by Cheryl Holt
“I will marry her the minute I have the Special License in my hand.”
James understood Evan Boyle’s vexation. If James had had a sister like Amelia and a scoundrel had ruined her, James would be out for blood too. Unfortunately, he had a sister, but she was nothing like Amelia.
“You can’t blame me for worrying about your intentions, Hastings,” Boyle said. “You only just got here, and you’re flitting off in the morning.”
“I have business at Denby. It can’t wait.”
“What business?”
Ever since James and Amelia had come down the stairs, Boyle had been watching him like a hawk, as if James would disappear the minute Boyle wasn’t paying attention. It was exhausting to admit it would probably require years of stellar behavior to win the man over and be fully welcomed into the Boyle family.
They were in a cozy parlor at Benton, supper over, and everyone was relaxing, chatting, and catching up. Other guests had arrived, John Dunn and his wife, Winnie, with another Prescott niece and a nephew, Jane and Bobby. To James’s surprise, he was acquainted with John Dunn from when he was at school with Peyton, and he’d met Winnie’s famous father, Sir Walford Watson too.
It was like old-home week.
Evan Boyle was asking about James’s business at Denby, and his initial instinct was to tell him to sod off, but Boyle was about to be his brother-in-law. They shouldn’t have any secrets.
“I have a half-sister there, Brinley, who is quite deranged.”
“Is it total lunacy? Is it an inherited trait? Might you develop a similar ailment when you’re my sister’s husband?”
James laughed. “Considering my father and brother, I guess it’s an inherited trait, but I lucked out and avoided it. I’m the only sane male in my family.”
“Good to know.”
“Brinley’s mental problems were more likely passed on by her mother who was my father’s second wife. The woman was mad as a hatter and so is her daughter. I have to deal with her.”
“How long will it take? We shouldn’t delay the wedding.”
“No, I won’t put it off, but I’m planning that Amelia and I will reside at Denby, and I have to check on the condition of the manor. I can’t imagine what sort of mess Brinley may have created.”
Peyton glanced over. “I heard a rumor that you had inherited, but I wasn’t sure if I should believe it or not. I didn’t realize you were in line at Denby.”
“Neither did I, but the cruel hand of Fate bumped off everybody who was in front of me. When I received the news, I was astonished.”
“He didn’t want to be an earl.” Amelia patted James on the shoulder and grinned at Peyton. “Hm…who does that sound like? Wasn’t that your exact same opinion when your brother died?”
“Yes,” Peyton said. “I detested the notion of being a gentleman farmer, but I’m slugging away at it.”
“It hasn’t killed you,” Amelia teased.
Peyton chuckled. “Not yet.”
“How about if I join you at Denby after I obtain the Special License?” Amelia said to James. “I can have Peyton and Evan take me to London to get it, then we can meet you at the estate and hold the wedding once we’re there.”
Her brother said, “I’ll agree to that scenario if he promises to proceed the minute we ride up the drive.”
“Evan,” Amelia scolded, “stop being such a grouch. It’s working out fine.”
“You’re still not married,” Boyle groused.
“He’s only been here a few hours!” Amelia complained.
“And he’s darting off again,” Boyle replied. “Pardon me if I firmly declare that we oughtn’t to let him out of our sight.”
James might have defended himself, but Victoria piped up instead. “James will do what’s right, Evan. He’s a tad rough around the edges, but if he gives you his word, he’ll keep it.”
“Perfect,” Boyle sarcastically muttered. “My sister is about to wed a man who has just been described as rough around the edges.”
Victoria elbowed him in the ribs. “He’s an earl who’s rough. It must count for something.”
“Not much. I’m already acquainted with an earl.” Boyle cast a caustic glare at Peyton. “They’re not all that grand.”
“James might surprise you,” Victoria insisted.
“Or he might not,” Boyle said, and everyone laughed.
James winked at Victoria, and she smiled and kindly moved the subject away from his myriad of personal flaws.
“Why is Brinley at Denby?” she asked him. “When she vanished from Gibraltar, I thought you had no idea where she went, and Denby Manor was shuttered. I can’t believe you permitted her to open it.”
“I strictly apprised her that I wouldn’t open it, but she forged ahead anyway.”
“That was brazen of her,” Peyton said.
“Yes, but I don’t completely blame her for the debacle. She’s traveling with a man who’s older than she is, and he’s a notorious confidence artist.”
“My goodness,” Jo and Winnie murmured.
“I’m positive she was the instigator, but if I discover he egged her on, I won’t be shocked.” He asked Victoria, “Did you meet Conte Corpetto in Gibraltar?”
“Yes. I didn’t like him very much.”
“He’s the fellow she’s with, but he’s not Italian or a count.”
Victoria appeared stunned. “He was so convincing.”
“He’s English through and through,” James said.
James conveniently failed to clarify how the fiend had once persuaded Amelia to elope. He doubted she’d confessed the incident to her brother and was fairly sure she wouldn’t like to have it mentioned.
“What’s his real name?” Peyton asked. “Were you ever able to find out?”
“As far as I’m aware, it’s Holden Cartwright. I haven’t learned much about him, but I’m certain his history contains a lengthy life of swindles.”
He’d finished the sentence before he realized the adults had grown silent. They were gaping, exchanging appalled glances. The children had been playing cards in the corner, and they all glanced up too.
John Dunn had been holding a glass of brandy, and he dropped it on the rug where it bounced and spilled, but didn’t shatter.
James peered about and asked, “What? What did I say?”
John Dunn asked for all of them, “Holden Cartwright is at Denby with your sister?”
“Ah…yes? Do you know him?”
“Do we know Holden!” John Dunn snorted with disgust. “We’ve been searching for him for an entire year, but his trail went cold after he left London last winter.”
“That’s probably because he was renting a villa in Gibraltar,” James pointed out, “and pretending to be an Italian aristocrat. He told people his funds were tied up in a mining venture in Spain.”
“Not the mining venture again!” John Dunn protested.
“The local merchants assumed he was very rich,” James explained, “so they extended plenty of credit to him, but he fled without paying a penny to anyone. It was a huge scandal.”
“Your sister is involved with him?”
“I hate to admit it when I’m trying to make a good first impression, but yes, they’re partners in crime.”
“You don’t think he’s taking advantage of her?” John Dunn asked. “You don’t think he’s seducing or tricking her?”
“No. Not Brinley. If there’s a scheme brewing, she would have invented it.”
“Gad, this is too much to abide!” Peyton said.
“Why were you searching for him?” James asked.
“When Jo was eighteen,” Peyton responded, “he courted her and proposed marriage, but he jilted her at the altar.”
Jo added, “My guardian handed over my dowry before the ceremony, and he absconded with it.”
“Oh, no,” James breathed.
Then John Dunn’s wife, Winnie, said, “A
nd when I was seventeen, he jilted me too.”
John Dunn said, “The cretin also coerced my sixteen-year-old niece into eloping with him, but he stole the money she’d brought to finance their trip, then he abandoned her at a coaching inn.”
James peeked at Amelia, and they shared a potent scowl, both of them recognizing how lucky she was that Cartwright hadn’t shown up for her own elopement. She’d likely have been abandoned on the road too.
“I won’t bore you with the details of how Cartwright harmed me,” John Dunn said, “but he’s at the root of why I was kicked out of the army.”
“You were kicked out of the army because of him?” James bristled. “I’d like to kill him for that act alone.”
“Wouldn’t we all?” John Dunn mused.
Peyton downed his drink and gestured toward his library. “Ladies, you’ll have to excuse us, but John, Evan, and I have to chat privately with James.”
“Why?” Winnie Dunn asked.
“It seems—when James rides for Denby in the morning—John and I will accompany him.”
“To do what?” Jo asked her husband. “Peyton Prescott, I don’t like the look in your eye.”
“I always told you, Jo,” he replied, “that I’d hunt down Holden Cartwright and make him pay for hurting you.”
“Just so nobody commits murder.” Jo’s tone was scolding. “Promise me you don’t intend anything that drastic.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Peyton said, but from the glance he flashed at John Dunn, James suspected Holden Cartwright’s days might be numbered.
“What about Amelia’s wedding?” her brother inquired.
Peyton spoke for James. “How about if you escort Amelia to London to obtain the Special License, then meet us at Denby?”
“I suppose I could—so long as Hastings swears the wedding will occur immediately.”
“I’ll watch him every second,” Peyton assured Boyle. “He won’t escape her marital noose. I guarantee it.”
James might have claimed he wasn’t about to vanish, but they wouldn’t listen. He grinned at Amelia, letting her know he couldn’t wait for her to be his bride.
* * * *
“Where are you going?” Brinley asked Holden.
“I need some fresh air. I thought I’d take a ride.”
“You hate riding.”
“I’ll use the carriage. Conte Corpetto will be making social calls, so I’ll be out most of the afternoon.”
“Would you like me to come with you?”
“You detest social calls, so your dour mood would dull the Conte’s shine. Besides, don’t we have a new group of guests arriving from London? You should be here in case someone has the poor manners to show up early.”
“I’ll put on my best smiling face and pretend to be glad to see them.”
She sounded very sarcastic, and as she patted his chest and smoothed the lapels of his coat, she pouted, wanting him to observe her displeasure.
“If you’re weary of the game, Brinley,” he said, “we don’t have to keep playing it. We can disappear whenever you’re ready.”
“I’m not ready. Not yet.”
“I don’t understand the fascination you have with this place.”
“You wouldn’t.”
She laughed and waved him away. He left, and he walked out to the stables.
They’d been arguing incessantly, with Holden insisting they leave Denby and England—he never should have returned—and Brinley being content to tarry. But bills were stacking up, and merchants were complaining about arrears.
They’d held constant house parties, with a steady stream of visitors from town, but Brinley was a surly hostess, so people didn’t feel particularly welcome. The numbers were dwindling.
He had a nose for sniffing out trouble, and he could smell danger approaching as clearly as if the manor was on fire. Well, Brinley could dawdle at Denby until the walls collapsed around her, but he wouldn’t be buried in the rubble with her.
Now that he’d strolled out the front doors, he’d never see her again. His plans were implemented, his arrangements complete. He’d been gradually sneaking various items out of the manor, concealing them in the woods, and while she was greeting her guests, he would be racing toward London.
He would become invisible on the crowded streets, never to be found by her—or anyone—ever again.
He didn’t ask any servants to assist him, but hitched a single horse to the fastest vehicle in the barn, then he jumped in and rolled away. About a mile down the road, he pulled over into a copse of trees. He’d been stashing a secret pile in the forest, with Corpetto’s clothes being too expensive to discard, so he had several trunks of valuable goods.
He loaded them in the carriage, then went to the box to climb up and continue on. First though, he stroked his fingers over the pocket in his coat where he’d stuffed his bag of diamonds. It was the last thing he’d retrieved before departing. But…
The pocket seemed to be empty. He yanked off his coat and turned it upside down, shaking it vigorously. Had he dropped the bloody thing? Had he hidden it in one of the trunks? No! He leapt into the box, checking the seat and floorboard, but he couldn’t find it.
His heart pounding, he scampered down and searched the grass, wondering if he’d lost it while moving the trunks. His panic began to rise. He couldn’t flee without those gems!
For a moment, he froze, recalling his final conversation with Brinley. She’d been pouting, and she’d fussed with his coat. Might she have…have…slipped the bag out without his noticing?
No! It couldn’t be. She was a clever and dedicated thief, but she’d never boasted of having skills as a pickpocket—and she boasted relentlessly.
Anyway, why would she have suspected he had the diamonds on him? As he’d prepared to creep away from Denby, he’d been very furtive. She couldn’t have guessed he was deserting her.
He stood next to the carriage, his mind whirring with dismay, as he heard horses coming. They were galloping at high speed, their hooves causing the ground to quake as they neared. He calmed himself and focused his mental processes, having to alter himself into Corpetto lest it be someone who’d reveled with him at Denby. They might stop to ask if he needed help.
He shouldn’t have worried though. The riders rushed on by. There were three of them, and they didn’t so much as peek in his direction.
He shuddered with relief, a sense of calamity avoided sweeping over him, and he decided to return to the manor to hunt for his diamonds. He had no choice really.
He heard the horses again before he saw them, the men cantering back toward him. He glanced at the man in the front, and the strangest wave of disorienting fear washed over him.
It seemed to be Captain James Hastings, and while he would admit that the Captain’s arrival wasn’t entirely unexpected, it was Hastings’s companion who had Holden completely befuddled.
He didn’t know the third fellow, but the one on the left seemed to be his old nemesis, John Dunn. Holden’s devious manipulations had gotten Dunn kicked out of the army and almost slain in a duel.
Why would John Dunn be with Captain Hastings? Why would he have had any idea Holden was at Denby? It was bizarre, and he was practically dizzy from attempting to sort it out.
“Holden Cartwright,” Captain Hastings said as he reined in and jumped down. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Holden answered him with an Italian accent. “Signore, I believe you have me confused with someone else. I am Conte Corpetto, recently traveled from Florence, Italy.
“Nice try,” Hastings scoffed, “but your games won’t work with me. You’ve been trespassing in my home, and I take great exception to your brazen occupation of what belongs to me.”
Without giving Holden two seconds to consider what was about to happen, Hastings hit him as hard as he could. The blow landed in his midsection, and air whooshed out of his lungs. He collapsed and curled into a ball. He was
wheezing, desperate to breathe, but his body wasn’t cooperating.
Hastings marched to the carriage and peered inside, then he spun to his companions and said, “My sister isn’t with him, but it looks as if he’s packed and about to vanish. He must have had his fill of her. Not that I can blame him, but it appears Brinley is another girl he intends to leave in the lurch.”
He came back and lifted Holden to his feet just long enough to hit him in the face. Holden dropped like a stone, blood spurting from his nose and staining his shirt. Hastings lifted him yet again, and this time, he held him upright.
“I’ve brought a friend of yours,” Hastings said. “You remember John Dunn, don’t you?”
“I’ve never seen that man before in my life,” Holden vehemently stated, but his Italian accent had fled.
The three fiends laughed, then Hastings said, “If you can’t remember John Dunn, then I’m sure you’ll claim you can’t remember his wife, Winifred, or his niece, Ellen.” Hastings grinned an evil grin. “He wanted to talk to you about them.”
“I have nothing to share with you on any topic,” Holden insisted.
“I’ll bet you don’t,” Hastings said. “Now this other gentleman, Lord Benton, I’m guessing you truly don’t know, but he’s married to an old sweetheart of yours. Josephine Bates? Jo Bates? You were once engaged to her. Does her name ring a bell in that convoluted mind of yours?”
Holden blanched, not able to tamp down a reaction. Jo Bates was probably the most stunning beauty he’d ever met, but she’d been gullible and foolish, and her sister—who’d been her guardian—had been even more naïve. They’d given him Jo’s dowry prior to the wedding. Since he’d only been interested in her for her money, what was the point of hanging around after he had it?
How had pretty, lonely Jo Bates snagged an aristocratic husband? In Holden’s battered condition, had he missed some part of the explanation as to how it had occurred?
Still though, he managed to say, “I’ve never heard of a Josephine Bates.”
Hastings bristled. “I am here to speak for Amelia Boyle—even though she dodged your bullet.”
At the comment, Benton and Dunn gasped, and John Dunn said to Hastings, “He was involved with Amelia too?”