by Cheryl Holt
“Would you please calm down and let me explain?” he said.
“You assume I should suffer through an explanation?”
“You owe me that.”
“No, I don’t.”
He pushed on, even though he was certain it wouldn’t help. “I’ve always had a mistress. You’re aware of that fact.”
“Yes, and apparently, you’re getting rid of poor Miss Darling, and you’re picking someone else.” She batted her lashes. “Isn’t that special.”
His cheeks heated with chagrin. “I’m not picking anyone else.”
“You’re not?” She whacked her ear with her palm. “There must be something wrong with my hearing then, for I could swear that’s what you and Mr. Carew were discussing.”
“I wasn’t going forward with the interviews. I was canceling them. For you!”
“Well, here’s the problem I’m having with that statement, Lord Marston: I don’t believe you. Not for a single second.”
“Why would I lie?”
She laughed derisively. “Why would you lie? Shall I list some of the reasons? Were we really even heading to Scotland? Were we eloping? Or was this entire sojourn simply a ruse to seduce me?”
“Don’t you dare accuse me of bad behavior.”
“I think bad behavior is the only kind in which you ever engage.”
It seemed as if they were speaking in different languages, circling around each other and never meeting in the middle. “Isabella and I are separating,” he repeated, “and I won’t replace her.”
“You are laboring under the deluded impression that I care what happens between you and Miss Darling.”
Footsteps sounded behind him, and Jackson entered the room. He was glaring at Hunter, and it was obvious the esteem he’d harbored had been destroyed. He was carrying a portmanteau, and he gestured to her with it.
“I found this for you,” he said, “and I’ve packed one for me. The carriage is in the driveway. Are you ready?”
“I had some clothes I was bringing,” she informed him, “but Lord Marston threw them on the floor in the dressing room. Would you grab them for me? You don’t need to fold them. Just stuff them in.”
Hunter said to Jackson, “Don’t pay any attention to her. The only trip she’s taking is to Scotland in the morning.”
“I’m sorry, Lord Marston,” the little cretin said, “but you can’t boss me in this.”
He marched to the dressing room, and he was back in a minute with the portmanteau looking quite a bit heavier.
“Why won’t you listen to me?” Hunter said to her.
“I listened,” she replied, “when you were bragging to Mr. Carew about the interviews you’re conducting, and evidently, you’re not aware that Miss Darling visited me in my shop a few weeks ago.”
His ire spiked to an even higher level. “She what?”
“She stopped by to bully me into staying away from you.”
“You should have told me. I would have reined in her nonsense.”
“Why would I have mentioned her to you? She’s nothing to me, and I’m not afraid of her.”
“She’s crossed so many lines that I have no idea what to tell you.”
“You know what, Lord Marston? I refuse to debate that hussy with you, except to say this: She apprised me that you were holding interviews for…a…” She halted and peeked at Jackson, then didn’t finish her sentence. “Later on, I asked you if her story was true, and you lied right to my face.”
His cheeks heated an even deeper shade of red. He was such a debauched wretch! “You’re not being fair. How could I have explained it to you? I lied for your own good. I was pursuing a shameful scheme, and I couldn’t bear to admit it.”
“Precisely, Lord Marston,” she said with an incredible amount of venom. “It’s clear you’re not the man I assumed you were.”
“Yes, I am,” he insisted, even though she’d discovered he wasn’t.
She clucked her tongue with offense. “I’ve been grateful to you for your assistance after the fire, so I convinced myself you were decent and honorable, but I’m sure it was a façade you used to trick me.”
“How have I tricked you? I’m dying to hear.”
She snorted with aggravation and nodded at Jackson. “My brother seems very mature, but he’s still a boy, and I would never clarify in his presence what recently occurred.”
At the comment, Jackson bristled. “What did he do to you?”
He dropped the portmanteau, appearing as if he’d attack Hunter. Hunter was taller and larger, so Jackson wouldn’t be able to inflict much damage, but Hunter wasn’t about to brawl with him. The whole episode was too pathetic to be believed.
“It doesn’t matter now,” she said to her brother, and her tone was very calm. “We just need to depart.”
She stomped out, but Jackson hesitated. He glowered at Hunter as if he’d like to throw a hard punch, but he thought better of it and traipsed after her.
Hunter felt as if he’d been turned to stone, but he shook himself out of his stupor and went after them. He’d never been treated so shabbily! Not by any female. They all loved him. They were all anxious to be his favorite. What was wrong with her?
He followed them out to the hall and called, “What if you’re with child? What then?”
It was a horrid question to voice aloud, and Jackson inhaled a sharp breath and said to Hannah, “He seduced you?”
Hannah didn’t respond to Jackson, but glared at Hunter over her shoulder. “If I wound up with child, you’d never have to fuss over it. I’d jump off a cliff before I’d beg you for help.”
Then they continued on, and Hunter hovered behind them, his head spinning, his temper hotter than it had ever been. He yearned to run after her, to fall to his knees and plead for her forgiveness. That had been his original plan, but she was so angry he hadn’t had the chance to apologize.
Would he chase after her? Would he beseech her?
No. He never chased after women, and he wouldn’t act like an even bigger fool. She didn’t want to marry him? Well, to hell with her!
She was the one and only female to whom he’d ever offered the opportunity to be his bride, but she wasn’t interested. He’d been candid about his vices and flaws, so why be enraged when she learned they were genuine? He’d been betrothed for a single day. How was he to have rearranged his affairs in that short period? Why would she have expected him to?
She’d accused him of deceit and harm, but she was deranged, and once he calmed down, he’d realize he’d dodged a bullet.
She could totter off—and good riddance! He hadn’t wanted to marry or have a wife. Not really. He had an enjoyable life in town, and it was time he got back to it.
He trudged to his suite and locked himself in. As her vehicle rolled away, the wheels crunched on gravel, but he didn’t peek out to watch her go.
****
The carriage rattled to a stop, and Hannah pulled on the curtain and glanced at the front doors of Parkhurst. To her great dismay, she’d ended up where she’d started. It was the very last place she should have come, but Parkhurst was home. It meant they had to welcome her when she staggered in.
No servant emerged to greet them or tend the horses, and it was a sign of the deteriorating conditions. The competent workers had fled years earlier, so Winston was surrounded by sluggards, idiots, and thieves.
She waited a minute, then a minute more, and one of Lord Marston’s outriders helped them climb out. She thanked him and the other men who’d conveyed them to Parkhurst, suggesting they tarry for the night, but they were eager to travel on to Marston, even if it was in the dark.
She wished she could slip them a few coins as payment for their trouble, but her purse was empty. In fact, she didn’t even have a purse.
She apologized profusely for her poverty-stricken state, but they were kind about it, insisting Lord Marston wouldn’t like them to be compensated merely for aiding her. They retrieved Hannah and Jackson’s bags,
and one fellow offered to carry them in, but Hannah waved him away.
The men had a long journey ahead of them, and she wouldn’t delay them further.
She and Jackson dawdled until they vanished in the trees, then they spun toward the manor. When she’d informed Jackson that their destination would be Parkhurst, he’d asked only once if she was sure. She’d said she was, so he hadn’t argued or tried to dissuade her. He’d simply supported her in her decision.
She constantly thought she had no allies, but she had some, and they were in London. She would write to her mentor, Sybil Jones, who managed the Ralston’s gambling club. She would seek her advice. She would also write to her lawyer, Mr. Thumberton, and apprise him about the shop burning. She had to consult with him about her finances too.
There had to be a method to borrow from her dowry so she could rebuild. Why couldn’t that be allowed? After her atrocious experience with Lord Marston, she had again embraced her resolve to never wed, so the money would sit there unused. Why couldn’t it be spent in a productive way?
“Are you ready to go in?” Jackson said.
“I guess I am.”
“They’ll faint to have you arrive.”
“Parkhurst is mine. No permission is required for me to return to it.”
“If you need me to handle Winston for you, just tell me. I’ll be happy to keep him in line.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Jackson didn’t believe her for a second, but then, in her dealings with Winston, she’d repeatedly acted like a blithering fool. But no more. Despite how she nagged at Mr. Thumberton about moving back to the city, she was likely stuck at Parkhurst, and she had to cease being such a ninny about it.
Winston couldn’t continue wrecking it.
In the past, she’d been young and naïve and unable to stand up to him. He’d chased her away, but she’d changed—or maybe she’d finally grown up. When she’d stood outside Lord Marston’s library, when he’d boasted to Mr. Carew that he would conclude his mistress interviews after his wedding, well…!
That was the absolute limit of enough.
She was fighting mad, and Hunter Stone was the last man who would ever trick or coerce her. Winston Webster had better watch out!
“Let’s get this over with,” she said to her brother.
They went to the stairs, and as they reached them, a window slammed open overhead. They peered up to find Rebecca leaning out.
“Hannah! Jackson!” she called down to them. “Am I glad to see you! Why are you here? Are you home for good?”
“I had some difficulties in town,” Hannah said, “so yes, I’m home for good.”
“Winston told us about your shop burning down.”
Hannah vaguely wondered how he’d have heard about it. Was he keeping track of her? Why would he?
“It’s a long story,” she said. “I’ll tell you about it at supper. Or have I missed supper?”
“I don’t know if it’s been served of not. Mother will have a tray brought up to my room.”
“Well, come down when you can. We’ll chat.”
“Could you do me a favor?” Rebecca asked. “I’ve been locked in since you left previously. Could you let me out?”
“You…what?”
“Mother is furious with me, so I’m being punished.”
Hannah had only imagined she was incensed, and her rage bubbled up like soup in a pot. It overflowed the rim and oozed out to scald the entire world.
“Someone will release you,” she said. “Just hold on. It will take me a moment to have it squared away.”
Hannah marched inside, Jackson hot on her heels, and there were two footmen loafing in the foyer. She wasn’t acquainted with either of them, so it meant they weren’t acquainted with her.
They were huddled together and perusing a small book. From how they were snickering, it probably contained risqué pictures. They were completely enthralled and hadn’t noticed that she’d entered.
“Excuse me.” She had to stamp her foot to get their attention.
They glanced over, clearly irritated at being interrupted, and one of them said, “May I help you?”
“You didn’t meet my carriage.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
The lazy cur smirked, and Jackson snapped, “Mind your manners!”
He stormed over and shoved the dolt so hard that he tripped and collapsed to the floor with a thud. He lurched up, feet braced, as if they’d engage in fisticuffs.
Hannah didn’t wait for any mischief to commence. “Both of you are fired.”
“What?” they protested in unison, then the one who’d fallen said, “Now just a damned minute. Who the hell do you think you are?”
Jackson punched the idiot for cursing at her. The other one appeared as if he’d intervene, but Jackson warned, “I’d love to hit you too. Shall I?”
The butler rushed down the hall, and luckily, it was the same oaf who’d worked for them during her prior visit.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded as he skidded to a stop. “Miss Graves! Welcome back!”
“I’ve fired this pair of cretins,” Hannah told him. “I expect them to pack their belongings and vacate the premises immediately. Don’t let them tarry, and check their bags as they depart, so they don’t sneak out with any of the silver.”
She skirted by him and hurried up the stairs to Amelia’s boudoir, Jackson still dogging her. She burst into the room without knocking. Amelia was sprawled on the fainting couch, and Winston was pacing in front of her. They’d been arguing, which was their usual condition.
On observing her, they blanched with surprise. Winston flashed a smarmy smile, and Amelia pushed herself up to a sitting position.
“Hannah!” she said. “Why are you here? Did something bad happen in town?”
She and Winston exchanged a snide look, as if they shared a secret, but Hannah would have to decipher it later on. Her reply was, “Rebecca is locked in her bedchamber. Why?”
Amelia frowned in her vapid way. “I’m sure you’re mistaken.”
“Where is the key?”
Winston scoffed with disdain. “You have no right to barge in and spew orders about how Amelia is parenting Rebecca.”
Hannah kept her livid glower focused on Amelia, and, without peering over at Jackson, she said to him, “Find a burly footman, then go to Rebecca’s room and kick in the door. Bring her down to my suite, and I’ll meet you there. We’ll have supper with her, and she can fill us in on all the nonsense that’s recently been perpetrated.”
Jackson raced out as the butler raced in. Apparently, her dour mood had indicated she might stir more chaos.
“I have an announcement,” she said. Winston was about to chime in with a stupid and insulting remark, but she didn’t give him a chance. “I’ve come home to stay, and I shall reside in the manor. It means, Winston and Amelia, that you will not be residing in it with me. You will be moving to the Dower House.”
Her proclamation landed like a heavy anvil. There was a shocked silence, then Winston and Amelia howled with offense. They called her cruel and horrid, they called her vicious and terrible, and they insisted they wouldn’t obey.
She ignored them and said to the butler, “I want them out of the manor in three days, so have some servants pack their things. Also, get some housemaids over to the Dower House.” The old place had been shuttered for over two decades. “They’ll have to scrub and clean so it’s habitable. If you can’t accomplish all of it in three days, I’ll fire the entire staff and hire people who understand who’s in charge.”
She swept out and went to her bedchamber to wait for Jackson and Rebecca.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“I have to tell you something important. Actually, it’s two things.”
“After the horrors you’ve already imparted, I’m not certain I can bear it.”
Rebecca stared at Hannah, and she was crestfallen. She mumbled, “Perhaps we can discuss it later?”
“I was
being facetious, Rebecca. Of course you should tell me.”
Hannah patted Rebecca’s hand, and Rebecca sighed with relief. She was positive Hannah would believe her and take her side. Jackson too. He would protect her—both from her mother and from Mr. Carew. Jackson was only fourteen, but he had a tough attitude, so she felt safe in his presence.
They were in Hannah’s bedroom suite, in the sitting room and seated at a table by the window. Jackson was standing in the corner like a vigilant sentinel. He’d freed her from her bedchamber by having a footman kick in her door, and ever since, she’d been huddled with her half-siblings.
Hannah had decided Winston and Amelia should retire to the old Dower House. The residence had been boarded up for decades. It was small and not fancy, so Winston was pitching a fit.
He kept knocking, demanding to be admitted, but the door was locked. Jackson had even pulled a dresser over to add weight in case Winston tried to force his way in. He was that angry, which scared Rebecca, but Hannah and Jackson weren’t scared, so she was struggling to exhibit the same brave façade.
“What is the first thing?” Hannah asked.
“Do you remember Mr. Carew? He is Viscount Marston’s friend.”
“Yes, I definitely remember him.”
“I don’t like him, and he wants me to elope with him.” It was such a blessing to speak the words aloud. She’d been holding them in for an eternity. “He’s been pressuring me, but it’s not right, is it? I’m frightened, and I can’t make him stop.”
At being informed about Mr. Carew, Hannah was furious. “How has this been happening?”
“He visited after you left, and he’s been secretly writing to me. A housemaid brings me his letters.”
“He would have bribed her to be his accomplice,” Jackson said. “He’s the foul type who would.”
Rebecca nodded. “He claims Mother is awful to me, and he can rescue me, but I think he’d just like to get his hands on my fortune. Don’t you think that’s it?”
“I’m sure it is,” Hannah said. “When is he expecting this elopement to occur?”
“It was supposed to be last week. I had lied and pretended Mother would be away from Parkhurst and I could sneak away—merely so he’d quit bothering me. Now, he’s coming on Saturday. I’m to join him out on the lane at midnight.”