The Wicked Heir (Blackhaven Brides Book 12)

by Mary Lancaster

  No, not a sudden knowledge, for she had always known it somewhere. Awareness of that knowledge. He hadn’t so much been helping her as beating his father, and she, poor, naïve, silly Jess, had begun to fall in love with the lie. With the man behind the lie. None of it meant anything to him. But he was an honorable man in his way, and so had offered her marriage anyhow. An engagement which, in its own manner, would have been as false as the first.

  She’d thought—she really had thought—that he liked her. And yes, on one level, perhaps he did. They had got on well, made each other laugh. But…when it mattered, he had chosen to hurt his father over anything else. That was nothing even approaching love. And even his offer of marriage, abrupt and stilted, had been an afterthought. Surely, he had known she would refuse, had to refuse, and not just because of Lord Viscral who, in his own grumpy, tight-fisted way, had been kind to her, the only father she had truly had since the tragic death of her own parents.

  Damn them both. Now she could not even run away to be a milliner.

  Her sudden burst of bitter laughter clearly startled Crabby, but she couldn’t help it. How naïve had been that dream! Along with the alternative of marrying Claud, who had not thought of her in years before meeting her here, and who was obviously as faithful as a snake.

  “What is the matter with men?” she demanded of Crabby.

  “Oh, dear, where do I begin? But you know, Jess, they might behave badly and still have good hearts.”

  “Ha!” Jess said derisively.

  “Like you,” Crabby added.

  Jess scowled, then sighed and sat down beside Crabby on the bed. “I’m sorry I did not tell you. I thought you would either go to his lordship or let it slip by accident. So, yes, you are right. I behaved badly to both of you. To the world, I suppose. If it’s any consolation, I haven’t enjoyed the lie.”

  “Oh, I think you have,” Crabby said. “You might not have enjoyed the lying, but the lie itself has brought you a great deal of fun. I have been glad to see you so happy.”

  Jess closed her eyes. “What sort of a person am I?” she whispered in shame.

  “A young and spirited lady denied for too long the normal little pleasures of such a position. I mean only to point out that no one is perfect.”

  Jess gave a watery smile. “Apart from you, Crabby.”

  “You cannot get around me that way,” her old governess said severely. “I know my own flaws better than anyone. Suppose we go for a walk while his lordship sleeps off his rage?”

  *

  The day did not improve a great deal, for from enraged, Lord Viscral grew morose. Jess pleaded indisposition to save herself receiving the young men she had danced with at the ball, who left bouquets for her with Holmes. She even turned down an invitation to drive out with Captain Grantham so that she could stay in and read to her uncle, hoping to distract him from the wrongs that had been done to him.

  Curiously, he did not seem to blame her much for the engagement charade, even after she had confessed it was her idea.

  “I haven’t treated you fairly,” he muttered. “I’ve kept you too close. Never mind. Now you shall marry whomever you choose, and my fortune will be yours. Apart from that which legally must go to Jonathan. He won’t get a penny more.”

  “That will teach him,” Jess murmured.

  He looked at her suspiciously.

  “Sir, he does not need your money,” she said. “Stop thinking of it as a weapon to beat him with.”

  For a moment, she thought she had gone too far and undone all the tranquility they had managed to achieve. But his glare quickly dissolved into a bitter smile, and she carried on reading.

  It was only late that night, with Crabby’s soft snores echoing in her ears, that she could finally indulge in the luxury of tears.

  *

  As if nothing had happened, the following morning, they went about the same routines they had followed since arriving in Blackhaven. Jess and Crabby breakfasted in the sitting room, his lordship in his own chamber. Then Crabby was left to her own devices while Jess accompanied her uncle to the pump room to take the waters.

  “Have a glass yourself,” his lordship instructed. “You’re looking peaky.”

  Giving him no excuse for anger, she obeyed meekly enough, and sat by his side when she wasn’t fetching and carrying for him and his elderly acquaintances. Most of the time, she kept a faint, friendly smile fixed to her lips and lost herself in her own miserable contemplations.

  She only jerked into full attention when someone sat down on his lordship’s other side and said, “Don’t shout for the law, I’ll be gone again in a minute.”

  In spite of everything, her heart lurched into her throat. Jon sat on his father’s other side with no trace of challenge or aggression. No one could have called his face meek, but it was serious and just a little rueful. Moreover, there were shadows around his eyes, tighter lines around his mouth that spoke of tiredness, even exhaustion. She tried not to care.

  In any case, he barely looked at her beyond a civil nod when their eyes met, before he returned to his glaring father.

  “I haven’t come to quarrel,” he said quietly, “but to apologize. For losing my temper and saying things I should not. For deceiving you over Jess. For interfering on the estate without your knowledge. I meant most of them for the best, but it does not excuse them. I would like you to forgive me, but I do not expect it.” He stood, having deprived his stunned parent of breath. “I’ll call on you tomorrow, to give you time to decide whether or not Holmes should shut the door in my face.” He bowed, his gaze sweeping both of them, before he turned and left.

  Clever, Jess thought, impressed in spite of herself—so much so that hysterical laughter had bubbled up inside her trying to get out. Very clever, indeed.

  *

  Jon thought his visit to the pump room went rather well. At least, he hoped it did, for none of the rest of his plan would work if the basic apology fell on stony ground. He was far from blind to the ground he had to make up with his father and with Jess. But the quarrel, and his subsequent sleepless night, had brought a fresher, deeper understanding of himself and others.

  Although he did not consider himself cruel or heartless, he had got out of the way of considering people’s feelings. He had needed his men’s obedience and their health and strength, and he had learned how to achieve those goals. He thought he was just, for the most part, but perhaps he had also grown too hard. Neither his father nor Jess were men under his command. God knew it was more difficult—a lifetime more difficult—to deal with family.

  But he needed to learn, quickly, or everything he truly wanted would be lost, including his father’s happiness and, perhaps, Jess’s.

  Having left them in the pump room with a display of humility which was largely sincere, he nodded to the watching Horne and made his way to the tavern. There, he met Bill Bains, and they sat in a quiet corner with a mug of ale each. Jon didn’t want his brain clouded by even a small amount of brandy.

  Bains leaned forward. “Seem to have gone,” he said.

  He meant the men—the incompetent men, fortunately—who had been hired to kill himself and Jess. He had cornered them yesterday, with the help of Masters and Bains and several other of his crew, and, in the small corridor between the taproom, the stairs, and the back door, he had put the fear of living hell into them. They had given up their master without hesitation—not in name, for he’d given them none, but they recognized Baines’s drawing—and promised to leave Blackhaven.

  Jon had tended to believe them, but taking no chances, he’d asked Bains to keep an eye open and to keep asking around. On the whole, Jon thought Jess was probably safe now. Which was another very necessary step in his plan.

  “Keep a look out,” Jon instructed. “I’ve asked Horne and Masters to keep watch over J – the lady, for a while longer, too.”

  Bains nodded. “How’s The Albatross?” he asked. “When do we sail?”

  “Just about ready. This
news about Bonaparte makes a difference, though. We need proper protection if we’re back at war. I’ll be seeing Captain Alban about that. But I’m guessing we should be ready to go in a fortnight.”

  Which didn’t give him long.

  *

  The following morning, with his fingers firmly crossed, he knocked on the door of his father’s hotel rooms. He was counting on Holmes letting him in, though there was still no guarantee either of them could persuade his lordship to speak to him.

  Holmes opened the door and, with the upward jerk of one eyebrow, immediately stood aside. So far, so good.

  With a lopsided smile to the manservant, Jon walked in.

  His father was crossing the room, probably from his bedchamber. He glared at Jon but said nothing. Jon bowed, darting a quick glance around in search of Jess. She wasn’t there.

  He told himself it didn’t matter, not yet, but the disappointment was intense, almost physical.

  It seemed his father was determined not to speak first. That, too, had been one of the weapons in their old quarrels, along with having the last word. Looking back, it had been ridiculous, childish, and there was no denying his father had been both tyrannical and unreasonable. But it was Jon who had taken quarrelling to a whole new level by leaving and making sure he couldn’t be found. Worse, he no longer felt justified. He was older, wiser, and still in the wrong.

  Since his father did not call for his ejection, he followed him to the fireplace, picked up a chair, and plonked it down opposite his lordship. He had many things to say, things he should have said when he first met his father again. He meant to say them now, and yet when he sat down and gazed at the fierce, proud old gentleman, determinedly hiding his hurt behind his glare, the rehearsed words vanished, and he had to swallow the sudden lump in his throat.

  Even at his angriest and most self-righteous, he had always loved the old devil. And he had missed him.

  “I’m sorry,” Jon blurted. “Sorry for all of it. I’ve been a poor son and an indifferent man.”

  The old man blinked, revealing a glimpse of emotion, quickly hidden again. He hadn’t expected those words.

  Jon said, “I could tell you that since I came to Blackhaven to see you, and stayed beyond what I originally intended, that I meant everything for the best—for you, for Jess, for Viscral as well as for me. And that would be true.”

  The old man jerked one shoulder, a gleam of ferocious argument back in his eyes.

  Jon held up one hand in surrender. “It is true,” he insisted. “But no, that doesn’t make it right. There were other, better ways to go about things, and I ignored them in favor of continuing our old quarrel, even while I told myself I was ending it.”

  A faint, rueful smile formed on his lips as he met his father’s frown. “I did mean to, you know. I liked being here with you. I’d missed our blistering exchanges, and it was good to resume them on a slightly friendlier footing. It made me realize what I’d missed, what I’d thrown away. I liked being friends again, and I think you did, too.”

  The old man looked away, gazing into the fire. For once it seemed, he had nothing to say.

  Jon said deliberately, “None of that takes away from the fact that you are a stubborn, unreasonable, tyrannical martinet. And trying to force Jess and me into marriage was infamous. You do know, she would have run away?”

  The old man looked stunned, and Jon took advantage. “The same is true about the land. You are wrong and, somewhere, I think you know it.”

  “You know nothing!” his lordship burst out, and Jon was almost relieved, for the old man’s silence had not been natural.

  “I know a great deal,” Jon countered. “But I don’t know everything. And despite how you went about it, your wisdom concerning Jess and me was greater than I gave you credit for. I’ve come to see that we should be together…but only if she wants it and agrees to it freely.”

  “Ha!” uttered his lordship. “Well, you’ve messed that up, too, haven’t you?”

  “Yes,” Jon admitted. “But if my time with you has taught me anything beyond my own folly, it is that feeling doesn’t go away. I have hopes she cares for me, but I need to win her. As I need to win your trust, and my right to interfere in the running of the estate.”

  The old man stared, then gave a derisive laugh. “And how are you going to achieve that from South America or the high seas?”

  “I’m not,” Jon said with a sigh. “I have a longer-term solution forming in my mind, but I need to speak to Captain Alban, for I do have commitments to him.”

  “Then you have at least learned that much!”

  Jon inclined his head. There was no point in quarrelling. “Commitment to family is different. I always had it. I just went about it badly.”

  The old man leaned back, his expression still deliberately hard. “What do you intend to do about it?”

  Jon’s lips quirked into a smile he hadn’t intended. “Go home.”

  *

  Inside her chamber, Jess sprawled on the bed, pretending to read and to pay no attention to Crabby, who had her ear pressed to the door and was relaying what she could overhear of the conversation in a whisper.

  “He says he wants to win you.” Jess had barely heard anything since Crabby had passed on those words, which made her sore heart sing.

  Until Crabby said, “He’s going to Viscral.”

  The book Jess wasn’t reading collapsed on the bed. “What? How can he win me from Viscral?”

  “Sh-sh,” Crabby shushed her with an irritated wave. She was silent a long time, while Jess’s irritation mingled with disappointment to produce a growing outrage. “It seems he’s going to prove to his father that he’s right about the drainage. They’re agreeing he will go and listen and learn for two weeks. If he still thinks he’s right, the work will go ahead, with young Matthews in charge. If—”

  “Two weeks!” Jess sat up, staring. “He sails in two weeks!”

  It was talk, all talk to get around the old gentleman. She was a mere pawn to him as to his father. If he truly cared for her, he would spend these two weeks here trying to win her as he had claimed to Lord Viscral. Instead, he was going to prove his wretched point—and presumably his worth—to his lordship. Presumably, he imagined “winning her” could wait for nine months or a year or however long it took to voyage to South America and back.

  Crabby came away from the door, looking unhappy. “I’m sure he has something in mind.”

  “So am I,” Jess raged, jumping impetuously to her feet. “Damn him, I would rather marry Claud than sit around waiting for Jon Arrogance Tallon!”

  “Jess!” Crabby exclaimed. “There is no need for such language, or such heat.”

  “Bah!” Jess flung out, pacing furiously across the floor until a knock at the door halted her in midstride.

  Crabby went and opened the door a crack. “Yes?”

  Holmes’s voice said, “His lordship asks if Miss Jess would care to speak to Mr. Jon before he leaves.”

  Crabby turned toward her, eyebrows raised.

  Jess’s instinct was to snap a sharp, “No!” But she was aware that would only display her anger and the hurt beneath. No, her best course was to pretend indifference.

  “I’ll come out in a few moments,” she said idly. “If he has time to wait. Otherwise, pass on my farewells.”

  Crabby, a frown of worry on her brow, relayed the gist of that and closed the door. “My dear Jess—”

  “Could you please help me with my hair?” Jess interrupted. “It seems to have escaped several of its pins.”

  Crabby compressed her lips, not best pleased. But she came and repinned Jess’s hair and smoothed her skirts before Jess sailed past her and out the door.

  She fixed an easy, casual smile to her lips, although her heart beat with fright that he might have already gone.

  She needn’t have worried. He stood near his father, his back to the fireplace. Some communication seemed still to be going on between them. Secretly, Jess
was delighted to see that the awful tightness around the old man’s eyes had vanished. If nothing else, Jon had done that much for his father, although it was true, he had caused the pain in the first place.

  Catching sight of her, Jon’s face lit up in a way that made her turbulent heart dive into her stomach. She would not give in to that again, for she knew now it was a calculated charm.

  He strode across the room to her, his hand held out. She considered ignoring it, but again, that would hardly have been proof of indifference. So, she placed hers into it, meaning to withdraw it almost at once. But he raised it to his lips and kissed it.

  Her skin tingled, thrilling to the caress, but she would not give in. She allowed a hint of amusement into her eyes. “Hardly a proper greeting between people who are not engaged.”

  “Old habits die hard.” He searched her face, which she kept carefully, amiably neutral. He lowered his voice. “I wanted to tell you, you should be safe now. All those concerned have left Blackhaven and scattered.”

  She had forgotten all about the attack and the runaway coach. How had it become so unimportant to her? “Thank you,” she said.

  “I’ll deal with those concerned after I’ve been to Viscral.”

  She allowed herself a cynical smile at all the things he was going to fit into this fortnight.

  Perhaps sensing her doubt, he hesitated. “Will you walk with me?”

  “I don’t have my outdoor shoes on,” she said carelessly. Press me, persuade me, make me come with you…

  He said nothing. She thought something faded in his eyes, but his lashes swept down, veiling it, and when they lifted, she saw only resignation.

  “Whatever you wish,” he said. “I will miss you.”

  She smiled. “No, you won’t, Jon.”

  For an instant, his eyes glowed with triumph and another fierce emotion she couldn’t name, and she knew she’d given something away. That she cared he wouldn’t miss her at all.

  He cast a quick glance at Lord Viscral, who was pretending to pay them no attention. “I have to make this right, Jess. And then, perhaps we can talk.”