Jason tightened his grip even more, shot his father an appalled look. “Now, Miss Carrick, enough reminiscing, though it has brought revelations that have shaken my poor brother to his toes. You never saw Corrie in britches. Now, Corrie is right. Simple hits in the gut show no real depth of boxing science.”
Hallie said, “I merely wanted to get your attention. Murder comes later.”
The earl, who now stood with his shoulders against the mantel, arms crossed over his chest, said, “I wonder where Willicombe is. He should be in here pouring tea down our gullets and—”
“My lord! Ah, Master Jason is home as well. What a delight, what a brave new day it is. Just see how the sun is now pouring in through the large window to shine upon your returned face. I say, Master Jason, why are you holding that young lady by her wrists?”
“Willicombe, this girl wants to lay me out. Her name is Miss Hallie Carrick.”
“Shall I fetch Remie to deal with her, Master Jason?”
“Not yet, Willicombe, I’m currently holding my own.”
Willicombe turned to Alex. “Refreshments, my lady?”
“Whatever cook can put together would be fine, Willicombe. How is Remie?”
“He pines, my lady, pines until he has become thin as a chicken’s leg. Trilby is a lady’s maid and she knows all the tricks from her mistress on how to make a young man sweat.” He shook his head as he left the drawing room.
“Remie in love,” Corrie said. “Trilby? Who is her mistress, I wonder? Did Willicombe say she learned tricks from her mistress? Hmm, I wonder—”
“Corrie, I will teach you all the tricks you need to please me.”
Douglas said, “Why don’t we all sit down? No more baiting, Jason, no more violence, Miss Carrick. Now, Jason, I tried to explain to Hallie that this wasn’t some sort of underhanded trick, that you were simply trying to get things moving. Your mother tried to assure her you were honorable and you simply wanted to get things moving as well. Your brother tried to assure her that moving things smartly forward was one of your special gifts—”
To Douglas’s absolute astonishment, the young twit had the nerve to interrupt him. “Ah, yes, everyone was talking about moving things along. What things, I asked, but naturally, no one had an answer to that.” She jerked once more, then looked up at Jason. “As for your bloody twin, he turned up his nose at me for daring to accuse you of being a foul creature fit only to have your guts stuffed in your ears. Let me go!”
“All right.” Jason released her and strolled over to sit in a high-backed wing chair. He steepled his fingers, stretched out his long legs and crossed his ankles. “Miss Carrick, what did Corrie say? After all, you were telling me how smart she is.”
“What’s this? You think I’m smart?”
“Be quiet, Corrie,” Jason said. “Miss Carrick?”
Hallie was still too angry with him to think straight, and now he was sitting at his ease in a damned chair. What had Corrie said? She managed to get herself under control. She became aware that all the Sherbrookes were strewn about the large drawing room, looking on, obviously enjoying themselves at her expense. “Corrie said you were one of the more moral men she knew and I was to stop carping.”
There was a lovely moment of silence.
“You really said that about me, Corrie?” Jason asked.
“It’s the truth,” Corrie said.
James said, “Well, maybe she is pretty smart after all. Just look at the twins she produced. You waltzed with them, Jason, saw how graceful and enthusiastic they were. It was Corrie who taught them how to dance.”
Corrie laughed. “Yes, they nearly float, they are so light on their feet.”
Hallie felt bludgeoned to the carpet. They were all laughing, happy as larks, and her role, which she was playing superbly well, was that of an ill-bred harridan.
Jason looked at Hallie for a long moment. “If you are ready to listen to me now, Miss Carrick?”
“Yes, I am ready.”
“It isn’t good news.”
“I wasn’t expecting any,” she said.
Douglas didn’t like the look on his son’s set face. Something was very wrong. It was hard not to leap right in and protect him, but he forced himself to say nothing. He walked to his favorite wing chair and sat down opposite his son. Alex moved to stand next to him, her hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her, smiled, and pulled her down onto his lap.
As for James, he studied his twin’s face. Like his father, he didn’t like what he saw. He didn’t want his brother to be unhappy, dammit, he wanted him to have Lyon’s Gate. He wanted him to have what he deserved and that was whatever he wanted. James didn’t want his twin to leave again. The excitement in Jason’s eyes when he’d walked into the Lyon’s Gate stables had made James want to dance. He heard the fear in his own voice as he said, “What is it, Jase? What is the bad news?”
Jason sighed, rubbed the back of his neck. “It turns out Thomas Hoverton had already sold Lyon’s Gate to a Mr. Benjamin Chartley of Manchester for a modest sum of money. He hadn’t bothered to notify Mr. Clark, his solicitor here in London. When Miss Carrick showed up on Thomas’s doorstep, he saw his opportunity and took it. When he heard from his solicitor the following day that he’d sold Lyon’s Gate to yet another buyer, Thomas decided it would be best for his health if he left for the Continent that very evening. Of course, what’s really important here is that Mr. Chartley now owns Lyon’s Gate.”
The silence in the room was absolute.
“Well,” his father said finally, “I didn’t think Thomas Hoverton had the guts for this sort of thing.”
Alex said, “He must have been very desperate. And to leave England, that is indeed a surprise.”
Hallie said nothing; she walked to the fireplace, stared down at the empty grate, and kicked a log.
Jason said to her back, “I’m sorry, Miss Carrick. I know this comes as quite a shock. It did to me as well.”
She turned to face him. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning to find that little worm and shoot him. I will get my money back, and yours as well, Mr. Sherbrooke, since you are the one who discovered what he’d done so quickly.” She picked up her skirts and walked quickly from the drawing room.
Alex said, “That was a fine exit, but she doesn’t know where her bedchamber is.” She regretfully left her husband’s lap and hurried after her.
“What are you going to do, Jase?”
“I’ve already contacted Mr. Chartley. He is willing to sell me Lyon’s Gate, but the price has now doubled. He owns three successful factories in Manchester. He knows desperation when he sees it.”
Douglas said, a dark eyebrow raised a good inch, “Does the fellow know who you are?”
“Well, he knows that I’m Jason Sherbrooke. Does he know that I’m your son? If he didn’t, he probably does now. But what difference would that make in any case?”
Douglas smiled at his innocent boy. “The first thing we need to know is why Mr. Benjamin Chartley, factory owner, is in London. I’m thinking it’s very likely he has hopes to enter London society. More than likely he has a daughter of marriageable age. If that is the case, we’ve got him.”
“But I don’t—”
“Jason, he will sell you Lyon’s Gate at the price he paid for it or he will find every door in London closed to him. Then I’ll consider ruining him.”
Jason laughed. “Now, aren’t I a moron for not thinking of that?”
Douglas said, “You would have, given a couple more hours. You’ve been in America too long. Do you really think Miss Carrick is off for France to bring Thomas Hoverton to ground?”
“I wouldn’t doubt it. I keep telling her that she’s more American than English and this certainly proves it. It’s exactly what Jessie Wyndham would do. Give her a whiff of a villain and she’d be off. She’d take at least two guns with her, the whip she uses on jockeys who don’t play fair on the racetrack, and a knife in her boot, strapped to her ankle.” He laughed, couldn’
t help himself, and shook his head. “What a debacle.”
Corrie said, “It is something we never considered. I like Hallie, but let me be painfully honest here. I was perfectly ready to have her kidnapped and removed to the Shetland islands. I fancy she could spruce up one of those ancient Viking huts and be perfectly content raising the local ponies.”
The twins’ nanny appeared suddenly in the doorway, looking harried, nervous, and resolute. James and Corrie were on their feet. “Yes, Mrs. Macklin? Is something wrong?”
Mrs. Macklin said, “No, no, don’t worry, my lord. It’s just that Master Everett wants to waltz.”
“Waltz?”
“Yes, my lord. With his uncle.”
At that moment, they heard a loud yell.
“He is rather insistent,” said Mrs. Macklin over another yell that made James’s left eye twitch.
Corrie said, “You waltz very well, Eliza. Why don’t you take him for a spin around the nursery?”
“Master Everett says I’m not man enough to do it right,” said Mrs. Macklin.
“Oh dear,” Corrie said. “It’s begun already?”
“Master Everett says my feet don’t cover enough ground.”
Jason was laughing. “Well, who can play the piano whilst I dance with Everett?”
His mother appeared in the doorway, Willicombe behind her, a large silver tray on his arms. Alex said, “I’ll do it. Goodness, Everett’s gotten bigger in the last day and a half.”
“We’re off then to the music room. Mrs. Macklin, what about his brother?”
“Master Douglas is currently chewing on Wilson’s bone and the puppy is trying to drag it away from him.”
Corrie said, “He is only seven weeks old, a Dandie Dinmont terrier, so ugly and precious all you want is to hug him until he creaks. Wilson and Douglas are good friends.”
“More ugly than precious,” James said. “But he fits quite nicely against my neck at night.”
Mrs. Macklin said, “I’m sorry, my lord, but Wilson slept against my neck last night.”
“Well, Wilson is in a new house,” Corrie said. “We’ll see whose neck he seeks out tonight.”
“Unfortunately,” the earl said, “it would appear that Douglas also likes to eat from the puppy’s bowl.”
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Macklin said, “and here I hid Wilson’s bowl underneath Everett’s bed.”
Smacked in the face at the same time by both the absurd and the ridiculous, Jason thought as he hauled Everett off to the music room, the little boy kicking his legs and waving his arms and singing at the top of his lungs in Jason’s right ear. James and Corrie went with Mrs. Macklin to pull the bone out of Douglas’s mouth all while slipping the new puppy another one. Neither of them doubted Douglas would be waltzing with his uncle in under five minutes.
As for Hallie Carrick, she was upstairs in a lovely bedchamber, changing into her oldest clothes.
CHAPTER 10
When Hallie appeared thirty minutes later, a single valise clutched in her hand, a lovely dark blue cloak over her shoulders, Willicombe, the Sherbrooke butler, sent his lovesick nephew Remie to inform Jason, who gave Everett and Douglas over to their grandfather for the next waltz. Jason came into the entrance hall where Hallie was giving instructions to Remie, who stood frozen with horror.
“Just a moment, Miss Carrick,” Jason said. “I’ll need to change before we can leave.”
She whipped around. “You think you’re coming with me, Mr. Sherbrooke? You think you’ll stomp this blighter’s liver before I can? No, you stay here and beg and plead with this Mr. Chartley whilst I go fetch our money from Thomas Hoverton. When I return I’ll see to Mr. Chartley. In the meanwhile, don’t you dare let this man fleece you, do you hear me?”
“You’re thinking like an American,” he said, picking a spot of lint off his sleeve, suppressing a smile.
“What do you mean by that snide remark?” He saw her right hand tighten into a lovely fist.
“Oh, I don’t know. How about you’re exhibiting a marked lack of subtlety? Or you’re simply forging ahead without pausing even a moment to think things through? There’s no need to boil over with rage.”
A lovely arched eyebrow went high.
Remie took two quick steps back, hoping to escape.
Jason said, “There’s no reason to go haring off after Thomas Hoverton right now. If you still wish to go after him once I’ve told you some things, why, I’ll be forced to accompany you.”
“You won’t be forced to do anything of the kind. What sorts of things?”
“London is very different from Baltimore, Miss Carrick, surely you learned that. You’re a bright girl. As you must know, London society doesn’t allow just anyone through its august portals. Money doesn’t matter. For example, Lucinda Frothingale’s now-dead husband wouldn’t have ever been admitted into London society for the simple reason that he owned and operated flour mills. The fact that he would have been richer than many of England’s vaunted peers wouldn’t have mattered. Flour mills constitute trade, Miss Carrick, and folk in trade, who have no ancient lineage, no powerful family behind them, aren’t allowed into the club. Do you understand?”
“Yes, of course, but I still don’t see what—” Jason saw the instant she realized what he was talking about. He refused to acknowledge she’d caught on more quickly than he had. She said slowly, “I think I’ll go see my uncle’s solicitor. He can find out just exactly who this Mr. Chartley is.”
He realized, of course, that he should have encouraged her to go after Thomas Hoverton, despite the fact that she was a young lady, quite alone. Did she have any money left after paying Thomas Hoverton for Lyon’s Gate? And if she didn’t have very much money, would she arrive in Calais and realize she couldn’t afford a baguette much less respectable lodging? Jason said, “There’s no need for you to do anything, Miss Carrick. My father has already taken care of it. We will know all about Mr. Benjamin Chartley soon enough.”
“But I—”
“I’m beginning to believe you have more hair than brains. And I’m thinking your hair is probably lovelier than your brains as well.”
To his surprise, she didn’t hurl herself at him. She didn’t move at all. She stared down at her shoes, the oldest pair she had, which were very fine indeed. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. My father was always telling me that I should make it a habit to sit in a corner for three minutes and think before I acted. He said whenever I acted too quickly, he had to clean up the most abominable messes.” She looked up at him, a glimmer of a smile lighting her eyes. “I thank you for stopping me before I could make a mess. I should hope that my hair looks better than my brains. That’s a horrifying thought, though I’ve never seen what brains look like. Now that I think about it, I don’t have much money either.”
“I wondered.”
“I don’t think my father’s bankers would stuff more money in my outstretched hands, particularly after they found out how easily I was swindled. They would believe I was naïve and incompetent, in short, a woman. But money isn’t what’s important here. I have my pistol, a small riding crop, and a knife, strapped to my ankle. Thomas Hoverton wouldn’t ever imagine that I’d come after him. I’d probably find him in Calais, toasting his good fortune. Then I could carve out his gullet.”
“Or villains would find you first. Maybe you’d shoot one villain, Miss Carrick, but the second and the third lurking in the alley? With those skirts it would be hard to get to the knife fast enough.”
She raised her hand and fisted it.
He laughed.
He realized she was staring up at him, her head cocked to one side.
“What is it?”
“I know you don’t like me, Mr. Sherbrooke. I don’t understand you. You could have simply let me leave. I would be gone and you could do as you please. Now there will be endless complications.”
“I don’t want you to get hurt and that’s very likely what would happen. I have never trusted the French, part
icularly after the dealings I had with Mademoiselle Benoit in Baltimore who—Well, never mind that.”
“I heard my father say the French believed God didn’t intend the Ten Commandments for them since he hadn’t written them in French, and that’s why the French pox was so prevalent.”
Fascinated, Jason said, “He spoke to you about the French pox?”
“No, I was eavesdropping. When I managed to slip French pox ever so skillfully into a conversation, I thought he would explode, he turned so red in the face. Who is this Mademoiselle Benoit?”
Jason wanted desperately to laugh, but managed to hold it in. He didn’t want her to pull her pistol, her whip, or her knife out of her boot and dispatch him. He cleared his throat. “Mademoiselle Benoit isn’t any of your business. Now, stop fretting. We will work this out.”
“How?” She struck her palm to her forehead. “How stupid I am. There won’t be any complications at all. If your father threatens Mr. Chartley with social ostracism, then he will sell the property to you. I will have no chance at it.”
Jason shrugged, as it was the truth, after all.
“It will be done before I can get my uncle here to do the same thing to him.”
“Yes, that’s true enough.”
“So you’ve won, Mr. Sherbrooke.”
“That’s very nice of you to say so, Miss Carrick, but a bit premature. I suggest you hold off on your congratulations until after we find out what Mr. Chartley’s hopes and aspirations are in our fair city.”
“I’ll wager he has an eighteen-year-old daughter he wants to marry off to some bankrupt baron, whose pockets he’ll fill to brimming.”
“One can but hope.”
“I might as well go after Thomas Hoverton, or else my siblings will never let me hear the end of it. I can hear them now. ‘Hallie, you say you bought a property and the owner sold it to someone else first then flew off to another country?’ ‘You knew he was a rotter and you didn’t even take any precautions?’ ‘How big did you say your brain was, Hallie?’ And on and on it will go until I garrote myself.”
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