by Cheryl Holt
The door opened, and the Viscount’s friend entered. She’d exited the front parlor so rapidly that she hadn’t been introduced to him. He was short and chubby, dark and brooding. He reminded her of a villain in a romantic novel, the sort of brute who would kidnap the virtuous heroine, so the hero would have a reason to save her.
“Hello,” he said. “I’m here with Hunter Stone. I’m Mr. Carew.”
“I’m Miss Rebecca.” There was a chair next to her, and she gestured to it. “Will you sit?”
He pondered for a moment, then shrugged. “I guess I can. What can it hurt?”
“I’d offer you refreshments, but I don’t have any. Shall I ring for a servant and have a tray brought for us?”
“No, I’m fine.” He peered about, assessing her plants, easels, and books. “This is a curious spot.”
“It’s where I hide when the rest of the manor is too annoying.”
“Having chatted with your mother, I can certainly understand why you’d need to escape occasionally.”
It was a shocking comment, and it was horrid of him to denigrate Amelia, but Rebecca was fascinated that he had. She’d never previously had anyone disparage her mother, except for Winston, so she was stunned.
“You made quite a spectacle of yourself for Viscount Marston,” he said. “I was left with the distinct impression that you weren’t keen to be his bride.”
She shouldn’t malign Viscount Marston, but she had no confidante to whom she could confess her reservations. “No, I’m not keen.”
“Is it just Hunter who doesn’t tickle your fancy? Or are you completely opposed?”
“I don’t wish to ever wed.” The brazen announcement was like a breath of fresh air.
“Will you be a spinster like your half-sister?”
“It wouldn’t be the worst ending.”
“Tell me the truth. Is this because you’re sweet on some local boy? Is that it? Is your mother trying to yank you away from him by shackling you to Hunter?”
She laughed. “No, I have no local beau. My mother is simply determined that I marry an aristocrat.”
“But you’re not interested, and that’s a wise decision. Hunter is a cad, and he’d be an awful husband. If you were my daughter, I’d advise you to run fast in the other direction.”
“You don’t sound as if you like him very much.”
“Oh, Hunter is a grand fellow, but I have no misconceptions as to what he’s like.”
“What’s happening out in the front parlor?” she asked.
“Hunter stormed off to find your sister, so I was waiting for him, but he’s been gone for so long that I was bored. I figured I could snoop for a bit. I always enjoy wandering through these magnificent houses.”
“Why is Viscount Marston searching for Hannah?”
“Didn’t you hear? His father and your mother bungled the nuptial negotiations, and he thought Hannah was to be his fiancée rather than you.”
“That’s a terrible mistake.”
“He’s very angry, so he had a few pithy remarks to get off his chest, but I don’t know what he expects her to do about it.”
“It isn’t her fault.”
“I realize it’s not, but when he’s enraged, he can’t control himself.”
Rebecca frowned. “He’s not violent, is he? Please swear he won’t lash out at her.”
“No, no, it’s nothing like that. His pride is dented, and he has a massive ego. He’ll merely shout at her, then we’ll leave. Miss Graves can handle him though. She’s no wilting violet.”
“Are you heading back to London immediately? My mother won’t like that. She’ll want Viscount Marston to dawdle so she can brag about my stellar attributes and change his mind.”
“There’s no chance of her persuading him.”
“Praise be,” she muttered, then she brightened. “I’m lucky he doesn’t like me.”
“He wasn’t excited about marrying in the first place, so you presented yourself to him in just the right way. He was aghast that you’re so young. He’s used to women who are a tad more…worldly, shall we say?”
“Are you hinting that he likes trollops?”
“Yes, and I’m relieved that you deduced my meaning without my having to provide details.” Out of the blue, he said, “You must be an heiress.”
“I am,” she breezily admitted.
She probably shouldn’t have answered, but her status wasn’t a secret. Her mother boasted about it, but Rebecca had never viewed it as much of an accomplishment. It wasn’t as if she had grown rich. Her father, Sir Edmund, was the one who’d accumulated a fortune.
Mr. Carew asked, “What assets would have convinced Lord Swindon to pick you for his son?”
“I have some money in a trust fund, but mostly, I own half of Parkhurst. With my sister, Hannah? It will pass to my husband—if I ever have a husband.”
“You have money and an estate? My goodness.”
“I have half an estate, and since I don’t plan to ever wed, it’s a huge cross to bear.”
An avaricious gleam flashed in his eye. “It will be a constant problem for you, I’m afraid. Men can be unscrupulous when there’s so much wealth in the balance. You’ll be deluged with proposals from scoundrels like Hunter.” He paused and appeared to contemplate the situation. Then he leaned in, as if commiserating. “It’s too bad there’s no gentleman in your circle who could deflect all that attention.”
“Someone like you for instance?” She sounded very snide.
“Yes, someone just like me.”
“Is your father an earl or a duke, Mr. Carew? If not, my mother would never let you court me.”
He smirked. “Your mother doesn’t have to know everything, does she? We could become cordial without apprising her. There are ways around a parent who’s stubborn. You don’t have to sit like a bump on a log and allow her to choose a dreadful spouse who will ruin your life.”
She could practically see his thoughts racing as he calculated how rich she might turn out to be. It was unusual for a poor man to stumble on an heiress, so he’d be ecstatic over the possibilities. He’d work to woo her, and his goal would be to persuade her to elope.
Amelia had never offered much advice that Rebecca deemed valuable, but over the years, she’d delivered frequent tirades about corrupt roués taking advantage of her. Rebecca had barely listened to those lectures because she couldn’t have imagined when she’d ever meet one.
Now, there was one seated next to her. How bizarre!
She was humored by his attempt to ingratiate himself. Did he think, because she was young and foolish, she wouldn’t recognize what was transpiring?
Well, yes, he would think exactly that.
She wanted to jump up and run out, but she hated to be rude. She simply smiled and nodded, and when he clasped hold of her hand and linked their fingers, she let him do it. She should have scolded him and pulled away, but instead, she studied him as if she were a scientist engaged in an odd experiment.
He mentioned that he would like to visit her in the future, but she shouldn’t tell her mother. She had no idea how to discourage him, so she agreed it would be fine if he called on her again.
****
Jackson stood outside the solarium, spying on Mr. Carew as he flirted with Rebecca. He’d only spent a few minutes with Carew, but he was a great judge of character. Hunter Stone was a cad who didn’t hide who he really was, but Nate Carew was a lower type of vermin, was seedier and more deceitful.
He was the sort of fellow who might steal the silver when he was off by himself, so when he’d gotten bored in the front parlor and had wandered away, Jackson had trailed after him.
Jackson watched everyone. He couldn’t help it. It was a habit he’d developed as a boy with a very debauched mother. When she’d been Sir Edmund’s favorite mistress, she’d lived a grand life, but Jackson didn’t remember those days. They’d occurred before he was born.
Once Sir Edmund had planted Jackson in her belly,
he’d lost interest and had tossed her away. Her fortunes had plummeted after that. She’d moved from paramour to paramour, and by the end, she’d been contracted at a posh brothel. It was a humiliating fact he’d never revealed. Particularly to Hannah.
The terrible portions of his mother’s story were his own private business, and he didn’t condemn her for what she’d done to survive. No, he blamed his famous father who’d abandoned her to such a difficult downfall. Other people celebrated Sir Edmund’s exploits, but Jackson never would.
His mother hadn’t been much of a parent. She’d enjoyed her vices too much and had liked reveling with her top-lofty friends. As a result, he’d been vigilant and wary, worried over whether there would be food to eat, whether he’d be able to have a new pair of trousers after the old ones ripped at the seams, whether the rent would be paid so they wouldn’t be kicked out on the street.
For most of his childhood, he’d been on his own, with no supervision and no adult to keep track of him. It meant he was shrewd, conniving, and very independent. Early on, he’d learned to fight for the necessities. He’d had to toughen up or he’d have been a victim, bullied and beaten by other boys who wallowed in his same wretched circumstances.
He’d always been concerned about the libertines his mother had fancied, and after she’d been out all night with them, he’d anxiously wait for her to return to their small apartment. He’d feared that, some morning, she simply wouldn’t return, and what would have become of him then?
Well, the answer to that question hadn’t been nearly as frightening as he’d suspected. Upon her death—a grueling slog of months that had seemed to last to infinity—a neighbor had delivered him to a church orphanage. The vicar had been a stern, righteous fellow, and he’d taken Jackson to Hannah.
Things were much better now. Hannah was funny, naïve, and scatterbrained, but she was kind too, and she worked hard. He was grateful to her, and he thought he trusted her, but he hadn’t decided for sure.
For the moment, he was safe. There were clothes to wear, and there was food to eat. There were chores to do when he felt like pitching in, and she even talked about sending him to university or maybe having him enlist in the navy.
It was humorous to have her planning his future, but it was nice too. It was comforting to have her fret over him, and in exchange for her generosity, he would be her fiercest champion, which was why he was following Mr. Carew.
Who could guess what mischief Carew might foment?
Inside the solarium, Carew clasped hold of Rebecca’s hand, so it was time to interrupt them. It was time to meet Rebecca too. From the tales Hannah had told him about Rebecca, he figured she’d be just as flighty and naïve as Hannah, so Jackson would have to help her maneuver through her privileged life.
He’d always fended for himself, so it was marvelous to suddenly have two sisters who needed a strong brother.
He opened the door and said, “Mr. Carew? Viscount Marston is searching for you. He’s ready to leave.”
Jackson had no idea if that was true or not, but it was a good excuse to get rid of the wastrel. At Jackson blustering in, Carew dropped her hand and leaned away from her, providing a clear indication that he was being too fresh with the much younger girl.
Rebecca was very calm, observing Carew as if he were a curious bug that had crept in by accident. Did she realize she shouldn’t encourage him?
According to Hannah, she was sheltered and immature, browbeaten by her mother and tormented by her stepfather, but from how coolly she was staring at Carew, Jackson couldn’t imagine what sort of person she’d turn out to be.
Carew glanced over at Jackson and said, “Hunter is ready to go?”
“Yes. The horses are being saddled. He sent me to tell you to meet him out in the driveway.”
“How was his discussion with Miss Graves? Any explosions there?”
“None that I heard.”
Jackson had loafed outside Hannah’s bedroom, listening to be certain. In the beginning, they’d shouted and argued, then they’d retreated farther into the suite. There had been sufficient silence for him to suspect what was happening—and she hadn’t been in any danger. He’d tiptoed away and had spied on Carew instead.
Carew hadn’t moved, and Jackson said, “You should hurry. The Viscount can be impatient, and he’ll be wondering why you’ve delayed him.”
“I suppose I should depart.” Carew smiled a wily smile at Jackson, then he spun to Rebecca. “It was lovely chatting, Miss Rebecca. I’ll see you again soon.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” she claimed, but she didn’t sound sincere.
Jackson was braced like a sentinel, glaring at the older man until he started to fidget. Finally, Jackson won their paltry battle of wills. Carew sighed, stood, and marched out.
Once he vanished around the corner, Rebecca blew out a heavy breath and appeared to deflate.
“Am I glad he left!” she said quite severely.
“I was thinking you might have had enough of his company. He’s a scoundrel, and you shouldn’t be alone with him.”
“He seemed harmless.”
“Trust me. He’s not harmless.”
She frowned. “Who are you?”
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
Hannah had informed the family about him. He was living with her over her shop, so it would have been hard to keep him a secret. Amelia Webster was incensed by his existence, but he wasn’t concerned about her. She was awful to Hannah, so he loathed her, but what would Rebecca’s opinion be?
If Mrs. Webster had clouded Rebecca’s judgment, if she was snooty or rude, he’d be so disappointed.
“I’m your half-brother, Jackson,” he said.
Her jaw dropped in surprise. “You’re my bastard brother? Really?”
“Ah…yes?”
“And you dared to show your face at Parkhurst?”
“Ah…yes?” he repeated, feeling a tad low and praying he could slither out before she grew truly offensive.
But suddenly, she grinned and mischief gleamed in her eyes.
“I can’t believe you’re here!” she said. “Is my mother out of her mind with rage over your arrival?”
“She hasn’t deigned to notice me yet.”
“It means she’s furious, so obviously, you’ve discovered how to antagonize her.” She patted the chair Carew had vacated. “I predict we’ll be great friends. Sit yourself down and tell me everything about your life up to this very minute. Don’t omit a single detail.”
****
“Must you go?”
“Yes, I must.”
Hunter stomped by Amelia Webster, and the butler yanked the door open so he could escape.
If he’d had any patience remaining, he’d have requested his horse be saddled, then he’d have dawdled in the foyer while the task was completed. He’d have chatted with Mrs. Webster until the animal was delivered, but he detested the entire bloody family, and he intended to never see any of them again. Most especially Hannah Graves.
A peculiar event had occurred in her bedchamber. He didn’t like it and couldn’t explain it. He’d kissed her senseless, a mad act he couldn’t fathom, and it seemed as if it had bonded them. The whole episode had been bizarre, and his anatomy was screaming at him to dash back to her side.
Which was insanity.
As luck would have it, Nate was waiting for him in the driveway, and he said, “There you are. That little fiend, Jackson, told me to meet you out here, but when I couldn’t find you, I figured he’d been pulling my leg.”
“Have you asked to have the horses brought ‘round?”
“No. I assumed you had handled it.”
Hunter decided to head to the stables and prepare their mounts himself. He didn’t need servants to babysit them, but he was delayed by Amelia Webster hustling up and grabbing his arm.
“It’s so late in the afternoon,” she said. “You’ll wind up spending the night on the road.”
&n
bsp; “It won’t kill me,” he replied, although the prospect was aggravating.
“We were planning on you staying with us for a few days. Our chef has been busy all week, whipping up a delicious supper to celebrate your visit. There’s no reason to flit off, is there?”
“There’s every reason,” Hunter said. “If I tarry, you’ll throw your insipid daughter at me every second. If I’m not being bombarded by you reciting lists of her attributes, you’ll be boasting about the size of her dowry. I won’t fan the flames of this fantasy you’ve concocted with my father where you imagine she would be a viable bride for me.”
“I won’t fan any flames,” Mrs. Webster insisted. “I promise. I was just excited for us to have some company. I’d still like that very much. We don’t have many guests, and the servants have been in a cleaning frenzy to get the manor ready for you. They’ll be so disappointed if you leave immediately.”
“Yes, that’s my biggest worry: whether I disappoint the servants or not.”
She ignored the taunt. “What can it hurt to oblige me for one evening? We rise early in the country. You can be up with the sun and riding down the road before it crests the horizon.”
Nate jumped into the conversation. “I wouldn’t mind staying. I’m not keen to be traveling after it’s dark.”
“Butt out, Nate,” Hunter muttered.
Nate was undeterred. “Seriously, Hunter. Mrs. Webster is right. Why not oblige her? Her servants can pamper us, then we’ll go in the morning.” Nate smiled at Mrs. Webster and said, “May I hope you have a bedroom for me too? May I impose on your hospitality?”
Mrs. Webster beamed, clearly viewing Nate as an ally. “It’s not an imposition at all. This is a large house, and we have plenty of space.”
She and Nate spun to Hunter, their gazes beseeching him to agree.
A muscle ticked in his cheek as he debated his response, but Nate deftly thwarted him.
“We’d love to spend the night,” he told Mrs. Webster. “Could you have our satchels unpacked?”
“I will,” she hurried to say, before Hunter could counter the request.
“I presume you dress for supper?” Nate asked her.