CAD'S WISH

by Cheryl Holt

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “I received a letter from Rebecca.”

  “Really? Here at Marston Manor? How did she find us?”

  “I had some London mail forwarded to me.”

  Hannah handed the letter to Jackson, watching as he read it.

  They were in the sitting room in her bedchamber at Marston. He was pacing, eager to get back outside. He’d made several friends among the stable boys, and he was engaging in antics he’d never had the chance to enjoy in the city. The other boys were in awe of him, and he’d become their leader.

  She was seated at a table by the window, sifting through the mail that had been delivered from town. On the morning Hunter had whisked her away from London, he’d informed the proprietors of the tea house that—should anyone inquire as to her whereabouts—she’d be at his estate in the country.

  Her whole street had been in such disarray that she was surprised and grateful they’d remembered.

  There were missives from acquaintances who’d learned about the fire and who were concerned over her condition. But there were numerous bills too, as well as nervous comments from suppliers and tradesmen who were wondering about goods that had been destroyed in the inferno.

  It was a humiliating reminder that she didn’t have the money to pay what she owed, and she had to write to her attorney, Mr. Thumberton, and ask his advice as to what she should do. In light of the calamity, might he be able to slip some funds out of her dowry to square her debts?

  The large sum was held in trust for the husband she was supposed to wed in the far-off future, but she needed it a little earlier than that and without the husband being attached who might fritter it away.

  The strangest message had been from the tea house proprietor who’d thought she’d like to know that an insurance agent had stopped by. He’d assessed the damage to her shop and had been overheard to say that an indemnity disbursement for the full amount of the losses would be posted shortly.

  Since she’d never purchased an insurance policy on the building or the contents—she couldn’t afford it—she had no idea who the man was or why he’d have been surveying her property. She figured the tea house owner had been mistaken, that the agent had been talking about someone else.

  “Rebecca sounds very unhappy,” Jackson said.

  “Yes, and she wants to travel to London to stay with us. I can’t bear to tell her we’re not even in town, and I have no lodging there.”

  “Maybe we could have her come here. I doubt Lord Marston would care.”

  “Her mother wouldn’t have allowed her to visit me in London, so Amelia would never agree to a visit at Marston Manor. Lord Marston declined to betroth himself to Rebecca, and Amelia will fume forever over that snub.”

  “You like Lord Marston, don’t you?”

  “Currently, he’s behaving like the most gallant of champions, so yes, I like him.”

  Jackson stared at Hannah in that intense way he had, and he said, “I was curious as to what sort of person he’d turn out to be, but I’ve decided he’s a grand fellow.”

  “He can be very grand—when he’s not being horrid.”

  It was late in the afternoon, the place quiet as the servants had tea and rested a bit before the push began to serve supper.

  Because she didn’t have any fancy attire, and because it was just the three of them—Hunter, Jackson, and herself—they didn’t dress for meals. She felt as if she should be changing her clothes though. The manor was so exquisite that the plain gowns the maids had found in the attic didn’t suit the surroundings.

  She was an honored guest, and with Hunter showering her with attention, she might have been the lady of the house. It was incredibly presumptuous to picture it like that, but she couldn’t tamp down the sense that she’d arrived precisely where she belonged.

  Never in a thousand years could she have predicted her rescue by Hunter Stone, that she’d be ensconced in a luxurious bedchamber and prancing about on his arm as if they were a devoted couple. It was almost as if they were newlyweds.

  She had to admit they were a handsome couple. When they toured the neighborhood, people smiled and nodded when they went by, as if they approved of Hunter’s choice of bride.

  It was stirring her arrogance, making her dream about what might be possible with him, but that was dangerous contemplation. They were trapped in a perfect bubble, where the outside world couldn’t intrude. While scandal typically followed him like a cloud, it had been temporarily obscured, so she kept forgetting what he was really like.

  “I have a question,” Jackson said. “It will seem odd, so please don’t think I’m mad.”

  “I hope I have an answer, and I won’t think you’re mad. I promise.”

  “If Lord Marston proposed marriage to you, would you consider accepting? I realize his father is pressuring him to wed, and he previously thought you’d been offered to him. If he asked you, how would you reply?”

  She pondered her response, worried over how candid she should be. The door was closed and they were alone, so she said, “I’ll tell you a secret about him and me, but you have to swear you won’t mention it to anyone.”

  “I won’t; I swear.”

  “He did propose to me at Parkhurst.”

  “Then why aren’t you engaged to him right about now?”

  “I refused him.”

  Jackson frowned. “Why would you have?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “I don’t see how it could be. Just imagine if you were his wife. It wouldn’t matter that your shop had burned to the ground. He’s so wealthy that all your problems would be solved.”

  “Not all of them, I don’t suppose.”

  He was gaping at her with such perplexity, and she hated to disappoint him. In the past few days, he and Hunter had bonded, and Jackson’s admiration bordered on hero-worship.

  With his being raised by a mother who’d thrived in the demimonde, he had a peculiar view of life and High Society. Many of his opinions and attitudes matched Hunter’s exactly. Neither of them disdained dubious conduct, including necessary violence, duplicitous plotting, and various forms of trickery in dicey situations.

  They knew many of the same people too, and often, when he and Hunter were chatting about London, Hannah felt completely irrelevant.

  “He’s a better man than I initially deemed him to be,” Jackson said.

  “In some ways, yes. But in other ways, he’s quite dreadful.”

  “In what ways?”

  “We probably shouldn’t discuss them. It wouldn’t be fitting.”

  “I’m not a baby, Hannah. I’m aware of his fondness for doxies.”

  She was sad that he was so young, but so jaded. “Well, then, you must comprehend why I’d be hesitant.”

  “Men look at amorous relationships differently than women.”

  “Yes, but I don’t believe they should look at them differently. I believe marriage vows are important, and adultery is very offensive. I could never wed a cad who would constantly stray. The notion is extremely distasteful to me.”

  “What if he renounced them? What would you think then?”

  “It’s a very pretty fantasy, but it would never happen. Lord Marston revels in his dissolute existence, and he enjoys the tarts who entertain him. He’s happy with how he carries on, and he has no desire to change his habits.”

  “So…if he proposed again, you’d still be opposed?”

  “He won’t propose a second time. He’s very proud and I rejected him. He would never beg a female to have him.”

  He smiled slyly, as if he had a scheme brewing, and she would have scolded him for being a pest, but a maid knocked and peeked in.

  “Miss Graves, Lord Marston would like you to join him down in the front parlor.”

  “I’ll be right there, but were you apprised if I’m going on another carriage ride? Shall I bring my shawl and bonnet?”

  “You’re not going for a ride. He has a surprise for you.”


  “Oh, dear,” Hannah murmured. “That could mean anything—for good or ill.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be delighted,” the girl said. “May I escort you down?”

  “No. I need a minute to tidy up, and I can find my own way.”

  The girl left, and once it was quiet, Hannah asked Jackson, “Do you have any idea what this is about?”

  “No, but he’s rich and generous. If he gives you an expensive gift, don’t you dare refuse it.”

  Hannah scowled. “It wouldn’t be appropriate for him to give me a gift.”

  “Who would know or care?”

  “I would know and you would know too. I don’t want to set a bad example.”

  “Trust me, Hannah, you could never dim my esteem. In any circumstance, you would never make the wrong choice. You’re entirely too moralistic.”

  “You mention my having moral tendencies as if it’s a failing.”

  “You don’t even have a dress to call your own, so you shouldn’t be so particular about what you’ll accept and what you won’t. It’s a lesson I learned from my mother. She never had two pennies to rub together, and she claimed you should let a wealthy fellow open his purse whenever he’s inclined to share.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “I may be years younger than you, but I understand a lot more than you about how the world actually works.”

  “When a man like Lord Marston tosses out pricey gifts to a female, he expects boons in return. There’s a name for women who are ensnared in that sort of lurid bargain, and I never intend to become one of them. It’s no mystery what he’s seeking from me, and I would never lower myself to supply it.”

  “We’ll see how it ends,” he said, as if he hoped she’d shuck off her ethical leanings, as if she should shuck them off.

  Before she could argue about it, he sauntered out, and she was alone.

  To her great annoyance, she hurried into the dressing room so she could study herself in the mirror. She checked her hair and clothes, anxious to look smart when she went downstairs, and she caught herself wishing she had a few gowns that were more flattering.

  She’d met Isabella Darling, so she was cognizant of the type of wardrobe that appealed to Hunter Stone. He’d previously told her she was dowdy in grey, but she was wearing another grey gown, and she couldn’t bear to have him think she was dowdy. She yearned for him to think she was elegantly garbed, and her desire to please him had blossomed to a hazardous level.

  He was a sophisticated scoundrel, and he seduced women for sport, so he could easily tempt her. Her calamitous situation was skewing her perception of how they were connected.

  She constantly imbued him with traits he didn’t possess, and if she wasn’t cautious, she’d land herself in a jam she couldn’t repair. It was horrendously shocking for her to have isolated herself with him at his rural estate. If her conduct was ever exposed, her reputation would never recover, but despite the peril, she wasn’t in any rush to depart.

  She decided her condition couldn’t be improved, and she left her suite and headed for the stairs. She strolled slowly, loving the old mansion more and more. Every time she wandered down a hall, she noticed something new that delighted her. The Stone family had been excellent caretakers, and she suffered a twinge of envy over how she’d like to be Mrs. Hunter Stone and the pretty house hers someday.

  As she reached the foyer, a crowd of servants had gathered. It was mostly the housemaids, and they were peeking into the front parlor, oohing and aahing over whatever they were observing inside the room.

  What on earth was Hunter about to show her? Apparently, it would be grand and inappropriate, and as she neared the doorway, she was almost tiptoeing with alarm.

  The housemaids stepped away to let her pass, and she walked into a collection of beautiful clothing. There was a bit of everything draped across the sofas and chairs: gowns, slippers, bonnets, fans, shawls, nightclothes, cloaks. The array of colors and fabrics was stunning, as if a purchaser had ambled through a dressmaker’s shop and picked the items that would most tantalize the senses.

  “There you are,” Hunter said. “Come in, come in.”

  He was seated in the corner, on an ornate chair, so he appeared to be a benevolent king. He waved for her to approach, the whole scenario so bizarre and exaggerated that she wondered if she should bow down.

  “What is all this?” she inquired, although she’d figured it out on her own.

  “You lost your belongings in the fire, so you’re in dire straits. As for myself, I can’t abide a drab female. I won’t have you roaming about like a grumpy governess.”

  “I distinctly remember telling you not to buy me any clothes.”

  “Yes, I remember it too, but when you’re being silly, there’s no rule that requires me to listen.”

  He motioned to the butler, and the man shooed the maids away and shut the door. There was a petite, foreign-looking woman huddled behind him, and two other women stood with her.

  “This is Madame LaFarge,” he said, “and she’s brought her most trusted assistants to help us today. She is London’s premier modiste, and I am a regular customer.”

  At hearing the woman introduced, Hannah blanched. Madame LaFarge designed for the richest, most notorious ladies in the kingdom, and her creations were the talk of the town in certain elevated circles. She was fabulously expensive, and only the most affluent patrons could afford to hire her.

  She was busy and fussy, and the fact that she’d dashed to the country, practically at the drop of a hat, was testament to how much money he likely spent on his doxies in her shop. Evidently, he included Hannah in a group with Miss Darling, and she was embarrassed to the core of her being.

  Madame LaFarge was staring with anticipation, clearly expecting her to leap into the excitement of the moment. She was eager to aid him as he selected outfits for his latest trollop, that trollop being Hannah.

  For some reason, Hannah felt as if she might burst into tears. Too much had happened recently, so her nerves were raw. She understood that he viewed this as a magnanimous gesture, that she was supposed to gush and fawn over him for being so generous, but she wasn’t a fool.

  Enormous strings were attached to this sort of gift, and she couldn’t pay the price he would ultimately extract.

  “Would you excuse me?” she said.

  “No.” He frowned. “And what’s the matter? Don’t you dare be a grouch about this. I’ll be so annoyed if you are.”

  “Sometimes, I’m convinced I know you so well, but other times—like now—I’m not sure we’re members of the same species.”

  “You’re being ridiculous, and you need to calm down. The Madame came all the way from town, and she has several garments you can have today. We can order the rest. I won’t let you decline what I’ve offered.”

  He flashed a steely glower, visually warning her to behave, but the problem for him was that she never followed commands that were stupid or wrong.

  “Much to my regret,” she said, “I just can’t participate.”

  She whipped away and stumbled out, and thankfully, the butler had chased the maids away, so the foyer was empty. She raced up to her bedchamber, and she went through the sitting room and bedroom, until she was tucked away in the dressing room.

  She plopped down on the stool at the dressing table, and she assessed her reflection in the mirror.

  She shouldn’t have traveled to Marston with him. When he’d put her in his coach and had whisked her out of the city, she’d been too distressed to argue over their destination. But she shouldn’t have tarried with him.

  She’d allowed him to bowl her over, and she didn’t possess the strength of will to fight off his determined advance. She wanted the relationship he was pursuing. She wanted the pretty clothes and the easy life he’d furnished at Marston, one where she didn’t have to fret about the slightest issue.

  She had to leave; there was no other option. And she had to return to Parkhurst. There was no
option about that either. She had to depart in the morning, but the notion of never seeing him again was too disturbing, and her level of upset only underscored how reckless she’d been.

  “What to do? What to do?” she murmured to herself.

  The answer to that question was obvious. She had to save herself by going home. The sooner the better.

  ****

  Hunter watched Hannah storm out, and he rolled his eyes with exasperation. The woman was an enigma. She didn’t think or act like any female he’d ever encountered. She didn’t have a penny or pair of shoes to her name, and she was content to gad about in hand-me-downs from the attic.

  He was used to women who greedily glommed onto him for what he could provide to them, so Hannah’s attitude left him bewildered. What type of female scoffed at a gift?

  He glanced at Madame LaFarge and said, “I’ll be right back, and she’ll be with me. She’s stubborn, but she’s in a desperate predicament. If she won’t pick what she likes, I will pick for her.”

  Most people assumed he was a lazy scapegrace, but he could accomplish amazing feats when he was motivated. Normally, he wasn’t motivated by much, so he always appeared slothful.

  He’d relished the chance to purchase some clothes for her, and he’d been smugly delighted with the treat he’d planned, but he should have realized she’d toss it in his face. She was so obstinate, and he truly couldn’t deduce why he was bothering with her.

  Yet as swiftly as the thought arose, he reminded himself of why: She’d wedged herself into his life in a manner that seemed fated to occur.

  They’d spent several days at Marston, a spot he hadn’t been particularly thrilled to inherit. When title had passed, he’d been a tad irked. He hadn’t done anything to deserve it, and ownership had merely delivered increased obligations he hadn’t been eager to assume.

  Now though, after exploring the property with her, he felt as if she was supposed to be there with him, as if they might have been newlyweds. He’d been ensnared by her, and he wasn’t in any hurry to free himself.