CAD'S WISH

by Cheryl Holt

  Hannah peered over at Jackson, and they shared a visual exchange she couldn’t decipher. Then Jackson said, “Don’t worry about Mr. Carew. I’ll talk to him for you.”

  “I’ll fire the housemaid too,” Hannah said. “She shouldn’t have helped him. Next time we’re downstairs, point her out to me.”

  “Thank you. I feel better already.”

  “You mentioned two things,” Hannah said. “What is the other one?”

  “The second one is more difficult,” Rebecca told her, “and I hope you won’t hate me for it.”

  “I could never hate you,” Hannah said. “We’re sisters. You, Jackson, and I are siblings. We haven’t bonded as we should have, but we’ll build the relationship we deserve. So what is it?”

  It was a lovely comment, and it should have calmed her, but it didn’t. Hannah was glad they were sisters, but as Rebecca had discovered, they weren’t sisters.

  “Promise you won’t blame me.”

  “I won’t; I swear.”

  “Have you ever heard any of the rumors about Winston and my mother? The biggest one is that Sir Edmund isn’t my father. That it’s Winston.”

  “Yes, Rebecca, I’ve heard it for years, but I never believed it, and you shouldn’t either.”

  “It’s true though.”

  She couldn’t hold Hannah’s gaze, and she stared down at her lap, wondering if she’d wrecked everything. Would they still like her?

  “Why are you suddenly assuming it’s true?” Hannah asked.

  “Mother was arguing with Winston, and I was out in the hall. Winston wants my share of Parkhurst, and he insists—if he announces he’s my father—he can become my guardian and seize control of my dowry.”

  “Is there a chance you might have misconstrued his remark?”

  “No, he was very clear. Later on, I nagged Mother about it, and she ordered me to never tell anyone, then she locked me in my room.”

  Hannah said, “Look at me, Rebecca.”

  Rebecca peeked up, and Hannah was smiling, which was a great relief.

  “You’re not upset with me?” Rebecca asked.

  “If I’m upset, it’s with Winston and your mother.”

  Rebecca blew out a heavy breath, figuring this would be the hard part. Once she mentioned the idea, it would float out into the world, and she wouldn’t be able to retract it. “Parkhurst shouldn’t be half mine. If Sir Edmund isn’t my father, then it should belong to you and Jackson. You’re his children. Not me.”

  “We don’t know that for sure,” Hannah said.

  “I’ve never liked owning Parkhurst. It’s seems like such a burden.” She asked Jackson, “Would you like to own it with Hannah? I think you’d be a very good owner.”

  He chuckled in a kind way, as if it was a humorous question, as if she was joking. “Yes, I would like to own Parkhurst. Sir Edmund was hideous to my mother, and it would be some just desserts. If it ever happened though, we’d probably have him rolling in his grave.”

  “Let’s not speak ill of the dead.” Hannah’s tone was scolding.

  He shrugged. “I never met the man, and I like the notion of vexing him.”

  “Jackson!” Hannah said more sternly.

  Rebecca couldn’t bear to have them fight, and she said to Jackson, “If I gave you my half, would you allow me to live here?”

  “Yes, you could live here forever. I’d always take care of you.” He paused and frowned. “In fact, I’ll take care of you whether it’s mine or not.”

  “I would simply like to stay at Parkhurst,” she said. “It’s all I need to be happy. And maybe I could start a school in the south wing of the manor? I liked attending school so much, and I would like for other girls to have the same opportunity. Mother and Winston would have to leave though. If they were nearby, they’d ruin it.”

  “You wouldn’t mind if I made them leave?” Hannah asked. “You’re certain?”

  “I’d be very glad!”

  “Then I’ll get this squared away with your mother,” Hannah said. “I should travel to London and confer with our attorney, Mr. Thumberton, too. I should file court papers, so Amelia and Winston have no authority over you. Would you like that?”

  Rebecca grinned from ear to ear. “That would be the best ending of all.”

  ****

  “I heard the most bizarre rumor about you.”

  “Then I’m sure it must be true.”

  Hunter glared at his father, then went over to the sideboard to pour himself a whiskey. There was a servant hovering who could have poured it for him, but his nerves were too jittery. He had to stand and move around, perhaps even sneak out so he didn’t start a quarrel. His mood was that foul.

  Neville had spent most of his life loafing and gambling, and if Hunter needed to speak with him, to ask him a question, or simply check on how he was faring, he had to search for him at his favorite haunts.

  What did it say about their father/son bond that a gambling club was the place they normally conversed? And why did Hunter oblige him?

  They were in a private room at Ralston’s, the posh, exclusive establishment run by Sybil Jones. They were expecting several of Neville’s dissolute friends to join them, but so far, he and his father were alone. Once the older men were present, Hunter would slip away, but where would he go?

  He was surly and grouchy, worried about Hannah, but trying not to worry about her too. There was still a ton of fondness roiling him, and he didn’t know how to quell it or expel it. Because he was in such a wretched state, his usual entertainments held no appeal.

  How was he to amuse himself on a Saturday night in town? He didn’t care to wager, chase tarts, or carouse with his degenerate acquaintances. He most especially didn’t want to bump into Nate or Isabella. Since he’d returned to London, he hadn’t talked to them, and he didn’t intend to talk to them. He’d penned a letter to Isabella, advising her to vacate his house by the following Tuesday.

  He hoped she’d depart without a fight, but Nate had been correct in pointing out that she’d grown much too attached. He hated to bicker, but he’d never set her straight about her possessiveness when he should have.

  His father interrupted his pathetic reverie. “Aren’t you curious about the rumor I mentioned? A little birdy told me you nearly eloped.”

  “If you’re giving credence to a story like that, it’s clear you have too much time on your hands.”

  “Are you denying it?”

  “No. I’m simply suggesting you mind your own business.”

  “Why did you rush to the country? You never apprised me.”

  “I’m not going to apprise you either. You might be my father, but you’re not my guardian or my vicar. You don’t get to have an opinion as to how I occupy myself.”

  “You seem dreadfully grumpy. Can you manage to generate a smile for me? If you plan to glower and mope, you’ll ruin my fun.”

  “Heaven forbid,” Hunter muttered.

  He wondered where Hannah was. He’d left Marston before his servants had brought back the carriage she’d borrowed, so he hadn’t learned her destination.

  He was such a self-centered ass that he hadn’t delved into her personal life. Had she friends with whom she could stay? Were there relatives, other than Amelia and Winston Webster, who might have welcomed her?

  He was terrified she’d staggered to Parkhurst, which would be reckless and idiotic. She knew better, and he couldn’t bear to imagine her being there by herself. How might a fiend like Winston Webster harm her?

  As quickly as the chilling question arose, he shoved it away. Her negligent choices weren’t any of his affair, and if she’d landed herself in a jam, it wasn’t his problem.

  Then he winced. She was a silly female who should have a strong, assertive male by her side to keep her out of trouble. Would he leave her to her own devices? Would he abandon her when she likely needed him the most?

  Neville, for all his foibles and faults, was a shrewd character. He asked, “Why are you
pouting over in the corner? Sit down and explain what’s vexing you. Perhaps I can help.”

  Hunter laughed derisively. “When were you ever a help to anyone?”

  “Sit!” Neville said more sternly, and like a chastened boy, Hunter lurched over and plopped down.

  “I have no idea why I obey you.”

  Neville ignored the insult. “Who was the girl? You almost saddled me with a daughter-in-law, so I think I have the right to inquire.”

  Who had tattled to his father? It had to be a servant, and the notion was exhausting. He wasn’t ten!

  “If you must know,” he said, “it was Hannah Graves.”

  “I thought you were disgusted by the whole bloody family.”

  “I was. I am.”

  “From how you’re sulking, you must be completely smitten. Shall I contact Mrs. Webster? Would you like me to negotiate a contract?”

  Hunter had just taken a sip of his liquor, and it went down wrong. He coughed and pounded on his chest. “No, you shouldn’t contact that deranged lunatic, and you’re not finding me a bride.”

  “What happened at Marston? Why aren’t you married?”

  “Well, Isabella and Nate traveled to the country to visit me without an invitation. Hannah was a tad upset at having come face to face with my mistress.”

  “Isabella dared to visit without asking?” Neville clucked his tongue. “I never liked her, and must I remind you that you have to keep your various women in their proper spots? Chaos ensues when you don’t.”

  Sybil entered the room to check on them, and she pulled up a chair at their table. “I have some amazing news that will astound you,” she said. “Caleb is giving me the club—lock, stock, and barrel. He’s signing over his entire interest to me.”

  Caleb Ralston was Hunter’s same age of thirty, a former navy sailor who’d retired, then had started the gambling club to support himself. Sybil had been his guardian when he was a boy, so she was a sort of mother figure to him. Or maybe—with her being only forty herself—she was more like a devoted older sibling.

  Neville scowled. “What brought this on?”

  She shrugged. “He married Caroline Grey, and she refuses to have a husband who earns his income from an indecent venture.”

  Neville’s jaw dropped in astonishment. “But the two of you have grown so rich. He’s relinquishing all that money for a…a…woman?”

  “Yes, Neville. Fancy that. He’s madly in love and can’t live without her. She delivered an ultimatum: the club or her. And he picked her.”

  “That is ridiculous.”

  Sybil rolled her eyes. “It’s about love and romance, so you wouldn’t understand.”

  Neville huffed. “I understand plenty about romance. After all, I’ve spent my life flirting and wooing, but what I don’t understand is why a man would allow a female to lead him by the nose. Caleb will regret it forever.”

  “I doubt it,” Sybil said. “He’s quite besotted.”

  Neville had to pontificate. “Women are never worth the sacrifices men make for them.”

  “I’ll be sure to remember that,” Sybil sarcastically replied.

  Hunter said to her, “I’m happy for you. You’re marvelous, and this is a fabulous windfall.”

  “I’m still coming to grips with it,” she said. “I’m certain it won’t be too long before men begin complaining that I’ve overstepped my place.”

  Hunter grinned. “They already complain about that.”

  She raised a caustic brow. “If they don’t like me being the proprietor, they don’t have to wager here. They can fritter away their fortunes somewhere else.”

  She poured herself a glass of liquor, and she and Hunter clinked the rims together.

  “Speaking of romance,” Neville said.

  “Were we?” Sybil asked.

  Neville pointed at Hunter. “My oldest son and heir nearly eloped last week.”

  “Neville!” Hunter scolded. “Be silent. I don’t need you blabbing my secrets all over the city.”

  “Sybil would never gossip about our private business.”

  Sybil turned to Hunter and said, “Why were you eloping? You’re next in line to be Earl of Swindon. Why not hold a huge service at the cathedral?”

  “I was afraid—if we delayed so she could think about having me as her husband—she’d never proceed. She had an extra day to ponder the consequences of being my wife, and she ran for the hills.”

  “Smart girl,” Sybil muttered. “Who was she? Anyone I know?”

  “Yes, you know her. Hannah Graves?”

  Sybil blanched. “You were eloping with Miss Graves?”

  “Ah…yes?”

  Neville butted in with, “She considered the prospect, then told him to sod off.”

  “She never told me that!” Hunter fumed.

  “What did you do to her?” Sybil had venom in her voice.

  “Nothing,” Hunter insisted, but his cheeks heated with embarrassment.

  Sybil scoffed. “Don’t flash that innocent look at me. You Stone men are such miserable rogues. Tell me the truth. What did you do?”

  “Her shop burned to the ground.”

  “Oh, no!” Sybil said. “I hadn’t heard.”

  “She lived in the apartment on the second floor, and she and her brother barely escaped the inferno. She lost everything, and she was extremely distraught. I merely took her to Marston Manor, so she could rest and regroup.”

  When he put it like that, it sounded rather chaste and noble, but Sybil wasn’t buying it.

  “You seduced her while she was there?”

  Hunter tried to appear offended by the question. “Who said I seduced her?”’

  “You’re Neville’s son, so don’t pretend to be virtuous. It won’t work with me. What happened?”

  “Without warning, Isabella Darling showed up.”

  “Miss Darling came to Marston?” Sybil asked. “What’s wrong with her?”

  Neville and Sybil shook their heads with disgust. A tart like Isabella never arrived unannounced because there was no predicting who might be in residence.

  Hunter would be the first to agree it wasn’t fair to Isabella or the other doxies who wallowed in the demimonde, but they chose to carry on there. Decent people never socialized with them.

  “Isabella stopped by here a bit ago,” Sybil stunned him by saying. “She was searching for you.”

  Hunter’s temper flared. “She stopped here? At the club?”

  “Yes, but my guard at the door sent her away.”

  It was a men’s club, with no females ever permitted inside, except for Sybil, so Isabella was becoming more deranged by the minute.

  “I apologize,” Hunter said. “She shouldn’t have bothered you. I’ll speak to her.”

  “It seems to me that you have some issues to address with her.”

  “Our contract is about to expire, so she and I are almost finished.”

  “I don’t care about Miss Darling,” Sybil said, “but I am concerned about Miss Graves. What’s your plan with regard to her?”

  “I have no plan.”

  “Where is she?”

  “I…I…” He cut off. “I suppose she went home to her estate in the country. It’s called Parkhurst.”

  “You’re not sure of her whereabouts?” Sybil was incredibly irked. “You didn’t check? Why not?”

  “We parted company, and she was very clear in her opinion of me. She believes I’m a debauched wretch, and she wants no further contact.”

  Sybil nodded. “You are a wretch; I heartily concur.”

  “I’m not a glutton for punishment, and I won’t chase after any woman. I tendered a valid marriage proposal, and she wasn’t interested. I won’t beg her to have me.”

  “You’re forgetting one pertinent fact.” Sybil glared until he squirmed in his seat. “She’s not some trollop you can use for carnal sport, then toss away. Her father was an important man in this kingdom, and he had powerful friends. They would never like to
discover you were awful to her. Neither would I.”

  “It’s not as if I will run about blabbing the news. No one will ever guess what occurred.”

  “Your father knows, and he can’t keep a secret to save his life.”

  Neville lifted a brow. “She’s correct. I can’t.”

  “Hannah Graves won’t marry me!” Hunter wished they’d listen, but of course, they didn’t.

  “Haven’t you learned anything from me?” Neville said. “You never let a woman decide for you on any subject. Why would you imagine it should be up to Miss Graves whether you wed her or not?”

  “Precisely,” Sybil said, “so I suggest you get your sorry behind to Parkhurst and try again. If you won’t, your father will start to meddle, which would be a disaster.”

  Hunter snorted. “Neville has no authority over Miss Graves, and there’s no man who could boss her. She’s contrary and stubborn.”

  “I can’t stand to see women treated badly,” Sybil said. “If you don’t fix this, I’ll be so disappointed.”

  She stood and left, and he felt like vermin, like dung in the gutter, and he’d like to wring Hannah’s neck. He had been perfectly willing to proceed. She was the one who’d quailed in terror and had fled. Why was it his obligation to fix the mess?

  Well, he knew why. Matrimony was the man’s burden, the man’s choice, and Hunter had ruined her. He couldn’t argue over that dicey problem.

  There was a whiskey decanter on the table, and Neville reached for it and refilled their glasses.

  “Are you off to Parkhurst?” Neville asked. “Are there wedding bells in your future? And before you answer, I should inform you that Sybil can be an absolute beast in getting her way. Miss Graves is her friend, so she will sink her teeth into your backside, and she won’t release you until you’ve slid a ring onto Miss Graves’s finger.”

  “You make it sound easy, but you haven’t met Miss Graves.”

  “Women are simple creatures,” Neville said, “so it takes scant effort to coax them into giving you what you require, and you have all of my charm. I have no doubt you can persuade her.”

  “I don’t want to persuade her.”