by Darcy Burke
Giles dropped his gaze to study the floor. He could trust Sebastian. He was one of the only people he’d ever met who hadn’t judged him or treated him harshly. But how did he explain what had happened?
“Giles?”
“Sebastian?”
Sebastian chuckled. “If it makes it any easier for you to know, you’re not the only one who has been affected by these recent events.”
Giles’ head snapped up. What did Sebastian know? Before he could find a way to ask without giving himself and his vulnerability away, Sebastian continued.
“When Simon was trying to court Belle at the house party, he kept getting distracted. By you.”
An odd mixture of relief and irritation coursed through Giles. “I don’t see why.”
“I think you do,” Sebastian said quietly.
Giles shrugged and made his way to a chair on the other side of his desk. “Where is your wife?”
Sebastian bared his teeth in a look Giles had once heard described as a grimace, then lowered his lashes. “I’m not sure. We didn’t part on good terms.”
“And you say I’m troubled.”
Sebastian twisted his lips and nodded. “Indeed. But I do have a plan.” His face went back to normal. “I just hope it works.”
“It will.”
“I appreciate your vote of confidence,” Sebastian said in a low tone. “Now, about you.”
Giles shook his head. Sebastian wouldn’t mock him, but he couldn’t help him, either.
“Is Lord Cosgrove still pushing for you to find a bride?”
Giles stiffened. He’d forgotten all about that. “No.”
“What changed his mind?”
“Don’t know.” He shrugged. “He hasn’t spoken to me about it again.”
A moment of silence engulfed them. “Do you think—” Sebastian cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “We never discussed your past while we were touring the continent.” He scoffed. “Hell, I didn’t even know that you were a lord, let alone that you had a brother. You keep your secrets well, Giles, and this might not be my place to ask, but is it possible that Lord Cosgrove isn’t quite as interested in seeing you married as someone else might be?”
Giles stared at his friend. Who else would care? Nobody. There wasn’t anyone else who’d care. They’d probably rather he not secure an heir so his title could pass to someone else. Which was fine with Giles. He didn’t want to be baron. The only reason he’d even come to London at Lord Cosgrove’s demands was because of his threat to begin selling off anything Giles owned that wasn’t entailed. He didn’t care about losing the assets, but he knew better than to believe he’d be the one who’d receive the funds from the sale of those assets.
“Giles?”
Sebastian’s voice pulled Giles to present. “Yes?”
“I know you like to keep things private, but if you tell me what’s going on, I can help you.”
“With Lord Cosgrove or Lucy?” The words were out before he realized it. At Sebastian’s slow grin, Giles’ face heated.
“Who’s Lucy?”
“No one.” Giles jumped at the sharpness in his own voice. “Just a lady I met.”
“One who seems to have had quite a serious effect on you, I’d wager.”
Giles flushed. “I said something foolish.”
Sebastian didn’t respond right away. “Are you sure it’s irreparable?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“I think it might.”
“She can have Simon.” Just saying the words made his throat constrict as if he might suffocate at any moment. But it didn’t make it any less true. Simon was smarter. He wouldn’t say thoughtless things to shame her. He could say exactly what he wanted to the first time. The sharp pain in his palms drew his attention and he released his fists.
“If she can make someone as calm as you react this way, I believe she’s worth seeking out to make amends.”
“It’s no use.”
“So you say, and yet, it’s turned you into a bundle of nerves.”
Giles frowned. “I’m not a bundle of nerves. I’m made up of cells.”
Sebastian shook his head. “Indeed. What I meant was that you’ve never cared what anyone’s thought about you before and now you do.”
“I shamed her,” Giles burst out, fighting the remorse that was threatening to wash over him.
“You should go to her and try to explain,” Sebastian said in his usual calm voice.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“It won’t matter. She’ll marry Simon.”
“That didn’t take long,” Sebastian muttered. He waved a hand through the air. “Giles, I don’t have all the details and I won’t press you for them, but it’s only been three days since I last saw you and Simon and at that time Simon was still very much trying to court my wife. I cannot imagine that he’s already become engaged to another.”
“I didn’t say he was.”
Sebastian drummed his fingers on the chair and now it was Giles’ turn to shift uncomfortably in his chair. Were he still living with the nuns, either Mother Superior or Father Thomas would have yelled at him by now, or would with their next statement. Sebastian never had, but surely one day his patience would wear thin. Unfortunately, Giles had never been very good at articulating.
“I still think you should clarify what you meant,” Sebastian said a moment later. “Even if you think she might marry your brother, it wouldn’t do for you to have an uncomfortable relationship with your new sister-in-law.”
“Why does it matter?”
“You mean because you don’t even have a relationship with Simon?” At Giles’ nod, Sebastian continued. “That goes back to what I was talking about before. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but since you’re my friend, I want you to know. Belle mentioned that Simon told her that your mother means to make amends by helping you find a bride.”
“I know.”
“But I don’t just mean by asking Lady Cosgrove to host the house party, Giles.” He ran his hand through his dark hair. “Do you think it might be possible that your mother might have asked Lord Cosgrove to help bring you here?”
Giles sat stock-still. His mother had seemed extremely interested in him since his return. She’d agreed to host a dinner party when he’d asked her to a month ago. She’d even gone so far as resuming her title Lady Norcourt for the evening to act as hostess when she’d been content to be styled as Mrs. Appleton for twenty years. Then, at the house party, she’d sought him out whenever she could and had introduced him to some of who she’d considered to be the “finest” unattached young ladies. He’d found them annoying, but apparently she didn’t. She’d even told him that she’d like to help him find a match. But did her desire to find him a match go so far as to issue threats to get him to return? His heart pounded and sweat beaded along his brow. He looked to Sebastian. Sebastian didn’t lie. Not to Giles. He wouldn’t suggest this if he didn’t think it was a real possibility.
Hurt and anger swelled up inside of him, then just as quickly vanished. Just as it had when she’d admitted to having had the house party planned to help Giles find a match. Did it really matter that she’d used deceitful tactics to get him to return to England? He sighed. No. Almost everyone he’d ever met manipulated him. Why should his own mother be any different? “Thank you, Sebastian.”
“For what?”
“The truth,” Giles said simply, standing.
Sebastian leapt to his feet. “Are you going to confront her?”
“No.”
“Then where are you going?”
“You were right.”
“About?”
“Everything.”
Sebastian arched an eyebrow. “I doubt my wife would agree with that statement.”
Giles didn’t know what to say to that. “My mother is quite desperate to have a relationship so I’d better go apologize for what I said to Lucy.”
An expression Giles didn’t un
derstand came over Sebastian’s face, then he stepped to the side and used both of his hands to gesture toward the door while giving a slight bow. Sebastian was a strange friend, to be sure, but many probably thought the same about Giles. Which was likely why they’d gotten along as well as they had in the past six years.
Less than five minutes later Giles found himself standing in front of the tall, light grey stone building that housed the Norcourt Lending Library. Though he was told he owned it, he’d never actually been inside before.
Clenching his hands into fists, he commanded his heavier-than-lead legs to carry him inside. The overwhelming smell of paper and glue filled his nose as soon as he opened the door. A second later he was assailed by a cloud of dust.
“Do forgive me,” chirped a red-haired urchin holding a limp feather duster. “Mrs. Appleton hates it when any dust is visible on the books.” She lowered her voice. “She thinks people will assume the dusty ones are the ones not worth readin’.”
His mother was smart. Very smart. Of course he already knew she was clever and deceitful, but she was also smart. How ironic, those three adjectives often went together. “Is L—er—Miss Whitaker here?”
The girl turned her head to the side. “Who?”
“Miss Whitaker. She’s about this tall—” he lifted his hand to the middle of his chest— “she has black hair and blue eyes.”
“I don’t know if I’ve seen her come in,” the girl said as she spun the feather stick between her hands, making the dust swirl around them.
“She works here,” Giles clarified with a cough.
“Works here?” The girl stopped spinning her duster. “The only person who works here other than me is Mrs. Appleton.”
“I’ll find her.”
He didn’t take three steps away from the girl before his mother appeared in his line of vision.
“Giles?” she called out to him. Her lips stretched into a wide smile. “I’m so glad you came to see me. Come, let’s sit and talk.”
Giles ground his teeth and forced himself to go over to her. “Is Miss Whitaker here?” he asked without ceremony.
“Who?”
Giles frowned. “When Simon returned. Was there—” He broke off. The girl at the front of the store had mentioned a Mrs. Appleton who worked here and now his mother seemed oblivious to who Miss Whitaker was. Was it possible that Simon had already married her? Could he have so quickly? Giles had never paid much attention when people got married except to know there was a short ceremony where they each pledged their lives to each other.
“Giles?”
He tried to swallow the unease in his throat, but couldn’t. “The woman.”
A vertical line formed between his mother’s eyes. “What woman?”
“With Simon.”
“You mean Isabelle Knight?”
Giles shook his head vigorously. “No. Lucy Whitaker.”
“Who?”
A sound of vexation ripped from his throat. Why couldn’t she understand him?
“Calm down, Giles,” his mother said, placing her hand on his forearm.
He shook it off as if her touch burned. “Don’t. I don’t like it.”
She backed away as if he’d stuck her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…” She smoothed her skirts. “I won’t touch you again.”
It wasn’t being touched he didn’t like. It was— It was— He shook his head to dispel the thought he knew wouldn’t form completely until it didn’t matter anymore.
“Tell me what you need, Giles?”
“I need to talk to her.”
“All right. Who?”
“The woman with Simon,” he practically bellowed in frustration.
“Simon didn’t have anyone with him when he returned,” she said calmly as if suddenly she understood everything.
“He didn’t?”
She shook her head. “When I returned from Telford yesterday he told me a little of what happened, but he never mentioned a woman, Giles, and I mean that.” She blinked her eyes rapidly as if she were trying to keep from crying. “Thank you for your kindness. I know the two of you don’t get along, but I was hoping—”
“No,” Giles cut in. “He doesn’t like me.”
“That’s not true,” his mother said immediately. “He just needs time.”
Giles doubted that and just shrugged in response. It didn’t bother him that Simon didn’t care for him.
“Would you like to join us for dinner on Friday night?”
No, he wouldn’t. “No, thank you.”
She dropped her hands to her sides and let out a deep breath. “I’m trying, Giles. I know you haven’t had an easy time of it and that’s partly my fault, but would you please give me a chance?”
“A chance?” A chance for what? To hurt him again? To manipulate him some more? To use his position for her gain? He took another step back. “No.”
She swiped at the tears that had slipped from her blue eyes. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t be more help in your search for Miss Whitaker,” she said, her voice uneven. “Simon never spoke of her, but if you’d like to ask him if he knows of her whereabouts he’s recovering over at my house.”
Giles frowned. “That won’t be necessary.” Surely, if Simon had indeed brought her back, his mother would have known of her existence since Simon was staying with her.
Then, without another word, because there was nothing more to say to her, Giles spun on his heel and left the lending library.
TEN
Lucy wrung her hands together and looked around the almost empty parlor. There wasn’t much left of their meager belongings. Just the dining table and chairs and a faded, threadbare settee she’d found behind the bakery a year ago. It couldn’t possibly be worth more than a half penny, but that’d be a half penny they could use.
“Why do we have to move to York?” Seth demanded of her, his face red and angry.
Lucy’s heart clenched and anger, mostly directed at herself, bubbled up inside of her. “We’re going to start over somewhere we’ve never been,” she said. “It’ll be fun like one of those adventures you like to read about.”
Seth stared at her, unmoved. “I don’t understand it. Can’t you find another post in town or go to London and work for Lady Norcourt?”
“No,” she said a little more sharply than she’d meant to. But the truth was, every business owner she’d gone to seek employment from was only interested in offering her one type of employment. And she wasn’t interested in becoming that kind of woman. Nor did she want to go to London and work for Lady Norcourt.
“I don’t understand why you won’t marry Mr. Appleton.”
“Other than the fact he hasn’t asked?” Lucy said sarcastically.
Seth plopped down on the threadbare settee. “So if he asked—”
“No,” she snapped. She rubbed her hands over her face. “Seth, I’ve already told you, gentlemen like Mr. Appleton do not marry women like me.”
“I think he might. He said he thought you were fetching.”
She was sure he did. “While that is the finest compliment a lady could ask for, that does not mean he wishes to marry me.”
“It could,” Seth said, oblivious to her previous sarcasm.
Lucy sighed. “I know you like him, but it’d be better if you stopped thinking about him.” She swallowed and screwed up her courage. “Gentlemen like him, young, handsome, wealthy, they see women like me as amusements. Not as wives.”
“Amusements?”
Lucy groaned. As much as she didn’t want to prevail upon Paul, Sam’s brother, for support, she might have to bring herself to ask him to explain the things to Seth that she couldn’t. Heat crept up her neck. No. Too much had passed between the three of them that she could never ask that of him. “Seth, I won’t discuss this with you any further. You are not to ever mention Mr. Appleton to me again, do you understand?”
Seth jumped up from the settee. “No, I don’t understand,” he said as he fought back the tear
s. “I don’t understand you at all and I never will.” Then, without allowing her a chance to explain, he ran from the house, slamming the door as he went.
Lucy started after him as he ran. But she couldn’t keep up and fell to her knees on the ground, silent sobs wracking her body. “I’m trying, Seth,” she cried out quietly into the setting sun. Tears stung the backs of her eyes. Which was ridiculous. She was the one who’d created this mess. Well, not just her, there was a he involved, too. But she should have known better. That familiar bitter taste that always accompanied thoughts of him filled her mouth, making her want to act most unladylike and spit. Which was probably fine since she wasn’t a lady in any sense of the word. Instead, she rose to her feet and went back to her house. Seth would come back soon enough. This wasn’t the first time he’d gotten angry with her and run off. He’d come back.
Twenty minutes later there was a swift, bang, bang, bang at her front door. Lucy stood from where she was packing their remaining clothes into the one trunk they’d have to share with all the personal belongings they’d be able to keep.
“Hello,” she said, opening the door a couple of inches.
Two men were standing outside, both leering at her. She shuddered. The shorter one, Mr. Bronson, she recognized right away. He worked in the livery down the street from the bakery where she’d worked.
“I hear ye have a table,” Mr. Bronson said.
“Yes, most people do.” Her grip on the interior doorknob tightened. She had no desire to let them inside her home.
“I hear it’s for sale,” he continued.
“Not anymore,” she said; then quickly shut the door and slid the lock.
Loud, raucous laughter filled the air. “Come now, Miss Whitaker, we just want to have a quick look-see at it.”
She grimaced. “No. It’s not for sale.”
“We’ll pay a more than fair price,” the other man said. His voice sent a shiver down her spine. “We just want to test the sturdiness of it first.”
More drunken laughter ensued.
Panic built in Lucy’s chest. Perhaps selling her things had been a mistake. Just one more to a long list of many she’d made, she reckoned.
When their laughter died, their shouts began.