Jilted By A Cad (Jilted Brides Trilogy Book 1)

by Cheryl Holt

“There are.”

  “You could jeopardize your career. Have you thought about the ramifications?”

  “No, but I suppose I should.”

  “As to Miss Bates, she has no ancestry to indicate she’s a suitable wife for you, yet if she winds up ruined, that is her sole option. So I must inquire: Is it your intent to marry her?”

  “No, I’m not ready to wed. Not her or anyone.”

  “Then—as she is nearly a stranger to you—she can’t have any interests that would coincide with yours. You must get her out of the house, Peyton, and it has to happen today—if you can manage it. If not today, then by tomorrow for sure.”

  A muscle ticked in his cheek. Outwardly, he appeared very calm, but she sensed rage bubbling just below the surface. Would he explode in fury? Would he hurl expletives and throw things? That’s how his brother used to carry on, and she’d learned how to weather any such diatribe unscathed.

  “You’re very brave to address this,” he said. “I hardly know you, and you’re a female, so I’m stunned that you would lecture me.”

  She shrugged. “I realize you’d rather not have any in-laws. I realize you’d rather be a single man, floating free with no encumbrances. After all, that’s how your life has played out until recently.”

  “It’s been a fine life too,” he snottily retorted.

  “But you’re part of a family now—whether you like it or not. I am your sister-in-law, and you are the trustee charged with my welfare and that of my daughters. Your brother set that condition in motion with his Last Will. You’re irritated with that resolution, and so am I, but we’re connected in a manner that can’t be severed.”

  “Yes, we are.”

  “We are tightly linked, so I shall be allowed an opinion on controversial issues—especially in a quagmire like this that could end up destroying what’s left of my reputation. I’ve constantly waded through shame and disgrace. It’s all my father and your brother ever delivered to me. I won’t sit idly by and twiddle my thumbs while you deliver more of the same.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  She stood. “I expect that Miss Bates will depart at once.”

  “I’ll definitely think about it.”

  “You won’t think, Peyton. You will act on my request right away. Please drop me a note as soon as she’s gone so I can cease my fretting.”

  Head high, she whipped away and marched out, but as she reached the door, he called, “Barbara?”

  She glanced back. “Yes?”

  “Which servant wrote to you?”

  “All of them wrote, Peyton. It was a joint letter to convey their collective concern.”

  He nodded. “On your way out, send Newman to me.”

  “Why do you need him?”

  “I’ll discuss it with him. Not you.”

  “It wasn’t Newman who contacted me—if that’s what you suppose.”

  “It’s not what I suppose, and thank you for speaking so candidly. I’m impressed and astonished that you could be so bold.”

  “You’d be surprised by what I can manage.”

  “I doubt I would be. Goodbye.”

  She kept on to the foyer. Newman was still there, and in a normal tone, she said, “I’m off, Newman, but Lord Benton asked for you.”

  “I’ll attend him immediately.”

  He assisted her with her shawl and bonnet, and she leaned in and whispered, “He guessed it was you who tattled. I insisted it wasn’t, but he didn’t believe me.”

  Newman sighed. “I appreciate the warning.”

  “If he fires you, come to Benton. I’ll find you a spot there.”

  “I’d be very grateful.”

  She flashed a wan smile, then hurried out. She’d told her driver to wait, so her carriage was parked in front of the house. As she went toward it, another carriage pulled up behind.

  A footman rushed over and assisted the occupants in climbing out. The first to descend was a very pretty girl with auburn hair and big blue eyes. She was fashionably attired in a fetching manner that Barbara—for all her being able to hire the finest dressmakers—could never attain.

  She assumed she’d stumbled on the elusive Miss Bates who was causing so much trouble. She was chic and beautiful, and she exuded a youth and vulnerability that would drive a man wild. No wonder Peyton couldn’t resist.

  Barbara had no desire to fight with Miss Bates. It was Peyton’s problem, and he should handle it, so she might have continued on without comment. But when the second passenger was lifted out, and Barbara realized her identity, her temper ignited.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded of Daisy Prescott.

  She stormed over, looming at them so threateningly that Daisy shrunk back as if Barbara might strike her. She wouldn’t, but honestly!

  How much degradation would the Prescott men inflict on her?

  “Hello, Countess.” Daisy executed a perfect curtsy.

  “Answer me!”

  “Ah…ah…”

  Miss Bates stepped between them. “May I help you?”

  “I am Barbara Prescott, Countess of Benton.”

  Barbara was taller, broader, and fiercer, but Miss Bates was quite fierce herself. She wasn’t intimidated, and she didn’t yield any ground to Barbara.

  “Why is this child in my home?” Barbara pointed a condemning finger at Daisy. “She is not welcome on Benton property any longer. Who permitted this?”

  “I apologize, Countess, but Lord Benton invited us to stay.”

  “He invited both of you? He invited her?”

  “Yes.”

  Barbara thought she would shatter into a thousand livid pieces.

  In Newman’s letter, he’d conveniently failed to mention that Miss Bates had brought Daisy with her. Perhaps—if Peyton fired him and he slinked to Benton searching for work—she wouldn’t aid him after all.

  She blustered forward, eager to unnerve Miss Bates. “My husband’s bastard daughter is not wanted here. You are not wanted here either, Miss Bates. You have shamed yourself with the Earl.”

  “I have not!” Miss Bates huffed with offense. “How dare you accuse me of wanton conduct!”

  “All of the servants are talking about you, so you can’t deny it.”

  “I do deny it! I absolutely do!”

  “It’s why I am in London—to speak with the Earl about you. We are decent, respectable people, and you cannot be allowed to wallow in our midst.”

  Miss Bates acquitted herself with grace and style. Despite Barbara’s horrid allegation, she simply nodded. “It’s obvious you’re upset.”

  “You don’t know the half of it, you little tart.”

  “I hope—when you’ve calmed—you’ll grasp how hideously you’ve insulted me.”

  “You’ve imposed on us egregiously,” Barbara seethed. “You’ve flaunted your niece in my face! There are dire consequences, Miss Bates, when a woman of your low station interferes with a woman of mine. If you don’t wish to suffer them, I suggest you depart as quickly as you’re able.”

  “Thank you for sharing your opinion,” Miss Bates coolly replied. She turned to her niece. “Let’s go, Daisy.”

  Barbara saw red. “Listen to me, you…you…”

  “No, Countess, I won’t listen. I’m Lord Benton’s guest, and if you’re angry about the situation, you should discuss it with him. Not me.”

  They hurried off, and the footman ushered them inside and shut the door. He remained outside though, and he glanced anxiously at Barbara. The carriage drivers glanced at her too. They’d been privy to the pathetic quarrel, but were pretending they hadn’t been.

  Barbara probably shouldn’t have lost her temper, but she didn’t have to worry that any of them might inform Peyton. They were her servants, not his, and if she chose to chastise a trollop in her driveway, none of them would criticize her for it.

  She walked to her vehicle and climbed in, but as she signaled to th
e driver and they rolled away, she was being pelted by the worst sense that they were watching her, that they were judging her.

  Well, let them judge!

  She was a countess which meant she was always in the right, and their views didn’t matter to her in the slightest.

  * * * *

  “You wanted me, my lord?”

  “Yes. Come in, Newman.” Peyton was still seated at the library desk, and without preamble, he announced, “I’ve decided to close down the town house.”

  Poor Newman looked as if he might faint. “You’re…what?”

  “I’m closing the house. I’d like to have it completed in five days. How about if we shoot for Saturday? Can we accomplish it by then?”

  “Ah…yes, of course. If I may ask though, will this be a short hiatus? Or were you considering a lengthy period? This will be quite a shock to the staff, and they’ll have questions about their jobs.”

  “I suppose they will have questions, and no, it won’t be short. In fact, I’m thinking of selling.”

  “I see.”

  “You may have heard rumors that the estate is having fiscal difficulties.”

  “I have heard it.”

  “We need to begin cutting back, and this place seems like a good start. It’s empty most of the time, and I can’t convince myself that it’s worth the expense.”

  “But…but…where will you stay when you’re in London?”

  “There’s an officers’ club that rents rooms to navy sailors who are between postings. It would be much more economical.”

  They stared, and finally, Newman said, “Is this because I admonished you about Miss Bates? Is it because the Countess did? Are you retaliating?”

  “No.”

  He was, and he wasn’t. Newman and Barbara were correct that he was risking a huge scandal, and perhaps his career too, but he was absurdly fascinated with Jo and couldn’t behave himself.

  His obsession was ridiculous, and he wasn’t stupid. He recognized the dangers, but he was disgustingly keen to keep on anyway. Barbara and Newman were merely urging caution, and he accepted their warnings, but any reprimand was for naught.

  Where Jo was concerned, there was no benefit to moral conduct. She could never be a casual friend. She could only be a wife or mistress, and since he wasn’t about to wed her, the role of mistress was the sole one available. It would be cruel and wrong to dishonor her that way, but he wasn’t about to let her go. He couldn’t let her go.

  Newman and Barbara had pointed out the obvious, but their comments had left Peyton more incensed than he’d ever been. He wanted to lash out. He wanted to make someone pay. It was a petulant, juvenile attitude, but he couldn’t tamp it down.

  If he couldn’t live in the house with Jo, then he wouldn’t live in it. He’d sell the accursed residence and never set foot in it again.

  Newman’s shoulders slumped, and he gave Peyton a chance to stop acting like an immature ass.

  “Are you sure, Lord Benton?”

  “Very sure.”

  “I guess I should tell the staff they’ll have to find new positions. They’ll be distressed.”

  “Yes, I imagine they will be. I’ll offer two month’s severance, and please draft letters of recommendation to those who deserve one. I’ll sign them.”

  “I will do that.”

  “If any of you wish to head to Benton and throw yourselves on the Countess’s mercy, feel free. She may have some openings, but I have no idea what they might be. If she agrees to hire any of you, you’ll get no severance money from me.”

  “I understand.”

  A fraught silence festered, and Peyton said, “That will be all.”

  “I’m sorry, Lord Benton. I’ve offended you, and I shouldn’t have interfered.”

  “You haven’t offended me, Newman. You couldn’t possibly have. Very little about this family or its holdings has ever mattered to me. I won’t regret parting with this property for a single minute.”

  “Regardless of your opinion, my lord, it’s a fine dwelling, and it’s been a privilege to work in it.”

  “I’m glad you’ve thought so, and thank you for tending it.” Noise erupted out in the foyer, and his mood perked up. “Now then, it sounds as if Miss Bates and Daisy have returned from their shopping excursion. If you’ll excuse me?”

  Newman hovered, anxious for the conversation to continue, anxious to plead his case or beg Peyton to change his mind, but Peyton simply glared at him.

  There would be no changing his mind, so there was no reason to beg, and gradually, Newman realized there wasn’t. He sighed and marched out.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Jo was seated in the parlor of the small house Peyton had rented for her. It had been arranged so quickly that her head was spinning.

  After the horrid afternoon when Barbara Prescott had traveled to London to scold Peyton, he’d engaged in a whirl of activity that ended with Jo and Daisy being whisked away and the town house closed. Mostly likely, it would be put up for sale.

  He was still debating about the property, and she was nudging him to calm down, to ignore his fit of pique before he reached any final decision. He shouldn’t sell merely because he was furious with his sister-in-law. That wasn’t a viable path to making a good choice.

  It had been easy for him to find her current accommodations. He’d simply visited a rental agency to inquire about furnished lodgings, then he’d visited an employment agency that offered servants for hire. In a few quick days, he’d found her new quarters and the servants required to be comfortable.

  If he’d done it just for her, she’d have been aghast and liked to assume she wouldn’t have let him, but he was supporting his niece too, and in Jo’s view, Daisy’s security was paramount.

  He’d mentioned fiscal problems at the estate, so she wasn’t sure he could afford to pay her bills or for how long he would continue. If he changed his mind about assisting them, she’d have to have other plans in place.

  As the weeks rolled by, she would watch and listen for alternatives. She would brood and ponder and generate lists. If he ever asked them to depart, she had to be prepared. But she refused to worry incessantly about the future, and why worry over what she couldn’t control? There was no need to court trouble.

  It was late, and Daisy was in bed. Jo was sewing by the fire and wondering if Peyton would stop by. He’d rented a room at a club that catered to naval officers. He was happy to be in familiar company, and she suspected—any minute—he would announce he was returning to his career and his ship.

  She couldn’t bear the notion of his leaving England. What if he sailed away, and she never saw him again? How would she and Daisy get on without him? How would Jo survive the loss?

  He was like a tempest, like a stormy gale that had swept in and cleared away everything that was bad and untenable. She’d been weighed down by her miserable situation, by her dreary life in the country with her sister. Now she was constantly merry, constantly peeking out the window in case he was riding up her street.

  The clock on the mantle chimed eleven, and she forced herself to admit he wasn’t coming. She packed her sewing away, tamped down the fire, and blew out the lamp. Then she climbed the stairs to her bedchamber and dressed for bed, taking down her hair and donning her nightgown and robe.

  She grinned with satisfaction, being delighted to note they were her nightgown and robe.

  Peyton had retrieved Jo’s clothes from Maud. The morning she’d moved into her home, her first and biggest surprise had been the arrival of her wardrobe. Daisy’s jar of coins had been sent too. He hadn’t informed her of the gift, hadn’t provided a hint of his intent. Who wouldn’t love a man like that?

  She was brushing her hair when the front door opened, then his footsteps were on the stairs. It sounded as if he was tiptoeing, but there was no need for stealth. Two of her servants lived in, but their room was behind the kitchen. They’d never hear him.

&
nbsp; As he slipped inside, she couldn’t conceal her elation. Apparently, they were far beyond the point when she would admonish him for showing up in the one spot he should never be.

  “I’d given up on you,” she said, and she was smiling, her fondness wafting out.

  “I meant to join you for supper, but I ran into some old friends.”

  “If you’d blustered in without warning, I guess I’d have fed you.”

  “Did you miss me?”

  “No.”

  He chuckled. “You liar. Tell me the truth.”

  “All right. I missed you every second. Is that better?”

  “Yes.”

  He drew her into his arms, and he kissed her thoroughly, passionately. He’d been drinking. She could taste liquor on his tongue, and his clothes smelled of horses, tobacco, and fresh night air. They were exhilarating, masculine aromas that aroused and excited her.

  He’d rescued her from peril, had bestowed so many presents, with her not asking for any of them or being expected to compensate him for his many kindnesses, but it seemed she should compensate him. When she owed him such a great debt, how could she think otherwise?

  The embrace grew ardent and heated. He stretched out on her bed and brought her down with him, and it was so deliciously thrilling to lie down with him. She had to start erecting some boundaries, but it was never the appropriate time to mention it.

  Eventually, he slowed and pulled away. There was a candle burning next to the bed. He snuffed it out, so the room was dark, a whiff of moonlight shining in the window.

  He snuggled her to his side, and she rested a palm on his chest, his heart beating under her hand. She sensed that his thoughts were tormented, that he was bristling with personal issues he wasn’t comfortable sharing, but she wouldn’t ignore his low mood.

  “You’re upset. What happened this evening?”

  “I enjoyed seeing my friends, but they’re all preparing to ship out. I’m jealous.”

  It was the main problem that plagued him. He was anxious to return to the navy, but familial constraints were keeping him landlocked. She’d frequently voiced her opinion about it, so there was no reason to harangue again.