Suddenly a St. Clair (The St. Clairs Book 5)

by Alexa Aston

  Mia’s heart dropped. She felt faint. No, she would not faint as she had yesterday. That had been embarrassing enough, especially in front of a stranger. She dug her nails into her palms and willed resolve to fill her.

  “I’ll be back,” she told her aunt and uncle.

  “I better go with you,” Uncle Trentham said.

  “I have no taste for arguments,” Aunt Fanny said. “I will stay and have another cup of tea.”

  Mia and her uncle made their way to the front of the house and out the door. As the maid said, Mr. Willis was arguing with Cousin Horatio. Both men were red in the face.

  “I don’t care if you’re the bloody King of England,” the once-calm Mr. Willis hollered. “I don’t take orders from you.”

  “And I am saying you are on my property. Taking my things. Now get off my land!” shouted her cousin.

  Mia counted her blessings. The steam engine and all of her journals were safely gone, along with four of the wagons. She could forfeit whatever else was in the house. Her writings would help her recreate anything she wished.

  She stepped up and faced Mr. Willis, her back to her cousin. “Mr. Willis, my cousin is right. I think it best if you and your men leave.” Then she winked.

  He had the grace to keep a straight face. “If you say so, Lady Mia. I must tell you that my employer will not be happy. Good day.” He turned abruptly and shouted to his men. “We’re leaving for London.”

  Mia held her breath, waiting to see if Cousin Horatio would make them unload what their wagons already held. When she heard nothing, she turned to look at him.

  “Good morning, Cousin Horatio.”

  A surly looked crossed his face. “You will address me as Lord Morrison.”

  Mia curtseyed. “Of course, my lord.”

  “She’s family, Morrison. Have you no sympathy?” her uncle demanded.

  Morrison eyed him. “Lord Trentham. It has been a long time since we last met.”

  “Not long enough, apparently,” her uncle said forcefully.

  “What were those men carrying away?” Morrison demanded.

  “Rubbish,” came the answer.

  She looked and saw an incredibly beautiful woman with perfect features and large, dark eyes moving toward them. Her cape was of midnight blue and she carried a fur-trimmed muff of silver. She approached Mia, eyeing her up and down.

  Once again, she curtseyed. “Lady Morrison, I assume.”

  “Yes,” the viscountess said curtly. She looked to her husband. “I saw nothing of value, my love. Those men did us a favor, ridding the property of junk. I only wish we could call them back.” She gave a tight smile. “What’s left, we’ll burn.”

  Mia wanted to strangle her. Instead, she said, “Won’t you come inside, Lady Morrison? It’s quite cold out here. My aunt is inside. And have you met my uncle, Lord Trentham?”

  She willed her uncle to behave decently. Fortunately, his diplomatic manners kicked in and he politely greeted the viscountess. They all went inside the hall. Mia prayed Aunt Fanny wouldn’t cause a scene.

  “Give me a tour of the place,” the viscountess told Mia.

  “Now?”

  Disdain filled her features. “Do you have anything better to do?’

  “I’ll be happy to show you the house.”

  “I’ll join you,” Morrison said.

  Her uncle slipped away, probably to inform her aunt of the situation.

  “I’ll see the family rooms first. Then the master bedchamber,” Lady Morrison said.

  Mia led them to the first floor. They saw the drawing room, a parlor, and her mother’s old sitting room.

  “I can’t look at another room,” the viscountess proclaimed. “This place is in wretched condition. It’s filthy and tumbling down. Everything is older than the hills of Rome. It might be better to burn the structure to the ground, Morrison, and everything from the carpets to the drapes to the furniture in it.” She focused her attention on Mia. “You let things sink low. You were the lady of the manor. You were supposed to care for this house and your father. Obviously, you abandoned those duties. Just look at you. Dressed as a man. It’s obscene. The next thing you’ll tell me is there is no money.”

  “There isn’t,” she confirmed. “Papa chose to use any money from the estate to invest in his machines.”

  “He certainly wasn’t very clever, now was he, my dear?” the viscountess asked. “If he had been, you wouldn’t be living in squalor. As far as the contract with the St. Clairs for a piece of your junk, don’t think you’ll be able to survive on that for long. It’s a good thing you have someplace to go because I would never stoop so low as to want your company, much less claim you as a family member. I find it laughable that you’re to be given a Season. You’ll never attract a man because you have no social graces—and no dowry.”

  “How dare you!”

  Mia turned and saw Aunt Fanny standing there, spots of red on her cheeks. Her own face flamed with humiliation at this woman’s savage words.

  “You are deliberately cruel to Mia, who has just lost her beloved father?” Aunt Fanny asked.

  Lady Morrison shrugged. “She’s no relation of mine. My husband won’t claim her either. It would be an embarrassment for either of us to acknowledge the tenuous relationship in Polite Society. Don’t ask for a dowry for her from us. Even if she had twenty thousand pounds, no man would ever want a creature such as her.”

  Her cousin chimed in. “We’ve had quite enough of your company, Lady Trentham. It’s tiresome. Take your husband and niece and leave.”

  Mia held her head high. “My things are already packed. I’ll have them brought down at once. Good riddance, Lord Morrison.”

  Before she turned to leave, Lady Morrison said, “You don’t need your things. They are our things now. Everything in this house belongs to Viscount Morrison. You’ll leave with the clothes on your back and nothing more.”

  She thought of the few clothes she had and could do without them. Even the few books she’d packed could be replaced. The only thing of real value to her was a locket which had belonged to her mother.

  Summoning her courage, she asked, “Might I retrieve a locket from my room? It was my mother’s and given to me upon her death.” Surely, they would allow that.

  Then she saw the look the couple exchanged.

  “I think not,” Morrison said.

  “My sister brought a manor house into the marriage,” Aunt Fanny said. “It was to be sold and the proceeds used for Mia’s dowry.”

  “Had my uncle already done so before his death?” asked Morrison, not bothering to hide his feral smile. “Was that a stipulation in his will? I doubt it. Uncle was a dreamer, not a planner. Poor Mia must suffer for her father’s lack of interest in her future.”

  “Don’t make me ask again,” Lady Morrison warned.

  Mia met the woman’s gaze. “You won’t have to. We’re leaving.”

  With that, she left the room, her aunt and uncle falling in behind her. Barely holding on by a thread, she hurried down the stairs and out the front door, not stopping to bid Cook or the maid goodbye. She marched to the carriage as the footman opened the door and climbed inside. She hadn’t even stopped for her cloak.

  Her aunt and uncle climbed inside and the vehicle took off immediately. As they pulled away from Morris Park, her sobs began—and lasted all the way to London.

  Chapter Eight

  Hudson awoke early, which was his habit. He still wondered sometimes what gentlemen of the ton did all day with no job to go to. He never seemed to stop, having far too many responsibilities in helping manage his family’s fortune, as well as the personal one he had acquired. He rose and washed, having already bathed after his lengthy boxing session at Gentleman Jack’s yesterday. Remembering Anthony’s longstanding advice, Hudson had boxed out his frustrations in front of a bag and not bashing in the face of a sparring partner. He’d also used boxing gloves, which he knew saved bruising his knuckles. Still, he felt restless today.<
br />
  He took a few minutes to dash a quick note to Matthew instead of stopping to see him at their offices today. He let his colleague know he would be at Eversleigh for the foreseeable future, briefly explaining Cor didn’t have much time left and he wanted to spend as much as he could at her bedside. He sealed it and left it on the table for his maid to find. He had someone come in twice a week to clean and Annie would know to see it delivered to Matthew.

  Before he left London, though, he decided to stop by the warehouse. He wanted to see that all of Lady Mia’s collection had arrived safely, especially the steam engine. He arrived and only saw a few laborers had reported due to the early hour. He went immediately to the section designated for Lady Mia’s vast array of inventions, hoping she would think the space adequate.

  When Hudson reached it, he spied the steam engine sitting on a raised platform which was only half a foot off the ground. Several tables had been set up and boxes rested atop them and underneath. He gazed around and realized not everything had arrived. He’d thought the number of wagons he’d sent would be adequate. Apparently, he was wrong.

  Suddenly, he noticed a bookcase and went to it, seeing it was filled with journals. He removed one and flipped it open, finding an illustration of a device. It was labeled with a name, date, and description detailing what it did. Several pages followed with notations on trials run on the machine and the subsequent failures and successes. It ended with a note describing the machine’s potential. He continued turning pages, reading about various apparatuses, and was amazed by the pages, all recorded in Lady Mia’s neat, precise handwriting, which he recognized from the letters he’d delivered that she’d addressed.

  “Clever girl,” he said to himself, recognizing how organized she was and how she’d been wise to have these journals brought to London, along with her creations.

  Hudson realized he was sitting upon a wealth of information and potential inventions. He wondered if Lady Mia would be open to hiring an assistant—or two—to help her in conducting trials for her work. He could spend days, even weeks, going over these notebooks with her and deciding which ideas to pursue. The thought appealed to him more than he cared to admit.

  Lady Mia appealed to him more than he cared to admit.

  He replaced the journal on the shelf, glad she’d thought to have these delivered to the warehouse. The information in them would be invaluable in the future development of her creations. Especially if she signed an exclusive agreement to work for the St. Clair family. Even buying access to these notebooks would be incredible. He decided he needed to broach that subject with her in person. Perhaps once he was back in London. She would have had time to settle in by then. The Season would most likely have started. He wondered how busy her aunt would keep her and if Lady Mia would at least try to win a husband. If she did, he would offer to buy her notebooks and the prototypes now sitting in the St. Clair warehouse. He doubted a husband would allow her to continue her scientific pursuits.

  The thought saddened him. She had the potential to be so much more than a society matron, sitting at home, planning or attending parties. Of course, she might find a different way. All the St. Clair women had. Catherine wrote children’s books. Rachel designed gardens. Caroline owned and operated a bookstore and tearoom. Leah helped in the bookstore, organizing its subscription service and various book clubs. Even Laurel, now one of those society matrons, spent a good deal of time raising funds for and volunteering at an orphanage in the neighborhood they had grown up in. Surely someone as intelligent as Lady Mia could finagle her way into doing something she deemed worthwhile once she wed.

  “Good morning, Mr. St. Clair.”

  Hudson turned and saw Willis, who’d been placed in charge of retrieving everything from Morris Park yesterday.

  “I suppose I was wrong on my estimate of the number of wagons it would take to bring all Lady Mia’s inventions to London. I hope you’re returning today for the rest.”

  A sour look crossed Willis’ face. “Not today. Not any day.”

  Hudson’s gut tightened. “What happened?”

  “His lordship is what happened,” Willis sat, spitting on the ground to show his contempt. “He and the new Lady Morrison arrived and ordered us off the property. Said it was his stuff and we weren’t to have at it.”

  Anger rippled through him. “Was Lady Mia present?”

  “She was, Mr. St. Clair. Nicest person you could ever meet. So friendly and helpful. Smart, too, because on the very first wagon, along with the steam engine, she had us place boxes with all her notebooks.” Willis indicated the bookcase. “I thought she was worried about things falling off the wagon and breaking. She said these were her records and she could recreate anything she’d made if she had the notebooks.”

  Willis shrugged. “Now, I’m not so sure. I have a feeling she knew the new viscount would appear and put his foot down and that’s why she insisted the notebooks be loaded with the steam engine on the first wagon out.” Willis chuckled. “She kept me from coming to blows with the viscount. Even winked at me.”

  “She winked at you?”

  “That she did. Her back was to the viscount. It was as if it were our own little secret.” Willis shook his head. “She politely asked us to leave so we did. I thought for a minute his lordship might make us unload the wagons but he didn’t. I hated leaving Lady Mia with him. I know I shouldn’t speak ill of a lord but the man was a nasty brute.”

  Hudson held his fury on the tightest leash imaginable. Still, he nodded pleasantly at Willis and said, “Thank you for all your hard work, Mr. Willis.”

  The worker studied him. “Are you going to Surrey, Mr. St. Clair?”

  “Yes, I am,” he ground out.

  “Get in a punch for me if it comes to that.”

  Hudson left the warehouse and told his driver to take him to Davidson’s residence since he knew the solicitor wouldn’t be in his office at this early hour. The butler admitted him and took him to a small breakfast room. It wouldn’t be the first time Hudson had shown up at the solicitor’s morning meal.

  “Did you complete the contracts on the steam engine?” he asked, not bothering with a greeting.

  “I did—and sent copies to Lord Trentham and Lord Morrison first thing yesterday morning. I’ve also completed the one for Lady Mia’s services for a three-year period if you’d care to look it over. Of course, that is at my office,” he noted drolly.

  He knew that Sloane had received the contract before he went to Morris Park. Perhaps it was what had spurred him on. He took a calming breath, not wanting his anger to spill out and his words to wound an innocent man.

  “Thank you, Mr. Davidson. I will review both contracts sometime this afternoon. Right now, I need to get to Surrey and speak to Viscount Morrison.”

  “Take care, Mr. St. Clair,” the solicitor said with concern.

  “I will.”

  For the second time in two days, he instructed his driver that Morris Park would be their destination. He climbed into the carriage, knowing it would take about two hours to reach the estate. For the life of him, he couldn’t put two thoughts together during the journey. Normally, he was the most rational of men and his thoughts were easy to organize. He suspected he was having trouble doing so because of Mia Sloane. Something about her had struck a chord within him and he couldn’t seem to get her out of his mind. It infuriated him that Morrison had put a halt to moving her devices to London simply because he could.

  By the time they arrived in the nearby village, he had no argument planned. No strategy for what he would say to the viscount. It bothered him that he was going into a meeting with so little control.

  Then they reached the turnoff for Morris Park. Immediately, he smelled something horrible. A burning smell, but what was on fire, he couldn’t say. The carriage pulled into the front drive and as he got out, he saw a cloud of billowing smoke about half a mile away. Confused, he went to the front door and presented his card to George, the former valet, who now opene
d the door. He wondered if the servant would have a job or not with Horatio Sloane as the new viscount. Or if George would even want to work in the Morrison household if given the opportunity.

  “I’d like to see Lord Morrison, George.”

  “I’m sorry, my lord. I mean, Mr. St. Clair. I mean . . . please, sir. Come in.”

  As the flustered valet closed the door, Hudson asked, “What in tarnation is burning?”

  The servant nose curled in disdain. “Lady Mia’s inventions.”

  Fury struck him like a bolt of lightning. “He had them burned?”

  “Yes, Mr. St. Clair. Every last one. It would have killed her. At least some of them made it off in the wagons you sent. Her notebooks, too. She prizes them highly.” George paused. “At least she didn’t have to stay and see it come to this.”

  So, Mia had already left for London with the Trenthams. “When did she leave?”

  “Lord and Lady Trentham took her away around noon or so yesterday.” A hard look crossed the valet’s face as his brow furrowed.

  “What happened?”

  George sighed, sadly shaking his head. “We all heard. The new viscount and viscountess made no secret of how they felt. Lady Mia and the Trenthams were ordered off the property. Ugly things were said, Mr. St. Clair. So ugly I can’t repeat them.”

  “She wasn’t hurt?” he asked, worried that Morrison or his wife had struck Mia.

  “Not physically, no, sir. But what they said about her and her papa?” He clucked his tongue. “It cut her to the quick. That—and not letting her take anything.”

  Hudson frowned. “What did she want to take beyond her devices?”

  “Everything that was hers,” George said simply. “She was made to leave with only the clothes on her back. She wanted her mama’s locket. It was hers. But his lordship wouldn’t even let her have that. Lady Mia held her head high and left here with more grace and courage than you can imagine.”

  What he learned shocked Hudson. How could Morrison have been so cruel? Yet he knew the man was a weasel who had put on a show for his wife. For all Hudson knew, Lady Hortense had egged her husband on, knowing her to be vindictive and spiteful. To think that Mia left with only the clothes she wore was unthinkable. His fury cooled to a cold, hard rage. He would see that Lord and Lady Morrison were paid back a thousandfold for their actions and words. He saw no point in confronting them now. They would merely say it was in their power to do and see fit with what happened on their property. Turning Mia out was probably the best thing that could have happened to her. If she’d been forced to stay and live under this roof with such cruelty, it might have broken her quickly. Being with her aunt and uncle would prove to be her salvation.