Charles Grammond never slowed. He disappeared into the elm trees. His wife, however, turned to the felled Lord David.
“You’re a poltroon, sir. However, I will make you a bargain. I won’t say a word to your betrothed’s father if you return all the money you cheated my husband out of on Jamaica.”
Lord David turned white. “Madam, I haven’t a sou. Why do you think I’m marrying this awful female named Agnes?”
“That, my lord, is your affair,” said Mrs. Grammond, and she actually sniffed. “I expect to hear from you within three days, no more, else you will surely regret it. And don’t think you can threaten to ruin the Sherbrookes with your nasty little stories. Both my husband and I will make certain everyone knows you’re a liar.
“Now, Mr. Sherbrooke, Mrs. Sherbrooke, I do hope these two fools haven’t overly upset you. There will be no more threats or problems from either of them. Good day to you both.” She gave Ryder the sweetest smile imaginable, nodded briskly to Sophie, kicked dust in Lord David’s face, and marched around the shack to where her gig was stationed like a waiting army.
Ryder laughed. He couldn’t help it.
Sophia said in a wondering voice, “The Virgin Bride was right. She said when they came it would work out all right.”
“There is no bloody ghost,” Ryder said. “Just stop it. It was a lurid excuse for a nightmare that you hadn’t yet had.” He turned to Lord David, who was now sitting cross-legged in the dirt, shaking his head as he stared at his dusty boots. “As for you, you will keep your mouth shut. Unlike Mrs. Grammond, I won’t content myself with ruining you. I’ll kill you. Do you understand me?”
Lord David sighed deeply, and nodded. He was clearly distracted. He said on another deep sigh, “I wonder if I can convince the chit to elope with me. It’s the only way I can get the money in three days.”
Sophie and Ryder just looked at each other.
EPILOGUE
Chadwyck House
January 1804
RYDER LEANED DOWN and kissed the nape of her neck, her flesh warm and soft against his mouth. She sighed and said nothing, merely leaned her head back against his belly. He kissed her forehead, then moved to her ears, his hands lightly encircling her throat, caressing her jawline with his thumbs. She sighed again and tried to turn to face him, but he held her still.
“You taste so bloody good,” he said, and kissed her neck one more time. He ran his hands down her arms, then sighed himself, and released her. “No time, dammit, to show you what other uses one can make of a desktop.” He eyed the very feminine writing desk, adding, “We will take great care if ever we make use of this feeble-looking thing. Perhaps I could simply have you lean against it—”
“Ryder!”
He gave another long-suffering sigh and came over to repose himself against the writing table, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m testing its strength,” he said. “For future reference.” He looked down at the list of numbers. “What are you doing?”
“Adding up the accounts for Brandon House. Soon, my dear, next week, I think, we will have an exodus. Jane and I are planning a party. Jane’s impatient.”
“It’s not that Jane complains, exactly,” he said. “But she is looking forward to moving into her new house. The children as well.”
“I will miss them.”
“The little heathens will be only a hundred yards distant. Whenever you want madness, it’s just a short walk away.”
“How is little Garrick?”
Ryder immediately sobered. His eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. Sophie patted his fisted hand. “He’s safe now.”
“Yes, he is. Dammit, Sophie, how could that bastard treat a four-year-old child like that?”
“There are many more like him, more’s the pity, children sold as apprentices to such brutes as that chimney cleaner, Mr. Ducking. But you saved Garrick, and now he will learn that life can be more than pain and tears. He smiled at me this morning. He and Jenny are becoming great friends. I love you, Ryder.”
His jaw loosened, and he smiled. “Yes, and well you should love me very much, woman, since I give you my poor man’s body every night for your diversions.”
“You make me sound unnatural in my appetites.”
“Your appetites are wonderful. Have you yet started your monthly flow?”
His bald speech still could disconcert her, leaving her tongue-tied. She gave him a bemused smile and shook her head.
He leaned forward and caressed her belly with the palm of his hand. “Perhaps our son or daughter is beginning?”
“Perhaps,” she said, and she stared at his mouth. He’d taught her over the months to enjoy kissing as much as he did.
“Stop that, Sophie. There is no time, unfortunately.” Still, he leaned over and quickly kissed her soft mouth. He would never forget the night when he was nipping at her bottom lip as he was telling her the story of the farmer who fell in love with his prize pig, when all of a sudden, she giggled, and bit his chin, and said she fancied a prize bull.
It was the first time their lovemaking had been filled with laughter and silliness and nonsense. He looked fondly at her mouth, shrugged, and kissed her again.
“My brother, Alex, and Sinjun will be here very soon now.”
“Yes,” she said, breathless now.
“Damn him.”
She blinked. “Ah, this dog-in-the-manger attitude of yours, Ryder, you really must stop it. Allow poor Douglas to enjoy himself, to feel useful.”
“He doesn’t have to take my children away.”
“He has given Oliver a tremendous opportunity, admit it. Someday he will be the earl’s assistant steward, perhaps eventually even his steward or his secretary. Oliver will make something of himself. He will be properly educated. Douglas is very fond of him.”
“Damn him.”
Sophie just grinned at her husband. “I shall never forget when Douglas and Alex walked in, completely unexpected, and all the children were shrieking and playing and eating and yelling in the entrance hall because it was raining outside, and Douglas just stood there as calm as a preacher, and said, ‘I have surely come to the wrong house.’ ”
Ryder remained stubbornly silent. He tapped his fingertips on the desktop.
“Douglas did take your revelations well, Ryder. He accepted what he saw as your lack of confidence in him, though I know it hurt him. He didn’t yell at you, as I know he wanted to.”
“That was because Amy had climbed up his leg and he was forced to pick her up and she was telling him that he was pretty.”
“Your family is very proud of you.”
“I never wanted their pride. Don’t you understand? It’s something I just do because it’s important to me, it means something, and there’s nothing saintly about it, Sophie. It costs me nothing, really. I would that every Sherbrooke would shut his and her respective mouth. It becomes excessive, and downright embarrassing.”
“Your mother doesn’t embarrass you.”
“No, she refuses to speak to me for dirtying my hands with slum brats. It’s a refreshing attitude from a family member, and so I’ve told her. She didn’t laugh when I encouraged her to maintain her censure. Now, who is that letter from over there?”
“From Jeremy. It just arrived an hour ago. He is well and enjoying his studies.” She picked up the two pages to look at them again.
Ryder grabbed them and began to read. Soon he was nodding and smiling. “Good. He thrashed that wretched little bully, old Tommy Mullard’s son. Tommy was always a coward, big mouth and all threats, until one simply slammed one’s fist into his lard belly. You see, Sophie, I was right to teach Jeremy how to fight mean and dirty. I even taught him how to kick with his lame foot. Lord, did he ever become good. Sinjun even played his adversary, poor girl. She had many bruises on her shins before he left for school. And don’t be fooled, boys at school can be cruel. It’s encouraged, unfortunately, you know, the old theory of toughening up our young aristocrats, making real little
stiff-lipped soldiers out of them. But Jeremy is holding his own. It helps that he’s the best rider at Eton.” Ryder rubbed his hands together, such was his pleasure.
Sophie thought she would burst with love for him at that moment. He was a remarkable man, but the hint of someone actually saying it, giving him even a modicum of praise, made him turn red with embarrassment, and defensive to the point of yelling. She said only, “It also helps that he’s part of the Sherbrooke family.”
“Of course,” Ryder said, and continued reading.
He had barely finished the letter when the door burst open and Sinjun came dashing in. The room seemed to lighten with her presence.
“My dear,” Sophie said and quickly rose to give her sister-in-law a hug.
“Ah, Douglas and Alex are right behind me. I raced ahead so I could see you first. You both look wonderful. Is that a letter from Jeremy? I got one three days ago. He told me all about how he beat the stuffing out of this dolt bully, and—”
“Enough, brat! Hello, you two.”
The Earl of Northcliffe strode into the room, his wife on his arm. “You won’t believe what I have to tell you, Ryder. Oliver has quite impressed my steward and all my tenants. I took him around and introduced him to everyone, and you wouldn’t believe his questions—intelligent and thoughtful, all of them. I was so proud of him. And now he has no limp at all. Oh, hello, Sophie. You look well. Here’s Alex.”
Sophie could only laugh as she watched the shifting and myriad expressions on her husband’s face.
“Oh, another thing,” Douglas said before Ryder could vent his spleen, if venting were indeed what he had in mind, “Alex is pregnant. We will have a babe in May. What do you think about that?”
No one had time to think about anything. Alex turned suddenly very white, gasped, and looked helplessly up at her husband. “I can’t believe you did this to me. I’m going to be sick.”
She ran from the room. Douglas shook his head. “I hope she misses that beautiful Aubusson carpet,” he said, and turned to run after her.
Ryder and Sophie looked at each other. Sinjun stared after her departed brother and sister-in-law. “Goodness, I don’t know if I wish to ever have a babe. Alex is always being sick at the most inopportune times. I think I would prefer having another Bedlam House, like yours and Sophie‘s, Ryder.”
“It’s Brandon House,” Ryder said. “After dear departed Uncle Brandon. Sophie says that it will speed his way from the depths of hell. She thinks he might even gain purgatory, but only if we use his money and not the money we earn ourselves.”
“Alex is pregnant,” Sophie said, bemused. “Just fancy that.”
“It happens, you know, particularly when one and one’s wife perform all the proper rituals. Oh yes, Sophie might be pregnant too,” Ryder said, turning to his sister.
“That leaves only Tysen,” Sinjun said. “Oh dear, he plans to marry that girl you can’t stand, Ryder, you know, the one with two names—Melinda Beatrice—and no bosom. Then there’s only me left.”
“You have all the time in the world, brat.”
They heard the unmistakable sounds of someone being vilely ill. “Yes,” Sinjun said fervently, “I do have all the time in the world, thank God. Do you know that just last week Alex got ill right in front of Hollis. He never turned a hair. He said in that royal way of his, ‘My lady, I do believe you should carry a handkerchief in the future.’ He gave her his. Then he instructed that a covered chamber pot be placed in every room. He conducted Alex on a tour to show her where each one was located. Oh, congratulations, Sophie. You feel all right, don’t you?”
“Of course. I won’t get sick on your slippers. Thank you, Sinjun. But we don’t know yet if it’s true or not. Ryder is just being optimistic.”
“Not optimistic. Her monthly flow is late, by four whole days.”
“Ryder! Sinjun isn’t yet sixteen!”
Sinjun only shrugged and looked very world-weary. “I have three brothers, Sophie, and two of them are outrageous. I can’t be shocked, I don’t think.”
“As for you,” Sophie said, turning back to face her husband, “you will mind your tongue in front of your sister.”
“But I was going to tell her the story about the eccentric Mr. Hootle of Bristol who wed every woman who would have him. He had this compulsion, you see, and every time a woman smiled at him, he lost all judgment, and dropped down to his knees to propose.”
“That,” Sophie said with approval, “is quite a proper tale. You may continue. One hopes it becomes more edifying.”
“Then one day when he was on his knees, one of his other wives came upon him and his soon-to-be-betrothed. The two women compared what they knew and were not pleased. They took him away to a small room, took all his clothes and locked him in. Then they sent in all these other women, two at a time, all naked as sin, to prance and parade in front of him, and the poor man was tied down so he couldn’t fall to his knees and propose or do anything else—”
“Enough! You are dreadful.” Sophie fell against him, laughing and kissing his chin.
Ryder looked fondly at the writing desk behind him. Sinjun sighed. “Well, I see I shan’t get any more sensible conversation from either of you. I shall go see Jane and the children.”
When the door closed, Ryder said to his wife, “I saw the Virgin Bride last night.”
Sophie stared at him. “You saw the ghost? Truly? But gentlemen don’t believe in her, that’s what Douglas and you are always saying.”
“I was wrong,” Ryder said. “She floated in our bedchamber last night, visiting, I imagine, for she supposedly never strays from Northcliffe Hall. Anyway, she smiled down at me, and said something, but not really, you know, but I heard her words clear and calm in my mind.”
“Yes, that was exactly how it was with me. What did she tell you?”
“She said, even as she glittered and shimmered all over me, that we had the possibility of having fourteen children. She said it was all a matter of me stiffening my resolve if we were to have these children in this lifetime.”
“You are going to suffer for that, Ryder, you surely are.”
“You promise?” He kissed his wife, and knew such pleasure that he wanted to yell with it. He released her, and locked the door. He methodically stoked the fire, then turned back to his wife. “The Virgin Bride must know what she’s about. The good Lord knows you women believe every supposed word she doesn’t say. Very well then. Let’s get to it, madam.”
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s Imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-1012-1414-5
The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is
http://us.penguingroup.com
To Stacy Creamer—
A woman who loves her crazed career, does it very well, and never loses her enthusiasm. A woman who’s honorable, bright, and a jock. And she likes my writing.
All my thanks, Stacy. I hope you and I are together until either you lose your passion for pounding the pavement or I expire over my computer keyboard. I’m happy. I’m happy.
Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
PROLOGUE
Vere Castle, 1807
Near Loch Leven, Fife Peninsula, Scotland
HE STOOD STARING out
the narrow window down into the courtyard of his castle. It was April, but spring wasn’t much in evidence yet save for the wildly blooming heather that poked through the patches of fog to dazzle the eye with a rainbow of vivid purples. Scottish heather, like his people, would burst through rock itself to bloom. This morning, fog hung thick over the stone ramparts; thick and gray and wet. He could hear his people clearly through his window two stories up in the north circular tower—old Marthe clucking to the chickens as she tossed them grain, Burnie yelling at the top of his lungs at young Ostle, a new stable lad who was also his nephew. He heard bowlegged Crocker yelling at his dog, George II, threatening that he’d kick the shiftless bugger, but everyone knew that Crocker would kill anyone who even said a cross word to George. The morning sounded no different from any he’d heard since he was a child. Everything was normal.
Only it wasn’t.
He turned away from the window and walked to the small stone fireplace, splaying his hands to the flames. This was his private study. Even his brother, Malcolm, when alive, had kept away from this particular room. It was warm in the room despite the sluggish fire, for thick wool tapestries woven by his great-grandmother were hung on every wall to keep away the damp and chill. There was also a beautiful old Aubusson carpet that covered most of the worn stones on the floor, and he wondered how his wastrel father or his damned brother had overlooked the carpet; it was worth a good deal of money, he imagined, and could have provided at least a week’s worth of gaming or wenching or a bit of both. So the carpet was left, and the tapestries, but little else of value. Over the fireplace on a nearly rotted tapestry was the coat of arms of the Kinrosses: Wounded But Unconquered.
He was nearly mortally wounded. He was in very deep trouble and the only way out of it was to marry an heiress, and quickly. He didn’t want to. He would rather swallow one of Aunt Arleth’s tonics than marry.
But he had no choice. The debts incurred by both his father and his now-dead elder brother had left him bowed to his knees and nearly beyond desperate. He was the only one to be responsible, no one else. He was the new earl of Ashburnham, the seventh bloody earl, and he was up to his peer’s neck in financial woes.
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