Surrender To Ruin

by Carolyn Jewel

  “Mr. Sinclair—” The woman’s chin firmed.

  “Out!” He reeled into the wall again and knocked a small watercolor off kilter. “I’ll have you arrested for trespass.”

  “You haven’t that right,” Bracebridge said. He might not throw the man out, but oh, how he would enjoy this. He intended to have every ounce of satisfaction to be extracted here.

  Sinclair’s watery-eyed glare pierced him. “I’ll dismiss any servant I please.” He snapped his fingers. “I might dismiss the entire staff, and it would be no business of yours.”

  “Yes, as to that.” Bracebridge then addressed the housekeeper. “Pay him no need. His threats of prosecution for trespass are empty.”

  “Get out of my sight!” Sinclair waved the bottle. “Both of you. I won’t have either of you in this house a moment longer. Conspirators, the lot of you.”

  “He’s discharged me a dozen times,” Mrs. Elliot said in a low voice. “Tomorrow he won’t remember.”

  “No whispering!” Sinclair attempted to go around Bracebridge to reach Mrs. Elliot. “If you’ve something to say, say it to me directly, or I’ll call you a bloody damned coward.”

  For years, Anne had taken the brunt of this man’s anger, constantly protecting her younger sisters from his vituperation. The thought of every moment she’d been forced to accept his blame and disregard still made his heart ache. He wondered how often Emily had been alone here with her father in this condition. He prayed to God it was not often.

  Bracebridge planted himself in front of Mrs. Elliot. “I would be obliged, ma’am, if you convinced Miss Sinclair to remove to Rosefeld at her soonest possible convenience.” He did not want Emily here. Not with her father like this. “Before then, even.”

  Mrs. Elliot put a hand over her heart, stricken and pale as snow.

  “Here now,” Sinclair said. “What’s all this whispering when I’ve told you not to? Plotting against me like the blackguard you are.” He jabbed a forefinger at Bracebridge. “You’ve had it in for me since I sent you packing for having the gall to think you could marry a Sinclair.”

  To Mrs. Elliot, Bracebridge said, “I promise I shall handle your situation, whatever that may be. You and the staff may apply to me. If it comes to the worst, I’ll see all their wages are paid. My word on it.”

  Sinclair slammed a hand against the wall hard enough to rattle one of the gilt-framed mirrors. “I said, get out!”

  Bracebridge tipped his head toward the housekeeper. “Leave us, Mrs. Elliot. Please.”

  With a glance at Sinclair, she fled down the back stairs.

  The moment she was gone, Sinclair sneered at him. “If you do not leave my house, I’ll have you thrown out.”

  Now that Mrs. Elliot was downstairs, he no longer had to mind his language. He meant to enjoy every moment of this. “You haven’t the right to throw me out.”

  “The devil, you say. This is my house.”

  “As we both know, that is not so.” He savored the procession of reactions as they appeared on Sinclair’s face. “It is my right to evict you from the Cooperage.”

  Sinclair drew back, just sober enough, thank you, to understand what Bracebridge was saying. What wouldn’t Bracebridge give to crush this man’s heart the way Sinclair had crushed his? “The Cooperage is now mine.”

  “Impossible.”

  He smiled. “The deed came into my possession earlier today.”

  Sinclair blanched, and his upper back banged against the wall. “Impossible.”

  “Two Fives isn’t the only hell under my management.” He scratched his chin but continued to smile. He blessed Gopal for having the wit to buy up those debts and all the new ones, then come immediately to inform him. “As you’ve been so busy telling others, I encourage gentlemen to lose all the money they have when they gamble at one of my properties. Not coincidentally, the house often finds it advantageous to buy up debts.”

  The other man poured more wine, but only a few drops splashed into the goblet. He focused on Bracebridge, eyes crossed and red-veined. He leaned back and blinked several times. “You won’t put me on the street.”

  Bracebridge shrugged.

  “Nor send me to debtor’s prison. None of my girls would allow that. In fact, I don’t believe you have got the deed. Davener bought it up, not you.”

  “If you thought Walter Davener would remember anything more complicated than his name, you were mistaken.” He withdrew the case Gopal had given him and opened it enough for Sinclair to slide out the note relating to the Cooperage. “I believe this is the relevant document.”

  Sinclair focused on the page. Red crept up from his neck to his cheeks. “Get out.”

  “Mind your tongue, Sinclair,” Bracebridge drawled with pure satisfaction. “This is no longer your property. Should you elect to stay, you’ll find I am an unforgiving landlord.”

  “You are a disgrace to your father’s name.”

  His anger receded. He’d had his heart broken before and survived. Sinclair’s insults were nothing compared to that. He tucked the case back into his pocket. “I’m sure he would agree with you.”

  “You aren’t fit to wipe the mud from Anne’s shoes. You weren’t before, and you aren’t now.”

  “The Cooperage is mine,” he said evenly. “If you were wise or sober, you’d worry about how you’ll pay the rent.”

  Sinclair heaved the empty bottle at him, but Bracebridge dodged it easily. Glass shattered against the wall behind him and peppered his back. Sinclair was sliding fast into the final years of a life that had been crumbling for years. Bracebridge had no sympathy. “I’m not the only gentleman to be ruined at Two Fives.”

  “No, sir. You are not.”

  Sinclair fiddled with the middle button of his waistcoat. “I’ll have your money before the end of the day.”

  “From Davener?” He snorted. “Why would he give you that kind of money?”

  He put a finger alongside his nose. “I have my ways.”

  “Best hope matters are in motion. I cannot guarantee I’ll be in a mood to sell to you. Or Davener. Or anyone else.”

  “You’ll not accept payment on a debt of honor?” The lines around his mouth deepened. “I ought to have known.”

  “It’s not a debt of honor now. It’s merely a debt to be paid in due time.” Bracebridge waited until he had Sinclair’s attention. “In the meantime, the Cooperage is mine.”

  “Guttersnipe.”

  He managed not to laugh. “Send Davener my way. If he forgets, my attorneys will contact you regarding the disposition of the property and the terms of your continued residence here.” He put on his hat. “I’ll take my leave by wishing you merrily to the devil.”

  “This time tomorrow, you’ll regret those words.”

  He was halfway to the door, but at that, he turned. “I doubt it.” He looked Sinclair up and down. “You’ve already done your worst.”

  He closed the door firmly on his way out. He was halfway to his gig when the front door opened and a voice rang out from the portico. “My dear Lord Bracebridge!”

  He turned and saw Walter Davener, of all people, start down the front stairs at the same time a groom drove Davener’s carriage around the corner from the stables. Emily came down the stairs behind the man. She had Frieda on a leash and looked to be dressed for travel. His gig blocked Davener’s gilded monstrosity from the front stairs, so the groom brought the carriage to a halt behind Bracebridge’s rig.

  “My good fellow.” Davener was all smiles as he headed for Bracebridge. Behind him, Emily stopped at the bottom step. Her expression was absolutely unreadable, until she turned her head to one side and he saw indisputable evidence of recent tears. What was this? Bracebridge tried to catch her eye, but she steadfastly refused to look in his direction. What the devil was she doing stepping out with Davener?

  The man had barely half the brains a sheep needed to stand in the rain, and he knew for a fact Emily did not care for Walter Davener. He’d made a notable pe
st of himself last season, to the point that the betting books had been full of wagers about which of Emily’s brothers-in-law would take Davener in hand and propose that his attentions be directed elsewhere immediately.

  “You may be the first to congratulate us.”

  “Oh?” He shot a look at Emily, but she was staring at the ground.

  “I am the happiest man in the entire world,” Davener said. “For I have secured the hand of that most beauteous of maidens, the Divine Sinclair.”

  “Emily,” Bracebridge said. She did not look up.

  “Pray, my lord,” Davener said in ringing tones. “Do not address my bride-to-be in such familiar terms. It won’t do. Not at all.”

  Bracebridge opened the door to his gig, then held out his hand to her. “Come along, Em.” That got her attention. Her eyes were wide and as blue as the sky. “The dog, too.”

  “What is the meaning of this?”

  Bracebridge put a hand on the gig door and held it open, his other hand still extended to Emily. “You don’t want to marry him.” He’d had his differences with Emily Sinclair, and he had deliberately withdrawn from all but the coldest of interactions with her, but that did not mean he would leave her to something like this. Not with those tears. “Whatever your father said to make you think you must do this was pure nonsense. Get in. Anne shall never forgive me if I allow this travesty.”

  The world froze while Emily refused to meet his gaze. Her tear-stained cheeks told a tale, didn’t they? He waited, and it occurred to him that she might actually go through with this. Say what you would about her, she was loyal to her family. To a fault.

  “Whatever his threats,” he said, “whatever hold he has over you, I shall make it right.” He held out a hand. “Come.”

  She took a breath, their eyes met, and she practically ran to his gig, Frieda at her side.

  “Miss Sinclair,” Davener called out in a confused voice, “that is the wrong vehicle. Pray come this way.”

  She urged Frieda up and inside, and followed with an immodest flash of ankle and calf, and no assistance from Bracebridge.

  “This is entirely out of order, Miss Sinclair.” Davener advanced on her, but Bracebridge caught his arm and held him back. The other man twisted to get a look at Emily. “This is no time to be driving out with another man. We are due at the vicarage! We shall be late.”

  Bracebridge tightened his grip on Davener’s arm. He had an almost irresistible urge to connect his fist to the man’s chin. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”

  Davener lunged toward the gig. “My love!”

  Bracebridge let go with an upper cross that connected soundly with Davener’s jaw. The man hit the ground like a sack of dead rats.

  Chapter Five

  Emily froze when Bracebridge vaulted into the gig. The world had become fragile, and she feared it would shatter if she so much as breathed too hard. Mr. Davener remained on the ground, motionless. None of the servants, her father’s or Mr. Davener’s, moved or uttered a word of protest.

  “Papa is at the window,” she said quietly.

  “To the bloody devil with your father.” Bracebridge gave his pair a light touch of the whip, and they were off, leaving Walter Davener stretched out on the ground.

  She looked behind her when they reached the curve of the driveway before it went straight to the road. Mr. Davener remained supine, though one of his feet twitched. One of the servants was heading to his aid. “You hit him awfully hard.”

  Bracebridge shrugged.

  “I’m glad you did.” She stayed turned around on the seat until Bracebridge directed his gig around the corner, and her last glimpse of the house disappeared. “I don’t suppose I shall ever go back,” she said.

  “I expect not.”

  If she could have her way, she would live with Lucy, but unfortunately, the sister with whom she was closest was too newly married. Anne it was, then. She loved all her sisters, including Mary, but she was least pleased by the idea of living with Mary and Aldreth. She and Mary had never got on. They were too different, or perhaps too much alike.

  She patted Frieda’s head. Her heart continued to beat too fast, her hands shook, and her stomach was one huge knot of anxiety. “This is her first ride in an open carriage.”

  “She is an excellent traveler.”

  Emily settled onto the seat as he headed the gig toward Rosefeld. “Suppose Mr. Davener comes after us?”

  “I’ll hit him again, that’s what.”

  “He’s bankrupt,” she said. “Papa, I mean to say. Not Mr. Davener.” It was a thirty-minute drive from the Cooperage to Rosefeld, which was why she almost always walked, since it was half that time through the fields. She took a breath, to little calming effect.

  “I am aware.” He stared straight ahead.

  Her heart gave an unwarranted leap at the thought that Bracebridge had come to her rescue. Nothing in their past supported such a conclusion. “Why were you at the Cooperage?”

  “I had urgent business with your father.”

  “Does he owe you money?”

  He let out a breath. When he spoke, he sounded oddly amused. “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

  “I am sorry to hear that, for he won’t repay you.”

  With an inscrutable look at her, he said, “It happens that I am the new owner of your ancestral home.”

  Oh good heavens. Emily swallowed hard. “You? But Papa said it was Mr. Davener.” Her anger took root again. “He lied to me?”

  “Until this morning, I was unaware of the change in your father’s circumstances and mine.” He patted his upper left chest. “I came the moment I was presented with the deed to the Cooperage. So, no. The charge of lying cannot be laid at his feet, in this case. Until I arrived, I’m quite sure he believed Davener had taken care of matters.”

  For several seconds, she considered the implications of what Bracebridge had said, the first of which was that this had nothing to do with her and everything to do with Anne. “You came to crow over him, didn’t you?”

  He chuckled. “I won’t deny that.”

  “Was it satisfying to tell Papa?”

  “It was.”

  She leaned the back of her head against the seat and stared at the sky. “I don’t blame you. I’d want to do the same, were I in your position.” She straightened. “You really have the deed to the Cooperage?”

  “Yes.”

  His answer shook her to the point where she was nearly incapable of speech. She pressed her head to her knees, shaking at the thought of what her future might have been.

  “Em?”

  After several deep breaths, she sat up. “I know you did not intend it, but if not for you, I might this very moment be standing before the vicar with Walter Davener. You were correct. I did not wish to marry him.”

  “I confess, I took no small satisfaction from connecting my fist to his chin.”

  “Does Aldreth know about the Cooperage?” He must, she thought. Surely, Bracebridge would have told him.

  “Not yet.”

  They’d reached the point where they would make the turn toward Rosefeld. For some reason, Bracebridge pulled the rig to the side of the road. He stared at the reins clenched in his hands. “You’ll never be safe from him. Not until you’re married.”

  “Are you suggesting I ought to have married that awful man? No. Believe you me, you did me a very great turn, whether you intended to or not.”

  “May I ask why you did not refuse? That would have been more like you than the meek acceptance I saw from you at the Cooperage.”

  She picked at a snagged thread on her cloak. He wasn’t asking in a disapproving manner. “I tried. That is, I did say no, but he wouldn’t let up, and then Mr. Davener came in with all his ridiculous, dreadful poetry and, well, I can tell you, I was going to tell the vicar I refuse to marry anyone at all, for heaven knows Mr. Davener wouldn’t listen to me any more than Papa does. And then you hit him, and it wasn’t necessary.” She smiled, and it fe
lt like the first true smile of her life. “I thank you for your timely assistance.”

  He turned his head very slightly toward her. “Is there anyone you’d marry?”

  “No.” What a miracle. They’d gone nearly twenty minutes without arguing.

  “Not even Harry Glynn?” he asked.

  “No. Especially not Harry.” She stroked Frieda’s head. “My lord, I have had a wretched, wretched day. Why are we sitting here?”

  In the ensuing prolonged silence, she resigned herself to frustration. At last, he answered. “I’ll take you to Scotland.”

  “Scotland,” she said, thoroughly confused. She rearranged the sentence in her head, substituting words she’d misheard for ones that made sense. Sainsbury? Salisbury? The Cotswolds? Constantinople? America? “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me.”

  Very well. She had heard correctly. But she remained so confused, she did not respond to his intentionally vexatious tone. “For what possible reason?”

  He cocked an eyebrow with that devil-may-care look that had so attracted her from the start. “The same reason any other couple hares off to Gretna Green.”

  Her breath stopped, but no. Not that. That was impossible. And yet, she was filled with the same giddiness that had overcome her all those times she’d imagined he’d say such words to her. “Forgive me,” she said as coolly as she could. “I do not comprehend you.”

  With exaggerated and infuriating patience, he said, “I propose to take you to Scotland and, there, marry you.”

  She blinked. “What about Clara?” He glanced away, but too late, for she saw bitterness in his eyes, and her heart disintegrated. “But why? Bracebridge, what happened?”

  “I have been firmly told there are no circumstances under which I shall be permitted to marry Miss Glynn.”

  Emily was momentarily stunned to silence. “What? Clara never said that.”

  “No,” he said in a weary voice. “Her brother did.”