“But wouldn’t his valet know if—”
“You’d best hurry before he leaves to go hunting with the other gentlemen,” the duchess interrupted.
Minerva stiffened, then set her teacup down and hurried out of the room to do her mother’s bidding.
The dowager’s gaze returned to Amelia, and her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Miss Somerton, please join me.”
A cold knot formed in Amelia’s stomach. “Of course.” She had little choice but to rise and sit beside the duchess.
The duchess scanned the immaculate lawn beyond with the statues of Greek gods and goddesses, the twin gazebos, and a bubbling fountain of nymphs. “Rosehill is quite lovely, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Sunlight glinted off the duchess’s ruby and diamond rings as she raised her hand to sip her tea. “I suppose you must find it exceedingly beautiful considering where you used to reside.”
Amelia blinked. “Pardon?”
“Oh my. I didn’t mean to overstep, my dear. But isn’t it true you used to reside above a shop?”
The woman’s tone suggested she did indeed intend to insult. Amelia wondered what she would think if she knew where they lived before they resided above the Peacock Print Shop.
Amelia’s chin rose a notch. “Yes, we lived above the print shop on Bruton Street.”
“I see. Rosehill must be luxurious in comparison.”
“It is.”
“The Earls of Vale have had their country seat at Rosehill for generations. The current earl needs a wife and hostess of impeccable breeding. Can you say you have impeccable breeding?”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Precisely. What could you possibly offer him? Everyone knows about your family’s past. It doesn’t matter that your sister married an earl.”
She stared at the woman in shock and rising anger. She wondered what the pompous woman would say if she knew of Brandon’s proposal. Amelia had no intention of marrying Lord Vale, but the duchess didn’t know that.
“Huntingdon and my sister are quite happy,” Amelia said.
“Ah, but Huntingdon has something Lord Vale lacks.”
“Such as?”
The duchess leaned close, her dark eyes hardening like granite. “Money.”
It took every ounce of willpower not to flinch. How on earth did the lady know about Brandon’s financial problems? Brandon’s own sisters had no idea. His grandmother may have an inkling, but she didn’t know the full extent of his problems. So how did the duchess know?
“My husband is a very powerful man,” the duchess said as if she read Amelia’s mind. “He is privy to many things.”
Amelia sat straight with her hands folded in her lap. She wouldn’t reveal anything by her demeanor.
“You wouldn’t stand in the way of Vale’s happiness and future, would you?” the duchess asked.
Despair tightened Amelia’s chest. “Why would I? I’m afraid I don’t know why you’d mention it at all.”
Just then Minerva burst onto the terrace. “Father is out hunting with Lord Vale and the other gentlemen. They are expected back in an hour.”
“Wonderful,” the duchess said. She turned to look at Amelia. “We were just having a pleasant conversation. It turns out Miss Somerton and I have the same interests in mind, don’t we my dear?”
…
The guests chattered excitedly as they wandered out on the expansive lawn for a picnic luncheon. Servants spread out blankets beneath a canopy of trees, and footmen carried out large picnic baskets with cold chicken, ham, an assortment of fruit, bread, and wine.
Amelia sat on a blanket with Caroline. The sun warmed her cheeks and she gazed up at a perfect blue sky dotted with puffs of cloud. Birds chirped and sounds from one of Rosehill’s bubbling fountain filled the air.
Amelia’s nerves were still tense after her altercation with the duchess. The woman had done little to disguise her hostility or her ambitions for her daughter.
“I’ve always wanted my own dress shop,” Caroline said, interrupting Amelia’s thoughts.
Amelia looked at her in surprise. “Truly?”
“I enjoy going to the modiste, and when I’m in town I’d rather spend time flipping through fashion plates at Ackerman’s than attending parties or balls. I picture dresses in my mind and often sketch them in the privacy of my room.” Caroline sighed. “I know I’ll never be a shopkeeper. Proper ladies visit dress shops, they do not own their own establishments. My grandmother would never approve.”
As the sister of an earl, Caroline’s dream was unlikely to happen. She would return to London, dance at balls with all the eligible gentleman of the beau monde, and marry soon after. Her grandmother—along with society’s rigid expectations—wouldn’t allow any other path for her.
It would be similar for Amelia if she married Brandon. She wouldn’t be able to have her own art exhibition. If she wanted to display or sell her paintings of the impoverished, she’d have to do it anonymously.
“Running a successful, small business is difficult,” Amelia said. “There’s much more to it than what it appears. You have to keep an inventory of all the items that sell as well as those that don’t, and you must keep tidy books.” She remembered Eliza laboring over the ledgers long into the night. She also recalled doing everything from trying to sell artwork and bric-a-brac items to discerning customers to scrubbing the floors after a long day.
“I realize there’s much I don’t know. But I’m good with figures and willing to learn,” Caroline said.
The enthusiasm in Caroline’s voice touched Amelia. Memories stirred in the back of her mind. Hadn’t Brandon mentioned one of his father’s businesses was a dress shop? He’d talked about a shop that had sustained a fire, leaving all the bolts of cloth and inventory smoke damaged. Brandon had salvaged the business and continued to labor over the books and deal with the manager. She knew he planned to sell the shop, but as far as she knew, he had not.
Amelia decided right then and there that she would somehow convince him to confess his financial troubles with his sisters. He had no idea about Caroline’s dreams. It was a perfect opportunity for Caroline to learn about the day-to-day running of a business and to ease her brother’s burdens.
“Just because you may not be able to own your own dress shop, does not mean you cannot use your talents,” Amelia said.
“What do you mean?”
“I know someone who owns a shop. Someone who may need help overseeing the business and the books.”
Caroline looked at her eagerly. “You do?”
“I can’t promise anything, but I will talk with the person in question. You may be surprised how you can use your talents.”
A blush of pleasure rose to Caroline’s cheeks. “You think so?”
Amelia nodded. “I do.”
Caroline hugged Amelia. “In the short time since you’ve been at Rosehill, I feel as if you are a sister.” Caroline gifted her with a bright smile, then returned to eating the chicken on her plate.
A sister. Amelia experienced burgeoning warmth in her chest. She loved her own sisters dearly and understood what family loyalty meant. Brandon loved his sisters as well, but he had no idea about Caroline’s desires.
Amelia felt a responsibility to enlighten him. If there was a way she could help Caroline, then she would. Amelia’s eyes scanned the picnic area and spotted Brandon in discussion with Huntingdon and the duke. She considered approaching him, but she knew that would be unwise. The duchess was speaking with the dowager, but Amelia wasn’t fooled. The woman seemed to have eyes in the back of her head when it came to Amelia.
When everyone was done eating, the servants packed up the baskets. As the guests made their way back to the house, Amelia spotted a kitchen maid struggling to carry two heavy baskets back to the house. She recognized Lily, the servant who had come along with her to tour the textile factory.
Amelia rushed forward to relieve Lily of o
ne of the baskets. “I can help you.”
“I’ll be fine, Miss Somerton!”
“Nonsense. I have two arms, and I’m perfectly capable of carrying it.”
The plates in the basket shifted to one end as Amelia adjusted the handle over her arm. “Go on ahead, and I’ll follow.”
“Thank you, miss,” Lily said, then hurried ahead.
Amelia made her way down a steep embankment toward the servants’ entrance at the back of the house. She wasn’t accustomed to the uneven path and made her way carefully down the grassy slope.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Amelia looked back to see Brandon hurrying toward her, a scowl on his face.
He quickly reached her side, and she frowned. “What does it look like? I’m helping.”
“Give me that,” he demanded.
She pulled back on the basket handle. “I don’t need help.”
“You’re going to fall and break your pretty neck.”
She was so annoyed by his highhanded manner that she almost forgot she’d wanted a chance to speak to him alone. She glanced around to make sure no one was nearby. “I have something to tell you.”
One dark eyebrow shot up. “You’ve reconsidered my proposal?”
“That’s not what I—”
“I’m going to speak with Huntingdon,” he said. “It’s the only proper course of action and you know it.”
He was acting arrogantly, and her irritation returned in full force. “I know no such thing,” she said, her voice firm.
The man and his honor. Is that all he thought about?
His eyes held hers. “Marry me. What are you afraid of?”
Everything. “My answer hasn’t changed. And that’s not what I want to talk to you about. I want to discuss your sister.”
It was his turn to frown. “Helen or Caroline?”
“Caroline. She has aspirations beyond being an earl’s sister. She wants to design her own clothing and own her own dress shop.”
A heartbeat passed, then he grimaced. “That’s ludicrous.”
“Why? Because she’s your sister?”
“It’s not done.”
Amelia bit her lip. Just like she couldn’t be an artist in her own right if she married him. He was saying the same thing whether he realized it or not.
“You once mentioned that one of your father’s businesses is a dress shop. You are still the owner, correct?”
He nodded curtly. “The store was a complete disaster after the fire, but it has been rebuilt. I plan to seek an interested buyer.”
“You shouldn’t. Let Caroline help you with the ledgers. Let her see what goes on behind a business. She could design her own clothing and have the seamstress sew the gowns. It would give Caroline a chance to experience entrepreneurship without the risk. You would still own the establishment, of course, but she could help.” She could fulfill her dream.
“If you’re so interested in my family, then why don’t you become a part of it? As my wife.”
They had reached the servants’ entrance. Before she could step inside, he cornered her against the brick wall outside the door. His hands pressed on both sides of the wall, one on either side of her head, to cage her in, and cut off any chance of escape. Amelia’s heart pounded at the intensity of his gaze. He was close, too close. She could feel the heat of his powerful body and his thigh grazing her skirts. She inhaled sharply, and his spicy, male scent filled her senses. His mouth was inches from hers, and she had an insane urge to kiss him.
Instead, she tilted her chin in defiance. “I won’t marry you to ease your conscience, Brandon.”
“You want to stay my mistress?”
She felt her face drain of color. “Hush! Don’t say that.”
His lips curved in a knowing smile. “Why not? It’s the truth. I’m offering to make you a proper lady. A countess.”
Her body quivered at the brush of his breath against her cheek. Why didn’t he whisper words of love in her ear?
He leaned even closer, and broadcloth sizzled against silk. “We have lust and intellectual communion. What more do you want, Amelia?”
I want you to love me like I love you. And I want you to support my dreams as I would support yours.
Her lips trembled. “What of—”
The scrape of booted feet alerted them to someone’s presence. Brandon pushed her behind him and turned to find the butler standing at the threshold of the servants’ entrance.
“There’s a gentleman caller here to see you, my lord,” the servant said.
A flicker of annoyance crossed Brandon’s face at the interruption. “I’m not expecting anyone, Smithson.”
“He said it’s a matter of utmost importance, and that he must speak with you right away.” The butler handed Brandon a calling card.
“Mr. Edward Arnold,” Brandon read out loud. “I don’t recognize the name.”
“He said his visit is in regards to the Earl of Vale…the former earl.”
Brandon stiffened. “See him to the drawing room. I’ll be there shortly.”
“Yes, my lord.” Smithson disappeared to do his bidding.
Brandon turned back to Amelia. “We’re not finished talking.”
She fought the pull between them and shook her head. “There’s nothing left to say.”
A flash of challenge darkened the green depth of his eyes. “I once told you before that I don’t like to take no for an answer when I want something. Nothing has changed.” Then he turned and walked away.
Chapter Twenty-One
Brandon made his way to the drawing room and opened the door to find a heavy-set man with a balding pate of dark hair sitting in a chair sipping a glass of the old-earl’s finest brandy.
“I was told you were waiting to see me,” Brandon said.
The man jumped to his feet, and liquor splashed on his lace cuff. He cleared his throat and extended his hand. “My name is Edward Arnold. Thank you for meeting me, my lord.”
Brandon ignored his outstretched hand and studied his face. “Have we met before?”
Arnold lowered his arm, then smiled, revealing tobacco-stained teeth. “No, my lord. There was never an opportunity. I was an acquaintance of the late earl.”
“What type of acquaintance?”
“A business one.”
The hairs on Brandon’s nape stood on end. This couldn’t bode well. “State your business, Mr. Arnold.”
The man reached for a leather case on the settee and pulled out a document. “You father signed an IOU and borrowed twenty thousand pounds from me to pay for gambling debts.”
Brandon eyes narrowed as he stared at the paper in Arnold’s hand. “My father has been dead for a year. I haven’t learned of any IOUs.”
“Perhaps he failed to mention it to you.”
His father’s documents weren’t in order. They were haphazardly scattered in his study at Rosehill as well as in his London mansion. His solicitor hadn’t even known of all the old earl’s business ventures or debts. It had been a mess that had taken Brandon months to sort out.
Cold centered in Brandon’s gut. “Let me see.”
Arnold handed over the paper. Brandon recognized his father’s handwriting at once. His bold script had always been flowery and a touch sloppy, just like the old man himself. Disbelief coursed through Brandon as he studied the document. The last line contained his father’s unmistakable signature. “This says the Earl of Vale offered you a Hampshire textile mill and land from Rosehill as collateral.”
“That’s correct.”
Was it possible? Could his father have borrowed money from a moneylender and offered the textile mill and acres from Rosehill for collateral without anyone knowing?
Yes.
“It’s impossible,” Brandon said tersely. “All the land is entailed. It cannot be mortgaged.”
“Not all of it, my lord. Your father assured me there are five hundred acres that were acquired by your great-grandfather and are not
part of the entailment.”
He couldn’t believe that his father had put up the acres in question. It was where a dozen Rosehill tenant farmers resided and farmed the land. He knew the tenants well. He could picture their faces and those of their children—people that depended on Brandon for their survival as much as he depended on their rents to add to the earldom’s coffers. He’d be damned if he allowed any of his land to fall victim to a greedy moneylender.
His eyes were drawn back to the second paragraph. His father’s crime was twofold. The textile mill was also listed. Brandon seethed with mounting rage. His father had offered the land and the mill as collateral.
“When is payment due?” Brandon asked.
“The document is clear. Two weeks.”
Brandon checked and confirmed the unbelievable truth.
Two weeks.
He had two weeks to come up with twenty thousand pounds. It was unheard of. What had his father been thinking? Had he ever been completely lucid? Hadn’t he cared at all about his family?
The mill was the key to keeping everything together. The anticipated profit would enable Brandon to pay off his father’s creditors and provide for those who depended on him.
And the land. It wasn’t only a matter of pride—which Brandon had too much of as it was—but a matter of responsibility to those who depended on him. He wanted to keep the estate intact for his sisters, for his grandmother, and for his future children.
“What do you want with five hundred acres in Hampshire?” Brandon asked.
“I will sell the acres piecemeal for profit.”
Like hell. The tenants would be evicted from their homes and would be forced to relocate.
“And the textile factory? What do you want with a factory?”
“I plan to run it efficiently.”
Brandon knew what that meant. The children would return to work full-time. There would be no reduced hours or safety concerns or age limitations. There would be no future school.
Brandon’s lips thinned. “I need more time.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Arnold said, shaking his head. “Your father assured me he understood the terms of our agreement. I expect you to honor it. I’ll be back in two weeks’ time with my solicitor to obtain the deed to the land and the title to the factory.”
Real Earls Break the Rules (Infamous Somertons) Page 17