by Sara Lindsey
Just the opposite.
And therein lay his problem.
As she browsed through the library, Olivia was thinking less of Edward and more of his uncle, Laura’s brother. She had been stunned to hear he was expected. From what she had read in Laura’s diary, Jason and Charles did not get on at all. That was hardly surprising. Laura hadn’t been blind to her younger brother’s faults, but neither had she been able to say no to him. Perhaps he had not meant to, but Chas, as Laura called her brother, had used this advantage repeatedly and seemed to depend on his older sister to rescue him from whatever scrapes he landed himself in. And in the end she had paid with her life.
No, that wasn’t fair. Olivia shook her head, trying to clear it of the unwanted thought. Laura’s death was an accident. In any case, she must at least be polite to Sir Charles. It wouldn’t do to let on that she knew more than she should; that would raise questions she had no wish to answer.
When he arrived late that afternoon, Livvy found, to her very great surprise, that Sir Charles Avery seemed a most respectable young man. He was probably in his mid-twenties, which would put him around her older brother’s age, but he had a far more mature manner than Henry possessed or would likely ever possess. Sir Charles was an attractive man, as well. He was by no means as good-looking as his brother-in-law, but his boyish face was quite appealing. She had no doubt he had a good many lady friends in London.
The smattering of Sir Charles’s exploits that had made their way into Laura’s diary painted the picture of a charming wastrel. The type of man who was really still a boy, thinking only of his own pleasure, with no thought to future consequences. And Livvy had read enough novels to know that when one dealt with charming wastrels, there were always future consequences.
She had imagined he’d grown into a hardened gambler in the intervening years, drawn further into London’s seedy underworld, his sister no longer there to rescue him. Instead she was met with chestnut curls and a round, almost cherubic face. He was so very different from her expectations, she found herself staring. He gave her a friendly smile and she saw in his sparkling green eyes a measure of masculine appreciation.
Livvy blushed.
“Jace,” Sir Charles called out. “Who is this delightful creature? Surely she’s been imprisoned here, for no maiden would consent to share your company.”
Olivia laughed.
The marquess frowned.
“Charles, this is Miss Weston. She’s Katherine’s niece.” His voice held a hint of warning. “Miss Weston, this is my brother-in-law, Sir Charles Avery.”
“Uncle Chas!”
Edward appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Edward!” Sir Charles’s genuine delight in seeing his nephew further improved Olivia’s opinion of him. Edward raced down the stairs and his uncle caught him up in a big hug, spinning him about.
“Careful, Charles,” the marquess cautioned.
Sir Charles set Edward down and ruffled the boy’s hair. “No harm done. Now, where are the ladies of the family? This welcome feels quite incomplete without them!”
“Here we are.” Her aunt glided down the stairs, almost seeming to float. Her aunt had an abundance of these feminine graces, though unfortunately they did not seem to be the sort of thing that manifested itself in families, like cleft chins or dimples.
As if to prove her point, Charlotte tripped on the bottom stair and would have gone sprawling on the floor—which Olivia knew from experience was rather hard and unforgiving—had Sir Charles not quickly stepped forward and caught her. He tossed her up over his head, making Charlotte squeal with delight.
“Hello, poppet!”
He set her down gently, then turned to Olivia’s aunt.
“My lady.” He turned a leg and made a courtly bow. “Still as beautiful as ever.”
“Charles, you are a shameless flirt,” Lady Sheldon declared, “but I wouldn’t have you any other way. Someone must pander to the vanity of old women. Come here, dear boy, and give me a proper hug.”
Olivia could tell that her aunt was truly fond of Sir Charles. Had Charles repented and been forgiven? The marquess didn’t seem the forgiving sort, and though Charles wasn’t responsible for Laura’s death, her final diary entry mentioned an early-morning meeting, on Charles’s behalf, in the park with a “Lord V” on Charles’s behalf. Her riding accident must have happened on the way either to or from this assignation. This was all most curious. A mystery, one might even say. A mysterious man in a haunted castle—perhaps she’d have an adventure after all.
Aunt Kate held out a hand toward Livvy. “You met my niece?”
“I did indeed. I know it’s shocking my brother- in-law remembered his manners long enough to make the introductions.”
Lord Sheldon scowled.
“I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Weston. Now we shall finally be able to make up a game of whist. We’ve tried to induce Dimpsey to play, but he refuses. I assume his massive self is lurking around here somewhere?”
“Right you are, Sir Charles.” Aunt Kate’s butler walked into the room.
Dimpsey was another mystery, though she doubted any of them would ever understand him. He had the look of a prizefighter, the manners of a gentleman, the stealth of a jungle cat, and the uncanny ability to appear at just the right time.
“Good to see you again,” Sir Charles said as Dimpsey came closer.
“You too, sir.” Dimpsey grinned. “And before you go asking me again, you still can’t afford me.”
Sir Charles gave a mournful sigh. “I suppose Jason already offered you a king’s ransom?”
Aunt Kate gave her stepson a playful swat on the arm. “Will you stop trying to hire my butler out from under my nose? He’s devoted to me, aren’t you, Dimpsey?”
“Aye, my lady. You and Lady Charlotte.” He winked. “I don’t know how the two of you would manage without me.”
“I’d scold you for impertinence if it weren’t so true.”
Dimpsey held out his hands. “Now, Master Edward, Lady Charlotte, I promised I’d take you out to look for holly and ivy and mistletoe to decorate with tonight, didn’t I? Very well, then, let’s go up to the nursery and get you both bundled up. I don’t fancy having a pair of sick bairns on my hands come Christmas morning.”
He hustled the children up the stairs, each of them perfectly obedient and charmed to do whatever he asked.
The marquess watched them go, his face a mixture of awe and skepticism. “There’s something not quite human about that man.”
“Yes,” Lady Sheldon said fondly. “He truly is much more than a butler.”
“That’s just it,” the marquess continued. “He’s not just a good butler. He’s also an excellent valet, and when he decides to set foot in the kitchen, his food is so good you think you’ve died and gone to heaven. Now I find he’s on nursery duty as well. . . .” He shook his head and turned back to the company at hand. “Charles, you’ve been given your usual room.”
“Dare I hope it is close to Miss Weston’s?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Olivia blushed.
Her aunt laughed. “Charles, you devil, mind your tongue.”
Lord Sheldon looked cross. “As it happens, Miss Weston is in the Marchioness’s Chambers, so don’t even think of trying anything improper.”
“Yes, Lord Proper.” Sir Charles saluted. “Well, I shall head upstairs to dust off the dirt of the roads and make myself presentable. When is dinner?”
“Seven,” Lord Sheldon replied.
“Then I shall see you all in the drawing room at half past six,” he said decidedly.
Men, Livvy had observed, had a distinct aversion to missing any sort of edible offering. Her older brother, Henry, could only be counted on to be on time for meals.
“I think I’ll go to my chamber as well,” Olivia said. She wanted to look over Laura’s diary and see if there was anything she had missed about Sir Charles. He was so amiable; he hardly seemed capable of racking up vast
amounts of debt, but appearances could be deceiving. Her preferred reading material might not be educational in the conventional sense, but the novels were vastly informative about sinister characters and nefarious deeds.
Had Sir Charles mended his ways after his sister’s death? Was he the amiable young man he looked to be? Or was his easy conduct a mask for his true nature?
Perhaps Charles had known exactly what he was doing when he begged his sister for help. He might even have lured her into committing a crime. She didn’t know the identity of “Lord V” or what might have transpired at their meeting. . . .
But she was getting ahead of herself. In this setting, it was sometimes difficult to remember that she was not the gothic heroine of her dreams, but ordinary Miss Olivia Weston. Just because she was ordinary, that did not mean she could not engage in a bit of discreet detective work. And if the suspect proved innocent, that was all to the good.
She had never been able to resist a good mystery. Her love of puzzles had started her on her current path and her journey would not be complete until she had unraveled every last knot, including her Gordian marquess. She had solved his riddles, clue by clue, and now she had to solve the riddle of him. He was infinitely more complicated than his poorly penned verses, but there was more than a brooch at stake. She was only just beginning to realize how much more and what price she might be forced to pay.
Jason saw the suggestive looks his brother-in-law was throwing in Miss Weston’s direction. He didn’t like them. At the moment there were a lot of things in his life that weren’t to his liking . . . and nearly all of them involved Miss Weston.
Funny, that.
Still, he had a responsibility as head of the house, even if he only recalled that responsibility when it was to his advantage.
“Charles,” he called out. “A word with you.”
His brother-in-law trudged back down the stairs. “What?”
“Let’s adjourn to my study, shall we?”
Once the two men were closeted inside the masculine domain, Charles turned to Jason. “What have I done this time?” he demanded.
“I am sure you’ve done a great many questionable things since last I saw you, but that’s not why I asked to speak to you.”
“Ordered, more like,” Charles grumbled. “Go on, then. What’s this matter of great urgency?”
“I wanted to speak to you about Miss Weston.”
“And this couldn’t have waited? Oh, very well, what about her?”
“She isn’t one of your Town flirts. She’s young and impressionable. She has probably never been exposed to attention from a man like yourself.”
“A man like myself.” Charles busied himself with brushing an imaginary speck of dirt off his pristine coat. “You certainly don’t have a very high opinion of me.”
“Damn it, Charles, you know what I mean. Your name’s always being paired with some new woman or other—”
“Idle speculation. Every other bachelor in London with more than two shillings in his pocket suffers the same fate. One dance and a glass of orgeat and a man is practically engaged. You won’t mind if I help myself to your excellent brandy, will you?”
Jason indicated that Charles was free to take what he wanted, at least as far as the cellar was concerned.
Charles continued to chatter as he poured himself a drink. “I had no idea you followed the gossip rags all the way out here. Are you only keeping tabs on me, or do the latest ladies’ fashions interest you as well?”
“Don’t be absurd.” Jason moved to tend the fire. “Of course I don’t read that trash, nor am I trying to keep tabs on you. That would imply a certain level of concern for your well-being. If you must know, my man of business in London takes great delight in regaling me with your exploits in his monthly letters.” He poked at the kindling with unnecessary force. The logs crackled and hissed, shooting sparks every which way, as if to protest their mistreatment.
Charles seated himself in a leather wing chair near the marble fireplace. He took a sip of brandy and gave an appreciative sigh. “Such an overflowing of love warms my heart. I assure you the rumors are greatly exaggerated.”
“Be that as it may, it would be very uncomfortable for everyone if you broke Miss Weston’s heart.”
“Set your mind at ease. I have no intention of toying with her emotions.”
Jason looked up from the dancing flames. “Then you’ll let her alone?”
Charles looked at him speculatively over the rim of his glass. “You know, I don’t think I will.”
“You can’t mean you plan to seriously pursue the girl!” Jason swung around to face Charles, the red- hot iron in his hand.
“For God’s sake, put that down before someone—namely me—gets hurt. I can’t think why you’re so shocked. I have to settle down eventually. Why shouldn’t I see if Miss Weston and I suit?”
“Because . . .” Jason put the fire poker back as he weighed his words. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”
Charles nodded sagely. “So the wind blows in that direction, does it?”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
“You’ve taken an interest in Miss Weston yourself.”
“I have not.”
“No need to be embarrassed. It’s about time you remembered there’s a fair sex,” Charles said, clearly enjoying himself. “Being a widower doesn’t have to mean a life sentence of loneliness. Laura wouldn’t—”
Jason shook his head. “Don’t.”
“I miss her as much as you do, but you need to live your life. Edward is still at an age where he could benefit from a stepmother.”
“What could a stepmother give him that I don’t?”
“Lessons in how not to be so defensive?”
Jason massaged the tendons in the back of his neck. “My apologies. Edward hasn’t been well and I haven’t had enough sleep as a result.”
“Damn. I keep hoping he’ll outgrow it.”
“Maybe he will. He went months without an episode before this last one. As you just pointed out, he’s still young. Christ, I just feel so helpless every time it happens. He tries to be so brave. . . .” His throat swelled, making it impossible to continue talking.
Charles got to his feet and moved to stand next to Jason. “Wouldn’t it help to have someone to share that burden with? I don’t mean to say Edward is a burden, of course, but there’s comfort in being able to let down your guard and confide in someone.”
“Someone like a wife, you mean. What do you know about it? I don’t recall you being married.”
“It doesn’t have to be a wife,” Charles argued. “Laura was my confidante from the time we were children, ever since our mother died.”
“I know. I always envied you that.”
Charles was silent for a long moment. “I didn’t realize. Is that why you disliked me so much in the beginning?”
Jason laughed. “I disliked you because you were ill-mannered and bent on ruining yourself, neither of which made your sister happy. You’ve grown up, though, and I’m glad to see you finally taking an interest in your estate.”
“I . . . er . . .” Charles stammered, caught off-guard by the unexpected praise.
Jason grinned at him. “Don’t mistake me, you’re still an annoyance. Thank the Lord I only have to put up with you for a few weeks every year.”
“Oh, good. For a moment there I was beginning to wonder who you were and what you’d done with my stuffy, sneering brother-in-law.”
Jason sketched a bow. “At your service.”
“Now, about Miss Weston . . . ,” Charles started.
Jason sighed. “I thought we were finished with that topic.”
“Hardly. We have barely begun to skim the surface. A very pretty surface, too, though I haven’t yet had a chance to closely examine it.”
“Nor will you ever,” Jason growled.
“So possessive already? How touching.”
“Charles,” he warned.
> “Why is it so hard for you to admit that you’re attracted to her?”
“Very well, I’m attracted to her. She’s a pretty young woman and I’ve seen few of those in past years.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“If I could think of a way for it to be yours, I would.”
Charles’s face broke into a huge grin. “No such luck, old man. It was all you. Fortunately for you, women seem to like the dark, brooding type. The harder to catch, the better to have or some such rot.”
“Am I a fish to be hooked?” He meant the question to come out lightly, as a joke, but he couldn’t conceal the underlying bitterness of such a situation.
“Do you mind if the bait is as enticing as Miss Weston?”
Jason crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve no wish to be trapped.”
“Does marriage have to be a trap?”
“Getting leg-shackled is always a trap. They don’t call it the parson’s mousetrap for nothing.”
Charles shrugged. “That may be. But from what I’ve seen, and from what I remember of you and my sister, sometimes it is worth it.”
Jason could see the discussion was going nowhere or, if it was, it wasn’t someplace he wanted to go. “All right, you’ve had your say.”
“And you yours.”
“Right, then. Just so we’re clear . . .”
Charles set down his drink on Jason’s desk and folded his arms behind his back in the manner of a child reciting lessons. “I am not to seduce Miss Weston, no matter how prettily she begs me. I am to ignore her so that, in her despair, she turns to you.”
Jason fought a smile. “So long as you let her alone, you may tell yourself whatever lies you wish.”
“I realize it’s been a while since you’ve interacted with the fair sex. If you need me to give you some pointers or—”
“Charles, don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
His brother-in-law gazed around the study, as if searching for clues to jog his memory. “No. At least, I don’t think so.”
“Then think harder,” Jason ground out. “I do not need your help, as I am planning on having as little involvement with Miss Weston as possible. I fear Katherine would be upset with me if I strangled the chit, and I have an alarming urge to do so nearly every time we converse.”