head of this family, and while you recover, I will decide who you see and who you will not.”
Mother narrowed her eyes on him in a look that hinted that she resented him. “I know why you’re doing this.”
“You really don’t.” He would never allow Mother to find out the truth about Sylvia. If she even suspected Sylvia had been his lover, and using her, she would feel humiliated. He couldn’t have that. “Now, you will lie there and do nothing so you get better. Do you want more wine to dull the pain you must be feeling?”
For a moment, he thought Mother would refuse in favor of continuing their argument. However, she wet her lips and her left hand gestured him closer. Alexander hid a grim smile as she guzzled the fresh glass, draining it before asking for another.
Once Mother was well on her way to being drunk from the wine and becoming drowsy again, he rang for a servant and gave them instructions for the evening. If Mother was awake and in pain, she’d need food and every comfort money could buy. His sisters could spend a few minutes with Mother when they returned but they would be spending the night in their own rooms.
He returned to sit beside the bed, and Mother’s sleepy stare returned to his. “Have I ever told you how much you remind me of your father?”
“I look a great deal like him,” he said as he took a sip of wine himself. He didn’t care that she was about to point out all his flaws and failures. He was just relieved to have his mother back to speak of them. He’d never ignore her again. “You’ve told me that many a time.”
“Not just that. I was talking about how his preoccupation with everything but family made him grow so cold and distant. It’s hard to live through that a second time with you. But I suppose it’s a relief, too, that no woman has set her heart on marrying you. You’d only break it. If she loved you, she’d be waiting in vain to claim any of your time, like I did with your father. I learned too late that his heart could never warm to me again.”