The Wicked Wyckerly

by Rice, Patricia

  “Shhh, Abby’s sleeping,” Jeremy whispered so loudly he could probably be heard in the next room.

  “You took my toast,” Cissy whispered back. “I want more toast.”

  “You may have mine,” Jennie said to hush the quarrel. “It has jam.”

  Abby dreaded having to scold them for running away. She dreaded worse asking what had driven them to flee. This very minute, she basked happily in the familiar morning argument.

  She heard the door open and Fitz’s boots upon the floorboards. Her hand rose instantly to pat down her hair and straighten her ribbons.

  “More toast and hot chocolate,” he declared in an exaggerated undertone that said he’d noticed her gesture and was humoring her pretense at sleep. “But you’d better hurry and finish your bacon or I will eat it.”

  Abby knew she had acted inappropriately familiar with Fitz in front of strangers last night, but she simply couldn’t bring herself to care. She wanted hot chocolate so she could sweeten her breath and be ready in case he wanted to kiss her again.

  She would do almost anything to have more of those kisses. And she ought to be ashamed of that thought, too, but she wasn’t. She was a grown woman, and even if she was fooling herself that a handsome earl wanted her for more than her money, she adored the way Fitz’s attention made her feel desirable for the first time in her spinsterish life. She simply prayed his kisses were sincere and not more evidence of his deceptive charm.

  Hoping she didn’t look a fright, she stood and faced the little breakfast table. The twins instantly tumbled from their chairs to hug her legs. Tommy ducked his head and stared at his plate. And Jennie grinned as if the weight of the world had been removed from her small shoulders. Abby knew that feeling.

  She crouched down to tousle blond heads and peck jam-smeared cheeks before daring to glance at Fitz. He was watching her with admiration while buttering toast, proving he was a modern wonder, a man capable of accomplishing two tasks at once.

  Abby hustled the twins back to their seats. She pulled up a chair between Tommy and Jennie and poured hot chocolate from the fresh pot that Fitz had placed on the table.

  “I want to know what happened, and I want the whole truth,” she said solemnly to the eldest children. “I’m relying on you two.”

  “Mrs. Weatherston doesn’t like me and Tommy much,” Jennie said prosaically. “We try to tell her how you do things, and she sends us to our room.”

  Abby nodded and waited, knowing her opinionated siblings well. They hadn’t been raised to be silent and accepting, and she couldn’t imagine any woman would appreciate children telling her what to do.

  “She babies the twins,” Tommy said with disgust. “She feeds them candy and shows them off to her friends when they should be napping. Then they get all mean and bite people.”

  “Bite people?” Fitz murmured near Abby’s ear, placing a plate of toast in front of her.

  “I still have a scar on my arm where Tommy bit me when he was that age,” she assured him. “They’re like young animals unless taught otherwise.”

  Now that they had a sympathetic ear, the older two poured out a litany of woes, large and small, that painted a picture of a woman who wanted children because she was expected to have them, and a man who had no interest in sharing parental duties. Abby wasn’t at all certain that a court of law, or even their executor, would listen to their woes. They were children, after all. They were being fed and housed and no one was overtly harming them.

  They just weren’t being loved.

  Tears filled her eyes as she struggled to decide what she must do.

  “The mean man said we don’t have birfdays no more,” Jeremy said, joining in the complaints.

  “He hit Tommy,” Cissy chimed in with three-year-old indignation.

  A glance at Tommy confirmed some version of the twins’ statements, and Abby’s heart sank. She glanced to Fitz, who had remained silent while she’d quizzed the children.

  “I sent Lady Belden’s maid and carriage back up to London so she needn’t worry about you. Hopefully, the Weatherstons will believe you took them to London, and perhaps from there to your farm,” he said without inflection. “I’ve rented a post chaise to go in another direction. We need to go some place the Weatherstons won’t know about.”

  “Yes, that sounds ideal,” she said in relief. “Where?”

  “My estate,” he replied with a shrug that Abby could tell wasn’t as casual as he might pretend. “My offer stands. Perhaps we could negotiate later.”

  Negotiate. Marriage. With a gambler and an earl, one who was being pelted with stones carrying cryptic messages. If she went with him, she almost certainly had to marry him. She couldn’t rely on no one’s ever discovering she was in his company. She would ruin her reputation and make it impossible for the executor to believe she was a proper influence. But then, she was already here with him, so what did it matter?

  Did she know him well enough to believe he was being honorable, or was he simply manipulating circumstances to get what he wanted?

  And if Fitz was actually being honorable, could she risk harming him by bringing down the wrath of the law and the marchioness on him?

  Abby looked around at her eager siblings and back to the man who made her heart yearn for fairy tales that came true.

  And she nodded, rashly trusting Fitz with her future and the children’s.

  27

  Riding Barton’s steed alongside the bright yellow post chaise spilling with excited, noisy children, Fitz tried to quell his anxiety by comparing the shilling-per-mile charge for the chaise with shillings per pound of turnips to see how many acres the journey was costing him, but oddly, his head seemed crowded with people instead of numbers.

  He’d sent to London for Penny and her nanny. Montague and Atherton had accompanied Lady Belden’s carriage, carrying Abby’s note of apology and heartfelt gratitude. He rather thought that wouldn’t be the last he heard of the dragon lady, but that wasn’t his most immediate concern, the one that had him counting turnips rather than thinking about it.

  His most immediate concern loomed on the horizon, looking properly noble and majestic from this distance—Wyckersham, the seat of the earls of Danecroft for the last century. He was going home to officially take possession of his title and place among his not-so-illustrious ancestors.

  He couldn’t say he loved the magnificent edifice and acreage. Or even that they had ever been a welcoming home. He’d left at seventeen and never looked back. But it was a grand estate he’d be proud to claim, if only the roof weren’t about to fall on his head.

  He wanted Abby to love his home. He wanted his Rhubarbara to see the potential—in him, as well as in the estate. If it weren’t for his enormous debt, he liked to think he could be a proper earl someday. He knew little of farming, but he wasn’t so overwhelmed by the daunting task now. Applebee, the estate manager he’d hired, should be on the job. A small influx of cash plus his wits ought to get him started.

  He simply had to summon the courage to ask Abby, again, to lock her golden chains around him. Important questions were far easier to ask on impulse. That she’d accepted his offer to hide the children indicated she trusted him, but to be fair to her, he needed to let her see the immensity of the undertaking his estate involved before he asked again.

  He didn’t even know if he was taking her to a house with cockroaches in the kitchen or lice in the beds. He hoped not.

  Swiping bad thoughts from his mind, Fitz began calculating costs: one guinea per male servant per year—perhaps they could stick with Bibley and not hire footmen. Six pounds per year for housemaids—or should he have them buy their own tea and sugar and pay them nine pounds? He didn’t know the cost of tea and sugar. How many maids would it take to rid the place of pests and clean it to Abby’s satisfaction? Would she need a lady’s maid?

  The sum for servants’ wages hadn’t quite reached unreasonable by the time the carriage rattled over the pothole at the turn into the dri
ve, and Tommy shouted excitedly from his high perch at the back of the chaise. Fitz followed his gaze and tried to see the sprawling weed field as a young boy might.

  The house couldn’t be seen from this perspective, but the fields stretched to a wooded copse fed by a wandering stream. Frightened from their feeding by the galloping horses, quail cried and fled to the sky. Ducks swam about a slimy green pond in the distance. A deer bounded for cover. Fitz was certain rabbits and other creatures raced for their burrows at the racket of carriage wheels on the rutted drive.

  As an adult, he saw only the work that needed to be done, but the estate was boy heaven. No wonder he’d never wasted time in a schoolroom.

  His education may have been neglected. He may not have any memory of loving arms and family reunions or even a father who bothered to teach him what little he knew. But the Danecroft lands were carved in Fitz’s heart as surely as if he’d always been meant to own them.

  He could do this, he decided with a deep inhalation of relief. He could make this land his own. He simply needed the proper incentive to work himself night and day to achieve his goal.

  Riding alongside the hired chariot, Fitz anxiously observed Abby’s expression as the colonnaded portico of the house rose above the overgrown yew hedge. He thought he saw awe and a little fear. He wanted to leap down and explain that the earldom’s fortunes had begun their long decline when the Wyckerlys gave up the sea to pour their wealth into that limestone and marble. Or perhaps the final blow had come in prior generations when the overproud earls had driven off their younger brothers and sons. Either way, the house was a monument to folly and not worthy of her fear.

  It was a beautiful Palladian home, built from the ground up based on plans from Colen Campbell and influenced by Inigo Jones’s designs. The first earl’s wife had a love of grace and order, and more taste than dowry. For a century, no expense had been spared. Robert Adam had added his touch to ceilings and fireplaces throughout the great rooms. Capability Brown had designed the grounds.

  And there wasn’t any way in hell Fitz could restore that former grandeur.

  When the chaise drew to a halt at the imposing entrance, Fitz paid the postilions and gave them directions to the stables, although he doubted there would be a grain to be found there.

  At least it looked as if his creditors had given up and gone home. Or to London, where they all no doubt knew his town house address by now. He might throw off their depredations for another day or two until they found him again.

  Tying his steed to a post, he assisted Abby from the carriage. Her hand was cold in his, and she gazed up at the sprawling structure with such trepidation, Fitz couldn’t resist pulling her into his arms and squeezing her tight. She was round and soft and comforting, and he wanted to hug her forever, like the child’s cuddly toy he’d never had. Except his Abby had a mind of her own, and that’s what made her special. He adored the challenge of guessing where her thoughts flew when she went silent like this.

  “It’s a barn,” he murmured against her bonnet. “We could ride horses through it and no one would know the difference. We could hide the children in the attic and no one would find the stairs.”

  She giggled a little tearily and, to his great relief, leaned against him for a moment, just enough to let him know she believed in him. That would get him through a few more hours.

  The children spilled from the carriage. He had to help Tommy down from his high perch, much to the boy’s humiliation. His limp was still pronounced as he wandered up the wide stairs.

  The mortar between the granite blocks that made up the stairs had cracked, leaving many of the slabs loose. Vines had taken root and crept up the marble columns.

  “When Penny gets here, you can take turns swatting spiders and pulling weeds,” Fitz declared with a good cheer he didn’t feel.

  “Penny’s coming?” Jennifer asked, her frightened face brightening. “Will she bring dolls?”

  “For all I know, there might be an entire nursery stuffed with dolls in there somewhere. Consider this an opportunity to explore.”

  Apparently hearing something in his tone that he hadn’t wished to convey, Abby glanced at him with concern, then tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “It’s late. We’ll go to the kitchen and heat some water to wash up.” She raised her eyebrows in question. “Will there be any servants at all?”

  He shrugged and led the way up the stairs. “Depends on their patience and whether or not they had better offers of employment elsewhere. I didn’t have time to warn them of our arrival.”

  And he still had Bibley to confront.

  Perhaps his best course would be to rent out the whole sprawling dung heap, servants and all, and find a hovel to rent. His insides shriveled with fear that he would be the Danecroft to bring the earldom to an end.

  Abby walked into the Earl of Danecroft’s home knowing the potential of ruining her reputation if she did not accept his proposal. She suffered no illusion that she could conceal herself from the outside world for long. She must decide quickly if she should give up on marriage and return to her farm and spend her fortune on fighting through the courts. She refused to let the children out of her sight while she did so, which meant leaving London ballrooms and uninteresting suitors behind.

  She’d gladly sacrifice marriage for the children, but the look of admiration on Fitz’s face as he led her up the stairs made her feel as if her virtue might have some value.

  Had he really meant they would negotiate marriage? How?

  She gave up thinking as she entered. She felt like Cinderella on the arm of her prince passing through the castle doors. For the owner of this palace, she was glad she had learned to wear Cinderella gowns. Foolish of her, no doubt, but for Fitz, she would strive always to look stylish.

  She tugged him to a halt in the entry so she might gape in wonder at the grandeur he called home. Above a marble entrance large enough to encompass her entire house, a domed skylight illuminated a rotunda of columns and marble busts.

  “The dome leaks,” Fitz murmured, removing her bonnet, since no servant rushed to aid her.

  She bit back a smile. “Then if the children get bored some rainy day and have a stone-throwing contest, they won’t be the first to break what’s already broken.”

  “There is that.” He inclined his head in approval. “I may have been the first child to drop a stone through the glass, now that I think on it.”

  “Drop?” She discarded her pelisse and umbrella. Fitz hung them over a bust of some important-looking Roman.

  The children skated in the dust, leaving long trails in their wake as they spun around admiring the dome and taking in all the different directions in which they could scatter. Although his short legs couldn’t stretch far enough, Jeremy was already testing the balustrade of the grand staircase.

  “I discovered the entrance to the roof long ago,” Fitz admitted. “An excellent place for hiding. We’ll send the children up there should anyone stray up the drive.”

  She could tell by his voice that he was teasing. He didn’t really mean to send the children to the roof. But she had serious doubts about preventing Tommy from repeating Fitz’s youthful indiscretions. She would need to tie bells on all their necks.

  “Kitchen?” she asked, hoping to distract herself from parental worries—and Fitz’s proximity. He hadn’t stopped touching her since she’d left the carriage, and she enjoyed entirely too much the heat of his hand at her back and on her arm. She was acutely aware of his powerful male muscles sheltering her.

  She might be ruining her reputation by entering his home unchaperoned, but that didn’t give him license for more familiarity with her person. Despite her pleasure at his caresses, she wasn’t ready for more than kisses. She had to make that clear. Once she found her tongue.

  Fitz whistled loudly, commanding the attention of her wandering tribe. He pointed to a discreet door hidden behind the stairs at the far end of the entry. “That way.”

  They tumb
led over one another in their haste to explore the next chamber.

  “Maybe we should allow them into only one room at a time,” Abby mused, following her siblings across the entry. “Tell them they cannot explore the next one until the first one is clean.”

  Fitz snorted. “It would take an army to clean just the entry. I vote we turn it over to a museum.”

  “No, you don’t. You were meant to be lord of all you survey. You’ve just been hiding in the shadows, waiting for your turn.”

  “Like a cockroach,” he suggested helpfully.

  She sent him a quizzical glance. “I was thinking more in terms of the ugly duckling who grows into a swan. You have the energy and determination to turn this into a grand palace again, where you can entertain important men and influence the path of government.”

  She feared she sounded wistful. She couldn’t be the countess he needed to accomplish all that. Just the thought shivered her bones. Eventually, he would have to move on and leave her behind on the farm, where she belonged.

  “I might have been brought up within a life of privilege, but I was never taught how to wield power wisely,” he said with a negligent air. “Men of influence have educations. They’ve toured Europe. They sit in their clubs discussing important topics and negotiating deals. I count cards. If they’d rather gamble than vote on issues vital to our nation, I can show them how.”

  “Men of influence only understand the lives of people like themselves,” she corrected. “You have the perspective of someone who must work for a living and use his wits to survive. Never underestimate the value of your experience.”

  The children raced down the dark servants’ hall toward the scent of roasting venison. Fitz halted in what was most likely the cloakroom, grabbed Abby’s arms, and, before she could catch her breath, swooped down to steal a kiss.

  Her surprise rapidly escalated to desire. They might have only moments alone. Taking advantage, Abby slid her arms around his neck and luxuriated in the hungry warmth of kisses pressed to her cheeks, the corners of her mouth, and finally her lips.