Forever Yours (The Forever Series #1)

by Cheryl Holt

“No, she wasn’t pleased.

  He sighed with exasperation. He loathed discord and wouldn’t tolerate it. Not among his family and not among his servants. Camilla and Abigail didn’t exactly fit in those niches, but he couldn’t have them bickering. He didn’t have the patience to deal with it or quell any upset that was generated.

  Faith continued. “Miss Barrington was offended at having to meet her and at Camilla ordering her about. She wasn’t deferential, and Camilla was incensed. She fired her.”

  “What?”

  “Camilla fired her. She told her to pack her bags and depart in the morning.”

  “What was Miss Barrington’s reply?”

  “She said she doesn’t work for Camilla, that you hired her and you would have to be the one to terminate her.”

  “Good for her,” he murmured even as he tabulated how awful the row would be with Camilla when he arrived at the manor.

  She never backed down from a fight, and he’d allowed her to accumulate too much power in his home. Normally, he enjoyed her being in charge so he didn’t have to fuss with minor matters, but she was very vain about her elevated role, and occasionally her haughty attitude was more than he could abide.

  “You won’t permit Miss Barrington to leave, will you?” she asked.

  “No, she’s not leaving. She’ll be with us for the next two years at least.”

  “What about Camilla? I can’t have her popping in and causing trouble. Can you simply force her to stay away? Miss Barrington is mature and dependable, and she doesn’t require any monitoring. Particularly not from Camilla.”

  “No, Camilla doesn’t need to be popping in. I’ll talk to her.”

  “Can I tell Miss Barrington I spoke with you? May I inform her you’re not angry and she’s not fired?”

  “Yes, tell her for me.”

  He wanted to rush into the cottage, to dash up to her bedchamber and share the news himself. He wanted to apologize for Camilla and insist she not be enraged by the encounter, but with Faith literally guarding the door, and the twins inside and curiously watching his every move, he couldn’t visit Abigail in her bedchamber.

  “Have her rest tonight,” he said. “Let her know I’ll come for the picnic tomorrow afternoon. I’ll discuss all of this with her then.”

  “We don’t need you over here constantly either,” Faith complained. “You’re as much of a disruption as Camilla.”

  “You might have to get used to it.”

  He spun and walked off, and though she huffed and sputtered and hurled invectives, he ignored her and kept on.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Alex was enjoying a private moment in his library—drinking whiskey and staring out at the park—when Camilla knocked, then entered without waiting for permission. Usually, he wouldn’t have minded. They carried on like an old married couple so there was no reason for her to knock, no reason for her to request an audience.

  Yet he was quietly raging and in no mood to spar with her. It was a facet of his personality, adopted and nurtured during his banishment, that he never shouted or quarreled or lost his temper despite how gripping the issue.

  In his nearly killing Hayden Henley, he’d proved he could grow angry enough to commit murder, but time and distance had molded him into a shrewder, more insightful person. There wasn’t a single thing worth fighting about. And he wouldn’t fight. If he ever let his temper flare again, he didn’t trust himself to remain in control.

  “You’re back,” she said like an accusation.

  “Yes. Have you been looking for me?”

  “Of course I have. You’ve been conspicuously absent from our party. I’d appreciate it if you’d at least pretend to be glad we have guests.”

  “I’m not glad. I told you I don’t like anyone you invited. Don’t expect me to sit and chat with idiots I can’t abide.”

  “I’m not demanding you socialize.”

  “Then what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying you could make an effort.”

  She was fit to be tied, her fury so blatant it wafted toward him from clear across the room.

  “Point taken,” he said. “Will that be all? Or is there another topic you’d like to discuss?”

  He knew exactly what the topic was so he was needling her. He shouldn’t have, but he was in a snit himself. The tenor of their liaison had been set in stone from the start. She ran his household as if she was his wife. She was competent and capable, and he rarely paid attention to her conduct or choices.

  Had he changed his opinion about that? Was he weary of their arrangement?

  When he’d rescued the twins from their mother, neither he nor Camilla had been particularly keen on them coming to the estate, but they had. Without his and Camilla conferring over the situation, she’d assumed the task of managing them.

  He hadn’t asked her to, and while she was proficient at supervising the manor, she’d done a half-hearted, minimal job with the twins. He was irked about it, but he was as much at fault as she was so he was in no position to chastise or complain.

  He was delighted with Abigail, and he liked thinking about the cottage and that she was there to watch over them. The notion made him happy which was very peculiar. Typically, he never thought much about the girls or the cottage at all.

  Was that situation changing too? Apparently, yes. He was ashamed that he wasn’t a better guardian, that he’d shucked off his responsibilities so easily. He wasn’t negligent in any other aspect of his life, but he’d never quite figured out how to feel about them or how to deal with them.

  But they were simply two little girls who’d had a hard beginning. Abigail would fix what was wrong. He was certain of it.

  “Yes, there is another topic we must address,” Camilla said.

  “What is it?”

  “I went to the cottage today.”

  “I heard.”

  “From who?”

  “From Faith.”

  She tsked with aggravation. “If she’s given you her version of events, I don’t suppose I need to give you mine. You always side with her against me.”

  “You sound like a spoiled toddler, and it’s incredibly annoying. What’s your version? I’m curious to learn how you’ll describe it.”

  “You shouldn’t have hired Miss Barrington without talking to me first.”

  “Maybe not, but the deed is done, and I won’t debate it with you.”

  “I don’t want her to stay!” Camilla insisted.

  “Why not? Faith advises me that she’s terrific. Isn’t that what we’ve both been struggling to find? If Miss Barrington takes care of the twins, you don’t have to.”

  “She’s rude and insolent, and she has a very smart mouth.”

  “She’s been completely deferential to me.”

  Actually, he wasn’t surprised that Abigail had been rude, and he wasn’t concerned over how Abigail treated Camilla. Camilla was so snotty and so sure of her spot with him, and he found it hilarious that Abigail had pushed her into such a dither.

  “I won’t have a disrespectful employee on the staff,” Camilla said. “The girl has no sense of her lowly place as a servant and no sense of her place with regard to me.”

  “She can be haughty. I agree.”

  “She thinks it’s perfectly appropriate to comment on my relationship with you.”

  “That was brazen of her.”

  “Yes, it was, and I fired her for it. I’ve ordered her to vacate the premises by nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  “Yes, and I’ve countermanded your decision.”

  Her jaw dropped with astonishment. “You what?”

  “She’s not leaving. There’s no reason for it.”

  “No reason! How about the fact that I’ve terminated her?”

  “You’re being ridiculous, Camilla, and I like her. Let it go.”

  “I won’t let it go,” she fumed. “If she continues at her post—after I’ve dismis
sed her—how will I have any authority from here on out? At this very moment, the servants are probably down in the kitchen salivating over the incident. If she can sass and disparage me, they’ll all start in. We’ll have a mutiny on our hands.”

  “I’m not worried about it, and you shouldn’t be either.”

  He was being very disrespectful to her, still seated in his chair by the window, still sipping his whiskey and not bothering to stand. She was so ferociously angry that he suspected she’d like to walk over and shake him into behaving as she was demanding.

  Unfortunately for her, she occasionally forgot that she couldn’t make him do anything he didn’t wish to do.

  “What about your sister?” Evidently, she’d recognized she couldn’t move him on Abigail.

  “What about her?”

  “She is out of control. She practically tossed me out of the cottage while again claiming it’s her home. Why must we play this game with her?”

  “What game is that?”

  “She resides there merely because you’ve provided shelter. You pay for her brother to attend school, but she scoffs at your generosity. Haven’t you supported them long enough?”

  “No, not nearly long enough.”

  “Well, she ought to be a bit more grateful, and I fail to see why I must bear the brunt of her disdain.”

  “It’s an easy predicament to mend. Just don’t go over there.”

  “You let her be rude to me.”

  “Faith is an adult who is free to determine who she likes and who she doesn’t. I don’t tell her how to act, and—if I tried—she’d laugh in my face.”

  The tense conversation wound to a halt, and her fury was barely contained. Finally, she said, “So…that’s it? A servant can ridicule me? Your sister can insult and offend? And you have no opinion about it.”

  “I have many, many opinions about it, Camilla, but you’re aware that I won’t fuss over your petty squabbles. I can’t believe you raised any of it with me.”

  “Am I your partner here or not?”

  She actually shouted her question, and when he didn’t reply she banged her fist for emphasis on a small decorative table. It crashed to the floor, the figurines shattering into a dozen pieces.

  He sighed and shook his head. “That was unnecessary.”

  He pushed himself to his feet, went to the door, and called for a footman to clean up the mess. As they waited for him, they glared at each other like two pugilists in the ring.

  “Since my presence appears to be so distasteful to your sister and your governess,” she tightly spat, “perhaps I should retire to town for a few days.”

  “If you’d like to depart, you may. The staff is competent. I’m sure we can manage without you.”

  She hadn’t bet on him agreeing with her, and she blanched with dismay.

  Wretched woman!

  Had she thought he’d beg her not to go? Had she thought he’d run to the cottage, reiterate to Abigail that she’d been fired, and evict his sister as well?

  Camilla was mad sometimes in her assessment of who he was and how he viewed the world. But it was his own fault that she lacked a clearer understanding. He rarely involved himself in her activities so she never remembered that she was simply his mistress—and naught more.

  She was allowed to stay because, so far, he’d been comfortable with her staying. If she wanted to leave, he was fine with that, and if she settled in London and remained there he wouldn’t mind that either. She wasn’t tethered to him, and he certainly wasn’t tethered to her.

  In fact—in light of his burgeoning obsession with the new governess—it was a good idea for Camilla to absent herself for a bit. It would definitely make it easier to misbehave in ways he shouldn’t.

  Similar realizations were dawning on her. She pulled herself together, her irate expression smoothed away.

  “I apologize for quarreling,” she said. “I know you don’t like it.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  She forced a smile. “When we have a house full of guests, it would be horrid of me to abandon you.”

  “It’s up to you.”

  “Yes, and I don’t wish to depart.”

  She turned and fled, probably terrified about where the discussion might end if she tarried.

  It was hard to be a woman in her position. Her situation was only secure if he was happy, but he didn’t feel sorry for her. She was a strumpet who’d chosen the life she was leading, and she’d willingly cast her lot with him. She had a perfectly respectable British family and a father who could have arranged a marriage, but she hadn’t been interested.

  Instead, she’d sought adventure and dissipation and vice. She’d been living indecently long before they’d met, and she’d continue to wallow in iniquity after they separated. If he hadn’t been the one she’d selected to support her, she’d have picked someone else.

  He took his glass and decanter of liquor and went outside onto the verandah behind the manor. It was a warm summer afternoon, the sun shining, but there were clouds on the horizon that hinted at rain later on.

  To his surprise, Price was slouched in a chair at a patio table, drinking and smoking and generally looking like the nuisance he was.

  Alex hadn’t seen him since he’d observed Alex kissing Abigail. He hoped his friend knew better than to comment, but he figured Price wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut.

  Price gestured to the empty chair across from him, and Alex sat in it. For a few minutes, they dawdled, imbibing and gazing out toward the cottage where they would likely both rather be.

  “So…” Price ultimately said, “it’s to be an affair with the governess, is it?”

  Alex shrugged. “Maybe. I haven’t decided.”

  “I don’t have to tell you that you’re insane if you proceed.”

  “No, you don’t have to tell me.”

  “You’re supposing she’ll be worth any trouble it will cause.”

  “Yes, I’m supposing that.”

  “Did you learn nothing from your father?”

  “I learned plenty, but I’m ignoring my reservations.”

  “Every time I feel you’ve matured and moved beyond your reckless, youthful ways, you prove me wrong.”

  Alex scoffed. “As if I’ll listen to any lectures from you about moral conduct.”

  “Just don’t sire a child on her.” Price sounded as if he was begging. “Please? Don’t be stupid.”

  “I will not be stupid,” Alex promised.

  “Your vow doesn’t placate me at all.”

  “I don’t care.”

  He refilled their glasses, and Price downed his and held out his glass for another.

  “What’s bothering you?” Alex asked. “I realize you’re a lush, but you’re overindulging at a rate that’s astonishing even to me.”

  “Spoken like the Puritan you are.” Price stared out at the park, his conflicted thoughts practically shaking the air between them. Eventually, he turned to Alex and said, “Would you come to town with me tomorrow?”

  “Why?”

  “I heard from my father. My Russian princess is in London.”

  “My goodness,” Alex murmured.

  “She’ll be there for several months.”

  “That’s…interesting.”

  “She’s hosting a supper and ball, and he’s demanding I attend. Apparently, I’ve been invited as a special guest.”

  “You’re too much of a coward to go alone?”

  “Yes.” Price shuddered with dread. “I’d like you to meet her. I’d like your opinion.”

  “I’m sure anyone your father picked will be homely and horrid and a terrible mismatch for you so I don’t know why I have to travel all that way to confirm it.”

  “I need you there.”

  “Tell me the truth. Are you seriously considering marrying her?”

  “Yes.” He rubbed a palm over his face. “I can’t bear to be so po
or. I hate having to crawl to my father, hat in hand, pleading for money, and he doesn’t have any really. Even when he cocks up his toes and I’m finally able to bury him, I’ll still be broke. He’s the biggest spendthrift ever—even worse than I am—so the estates are all bankrupt.”

  “It’s lovely to be rich,” Alex said. “You’d like it a lot.”

  “Yes,” Price agreed. “I’d like it.”

  “I’ll accompany you. It will get me away from Camilla.”

  “Might that mean you’re growing weary of her?”

  “No, she’s simply been quarreling with Faith, and she doesn’t like the new governess.”

  “Let me guess,” Price said. “Camilla thinks the governess is much too pretty.”

  “Yes.”

  “And Faith has been rude to her.”

  “Something like that. Camilla had a list of complaints, but I mostly ignored her.”

  Price rose and patted Alex on the shoulder. “I’ll take you to London so you can have a holiday from her. We’ll tumble some opera dancers, and perhaps you’ll discover you’re sick of her. If you would ponder splitting with Camilla, I wouldn’t even mind if the governess was the reason.”

  “If I make a change, it won’t be because of Miss Barrington. I like her very much, but I don’t have wicked designs on her.”

  “Right,” Price sneered. “I’ll pull out my journal and jot that down so I don’t forget: Alex has no wicked designs on Miss Barrington.”

  He laughed crudely and sauntered off.

  Alex finished his whiskey, but he was too agitated to dawdle. He wanted to return to the cottage, to check on Abigail, to chat with her so she’d soothe his irked disposition. But he’d just been there, and it would be ridiculous to show up again so soon. If Faith saw him, he’d never hear the end of it.

  He went to the stable, saddled a horse, and rode off in the other direction.

  * * * *

  Price was in his bedroom suite, in the sitting room, drinking and loafing in a chair in front of the fire. He’d ordered a footman to bring him another bottle of brandy and a tray of bread and cheese to tide him over until he could muster the energy to go downstairs for supper.

  The afternoon had been sunny and pleasant, then rain had drifted in so it was cool and crisp outside as if it were autumn instead of June.