“Maybe it would help?” Jeffrey tossed out the suggestion casually.
“How?” Lucien demanded. Tormenting his father with news of his faithless wife’s return could hardly aid in his recovery.
Jeffrey leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his legs. “Maybe seeing your mother again after all these years might give your father a bit of peace. They probably have a lot to say to each other.”
“The man can barely speak, Jeffrey. It wouldn’t be fair to him.”
“Perhaps. But is that for you to judge or decide?”
Lucien shrugged, unsure. “I just wonder what she wants after all this time. What could she possibly have to say to either of us?” He had a bad feeling about it. His mother had destroyed their lives once before when she abandoned them, running off with another man. The pain and the scandal devastated his father. He could not bear to see her hurt Simon like that again. Lucien shuddered to think of the scandal her unexpected return would certainly create.
Jeffrey asked, “Isn’t that exactly why you should see her? To find out?”
Lucien was not sure he wanted to know.
Chapter Nine
Cry Uncle
“It’s the only way, Genevieve,” Randall Hamilton pleaded with his brother’s widow. “The bookshop is worthless, but the building itself would bring quite a handsome sum of money.”
“I don’t know…Je ne sais pas quoi faire…” Genevieve hesitated. “Colette loves the shop so much. I could not sell it without breaking her heart.” She sighed wearily, distressed by the subject of the conversation.
Randall attempted to quell his mounting frustration with the feeble woman. Her steady decline over the years astounded him, for Genevieve La Brecque had once been stunningly beautiful. So stunning that Randall had even fancied himself in love with her at one time. But she had ended up marrying Thomas. How his half brother had managed to wed a woman like Genevieve always eluded him.
Thomas had been a weak and studious child who had become an even weaker and more bookish man. Although they shared the same father, Thomas and Randall had turned out as different as night and day. Where Randall was driven by the desire to be powerful and rich, Thomas had been motivated only by his love of books.
Even when they were children, Thomas was content to sit in their father’s library and read for hours on end, whereas Randall had spent his time riding his horses and avoiding the schoolroom at all costs. Their old tutor doted on the studious Thomas but despaired of ever teaching the recalcitrant Randall anything. They both ended up attending Cambridge, but while Thomas actually went there to learn, Randall attended merely to placate their father while having as good a time as he could carousing with his friends.
When their father died, Randall inherited the title of Lord Hamilton and little else, discovering how worthless and empty that inheritance was. Their father seemed to have squandered a great deal of the family fortune over the years. Highly disappointed at that unexpected turn of events, Randall pursued a wealthy wife to bolster the family coffers. He married the passably attractive Cecilia Brewton, a minor heiress, but the best he could do under his dire financial circumstances. It proved to be a good choice after all, for he and Cecilia agreed upon what was important in life and they both made it their goal to obtain that end. Cecilia spent wisely and always made sure that Lord and Lady Hamilton showed their best side to the public. Together they had risen as far as they could socially, making only the highest connections, attending only the elitest parties. They had been doing well financially until this year, when Randall had made some very unwise shipping investments in which he took a terribly costly blow. Sending money to help support his brother’s family was bad enough, but then he discovered his son Nigel’s staggering gambling debts. Randall was in danger of losing everything.
It galled him to no end that all of the success that he and Cecilia had worked so long and so hard to achieve now rested precariously on the shoulders of two of Thomas and Genevieve’s daughters.
His younger half brother and his family had always been the bane of Randall’s existence. While Randall worked to raise the family’s social position, Thomas opted to open a little bookshop near Mayfair, much to Randall’s great humiliation. Randall didn’t know which he despised most: his miserable half brother, the beautiful Genevieve, and their ever-growing passel of daughters; or the dilapidated bookshop that bore his family’s name.
That Randall’s financial security now depended on the whims of his flighty nieces rankled him. For weeks before the start of the Season, Cecilia had done her best to school Colette and Juliette in the correct mode of behavior, but it appeared to be a lost cause. Now he was through wasting his time with them and their fickle ways.
“It’s not Colette’s broken heart that concerns me at the moment, Genevieve. It is our survival.”
A pained expression crossed her pale and faded features.
“I’ve been very patient with you,” he began again in an attempt to remain calm. “When Thomas first died, I left everything to your discretion, did I not?”
She nodded weakly. “Oui, but—”
“Well, it has been almost a year now. The bookshop barely brought in enough money to support the seven of you when Thomas was alive, and it is bringing in even less now. Colette has shown me the books. As your nearest male relative, I am honor bound to assist you. And I have, but I cannot continue to support you. I have graciously outfitted the girls for a Season and introduced them to eligible prospects, but they are not cooperating with me, Genevieve. Juliette especially.”
He frowned at the memory of Juliette slapping Lord Trenton across the face in the middle of Lady Deane’s musicale. He had been furious with her because Trenton had been perfectly willing to take on a willful spirit like Juliette, and he had agreed to settle quite a large sum on her. How a weak man such as Thomas and a pathetic creature as Genevieve managed to create a daughter as strong-willed and obstinate as Juliette astounded him. Actually, all of their daughters had more backbone and gumption than both of their parents combined.
Life played odd and often cruel tricks on families, for how had he and Cecilia created a son as disappointing and weak as Nigel?
“Juliette is a special girl.” Genevieve’s chin went up. “Elle est extravagante. Elle n’écoute que son coeur. From the start I told you she would never let you choose a husband for her. She will need to—”
“She will need to control herself, that is what she will do,” Randall interrupted angrily. “I’ve exhausted every prospect for her. She’s a hellion and no man will have her, mark my words. Not as a wife anyway!”
“Randall!” Genevieve cried out in shock, blinking back tears. “She is my daughter!”
“We have to sell the building. There is no other alternative.”
The building’s value had more than quadrupled since Thomas purchased the property twenty years ago, but his sister-in-law didn’t need to know that. Hell, Randall had just learned of it himself. If he had known he certainly would not have spent so much on his nieces’ wardrobe for this charade of a Season. He needed that extra money. And then some. And he needed it now.
“What of Colette? Elle sait ce que l’on attend d’elle. She will behave. Surely she can marry well?”
Randall rolled his eyes in frustration. “Colette is almost as bad as her sister.”
Genevieve shook her gray head in protest. “Non, Colette is a good girl. She knows what to do. She will not let us down. She will marry well for us. A kind gentleman will want her as his wife. And she will be happy.”
“Are you listening to me?” He struggled not to shout at his dim-witted sister-in-law. “We are a month into the Season. Your daughters have blatantly ignored every bit of advice and guidance that Cecilia and I have given them. They have turned down a dozen suitable prospects between them, they are seen in the company of notorious rakes, and Juliette has given herself quite a little reputation as a firebrand already. I don’t know if there’s anything
more I can do to remedy the situation.”
Rendered speechless by his anger, Genevieve covered her face with her long, elegant hands, as if believing her problems would disappear if she could not see them. Randall had frightened her. As well he should.
“I have given your two daughters the opportunity of a lifetime. If they refuse to marry whom I choose for them, I cannot be blamed. And I can no longer continue to support you financially, since I am in a financial bind of my own. If we sell the building, I can recoup my losses with the girls and you will have a tidy sum to live on. Do you understand what I am saying to you, Genevieve?”
Slowly she removed her hands from her face. “Yes, I understand. Bien sûr, je ne suis pas une imbécile.”
“You could buy a little cottage by the sea. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? The girls wouldn’t have to work in the bookshop anymore. You would be happy there.”
She pressed her fingertips to her temples and sighed melodramatically. “I do not know,” she wailed, her French accent becoming more pronounced. “Je ne sais pas quoi faire…”
The French always had to act with histrionics, Randall thought with disgust. He pressed his advantage, knowing he was close to her capitulation. “It’s the right thing to do and you know it. And we don’t have to tell Colette. We can tell her after it’s sold. She will most likely to be grateful to be relieved of the burden of managing the shop. We shall inform her of the sale after it is completed.”
The last thing Randall wanted to do was let Colette know he wanted to sell the shop. She was too smart and would fight him tooth and nail on that point. And she would find out the actual selling price and demand what was rightfully hers. He couldn’t allow that to happen. He deserved most of the money for all the trouble his brother and his family had caused him over the years. Besides, he needed the money to pay off the mountain of debt that Nigel had accrued this year.
“Oh, Randall, je vous en prie. Please do not make me do this!” she cried.
“I’m not making you do anything, Genevieve. I am simply guiding you to make a wise financial decision. If you give me the deed to the building, I will sell it for you. You will make a substantial sum of money, which will support you in your old age in a lovely cottage by the sea. You will not have to depend on me anymore. We would both like that, would we not, Genevieve?”
“You have never cared for me,” she sniffed with an injured air.
Ignoring her pout, he continued determinedly. “That is neither here nor there, my dear. I am offering you a chance to be self-sufficient and to take the burden of that pathetic bookshop off your daughter’s shoulders. Come now, Genevieve, admit it. You hate the bookshop almost as much as I do.” It was a stab in the dark, but he had had his suspicions over the years.
“Oui,” she confessed, almost relieved by the admission. “C’est la vérité.”
She looked at him with her wide azure eyes. Genevieve had been beautiful once, just as beautiful as her daughters, and what she ever saw in the insipid Thomas, Randall never understood, but now she was a mere shadow of her former self. Randall felt an overwhelming sense of pity for her.
“Thomas spent all his time down there. He was never here with me.”
“So sell the building. There is nothing to keep you here but sad memories. Move to the seashore with the girls.”
“Do you really think it will bring a good price?” she asked, and he had to contain his elation at her question. She was wavering.
“I know it will bring a fair price. The real estate in Mayfair has at least doubled over the years,” he lied easily.
“Truly?” she asked, unable to hide the glimmer of hope in her eyes.
“Yes. And didn’t my brother use your inheritance to buy the building in the first place?”
“Oui, without even consulting me when my mother left that money to me! It was my money!” she cried, the years of anger and resentment evident in her furrowed brow and pained expression. “C’était mon argent. I never wanted to live here.” She gestured in disgust toward the shabbily furnished rooms with a wave of her elegant hand.
“Then sell it. Give the deed to me, Genevieve.”
“I will,” she said, her eyes ablaze with emotion, murmuring rapidly in French. “Que Dieu me protège mais je dois le faire. Je vendrai donc ma librairie. I will sell the bookshop, Randall.”
He exhaled in relief at her answer. “I will take care of everything, Genevieve. But don’t tell the girls. It will only upset them. Especially Colette,” he warned.
“No, I shall not tell her.” She called in the direction of the other room, “Paulette! Paulette!”
A bedroom door opened and one of his nieces appeared. “Yes, Mother?” she asked, as she entered the parlor where he sat with her mother. “Good afternoon, Uncle Randall.”
“Good afternoon, Paulette,” he said to her. With her honey-colored hair and blue-green eyes and angelic features, she would be a beauty to match her older sisters when she was grown. It never ceased to astound Randall. He would give his brother credit for that at least, if nothing else. Thomas had somehow managed to produce five stunning daughters, each one lovelier than the next. They were fortunate in that. Randall shuddered at his plight had his nieces been homely…
“Go into my room, ma petite chérie, and in the top right drawer of my bureau are some papers. Will you bring them to me, please?” Genevieve asked.
“Oui, Maman.”
As Paulette ran to do her mother’s bidding, Randall wondered whether his French sister-in-law was truly incapacitated or simply acted that way for effect. He had not seen her outside the house in years, with the exception of Thomas’s funeral last year. She relied heavily on an ornate gilt cane and the assistance of her daughters, but she seemed mobile enough. He believed she rather enjoyed the attention her “infirmity” gave her.
“You are making a wise decision,” he reminded her encouragingly, as Paulette returned with a sheaf of papers and handed them to her mother.
“Merci, ma petite,” she kissed her daughter on the cheek. “You can go now. I shall call you when I need you.”
Paulette nodded obediently and left them. Genevieve shuffled through the papers in front of her. She squinted at them, her face puzzled. Sighing heavily, she finally handed them all over to Randall with a helpless look. “I do not know what it is I am looking for.”
Thrilled at his success, Randall flipped through the documents until he found the deed of ownership to the building. He gave the rest of the papers back to Genevieve.
“Remember, do not mention this to Colette, or any of the girls.”
“I shall not speak of it until it is over and done with.” Her mouth trembled slightly when she spoke.
Randall nodded his approval, pocketing the precious deed carefully in his coat. “I will sell only at the highest price, and you will have your little cottage soon enough and be rid of this place.”
“Je vais finalement m’en débarrasser.” Sadly she wiped a tear from her eye and sniffled. “Yes, I will be rid of this place,” she echoed him woodenly.
With her heart pounding rapidly and holding her breath so as not to be heard, Paulette Hamilton listened stealthily at the door to the parlor where her mother sat talking with Uncle Randall. She knew how wrong it was to eavesdrop, and she truly tried her best not to listen to her sisters when they were speaking privately, but she could not help herself from listening when Uncle Randall had unexpectedly knocked on their door earlier that afternoon. Colette was working downstairs in the shop and her other sisters were out, so Paulette was home alone taking care of their mother when he arrived. Immediately her mother dismissed Paulette from the parlor when Uncle Randall said he wanted to speak with her privately. She noted that Uncle Randall had entered their home though the private entrance, not through the shop, indicating that Colette was unaware of his visit. Alarmed by the situation, she had lingered on the other side of the closed door, listening.
Her mother was going to sell the shop! Not
only was she selling the shop, she was selling the entire building and moving them to the seashore!
And her mother wasn’t telling Colette or any of them about it.
What did that mean? And more importantly, what should she do about it?
She should tell Colette. Colette would know exactly what to do.
Paulette felt a sharp pang of remorse. Poor Colette worried about everything. Ever since their mother had become ill, Colette had taken care of the family. And when their father died, she had taken on the entire responsibility of the bookshop, working endlessly to make it support them. When Uncle Randall offered to give Colette and Juliette their debut, she had gamely agreed, knowing that she was being sold in marriage for their benefit. She took so much upon her shoulders.
Paulette heard Uncle Randall leave and she sighed heavily, her head resting against the back of the door. Now she waited for her mother to call her. Her mother had a fear of being alone, and one of her daughters always had to be by her side. Minutes ticked by on the little clock on her dresser, and still her mother did not call to her.
She wondered at the significance of that as she waited and thought of what to do.
Even though she never intended to, Paulette overheard lots of conversations that she shouldn’t be privy to, but sometimes it was the only way to learn what was going on in her family. She had overheard Colette and Juliette talking about money and how dire their situation was and how worried they were. Paulette knew how hard Colette worked and how she never complained when she was tired or scared. Juliette handled things differently. She would laugh or act as if she didn’t care, but Colette made everything safe for her and Lisette and Yvette. Colette never wanted them to worry.
Paulette felt a pang of sadness at the thought of all her own hard work in the shop and all the lovely little signs she had carefully painted and tied with green ribbon.
When His Kiss Is Wicked Page 10