Heart's Debt (Lost Lords Book 5)

by Cheryl Holt

She scowled. “How could that be possible?”

  “Your brothers are gamblers, and your father has taken out mortgages to save them from debtor’s prison. I’ve purchased them all, and after meeting you and discovering how cruel you were to Miss Fogarty, I don’t want you as a neighbor.”

  Michael walked over to her chair. “Let’s go, Miss Smithwaite. Your appointment with Mr. Drummond is over.”

  He lifted her to her feet, and she wrestled with him to prevent her departure.

  “Explain yourself!” she demanded of Damian. “What are you talking about? You’ll foreclose? What does that mean?”

  “It means I own your home, and I’ll be by next week to evict you.”

  Clearly it dawned on her that she probably shouldn’t have been so awful to him. She inhaled a deep breath to compose herself. “But…but…we’ve always lived there. It’s belonged to our family for generations. You can’t do that to us.”

  “I already have, Miss Smithwaite.” He nodded to Michael. “Get her out of here.”

  Michael started out with her, and she stopped fighting. She appeared stunned, then she burst into tears, and she wasn’t very pretty when she cried.

  “Everything is ruined,” she sobbed, glowering at Damian over her shoulder.

  “It certainly is—for you,” Damian said. “As to myself, I’ve never been better.”

  “Yesterday was my wedding day! I married Miles so all of my dreams could come true.”

  “Well, Miss Smithwaite, if that’s as big as your dreams take you, perhaps you should pick some other dreams.”

  “Am I a widow or what?”

  “I have no idea. You should consult with an attorney. Oh, wait. I just remembered. You don’t have any money to hire a lawyer.”

  “I’ll find Miles, and when he arrives, he’ll show you.”

  “I’m trembling in my boots.”

  “What should I tell my father?”

  “You needn’t tell him anything. He can read, can’t he?”

  “Of course he can.”

  “I’ll be serving legal papers shortly. After he studies them, he’ll know exactly what’s transpiring.”

  “You’ve destroyed us, and you don’t even care!”

  “You should level that charge against your brothers. They’re the ones who bankrupted your father.”

  “My parents will never survive the scandal.”

  “Isn’t it curious how fast a person’s life can change? One moment, you were a bride and mistress of this grand estate. The next, you were nothing at all.”

  “I can’t bear it!” she wailed.

  “I sympathize completely, Miss Smithwaite. It’s dreadful to have the foundation of your world yanked away. What will become of you?”

  Her expression grew sly. “If I give you information about Georgina, will it help our cause?”

  “You had your chance to tell me about her.” He waved to Michael. “Get her out of my sight, but have her driver tarry for a few minutes.”

  “Why must I tarry?” she asked.

  “You’re taking your mother-in-law with you, but I have to speak with her first.”

  “My mother-in-law?” Portia looked confused as to whom he referred. Then her jaw dropped in shock. “You mean Augusta? I can’t take her with me. My parents can’t abide her. They’ll never let her in the door.”

  “She’s your problem now, Miss Smithwaite,” Damian said.

  Michael tugged on her arm, and she was dragged from the room.

  “Be seated, Augusta.”

  Augusta entered the library, her nose in the air as if Damian Drummond emitted a bad smell.

  “Don’t you dare call me Augusta!” she told him. “I am—and will always be—Mrs. Marshall to you. You will not disrespect me.”

  “Be seated, Augusta,” Mr. Drummond repeated as if she’d registered no complaint.

  “I’ll stand.”

  Mr. Roxbury had escorted her down, and the journey had been very much against her will. She’d been manhandled by him, and she was mad as a hornet.

  “Sit, you old witch,” Roxbury commanded.

  “I will not.”

  Roxbury was bigger and more determined. He put a palm on her shoulder and applied pressure until she had no choice but to obey. She bristled, but slunk down, and she glared at Drummond. If her eyes had been loaded pistols, he’d have been dead on the floor.

  He stared back, and he was totally poised, evincing no sign of upset. How could she be so furious and aggrieved, while he was suffering no heightened emotion?

  “You’re leaving Kirkwood today,” he blandly apprised her.

  “I am not.”

  “You are. I can’t figure out why I let you dawdle on my property this long.”

  “Where is my son?”

  “I haven’t the slightest clue.”

  “You’ve murdered him!”

  Roxbury leaned down. “Mind your manners when addressing your betters or I’ll gag you.”

  “My…my…betters!” she sputtered with affront.

  “Mr. Drummond is the owner of Kirkwood. In addition to this paltry estate, he has assets around the globe: ships and gold mines and a sugar plantation in Jamaica. What have you to compare to all that?”

  “If he actually owns all those things, I’m sure he stole them from their rightful owners.”

  Roxbury sighed and peered over at Drummond. “Shall I gag her?”

  “In a minute. I’m still questioning her.”

  “You can question me until the end of time,” she boasted, “but I won’t answer.”

  “Where is Miss Fogarty?” he asked.

  “How would I know?”

  He scoffed. “Does everyone in this accursed manor think Miss Sophia is deaf? She already told me what you perpetrated while I was away.”

  “Whatever Sophia said, she was lying.”

  “Ah, Augusta, you’re so maternally inclined,” he sarcastically jeered. “Where is Georgina?”

  “Since you appear desperate to discover her location, it’s the last information I would ever provide.”

  He studied her with a great deal of disdain, and she was amazed by his disregard. He’d been such a polite boy, so courteous and cordial. How had that obliging child grown to be this imperious, enraged bully?

  “I’m aware of your licentious interest in her,” Augusta said. “You’d convey her to Kirkwood merely to disgrace her a bit more. You shan’t do it, Damian Drummond! I won’t permit it.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I swear, you Marshalls are all deranged.”

  Just then, Sophia bustled in. She was carrying some papers, and she rushed over and gave them to Drummond.

  “I found these in Mother’s desk,” she said. “They contain all the details about Georgina’s father. We’ll be able to fetch her home with no trouble at all.”

  “Sophia!” Augusta snapped. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m helping him to find Georgina. You never cared about her, but I always loved her. We’re bringing her back.”

  “We are not.”

  “It’s not up to you, Mother.”

  Sophia’s reply left her so angry that she wondered if she wasn’t about to suffer an apoplexy.

  “You duplicitous little shrew,” she spat at her daughter.

  Sophia laughed. “That’s certainly the pot calling the kettle black.”

  Mr. Drummond perused the papers, then he gazed at Mr. Roxbury. “This tells me what I need to know.”

  “Then may I remove Mrs. Marshall from the premises?” Roxbury asked.

  “Yes, and please advise the servants that they are never to allow her back in. Anyone who assists her in any fashion will no longer be employed by me.”

  Roxbury lifted Augusta to her feet. “Let’s go.”

  “I’m not leaving,” she blustered, determined to brazen it out.

  “Yes, you are.”

  “What is my destination to be? I refuse to return to Drummond Cottage. It’s unseemly for you to have force
d me to live there.”

  “Don’t worry,” Drummond said, “you won’t have to reside there ever again.”

  “Where am I going then?”

  “You’re departing with your daughter-in-law.”

  “With Portia?”

  “Yes. She’s in the front drive. For the next few days, I suppose you can stay with her parents, but they’re about to be evicted too.”

  “They are not! How could such a travesty happen?”

  “I own their property as well as this one. You people really should get your sons’ gambling under control.”

  “You’ve seized their estate?”

  “Yes,” he blithely retorted, “and they have to be out immediately. I’ve decided not to show them any mercy. I wasted entirely too much time trying to be kind to you. So I’m done with kindness, and from what I’ve learned of Miss Smithwaite, they wouldn’t appreciate it anyway.”

  “What will become of me after they’re thrown out?”

  “That, Augusta, is not my problem.”

  He nodded, and Roxbury started out, dragging Augusta with him.

  “Sophia!” she called. “Stop this! Stop it, right now!”

  Sophia simply smiled. “Goodbye, Mother, and good luck.”

  “Sophia!” she wailed again, but she was yanked into the hall, her daughter disappearing from view.

  Roxbury marched her to the foyer and out of the house. Portia’s carriage was in the drive, and Augusta’s traveling trunk had been strapped to the roof. As she approached the vehicle, Portia was leaned out the window arguing with the driver, ordering him to depart, but he was ignoring her.

  “We can’t wait for Mrs. Marshall,” she insisted. “My parents can’t abide her, and they’ll be furious if I bring her with me. Go! Before she arrives!”

  But it was too late. Portia’s every despicable comment had been clearly voiced.

  Roxbury opened the carriage door and, as if Augusta weighed no more than a feather, he picked her up and tossed her onto the seat.

  “Augusta!” Portia said. “You can’t accompany me. We’re…ah…busy today.”

  “Stuff it, Portia,” Augusta fumed. “I heard you, and I’m coming merely to spite you.”

  Roxbury grinned. “You two have a nice ride.”

  He stepped back and with Augusta deposited inside, the driver cracked the whip and the horses raced away.

  Damian stood in front of the Black Bull tavern in Whitfield village. The building was recently painted, the sign hung straight, the walk swept, so obviously a person of pride owned the place.

  He’d just been to the country manor that had once belonged to Georgina’s grandparents. The housekeeper had been a veritable font of information, having learned that Georgina was working in the village. At the tavern.

  Apparently a cousin of her father’s was proprietor of the establishment and had given her a job. Damian shuddered at the prospect. He’d traveled the globe, and he was aware of what sort of job a woman often had in such a spot.

  She was so stubborn and resolved to support herself. He should have left her to her own devices, but he was trying to turn over a new leaf. Actually it was several new leaves.

  After Kit had saved him from his kidnapping, he couldn’t remain angry with his old friend. Kit was anxious to wed Sophia and thought she’d make him happy. Damian didn’t believe she would, but what did he know?

  Sophia had begged to accompany him to Whitfield, but that would have meant using a carriage, which was much too slow. Damian had come alone, but she’d been skeptical of his ability to retrieve Georgina. She’d told him—should he not be able to persuade Georgina—she would journey to Whitfield and accomplish what he couldn’t. But he didn’t intend to fail.

  He loved Georgina, and she loved him, and he’d convinced himself that she’d be delighted to see him. He couldn’t bear to suppose she might have a different opinion.

  That last morning when they’d quarreled about Portia, Georgina had been so miserably tormented. He was a pompous ass and had completely botched their discussion.

  In his own defense, he’d been blind as to what he truly desired. It had taken a good beating and numerous blows to the head to rattle loose the appropriate conclusion. Yet while he’d spent their time apart recognizing how much he wanted her in his life, she had spent that time figuring out how she could get as far away from him as possible.

  He wasn’t certain what her reaction would be to his showing up unannounced, and for once he had no confidence that he could fix what was wrong.

  He bolstered his courage and went inside. It wasn’t as tidy as the outside, but resembled every saloon he’d ever entered anywhere in the world. It was dark and dank. There were a dozen tables scattered about, and with it being the middle of the afternoon, there were only three men present. They were playing cards.

  He was a stranger. Immediately all conversation ceased and he was pointedly studied.

  “May I help you?” one of them said.

  “I’d like to speak with Georgina Fogarty. I’m told she’s employed here.”

  The men bristled, and the same one piped up again.

  “What’s your purpose?”

  “I’m a friend of hers.”

  “Really?” His glower was scathing. “From the condition she was in when she arrived, it appeared to me that she doesn’t have any friends.”

  “She has me.”

  “Well, that makes it grand, doesn’t it?”

  “May I see her?”

  “Give me a minute to find out if she’s interested in talking to you. Who are you?”

  For a horrifying moment, he wondered if he should provide a fake name. If he supplied his real one, would she refuse to meet with him?

  “Damian Drummond,” he admitted.

  “Wait here.”

  The man rose and slipped through a door that led to the back. Damian dawdled like an idiot, pondering what he’d do if she told him to sod off. He wasn’t about to let that happen. Not after he’d ridden such a distance to locate her. He spun and followed the man into a kitchen. She was over by the stove, stirring the contents of a large pot.

  “His name is Drummond,” the man was telling her.

  “Damian Drummond?” she replied. “That can’t be right. He’d never search for me. He’s probably at Kirkwood Manor, celebrating that he was shed of me so easily.”

  He hated listening to the disparaging comment. Could she seriously believe he was glad she’d left? How could she not know how much he cared about her? The accursed woman was insane.

  He stepped into the room. “Hello, Georgina.”

  At the sound of his voice, she dropped her spoon on the floor and gaped at him as if he were a ghost.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I’ve come to take you to Kirkwood.”

  “To Kirkwood!” She pronounced the name of the estate as if it was an epithet. “I will never go back there so if that’s your intention, it was a wasted trip.”

  “Sophia is very worried about you. She wants you to hurry home.”

  “Bully for her.”

  “I’ve been worried too.”

  “Worried? About me?” She laughed and waved him away. “Would you please leave? I’m busy and I don’t have time to fuss with you.”

  “You heard her,” the man said. “Head to Kirkwood where you belong.”

  “I don’t think I will just yet,” Damian caustically retorted.

  There was a threat in his tone, and Georgina glanced over and frowned. “Oh, for pity’s sake. You look as if you’re about to brawl.”

  “I won’t go without you,” he adamantly declared.

  She pointed to the oaf who was hovering so protectively. “This is my cousin, John Fogarty.” Damian nodded to him as she peered up at her cousin and said, “Mr. Drummond is a violent fiend. I’m sure he’s killed dozens of people in his life.”

  “I have not!” Damian huffed.

  She kept talking to Fogarty. “He�
�s also the most arrogant ass who ever lived. It’s clear he has something to say to me so why don’t you give us some privacy so he can say it? If we don’t let him have his way, we’ll never be rid of him.”

  Her cousin dithered, then agreed. “I’ll be in the tap room. If he’s rude to you, call for me, and I’ll come running. It doesn’t matter how many people he’s killed. He doesn’t get to be awful to you ever again.”

  Fogarty spoke with a calm dignity Damian respected. Still though, as he went by Damian couldn’t resist lying. “I haven’t ever killed anybody. She’s being melodramatic.”

  “Don’t upset her,” Fogarty warned, “or you’ll answer to me.”

  He continued on, and Damian was glad of it. He didn’t want to spar with her cousin, didn’t want to bicker. He simply wanted to whisk her out of there.

  An awkward silence developed and they stared, but didn’t converse. He’d rehearsed a hundred speeches, but now that he was face to face with her, he couldn’t remember any of them. As to her, she wasn’t about to make it easy on him. She merely glared, then glared some more, as if daring him to start.

  He pushed away from the door and walked over to her, not stopping until he was close enough that his legs brushed her skirt. She didn’t flinch, didn’t step away. He’d always liked that about her. She was tough as nails and not scared of anything.

  “You have a black eye,” she said, the last remnants from his beating still visible. She reached out as if she might trace a finger over it, but she didn’t.

  “Yes, courtesy of Miles’s companions.”

  “You’re all right?”

  “I have a few broken ribs, but they’ll mend.”

  “Broken ribs!”

  “Yes.”

  She was flustered by the information, and she whirled away and grabbed a clean spoon to replace the one she’d dropped. Ignoring him, she vigorously stirred the pot, which had his temper flaring, and he tamped it down. He absolutely would not quarrel with her!

  “When I returned to Kirkwood,” he said, “and you weren’t there, I nearly perished from shock.”

  “Why would you have fretted? As you can see, I’m fine. So if that’s all you needed to learn, you can go.”

  “That’s not all.” She seemed genuinely perplexed, and he insisted, “You have to come back.”