CAD'S WISH

by Cheryl Holt

  “I won’t leave you alone in the future,” he said.

  “I wasn’t in any danger from her. I’m merely flabbergasted that she was brazen enough to harass me.”

  “You shouldn’t have had to talk to her, and I could ensure she doesn’t visit you again. Shall I?”

  There was a steely tone in his voice that was alarming. Usually, he seemed like a pleasant, normal boy, but he’d had an upbringing she couldn’t imagine and that he refused to describe.

  What sort of retaliation was he envisioning? She was too terrified to find out.

  “I don’t need you to scare her off,” she said. “Though it sounds bizarre, she’s convinced Viscount Marston is sweet on me.”

  “He is.” Jackson nodded as if it was a universal truth.

  “He’s not sweet on me, but she presumes he is. She’s jealous about it, which is ridiculous. As if I could steal him away from a flamboyant trollop like her!”

  “I’ve been surrounded by women like her all my life. My mother was a lot like her.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it.”

  “They’re used to fighting for scraps, so they often carry on like rabid dogs. They have to be dealt with appropriately, so they don’t feel free to bite.”

  “I’m not worried about Miss Darling, and I’m definitely not afraid of her, but she rattled me. It’s what she was hoping to accomplish, so she won’t bother us again.”

  “You’re the adult, so I’ll have to assume you’re correct. But in case you’re wrong, I’ll keep a better eye on you. I promised Viscount Marston I would, and I’d hate to have him think I was slacking in my duty.”

  ****

  “What now?”

  “How should I know? You’re much smarter than me, and you’ll devise a suitable plan.”

  Winston glared at Amelia, and he’d like to stomp over and shake her. The money he’d borrowed was coming due, the interest escalating at a frightening rate, pushing the amount higher by the day.

  One of the ruffians who’d offered the loans had stopped by the prior afternoon, and he’d threatened to break Winston’s legs if he was late. Every minute that ticked by, Winston quailed and peeked over his shoulder, certain he was being watched, that his tormenters had spies behind every bush.

  “You are no help to me at all,” he told Amelia. “I am wading through my darkest hour, and you’re completely unconcerned.”

  “I fear for you, but what can I do? You spent my inheritance, so I don’t believe any of this is my fault, and I have no advice as to how you can fix the problem.”

  “Don’t blame me for our bank account being empty.”

  They were in her boudoir, and she was seated on a chair, while he paced in front of her. He might have been a headmaster chastising a student. She was dreadfully slow in her mental abilities, and ludicrously devoted to him, so it was simple to coerce her.

  “I’ve tried to be a good wife,” she said.

  “Have you? If you’d been a good wife, Parkhurst would be mine. I wouldn’t have to be scrounging for pennies and praying for a miracle.”

  A housemaid knocked and poked her nose in to announce, “Mr. Nate Carew has arrived. He visited recently, with Viscount Marston?”

  “Dammit,” Winston muttered. “We can’t fuss with him.”

  The housemaid stiffened, and Amelia hastily smoothed over his crude remark. “Please tell Mr. Carew it’s lovely he’s called on us, and I’ll be down shortly.”

  “He brought luggage,” the girl said, “so he must be expecting to stay. I thought I should warn you.”

  Amelia forced a smile. “It’s nice to have company.”

  The girl slunk off, and they froze, waiting until her footsteps had faded down the hall.

  “The irksome dolt is snuffling around Rebecca,” Winston said. “He learned about her dowry, and he’s hoping to ingratiate himself. If you’re not careful, you’ll end up with that cretin as your son-in-law.”

  “He’s Viscount Marston’s best friend, so he’s a gentleman. He wouldn’t behave badly.”

  “I gravely despair when you babble comments like that. You must talk with Rebecca and explain his purpose. She can’t let him drag her off into any secluded parlors.”

  “You’re being silly,” Amelia said. “He’s returned because I’m a delightful hostess, and he enjoyed Parkhurst. He told me so. He grew up in London, and he likes to tarry in the country. When he was here previously, he hardly spoke to Rebecca. She wouldn’t have had the opportunity to entice him.”

  “You are so gullible.”

  His temper flared, and he began pacing again.

  He had several irons in the fire that could deliver quick funds. The first infusion would be provided by Hannah, and she would suffer the consequences very soon. He hadn’t been eager to implement his scheme, but after Viscount Marston had attacked him—and Hannah had laughed and egged him on—the gloves were off.

  He would deal with her, then he needed to get Rebecca’s signature on a transfer of deed for Parkhurst. Once he owned it, he could sell his share. Hannah had insisted the old prick, Attorney Thumberton, would have to authorize any changes, but that was because Thumberton was trustee of Sir Edmund’s estate.

  With Rebecca being viewed as Sir Edmund’s daughter, Winston had no legal claim to serve as her guardian or to take over her dowry. But if he was her father, if Sir Edmund wasn’t…

  Well, that created a whole new scenario he could manipulate to his advantage.

  “I’ve made a decision,” he said.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s time to mend the situation regarding Rebecca’s parentage.”

  Amelia frowned. “Meaning what?”

  “We’ve allowed the lie to fester for too long. The world assumes Sir Edmund is her father. It’s left me in the hideous position of not being able to manage my own child’s life.”

  “I don’t see why we should reveal it. Isn’t it much too late?”

  “We’ve debated this repeatedly. I should be in charge of her, so we must declare that she’s mine—rather than Sir Edmund’s.”

  “Then I would have to admit I had committed adultery. And the end result would be that Rebecca wasn’t recognized as Sir Edmund’s daughter. Wouldn’t she be a bastard then? How is that a benefit to her—or to me?”

  “The only other option is that I fail to pay my debt, and I’m killed by my creditors. Is that what you want?”

  “No!”

  “It sounds as if you’ve put Rebecca ahead of me in your affections. How am I to assess such blatant disrespect?”

  Her cheeks heated, and she glanced down at her hands. She was thoroughly cowed, which he liked to observe.

  He should probably evaluate the circumstances a little more closely, but he couldn’t move beyond the fact that—if he was officially named as Rebecca’s father—he could wrestle her assets away from Thumberton. There was no court in the land that would deny a father the right to supervise his daughter.

  Winston constantly envisioned all the idle money sitting in Rebecca’s trust fund. It was like a lump of clay that, currently, was useless and unexploited. If he could glom onto it, he could mold it so it became valuable.

  “We’re finished discussing this. For now,” he told her. “Go down and greet your guest.”

  She pushed herself to her feet. “I’m sorry I upset you.”

  “I no longer believe that to be true. You upset me so frequently that I’ve started to think you enjoy it.” She reached for him, as if she’d hug him in apology, and he stepped away and glowered at her. “Leave me be.”

  He whirled away, showing her his back. He could see her reflection in the mirror over her dressing table. She dawdled anxiously, knowing he’d be angry for hours, for days, so she’d ponder and stew, and ultimately—in order to get him to forgive her—she’d behave precisely as he was demanding.

  She sighed and walked out, and he grinned from ear to ear.

  ****

  Rebecca hurried toward
her mother’s boudoir. Mr. Carew had arrived, and she was unnerved by the news. He supposed he could flirt with her, but secretly. Her mother wouldn’t like it, and Rebecca didn’t like him flirting.

  Her mother could be very naïve too. What if she gave Rebecca to Mr. Carew?

  She had to talk to her mother about her reservations, and she hoped her mother would actually listen for once.

  As she tiptoed down the hall, a maid exited the room, and the door was ajar. Rebecca could hear her mother and Winston arguing. Suddenly, she was the topic of their conversation. In light of how near she was, she couldn’t help but eavesdrop.

  I should be in charge of her, so we must declare that she’s mine—rather than Sir Edmund’s.

  At Winston’s remark, Rebecca was so astonished that she clapped a palm over her mouth, so she wouldn’t gasp aloud. The rumor circulated in the neighborhood, but Rebecca ignored it. Was Winston serious? Could it be?

  She was certain her mother would vehemently refute Winston’s assertion, but to Rebecca’s horror, she confirmed it.

  Then I would have to admit I had committed adultery. And the end result would be that Rebecca wasn’t recognized as Sir Edmund’s daughter. Wouldn’t she be a bastard then?

  Alarmed by the discovery, she staggered away, her mind racing.

  She wasn’t Rebecca Graves? She was Winston’s daughter? She was Rebecca Webster? She felt as if she’d been standing on a cliff, and it had given way beneath her. She was falling and falling. Where would she be when she landed at the bottom?

  She wasn’t sure where she was going. She rushed blindly down the stairs, and when she rounded a corner, she physically bumped into Mr. Carew. They collided so forcefully that she bounced off him and almost collapsed onto the rug.

  “Miss Rebecca!” he said, as he leapt to steady her. “My goodness! What’s wrong? You’re running as if the house is on fire.”

  “Oh, oh, hello, Mr. Carew. I’ve had a bit of a shock. I just need to sit down for a moment, then I’ll be fine.”

  They were next to an empty parlor, and he urged her in and guided her to the sofa. There was a liquor tray on a table, and he poured a glass and brought it over to her.

  “Have a sip,” he said.

  She sniffed it and wrinkled her nose. “My mother doesn’t allow me to imbibe of hard spirits.”

  “Well, dear, your mother isn’t here, and you look so distressed that I’m afraid you might faint on me. Drink up. It will calm you very fast.”

  She took the glass from him and tried a small taste. It was very strong, and it stung in her nostrils.

  “Have some more,” he said. “Swallow down as much as you can.”

  She obeyed him until she’d finished it, and he’d been correct that it would have a swift effect. Her pounding pulse immediately slowed to a more normal rhythm.

  He nestled down beside her, and he was very close, their arms and thighs pressed together in a manner she didn’t like. Ordinarily, she would have shifted to put some space between them, but just then, he seemed very grown up, very responsible and kind. He clasped her hand, and they tarried in the silence.

  “What happened?” he asked after awhile. “Can you tell me?”

  She would never tell anyone what Winston had said, but she liked that Mr. Carew was so concerned. “My mother and Winston were quarreling over me.”

  “Of course they were. When I last visited, they denigrated you constantly. It was awful conduct on their part.” He clucked his tongue with offense and pity. “They don’t care about you, Rebecca.”

  “I’ve always been a great trial, especially to Winston.”

  “I realize your mother claims she’d like to wed you to an aristocrat, but she and Winston are simply eager to be shed of you as quickly as they can. They insist they’ve supported you long enough. They mentioned it in my presence, plain as day.”

  She must have looked particularly glum because Mr. Carew continued, apparently assuming more words would improve matters.

  “I’m worried your mother will marry you to the first wretch who agrees to have you. She might select an old man or a drunkard or a philanderer. Why, she might even offer you to a violent fiend.”

  “You mean he might beat me?”

  “Yes, there are many brutes who regularly beat their wives. Could you bear it?”

  “No, I couldn’t.”

  “And you being such a sweet gem of a girl,” he said. “You don’t deserve such an appalling fate. If only I could save you from it. I would, you know—if you’d let me.”

  He was gazing at her as if he truly liked her, as if she was very precious and unique. It softened her feelings toward him.

  Previously, she’d viewed him as a fortune-hunter, and Jackson had warned her to be cautious around him, but she couldn’t remain at Parkhurst now. She yearned to confide what she’d learned, but she was too ashamed. Her entire life, she’d believed herself to be Sir Edmund’s daughter, but that history was a lie.

  She’d been conceived in an adulterous affair. Did it make Rebecca a bastard? Was that her status? She couldn’t imagine, and there was no one she could ask. How could she ever reveal such a repugnant secret?

  She’d like to run away to London and inform Hannah of what had occurred, but she’d be too mortified to confess the facts. She’d always adored and admired Hannah, but it appeared she wasn’t Hannah’s sister. What if she admitted the dilemma, and Hannah laughed and cast her aside? Then what?

  “I could take you away from here,” Mr. Carew murmured. “I could take you away from them. I could hide you, so they could never hurt you again.”

  On hearing his wily comment, she understood how Eve must have felt in the Garden of Eden when the snake was tempting her. It sounded like a perfect idea. Winston chided her for being dimwitted, for never considering the ramifications of her actions. What if she left with Mr. Carew?

  She was too confused to answer that question.

  Footsteps echoed out in the hall, which was a huge relief. A housemaid passed by the open door, and when she saw Rebecca with Mr. Carew, she stopped and said, “Mr. Carew, there you are. Mrs. Webster is in the front parlor, and refreshments are being served. Will you come?”

  Mr. Carew was still holding Rebecca’s hand. He squeezed her fingers, then released her and rose to his feet. “I’m delighted that Mrs. Webster will receive me, and after my lengthy ride, I’m famished. A refreshment would be lovely.” He peered down at Rebecca and said, “Will you come too?”

  “I’ll join you in a bit,” she replied. “I have to fetch something from the solarium.”

  Exasperation crossed his face, but with the maid hovering, he couldn’t chastise her. He walked out, the maid following him. At the last second, she frowned at Rebecca, as if scolding her for being alone with him.

  Well, Rebecca knew she shouldn’t have been! But her whole world had been smashed to pieces. How could she be expected to think clearly about any situation?

  She waited a minute, then a minute more, to be sure he’d departed, then she dashed off in the other direction. She locked herself in her bedchamber, and when a maid knocked, she claimed she had a sick headache and wouldn’t be down to supper. She asked that a tray be sent up instead, then she closed and locked her door again.

  She wondered if Mr. Carew would spend the night at Parkhurst. She wondered what her mother’s opinion had been of her staying in her room. Had she even noticed? Wasn’t she concerned? Why hadn’t she visited to check on Rebecca’s condition?

  No one had ever cared about her, and she’d discovered why. She wasn’t Sir Edmund’s child. She wasn’t anybody really. How would she ever accept that realization?

  Late in the evening, when she was in bed and sleeping quite deeply, she thought someone turned the knob on her door and tried to enter her room, but she was certain it had been a dream.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Hannah was marching down a busy London street. She’d been running errands and was returning home. Her basket was h
eavy and rubbing a blister on her palm. Business had been especially slow, so she was feeling morose and exhausted. Her head was down, and she was lost in thought.

  Suddenly, a man’s boots were visible, and she’d been so distracted that she’d nearly crashed into him. She pulled up short and mumbled, “Pardon me.”

  “Miss Graves! We meet again.”

  She yanked her gaze up to find Hunter Stone standing in her way. She grinned with delight. He grinned too.

  “Viscount Marston!”

  “Why are you strutting around London by yourself? Don’t you have a maid to stagger after you?”

  “This will come as a shock, but I’m not a fussy debutante. I don’t need a chaperone when I’m out and about.”

  “I don’t suppose you can afford a maid either.”

  “Well…ah…no, I can’t.”

  “I’m absolutely devastated to hear it. I hate that your circumstances have been reduced to such a pitiful level.”

  She scoffed. “My circumstances are fine, and I’m proficient at taking care of myself.” It was such a huge lie that she was surprised she wasn’t struck by lightning.

  He chuckled, but with derision. “You are not proficient by any standard. In my opinion, you are a complete incompetent.”

  “Is there some reason you insult me whenever we chat?”

  “I’m not insulting you, Miss Graves. I’m furnishing you with wise advice, from an older, shrewder male. You should accept it with good grace.”

  “You are a lazy scoundrel, and it’s a mystery to me why you’d presume you have any guidance worth heeding. Why would I listen to you?”

  “You should listen because I’m a man, that’s why.”

  “You are too ridiculous for words. Are you following me?”

  “No. I was simply driving by and observed you as you were stomping along. I waved, but you didn’t see me.”

  He gestured to his carriage that was parked down the block. It was rudely obstructing the flow of traffic so other vehicles had to maneuver around it.

  “Are you headed to your shop?” he asked. “Will you allow me to give you a ride?”

  She would love to have him whisk her away. Her basket was weighty, her burdens too, and she enjoyed his company so much, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Miss Darling.