by Heather Boyd
“I suppose you would know about old and infirm. It must be difficult to drag yourself away from Bath.”
The soft smack of Pixie’s hand covering her mouth echoed through the room. She did not need to throw a thing. She had more cutting power in her tongue than anyone he knew.
Jack let the silence stretch. He tilted his head, fighting to contain the response that begged to be unleashed. Was she too old to bend over his knee, or send to her room? Once his breathing slowed, he counted to ten before standing and walking from the room.
~ * ~
As the stiff-backed marquess left the library, Constance wished her words had gone unsaid. She had overstepped her bounds. She couldn’t say the first thing that came into her head as she had when she was younger. No doubt he was now wishing he had not just begged her to stay. Given her provocation, Ettington had probably gone to pack her things personally.
Constance dropped into the chair he had just vacated. She had neither meant to insult him about his age nor to hint that he was infirm either. But his assessment of her disaster itched under her skin and left her maddened. Cullen had promised the marquess would become a cold, overbearing monster once he gained the title. Could Ettington not show one glimpse of compassion for her plight?
Moving Mama to Bath was going to be torture. But the greater problem would be how Cullen would feel about not living at Thistlemore when they married. He’d been so looking forward to the day he could move in to lighten her load by managing the property properly.
As much as she didn’t want to live in a place where the moment she set foot out the door, she would be forced to speak to someone who was not part of her household, she feared they couldn’t keep the Sunderland property.
Moving to Bath might be the only way to avoid debtor’s prison.
This week in London with Virginia and Jack, enduring the suffocating presence of servants at all hours of the day and night, was enough torment to last her a lifetime. The future Jack described in Bath terrified her.
Constance stilled as she mulled over her last thought. She hadn’t thought of Jack in a long time. He had been the Marquess of Ettington for the last four years—years filled with orders she couldn’t ignore, accounting for her every action to a man who had once been an easy going friend.
Cullen had suggested she should give up her habit of using the marquess’ first name. At first, she had disagreed, until she had glimpsed the damage the marquess’ fists could inflict.
From the moment she had looked into Cullen’s bruised and bloodied face, it had become easier. There had been no reason for the marquess to be spying on her in the orchard that day. She wasn’t the marquess’ property. Constance lifted the page in front of her and grudgingly admired Jack’s penmanship. His lines were neat, his figures legible. He was a man obsessed with doing his best.
And he had thought she was best for his sister. Constance dropped the page and hid her face behind her hand. Oh, she was in so much trouble now. How could she look at him without remembering the horrible thing she had said today?
Actually, today had been a series of horrible conversations with him. It was amazing that she was still standing. According to her mama, the marquess was ruthless, intent on exacting the last penny or pound of flesh from his enemies.
Well, she was his enemy now. She fretted over how she would pay for her impertinence.
Chapter Three
CONSTANCE LIFTED THE silver spoon to her lips but hesitated to taste the soup. She quite liked hare soup, but was afraid that the marquess had tainted her portion with something terrible in retribution. After all, she’d done it to him long ago. An occasion she no longer remembered in precise detail—a little girl’s disappointment over a broken promise soon fades. But she did remember sprinkling a lot of salt onto his breakfast tray one morning.
Taking a sharp breath, she steeled herself as the soup coated her tongue and passed down her throat. Encouraged that she didn’t feel the strangulating clenching of her air passage, Constance risked another taste. Nothing.
Could she be so lucky that Ettington would ignore her earlier impertinence?
“Is anything wrong with the soup, Pixie?” Virginia’s quiet question echoed around the vast chamber. “I was sure it was a favorite with you.”
Constance jumped. “The soup is delicious. I was simply savoring the taste.”
How could she think the marquess would extract revenge at his table? No, he would wait until she was away from his sister if he was inclined to retaliate in any fashion. She risked a glance sideways, but his gaze was on his meal. Since he had left the library, Ettington had neither spoken to her nor looked at her. It was exactly what she deserved.
Constance raised her eyes to the walls and repressed a shudder. How could anyone find eating enjoyable when faced with the trophies of past hunting conquests?
Jack and Virginia’s father had liked nothing better than to hunt, play cards, and drink to excess. And despite his title and affluence, the late marquess had preferred the company of Constance’s father while he indulged his many expensive vices. As a result, Constance had often visited with Jack and Virginia when she was younger, and unfortunately become the Marquess of Ettington’s ward.
Across the table, Virginia frowned. Unable to bear the tense expression, Constance forced herself to make conversation. “Do you think the weather shall hold tomorrow, Virginia? We should take advantage of the warmer temperatures and stroll around the square.”
Virginia leaned back in her chair. “We could do that, I suppose.”
Constance forced an excited smile to her face. “If we go early enough there is hardly anyone outside. I was looking about this morning and noticed how lovely the park is. We should definitely take a stroll.” The marquess wanted Virginia to go outside more often and this was the start of Constance’s plan. Even if he tossed her out tomorrow, they would take that walk first.
~ * ~
Jack covertly watched his sister throughout the meal. The occasional twitch of tension raising her shoulders set his heart racing. Although her awareness of the servants going about their duties shouldn’t concern her, the subconscious sway of her body away from them proved they still did. However, unlike the first months of her despair, she resisted the urge to make a sound.
They didn’t eat formally for every meal, but Jack was determined to help Virginia conquer these irrational responses by degrees. There was no one remaining that could hurt her again—fate had seen to that. But Virginia had to regain her confidence before she went about in society.
After the dessert course was placed before them, Jack sent the servants away, poured more wine for the ladies, and cleared his throat. His news would be another hurdle for Virginia to overcome. “Lord Hallam sent a note, announcing his intention to visit London, Virginia. He will arrive the day after tomorrow.”
Virginia dropped her glass and the ruby red wine flowed across the white linen.
“Oh. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Cursing, Jack circled the table as Virginia attempted to sop up the wine with her napkin. He should have waited until her glass was firmly down before he spoke, but there was never a perfect moment to mention Hallam.
He drew Virginia away from the mess. “There is nothing to be concerned about, Virginia. Hallam will stay in the green suite, as he always does when in London. He will have his head buried in a book within the hour of his arrival. You won’t have to deal with him any more than you normally do. Just send his meals to the library at regular intervals, and leave him to his own devices.”
Virginia fussed. Her panicked state remained thick around her. Unfortunately, Jack was at his limit in dealing with her distress. He glanced at Pixie for the first time this evening.
She nodded as if hearing his unspoken plea.
Pixie crossed to them, slipped her arm around Virginia’s back, and led her from the room. On the threshold, Pixie turned back.
He thanked her with a tight nod, and she graced him with
an actual smile.
The warm affection in her expression almost knocked him off his feet. Jack hadn’t seen that smile for what felt like an eternity. He waited until they were well beyond the stairwell before he returned to the library. There was nothing more he could do.
Returning Virginia to full health was beyond his abilities. As much as he might wish it could be otherwise, he needed help.
Pixie’s help, and possibly Hallam’s.
Jack sank into a chair, disgusted by the mess before him, but thankful for the distraction of Pixie’s debts. They provided a balm to his battered nerves. Judging by the rate of progress he had made through the papers earlier, he would be up all night. He didn’t mind in the least—the longer the distraction lasted, the better.
Light footsteps crossed the threshold, but he didn’t bother to raise his head. Despite her earlier smile, he wasn’t going to be the first one to bring up Pixie’s insulting comments. He hadn’t paid much attention to his age, but it appeared she thought him ancient. He was barely eight years older than Pixie. Only just approaching thirty, for God’s sake. It wasn’t as if he really needed a cane to steady himself.
“What happened to her?”
“Didn’t she tell you?” Jack didn’t want to talk, so he kept his eyes firmly on the next bill.
“No. She hasn’t explained anything, and I am too afraid to bring the matter up myself. I don’t like that she is so timid.”
“I cannot break my sister’s confidence. Even for you. She will tell you when she is ready.”
“Why is she afraid of physical contact?”
Jack ground his teeth. She wasn’t going to apologize for her ridiculous comment about his age? How typical. “She was hurt.”
“By whom?”
“I cannot explain without breaking my promise.” He had hoped that after a week, Virginia might have confided the secret herself. But it appeared his plan hadn’t worked so well, after all.
“The housekeeper doesn’t forget that you don’t eat fowl, does she?”
Jack sighed. “Of course not, but the housekeeper says she does every week. It makes the discussions livelier than they could normally be.”
“You are a very good brother.”
“Flattery? Why thank you. Any day now, I will have you calling me by my first name again. But then the world will stop turning.” And according to Pixie, he’d be too old to enjoy it. Jack grimaced.
Pixie moved to stand behind his left shoulder. “Where does the tally now stand?”
Even as the light scent of roses reached his nose, one delicious enough to salivate over, he shook himself back to the task at hand. “The debt stands at a little under nineteen thousand pounds, but I still have the last two months to include. I should be able to make a guess at the missing months’ regular expenses.”
“Nineteen?”
The fact that Mrs. Grange had managed to hide and delay the revelation of these accumulated debts irked him. He should have known the harridan would play fast and loose with Pixie’s future in retribution to his refusal. But Mrs. Grange’s behavior would ruin Pixie. She’d be terrified. “I fear so. It is a sickness your mother has. I hope you are not afflicted with it.”
“No, I do not gamble, Ettington. Luck does not hold.”
“I am glad to hear it.” Actually, Jack was not just glad—he was overjoyed. When Mrs. Grange eventually passed, Pixie would not have to contend with this issue once the current mess was dealt with. But her mother needed a tighter leash to control her gambling habits or they would enter Fleet before Pixie reached two and twenty.
Thinking of anyone he knew in that horrible place made Jack’s blood boil. He threw off his coat and waistcoat, and then loosened his cravat, pacing to rid himself of his agitation. Grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the mantelpiece, he stalked back to the long table, pouring as he moved, then tossed it back before pouring another.
He downed the second glass, and then looked across the room. Pixie’s eyes were about to fall out of her head at his undressing. He smiled and a bright flush of color swept over her cheeks. Her gaze locked in the middle of his chest, then swept upward to his bare throat. As he removed his cravat, Pixie swallowed. Jack found her reaction fascinating. Despite the sharp tongue, Pixie was still innocent. Yet she didn’t turn away or berate him as usual. It was almost as if she had never thought of him as a man before.
The idea was supremely lowering. He’d been appointed as her guardian, not her grandfather.
Jack cleared his throat to draw her attention upward to his face. “Perhaps you should retire for the night. There is a great deal left to contend with and I would prefer to be comfortable to do it.”
“I cannot leave you here alone to sort out my problems.”
Jack tugged a waistcoat button undone. “Why not? I did agree to help.”
“Help, yes, but not do everything.” Pixie turned her back to him and fussed with the papers. Her flustered reaction improved his mood considerably.
“Tallying the debt accurately is only a minor matter. Deciding how you are going to make reparation is a much larger issue.” Jack took a step that placed her face in view. “Or has that pup you intended to marry acquired a fortune? You also need a plan to deal with your mother’s spending habits. She cannot continue this way without causing you significant embarrassment.”
“I was trying not to think of that.”
When her eyes closed, Jack allowed himself to admire the tiny woman before him without fear of offending. She was very pretty, after all, with dark hair and dark, winged brows that heightened every emotion expressed by her green gaze.
Jack turned away as an unexpected response to her beauty stirred, giving him a problem that would be inappropriate and embarrassing if noticed. He didn’t need that kind of complication in his life. He glanced to the doorway where Parkes and a maid stood, as they had all evening. Servants made very poor chaperones. Had Pixie realized she was essentially alone with an unmarried man? Probably not. Jack suffered the blow to his ego with as much fortitude as he could bear, but there were limits to his patience. Her outburst before dinner had forced him to retreat, lest he prove he wasn’t infirm at all.
“I suppose I will have to sell Thistlemore,” Pixie said abruptly.
Jack winced. He had hoped to avoid this conversation. Their discussion had been headed in this direction before Pixie had disparaged his age and hinted at infirmity. She was not going to be pleased.
Jack waved Parkes and the maid away, then set the quill aside, closed the lid on the inkpot, and methodically straightened his work. He drained his glass and turned to face her.
“Did you hear me, my lord? We shall sell Thistlemore and use any remaining funds to lease another house. We should be able to manage with lower expenses. What do you think of that plan?”
Pixie loved her home and he doubted she’d really thought her decision through. She would be bereft to leave Thistlemore, so it was lucky she couldn’t carry out her plan. “Then what shall you live on? You will need to draw an income.”
“Oh, I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” She pouted, the little frown reminding him of the amusing child she had been.
Jack touched her shoulder and squeezed. “It would have been a good plan if you still owned the property.”
Pixie took a step away from him. “What?”
“You don’t own Thistlemore any longer,” he told her softly, letting his eyes convey his regret.
Pixie’s skirts snapped around her legs as she advanced on him. “I cannot believe you uttered such a malicious lie to my very face. Mama was right about you. You are beyond cruel.”
“Thistlemore passed from the control of your family seven years ago, I’m afraid.” Jack looked her in the eyes as he spoke the truth and horror crossed her pretty features. He would kill her mother for this.
“Who owns Thistlemore now?”
Jack struggled to lessen the impact of his reply, but there was nothing to do but tell the truth. “I do.”
>
Silence, deafening and complete, covered them until her small hand cracked across Jack’s face with surprising strength. “Why?”
The amusing child of his memory vanished in an instant until a raging harridan stood in her place. No other woman would dare speak to him as she did. A marquess was deferred to and respected. Pixie gave him none at all.
“Damn it, answer me.”
Jack ignored his stinging cheek. “Your father lost it to mine through gambling years ago. When I inherited four years ago, I found the property title and management arrangements already set in place to save your family embarrassment. That is also when I learned about the guardianship and I came to Sunderland. I had not known before then.”
“Why wasn’t I told about this?”
Jack grasped her arms just in case she was of a mind to swing at him again. Given her shock, he wouldn’t put it past her. “I don’t know. At first I assumed the arrangements, along with the guardianship, was common knowledge. But when I approached your mother, she went up in flames. I thought she had informed you. It appears she didn’t.”
“Is that why she hates you? What a loathsome thing. How fast did you wish for us to vacate the property?”
Actually, Mrs. Grange hated him for another matter altogether, but he was not going to mention her scandalous assumption. Ever. “I didn’t ask her to leave. You will never have to leave. I came to formalize a lease that didn’t exist until I had one written. I don’t need the income from Thistlemore. But you do.”
Pixie slipped from his grip. “I don’t understand.”
Jack glanced at his empty hands. “Neither did I, at the time. Your father was never offered a lease for the property, and through his excessive gambling he deprived you and your mother of a comfortable future. When I discovered the extent of my father’s involvement in your situation, I made arrangements to see you never went without, and that both you and your mother could remain as tenants of the property. You cannot be evicted should anything happened to me.”