“But…”
Such a powerful syllable. She waited. There was so much more to her than either George or Pallister or her brother knew. And the fortune was far greater than they imagined. Her new shopkeeper, Jeremiah Kingston, had been hired from the one other person who knew her situation. Her man of business, who had run her aunt’s estates, suggested that something could be done to bring her more money, and helped her all along the way. The one who operated all of her plans and knew all of her guises.
It was he who was currently countering Mr. Pallister. It was he who was discrediting that fool and gambler, Iverning. Though, of course, Wolfemuir’s added influence was making Pallister more and more ridiculous.
Maybe.
If she were lucky.
Together she and her man of business, Mr. James Kingston, had taken the inheritance from her aunt and built it into a fortune—while also creating a fairytale around who and what her aunt had been.
But it was the fortune that mattered. Now more than ever.
And it was that fortune that made it possible for what came next.
“But?” he demanded, angry that she’d made him ask. That she was the puppet-master, and he as the boy on strings.
“I will leave,” she said again. “And take with me my allowance, making it even harder for you to meet your bills. I believe you’re two thousand pounds in debt.”
Her brother flushed.
“Or,” she said, and then she sat, leaning back, waiting for her brother to do the same. He would sit and he would deal, or he would lose what she had to offer. He didn’t know what that was, of course. But he did know that he couldn’t afford what she already contributed to their household.
And though her brother might be terrible at being family—he was not stupid. And he’d heard both two words of moments ago. But and or. And the figure she’d stated. It was far more than her brother would expect her to have. Far, far more. If she were starting with that figure, her brother might be saved, he would be thinking. He might get out of his scrape and even end up ahead.
But.
Or.
Powerful, weighty words to a man on the edge of ruin.
She smiled a cat’s smile before she said, “I will leave. I have been considering my options previous to this. I will sign over to you the money I have contributed thus far until Mariah is old enough for an allowance of her own. The funds will then become hers.”
Mariah was the youngest of his children. A mere toddler. It was money for a long time, but not forever. But it also removed the burden of the child in the future.
“And I will pay your debts, but you will sign these.”
She pulled the papers from her reticule, the ones she’d been waiting to deliver as she debated what she wanted for herself and Rodger. They were the adoption papers. The ones that made her boy hers—legally as well as in heart. She’d had them prepared long, long ago.
“What is this?”
“Guardianship of Rodger.”
Markus laughed. A cruel laugh meant to take away any hope she had.
But she was not a fool and she knew her brother well.
“You’re over two thousand pounds in debt, brother of mine. You won’t keep this home another decade at that rate given that your yearly income is a mere four hundred pounds.”
The red spots on his cheek were brilliant now.
“You’re ruined,” Markus declared. “I am not handing my boy over to you.”
Ah. The threat of loss. To darken her hopes and make her malleable. More the fool he. He had no idea of what she had. So he had no idea of what he could get out of her. In reality, he could take her for every single thing she had, for she loved Rodger as if he were born of her and nothing mattered more than her nephew. But…Markus did not have the imagination to guess how much that might be.
And he had no idea how much she cherished the boy. He didn’t have the heart to love that deeply—so why would he think that she loved to that level?
“He’s your fourth son, not your heir. But if you don’t need the money…” She stood, adding, “I’ll send a servant or something for the things in my room and just get one or two items before I go.”
“Wait,” he snapped. “I want five thousand pounds.”
A shot in the dark.
“I own a little shop.”
A hedge, on her part, and his eyes glanced to the side, but he hadn’t given up hope. She was the one who had brought up thousands of pounds. But she’d thrown that amount out because of the other children. She did not have the same feelings for them—but she would not see them in debtor’s prison with their parents.
“The profits of which you’ve been banking for a hundred years.” He was grasping at straws, eyes narrowed, searching her face. He wanted to be right. So badly that he was trying to make it so with his force of will. He intended to beggar her and, in the process, Rodger, not caring that the two of them would be thrown adrift in this world without the money he was sure she hand.
And he was right.
She did have it. But he was wrong about one thing. She hadn’t been banking it. She’d been carefully investing it. And she had far, far more than five thousand pounds. She wondered if Pallister had uncovered her secrets that far?
She thought not.
“What makes you think I could possibly have that much money,” she asked, idly.
“I am not an idiot. And I know you well.” Markus stood and rounded the desk again, leaning over her, intending to intimidate her. “You have that. Probably more. But if you want me to give you my boy, you’ll agree to five thousand pounds and the money for Mariah.”
“I’ll give you a bank draft as soon as you and your wife sign the paperwork.” She rested her head against the chair, giving no more attention to him, but examining her nails. She was, however, fully aware of him, so when he placed his hands on the armrests of her chair and leaned farther down, she showed no reaction.
Her brow raised and the look she gave him was of pure challenge.
“You’ll leave today,” he said. He signed the paperwork without delay, for he knew she would follow through. The moment the pen dropped he was ringing the bell and sending the servant for his wife.
“Phoebe has agreed to exchange five thousand pounds for guardianship of Rodger. She’ll sign over her inheritance from Father for Mariah as well.”
“What makes you think I’m going to give up my boy?” Helga asked, eyes darting around the room. That wasn’t a heartfelt cry, for those greedy eyes bounded around the room before she said, “I’m not giving you anything without something in return.”
Phoebe wanted to shake them, to yell. Didn’t they care about Rodger? She shouldn’t get what she wanted because his parents were shocked and horrified at the idea. Because they wanted him more than money. But of course…if they were that kind of family, she wouldn’t be having the experience she was now. They wouldn’t be throwing her out, and she would have shared her money long ago.
“It’s been a long time,” Phoebe said, dispensing with the idleness and going for Helga’s wants with the precision of a healer seeking out an injury, “since you’ve had a new wardrobe.”
Her sister-in-law’s eyes glinted.
“I will provide you a line of credit at Madam Pomerstoy’s. You may replace your wardrobe within a reasonable amount. You won’t be losing your home now. Should you and Markus exercise the merest whim of economy, you should never lose your home.”
Her sister-in-law delayed no longer in signing the paperwork.
Clothing was all it took. A few gowns in exchange for a son. Phoebe’s eyes hadn’t stopped glowing with the wolf, and she wasn’t sure they ever would after this morning.
“My lawyer will be by to witness the form and provide the check.” Phoebe rose and brushed passed her brother and his wife. Phoebe wanted to be surprised, but she wasn’t. She wasn’t even hurt. She was just…tired.
She wouldn’t miss one person in this home except for Rodger, and he was
coming with her today. She walked to her room, took the few things that mattered to her and packed a valise. She made her way to the nursery and had the maid pack some things for Rodger. They wouldn’t need much, but he wouldn’t be happy without his toy soldiers and little airplanes.
Phoebe was grateful for so many things, but mostly that she could, without an issue, cross town to the best hotel Lyndone had to offer and rent rooms without delay. Though they did pause at her threadbare dress. A letter of credit from her bank resolved that and she had them send a servant to get her new dresses. The time for living as a pauper had ended.
By the evening, her man of business had sent servants, finalized the adoption papers, and reported that they’d been successful so far hiding her association with the shop.
Or her many investments.
Her man had gotten the fool Iverning to flee the city with just enough funds to…maybe…start again. Iverning had the chance to gamble it away or rebuild. But either way, he wasn’t around to counter what Phoebe said in the process.
And her new shopkeeper would never do anything but laugh at those who asked him who he worked for.
Phoebe felt the vaguest sense of hope combined with overwhelming gratitude that she was finally free of her brother’s home. Already she and Rodger were walking lighter, and freedom from burdens they hadn’t noticed until they were gone had changed everything from their outlook to their joy in the hotel.
Rodger was rolling around on the bed in his own room when George’s mother arrived for an unexpected visit.
Phoebe didn’t quite know what to do, so she sent her new maid for tea and invited the elegant, pale woman to join her in the little sitting room.
If George received his suavity from his mother, it wasn’t evident when she asked, “So you are going to brazen it out then?”
“Well, I could…”
“It is risky,” Lady Darcy said bluntly. George got his style and manners from his mother. Though they looked so different—their mannerisms declared them to be family. Her face was just as youthful as Phoebe’s while also carrying the confidence that declared Lady Darcy had lived far longer.
Phoebe didn’t reply.
Lady Darcy added, “Unsupported.”
Hope rose in Phoebe even as she said, “I believe it is likely that any chance I had to be part of the haut ton expired when the gossip rags published what they did about me. Technically, I am a gentleman’s daughter, but your son is far beyond my reach.”
“My son is yours, my dear.” So blunt and final. As if an idiot could see what Lady Darcy was saying.
Phoebe’s face showed no expression at the words of George’s mother. But Phoebe did not lie to herself, and she well knew that Lady Darcy would not be here or saying what she was if she did not believe that it was true.
“I will not, however, brazen it out so much as straight lie,” Phoebe said truthfully, deciding to reveal her plan. She needed Lady Darcy’s support, and they both knew it. “It is true that I inherited money from a great aunt around the time of my choices. It was that money that I used to finance some of my early endeavors.”
A smile began to play around Lady Darcy’s lips.
“It is my aunt’s man of business who has done for me what I cannot do for myself. He has agreed to be cagily quiet about where and how much money I inherited. But he is hinting that my funds have less to do with me and more to do with my aunt. My aunt made me an owner of her estates before she died so my brother would not be able to fight the will. I had owned the properties with my aunt for years before she died. Markus didn’t fight it for he knew that they were heavily in debt. We’re putting it out that it was a little fiction my aunt spread to keep her grasping relatives away.”
“Do you know, I believe I knew your aunt?”
“Oh, really?” Phoebe asked, knowing that Lady Darcy was lying. “Would you like some more tea?”
Lady Darcy nodded once and then said, “Indeed. I met her in Arathe-By-The-Sea. I will perhaps, stop being so closed mouthed about my old friend.”
“She did often go to Arathe-By-The-Sea,” Phoebe said calmly, though hope had become a bonfire within her heart. “And Aunt Felicity had many friends she kept mostly through correspondence.”
“She was a clever woman. Snapping up businesses.” Lady Darcy added to the fiction and suddenly Phoebe could see how someone as urbane as George could be such a powerful werewolf.
His family was full of liars.
Now time for a little truth to mix in with the lies. “What were Aunt Felicity’s passion again? Mainly building a fortune like a chess master moving pieces around the game board. Investing in shipping companies. A perfumery. Hotels, even. Farms. Orchards. All manner of things.” Phoebe watched carefully as she revealed her secrets.
Lady Darcy swallowed for a moment as Phoebe told her secrets for the first time, for Lady Darcy knew it wasn’t Aunt Felicity who owned those things but Phoebe.
“She was…successful?” The tea cup had paused on its way to Lady Darcy’s lips.
“Incredibly so,” Phoebe agreed. “She was perhaps shockingly successful and wealthy.”
Lady Darcy took a sip of the tea finally with fingers that shook only slightly. She said, “Felicity was so very retiring and private. Rather like her niece.”
“Exactly,” Phoebe said.
“George is lucky indeed,” Lady Darcy said, taking Phoebe’s hand and squeezing it. “To have the niece of such a clever woman accept him, rogue that he is, pirating days and all.”
“It is Miss Phoebe Varling,” Phoebe said, “who has been blessed by knowing him. And his family.”
Lady Darcy lifted her hand to her mouth for a moment as she gained control of her emotions. This woman’s joy came from her children’s happiness. Phoebe’s heart burned with the realization that she was now part of that select group, or would be as soon as she persuaded herself that George was what he seemed to be.
Lady Darcy said, “I am so happy. George wants happiness. I believe he’ll find it with you.”
“Lady Darcy,” Phoebe said. “I need to believe that he loves me before…”
“Oh, he loves you,” Lady Darcy said. “But I agree, you need to see for yourself and feel it in your heart. Now…love takes time. And faith in that love takes longer. That is fine. George is a patient man. And it will give me time to play games with the ton with my sisters-in-law. Don’t worry darling. I’ll take it from here.”
And, oddly, Phoebe didn’t worry any longer. Not about that. Lady Darcy would never tell Phoebe to relax if Lady Darcy wasn’t utterly certain she could bring about what they had sketched out. That woman loved George as Phoebe loved Rodger.
Lady Darcy would not fail her son.
How blessed Phoebe was to have such a woman taking care of her, too.
For the first time since her father died, Phoebe did not feel alone.
CHAPTER TEN
“Will you see that Miss Varling receives an invitation to the masquerade?” George asked Devlin.
“It has already been done,” Devlin said with a smirk that bespoke too much enjoyment in the merry parade that Phoebe was leading George through. Except, of course, it wasn’t a parade. It was all that was vital to George.
Devlin rose and said, “Perhaps a toast?”
“There is nothing to toast,” George said. “She spends much of her time with my mother. Miss Varling goes driving with me. She’ll join me for a ball or an evening at the opera. I’ll be at her side when the whispers begin and join her in laughing them off. But it is as if she’s slipping through my fingers all the same.”
There was a long silence before Devlin said, “If I knew how to fix that, I would have long since resolved the Henry and Leah situation.” He referred to George’s cousin and Devlin’s sister, who desperately loved each other and yet could never quite commit their long lives.
George stood to pace before demanding, "Aren't we going to Red's? Aren't we supposed to have lunch with Alfie and Callum? Why are yo
u smiling at me? Oh, bloody hell," George ended when he saw Devlin's wicked grin.
"Calm down, old man, you will resolve it And yes, Henry is coming as well. I understand that Hugh has recovered? ” Devlin replied, his smile growing so wide as to show all of his fangs. Devlin’s pale visage almost glowed in the shadows of the room. He was one of the few vampires with charms tattooed into his skin to provide protection against the sun. The council had done it for Devlin when he’d joined Henry’s crew sent to recover the Kendawyner criminals turned pirates in the mortal realm. Not even the Vampire Prince of Kendawyn had been given such a gift.
George grinned. “He has indeed. I think he’s even more tortured than I am. He says his Alice has him twisted into a ball so tight he can no longer feel the moon.”
“I believe the question is why do we do this to ourselves, old man? Shall we just go back to the mortal realm and go pirating again?”
“It would be an easier route,” George sighed, “except now that I have found her, I cannot leave her. It is too late for me. Save yourself.”
He didn't wait for his friend to reply, simply strode out of his friend's office, making the butler jump to open the door, and hurried down the steps into the gray, drizzly morning. There was no question that Devlin would seek out Miss Varling to satisfy his curiosity at the masquerade.
Would George care? Would he discover as he danced with her at the masquerade that she bored him now? He mocked himself at the thought. Far more likely that he would discover that even Devlin dancing with her would bring out more of George’s beast than he could handle.
His instincts replied that it wouldn't happen and his wolf, shadow that he was in the thin of the moon, agreed. But, George thought, Devlin was one thing. George had no desire to see her spending the masquerade dancing with others.
There had to be a way for her to be comfortable spending the full evening with him. Perhaps, if he could get her to himself for the entire evening, he could discover the reason of her hesitation. Why society insisted on such limited courting he could hardly understand. He only knew he chaffed at the restrictions.
Bewildered by Love (Kendawyn Paranormal Regency) Page 8