An Unexpected Gentleman (The Haverston Family Trilogy Book 2)

by Alissa Johnson

  Then he’d heard of Sir Robert’s courtship and everything changed. There would be no anonymous donations. There would be no after. She would be his.

  In the study, Connor set the carving back on the desk.

  Adelaide Ward had always been his.

  Chapter 9

  The late summer sun beat down mercilessly on Adelaide as she made the return trip down the drover’s trail. There wasn’t a hint of chill in the air. And yet she felt cold down to her very bones.

  A means to an end, that’s all she was to Connor Brice.

  She gathered her cloak around herself like fitted armor. She tried to do the same with her anger, but it slipped out of reach faster than she could grab hold, pushed aside by exhaustion and bitter disappointment. And the damn stinging of her feet.

  “Damn and blast.”

  Abandoning the notion of reaching the relative sanctuary of her chambers as quickly as possible, she stopped to rest on a fallen log. She sat on it gingerly, thinking it would be just her luck to discover the center was rotted through after she took a seat.

  It held. Which was more than could be said for her composure.

  She pulled her right shoe off, glared at the thin, worn sole, then hurled it at a nearby tree with all her strength.

  “Bloody . . . Damn . . . Hell . . .” Oh, how she wished she knew how to swear properly. “Bloody hell!”

  And that was it. That was the last of her immediately available anger. Feeling the fight go out of her, she lowered her head to her hands and groaned.

  She didn’t cry. The tears were there, she could feel them pressing against the back of her eyes, and pooling into a heavy weight in the center of her chest, but she ignored both sensations. She had no right to feel sorry for herself. Her circumstances were as much her own doing as Connor’s. The fact that he was a charlatan and a cheat did not excuse how readily she had succumbed to his charm and lies. She’d not come to the house party a naïve young girl fresh from the nursery. She was seven-and- twenty and, for all intents and purposes, the head of a household. She ought to have known better.

  She ought to have done so many things differently.

  The pressure in her chest built. She fought it back, lifted her head, and blew out a long, hard breath.

  She was not, absolutely not going to make matters worse by indulging in a bout of tears. Crying would accomplish nothing more than to give her a red nose and stuffy head. And she needed a clear head to think.

  There were choices to be made, steps to be taken, more questions that needed to be answered.

  How long did she have to make a decision? Was there some sort of time limit? A day? Two? Could she put the decision off for a week? She had to put it off until she spoke with Wolfgang, at least.

  As much as she hated to give credence to anything Connor said, she was forced to admit it was unlikely he’d implied Sir Robert knew something of Wolfgang’s debt unless there was some truth to the accusation. He had nothing to gain by making an idle lie.

  Sir Robert was connected to her brother’s troubles. She couldn’t decide on anything until she knew the details of that connection. She needed all the facts.

  Good Lord, she wasn’t sure she could stomach any more facts. Already, she knew more about Sir Robert and Connor Brice than she cared to . . . No, that wasn’t true. She didn’t like what she’d learned, but she was better off for knowing. It was always better to be informed, wasn’t it? Much better to enter marriage without an idealized perception of her bridegroom. There would be no rude awakening after the wedding, no unrealistic expectations guaranteed to end in bitter disappointment. Two days ago, she would have walked into marriage with Sir Robert blindly. Now she could choose her path with open eyes.

  It was, arguably, the one bright spot in the entire black affair.

  Brushing off her skirts, she rose from the log and hobbled over to fetch her shoe. She would concentrate on that bright spot, and hope it was enough to illuminate each new step as she took it. Move forward, reevaluate footing, and move forward again—it was a prudent plan of action. Mountains were scaled one step at a time.

  A strange sense of calm fell over her as she set aside her fears of the days and weeks to come and focused only on what needed to be done next.

  Her spinning world narrowed down to a series of small, steady, and manageable tasks. She walked back to the house in a kind of daze. She spoke with Lilly and Winnefred, who assured her she could take a few days to make her decision. Then she helped Isobel pack, went to bed before dark, and rose at dawn to direct the loading of the carriage.

  She spent the two-hour return trip staring blankly out the window, her only thought aside from her next step that she should have eaten something before leaving the house party to settle the mild ache in her belly.

  Isobel slept, closing her eyes while they’d still been in Mrs. Cress’s drive and not opening them again until the carriage came to a stop in front of the prison, four miles from their home.

  Rumpled, eyes blurred with sleep, she glanced out the window and frowned. “Why are we here?”

  “I need to speak with Wolfgang.” Adelaide’s voice sounded distant and dull in her head. “The carriage will take you home.”

  “I’ll come with you. Or wait, if you prefer.”

  Adelaide shook her head and reached for the door handle. “Fetch George from Mrs. McFee. We’ve inconvenienced her long enough.”

  She hopped out of the carriage and hurried into the shadow of the looming stone building before Isobel could argue.

  The prison was relatively new, built in the last decade to house an overflow of criminals from Edinburgh and an influx of French soldiers captured during the war. The first time Adelaide had visited her brother there, she’d been struck by the sheer size of the place, and the sense of gloom and despair that seemed to all but seep from its stones. She hardly noticed either anymore. Today, she passed through the gate and strode through the courtyard without paying heed to the towering walls or the few lethargic figures milling about in what scant sunlight could be found. She followed a guard down the long maze of halls without hearing the voices of inmates or noticing the smell of old straw and sweat.

  Wolfgang had a private cell, courtesy of his position as a gentleman, and the few extra coins Adelaide had slipped to the appropriate official. She’d paid the bribe for George’s sake and her own piece of mind. Neither she nor George needed to become acquainted with the other inmates.

  The guard stopped outside Wolfgang’s cell and pushed the door open for her in invitation. Debtors were free to move about their wing, take a bit of air, and exercise in the yard. Wolfgang rarely took advantage of the opportunity.

  Stepping into the small, dark room, she watched as Wolfgang rose from a cot in the corner. As always, Adelaide was struck by how little he resembled the boy she’d once known. He’d been plump as a child, his features soft, round, and invariably lit with a grin.

  She’d adored him then, the younger brother who could tease her out of a pout with a jest and a smile. The carefree boy who had raced with her about their father’s estate and enticed her into adventures in the fields and woods beyond.

  It was difficult to see that boy in the man standing before her now. Wolfgang had grown gaunt, despite the extra food she brought each week. His face was haggard and drawn, with sharp angles and sunken eyes. They were less than two years apart in age, and yet he looked to have aged two decades beyond her.

  “Are you going to come in properly,” he asked. “Or stand there gaping at me like a landed fish?”

  “Wolfgang.” She crossed the room and pressed a kiss to his cheek. The skin felt thin and rough from his night beard. “You need to shave.”

  “My valet’s gone missing. What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in—”He broke off, and his features lit with a rare smile. “You’ve come with news, haven’t you? You brought Sir Robert up to scratch. Knew you would. I knew—”

  “I’ve come to ask you a question.”

/>   He actually grinned at her. “If it’s my permission to marry, you have it.”

  It had been so long since she’d seen him happy, she was almost tempted to hold her tongue and enjoy the all-but-forgotten pleasure. Almost. “Who holds your final debt?”

  The moment of pleasure was lost. His face fell and he groaned. “Not this again, Adelaide. We’ve gone over—”

  “Who, Wolfgang?” She snapped at him. The calm of the last day was slowly wearing away. “Is it Sir Robert?”

  Hooded eyes skittered away. “No, of course not.”

  Connor was right. Wolfgang was an abysmal liar. “Oh, God. How much?”

  He pinched his lips together briefly before answering. “What does it matter?”

  What sort of question was that? “How much?”

  He turned to look out the window. There was a long moment of weighted silence before he gave her the answer under his breath.

  “A thousand pounds.”

  She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t move.

  A thousand pounds. It was far more than she had anticipated, three times the total of his other debts. They would never be able to repay such a sum.

  “It’s not my fault,” Wolfgang snapped suddenly. He spun from the window, his face a heartbreaking mix of indignation and poorly concealed guilt. “The ship was lost.”

  She shook her head at him and wished the numbness would return and swallow her whole. They were ruined, utterly ruined. “What ship?”

  “The one carrying sugar from St. Lucia. Sir Robert swore we’d make a fortune.”

  “This was Sir Robert’s idea?” Her mouth fell open. “You took . . . For pity’s sake, Wolfgang, did it not occur to you to think carefully before accepting financial advice from a man who would loan money to someone in debtor’s prison?”

  “He said he would do it for you, that he wished to help the family.”

  “And you believed him?”

  “Why wouldn’t I have?” Wolfgang threw his hands up. “What did I have to lose? I was already here.”

  “You,” she snapped. “You are here. Not your son, nor your sisters. How could you think so little of us? How could you allow Sir Robert to court me without informing me of his—”

  “Sir Robert told me to say nothing.”

  “All the more reason you should have said something,” she bit off.

  “And have you turn your back on him?”

  “As I should! You can’t possibly expect me to have anything to do with him now.”

  Something like panic flashed across his features. “You must. You have to. It’s the only way I’ll ever be free of this place. If you marry Sir Robert, he’ll pay my creditors and forgive what’s owed to him.”

  “Did he tell you this?”

  “Yes. Essentially,” he amended. “He said he would see me freed once you were married.”

  “And encouraged you to promote the match.” And Wolfgang had most certainly promoted the match, speaking of little else on their visits. Sir Robert this, Sir Robert that. It made her sick to think of it now.

  “I didn’t see the harm in it. You looked to be taken with him, and it’s a sound match.” He swore under his breath. “He’ll not like that I’ve told you. He may not offer if—”

  “Sir Robert has already offered. So has Mr. Brice.”

  “Who the devil is Mr. Brice?”

  “A gentleman I met at the house party.”

  Wolfgang shook his head in dismissal. “I’ve never heard of him. You accepted Sir Robert’s offer, of course.”

  “No. And I’ve no thought of doing so now.” All this time, Sir Robert had been paying compliments to her with one tongue and threatening her brother with another. It turned her stomach.

  “Don’t be a fool. The man’s a baronet. You can’t deny a baronet.”

  “I can and shall.”

  “He’ll not stand for it. You don’t know him, Adelaide. You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

  A long painful silence followed that statement. Adelaide watched as Wolfgang began to pace in short quick strides across the room. There had been a time, when they were young, that she had found amusement in their sharing of that habit. But now, with every step he took, with every moment that passed, another joyful memory turned black. The implications of his words didn’t occur to him. She didn’t occur to him.

  This was not the boy she loved. This was not the playmate of her youth.

  “Is there something you would like to tell me about the man you would have me marry?” she asked thickly. Wolfgang appeared not to take notice. He offered her only an irritated shake of his head and continued on with his pacing, mumbling to himself about baronets and debts and finding them all a way out of the damnable mess.

  Adelaide heard enough. She turned from him and headed for the door.

  “I shall not bring George to see you . . . this Saturday.” She’d almost said ever. But she wasn’t sure if that would be punishing the father or the son.

  “Why?” Wolfgang demanded at her back. “Where will you be?”

  She couldn’t bring herself to turn around and look at him. She wrenched the door open and strode into the hall with a parting shot over her shoulder.

  “Planning a damn wedding.”

  Chapter 10

  Adelaide was spared the nearly four-mile walk home by accepting a ride on a cart from a passing farmer. After a time, the fresh air and rhythmic rocking served to clear her mind and settle her temper. Another step was completed. It had been painful, but necessary and productive. She’d gained the information she’d needed to make the most sensible choice.

  Her next step was to formally accept Connor’s offer. Some of Adelaide’s burgeoning composure withered at the thought. Telling Connor he’d have his way wasn’t going to be painful, it was going to be excruciating. And humiliating, and terrifying, and . . .

  Her list was cut short when her home came into view and she spotted Sir Robert’s carriage sitting in the drive.

  Oh, blast.

  He must have left the house partly directly after her and Isobel. She wasn’t ready to see him. She’d been building—or attempting to build—herself up to speak with Connor, not Sir Robert. What did she say to him? There were any number of things she wanted to say, but Wolfgang was right on at least one account. Sir Robert was a baronet. He would take neither her rejection nor her censure lightly.

  To give herself time to think, she bid the farmer to stop a ways from the house and walked the last few hundred yards of road slowly, her eyes soaking in the familiar surroundings.

  Because the house and grounds were entailed, they were the only things her brother could not lose to debt. Wolfgang often bemoaned the inconvenience of owning property that couldn’t be sold. Adelaide often said a prayer of thanks for the same thing.

  She loved her home. Every square foot of brick and timber, and every inch of land were filled with the cherished memories of her childhood.

  The house had never been grand. It claimed but five bedrooms and two servants quarters. There was no ballroom or orangery. The front parlor was small by ton standards and the dining room could fit no more than twelve. Despite its modest proportions, however, the house had been tended and furnished as carefully as any grand manor. There hadn’t been a door that squeaked, a fireplace that smoked, or a piece of furniture in need of repair or replacement.

  That had changed in the years since her parents’ deaths. They could no longer afford the staff needed to keep the house in good repair. Most of the chimneys were no longer safe to use, and half the doors couldn’t be opened or closed without a good shove. Items of value had been sold to pay Wolfgang’s mounting debt. Even most of her beloved flower garden had gone to seed or turned over to make room for beets and turnips. Her mother’s roses remained, but Adelaide rarely had the time and energy to do more than trim them back once a year, and cut the occasional flower that bloomed despite her neglect.

  She stopped outside the front door, gathering her courage.
The house had fallen to ruin before Sir Robert had come into their lives. He couldn’t be held responsible for that, but he could damn well be held responsible for the absence of its master. baronet or not, he would answer for that.

  Resolute, she opened the door and stepped inside. The foyer was small and in sight of half the downstairs when the parlor doors were open. They were open now, but the moment Adelaide entered, Isobel appeared, blocking her from view.

  Isobel took her cloak and whispered in her ear. “He’s in the parlor. I’ll send him away if you like. Tell him you have the headache.”

  “Thank you, but no. Is George upstairs?” She waited for Isobel’s assent. “Will you be certain he stays there, please?”

  Isobel pressed her lips together, but nodded. “If you need me, you’ve only to shout.”

  Adelaide almost laughed at that. For pity’s sake, Sir Robert was a baronet, not a one-man firing squad. And, really, if anyone ought to be feeling unnerved, it was him.

  He didn’t look unnerved in the least. The moment Isobel moved away, Adelaide saw Sir Robert standing in front of the settee, waiting for her. The vibrant yellow of his waistcoat clashed dreadfully with his hair, and stood in stark contrast to the worn, faded colors of her grandmother’s old carpet and settee. His confident and condescending air clashed with her temper. She wasn’t sure how one could appear condescending, but Sir Robert always seemed to manage it.

  He moved as if to take her hand and draw her into the room. “My dear Miss Ward.”

  She hurried forward of her own volition, hands gripped behind her back. “Sir Robert. You’ve returned early.”

  “Well, of course I did.” His tone and expression turned chiding. “You left without word.”

  “My departure was expected.”

  “Darling girl, if we had arrived at an understanding before—”