Charles’s eyes narrowed. He graced her with a cold stare. “What house?”
“I, well,” she faltered. “I followed you,” she finished, meeting his gaze with an equally determined expression of her own.
“You followed me?” he repeated, incredulity etched on his face.
“You went into a house in Harborough Square, and before you entered, you looked both ways down the street as though wondering if anyone saw you. Who lives there, Charles?”
“Who the bloody hell do you think you are?” he exploded.
Susie stepped back at the vehemence in his voice. Still, she raised her chin. “You’ve been behaving strangely ever since that day I saw you poring over the estate ledgers. The servants told me you started leaving the house earlier. I was simply making certain you were all right.”
He paced toward her. “Let us make one thing clear, shall we? What I do is none of your affair. I don’t care if you are related to me by blood. You do not know me. In future, keep your concern to yourself. And if you ever follow me again, you will regret it.”
With that, Charles pivoted on his heel and disappeared down the servants’ staircase.
As Susie watched his rapidly retreating form, she inhaled deeply. If you expect me to give up on you so easily, brother, then you don’t know me either.
Chapter the Eighteenth
He had not a temper to bear the sort of competition in which we stood—the sort of preference which was often given me.
—Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
After he’d left the Astons’, Tom took a hackney cab to Covent Garden. At the musicale, he’d overheard Lord Axley speak of attending the theater Wednesday evening. As Lord Axley and his acquaintances were currently the only prospective backers Tom had met, he planned to propose his hotel to Lord Axley there—or, at the very least, set an appropriate time and place to discuss it with him.
Tom’s spirits lightened as he considered the possibilities and returned to the town house. As he climbed the steps, Tom noted the tasteful exterior and only slightly damaged roof. Maybe he could still sell the place. He sighed. They shouldn’t be forced to live in the place that had been the setting of his father’s shameful affairs. He’d completely forgotten his plan to rent new accommodations, but maybe now with the leftover money from the sale of the horses he could manage it. He’d have to consult the books.
As he closed the front door behind him, Susie came down the hall in a dull brown frock. He suppressed a frown at the dress.
“Did your visit with Lady Victoria go well?”
He decided not to tell Susie about the attack on the Astons. There was no need to worry her. “It did.”
“I’m glad.” She paused and then glanced behind herself. “I don’t like being the bearer of bad news, Tom, but more collectors were here today.”
He groaned.
“It seems word is getting around that the Sherbornes can no longer pay their bills.”
Tom swore under his breath. This had to be Dain’s doing. By now, he must have told Carmichael about the horses and Tom’s financial problems. At this very moment they could be formulating ways to ruin him. His mind reeled at how easily they could squash his hotel before he even lined up the necessary backers. He’d have to accelerate his plans.
He looked at Susie and debated telling her his troubles. Especially what had happened to the Astons and how Carmichael was likely playing a dangerous game to win Victoria. But with one glance at the creases between her brows, he decided against it. Susie had enough to worry about handling the bailiffs.
“I suppose we don’t have enough to cover what they claim we owe?” he muttered, placing his hat on an entry table.
“We still have enough left from the sale of the horses, but I believe the problem will get worse long before it gets better.”
Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. Once the money from the horses’ sale went to the bailiffs, Tom wouldn’t be able to afford to rent other accommodations. So much for selling this cursed town house. It would take far too long anyway, and with Dain and Carmichael aware of their situation, attempting to do so would only make the severity of their financial problems more evident.
“I think we should have a talk with Charles,” she continued.
“What good would it do?” Tom said, running his hand through his hair. “You know he won’t stop his spending.”
“Perhaps we need to do something more serious, then.”
Tom looked at the ceiling. “You mean visit his creditors? Cut off his lines of credit? That really would proclaim to all London that we are near poverty.”
Susie stared at Tom with her large brown eyes, entreating him to be reasonable.
He sighed. “Very well, I shall meet you in the library. Have one of the servants fetch Charles.”
“No need for that.” Charles’s voice rang clearly down the hallway. He’d emerged from the corridor leading down to the kitchens. He was chewing a chicken leg. “Well? What do you want?”
Tom shook his head. “Come with me.”
Tom walked toward the library with Susie following close behind. Charles brought up the rear. In the library, Tom gravitated toward the warmth of the fire, although he knew his contentment would be short-lived. With a deep breath, he sat in the chair closest to the hearth. Susie slipped into a red armchair opposite him. He grimaced as Charles scraped the parquet floor while turning a chair to face them both.
“Doesn’t this look jolly,” Charles said, taking another bite of his chicken leg.
Tom let out a breath. “I’m glad you’re in good humor. It should make this more pleasant.”
Charles raised his eyebrows.
Susie gave Tom a sharp look. Tom sighed and got to the point.
“I’m cutting off your lines of credit.”
Charles studied his chicken leg. Tom suspected he was weighing his options. After a few moments’ silence, he caught Tom’s eye. “And just what will that solve?”
Tom barely suppressed a grim laugh. “It will solve having to pay for your frivolous expenses, and it will keep you from contributing further to the stress on this family and the estate.”
Charles shook his head slowly. Tom waited for a response, but when Charles said nothing, he continued.
“You must come to grips with our situation and stop being a source of the problem.”
Charles stood and walked to the far side of the library. His voice was flat when he spoke. “Do you think I am the only one contributing to this family’s problems?”
“You certainly aren’t helping,” Tom replied.
Susie started to speak. “I think what Tom meant—”
“Don’t!” Charles interrupted her. “Don’t presume to tell me what my brother was trying to say. His words were quite clear.” He turned to Tom, pointing his finger at Susie. “I suppose she helps in some way? She is contributing financially to this family?”
“You know very well the daughter of an earl cannot work. But apart from that, she doesn’t buy anything. How do you think Susan feels when you go out every night, spending to your heart’s content, and I can’t afford to buy her clothing that doesn’t resemble rags?”
“Pfft,” Charles said. “I couldn’t care less how she feels. You would rather side with some bastard half sister you found on the streets than a brother you’ve had all your life. So why should I care what either of you think of me?”
Tom stood. “You shut your damn mouth.”
Charles eyes went wide with fury. “And what am I? Some peasant you can order about? Let me ask you this, brother: What are you doing to save this glorious family?”
“You know what I’m doing. I’ve been trying to get backers for my hotel—a task I’ve asked you to aid me in numerous times, if you recall—so this family will have enough to live on for a good many years.”
Charles scowled. “And I suppose you’re doing everything in your power to do so?”
Tom felt his jaw clench so hard his teeth might have
cracked. He ground out, “What in hell is that supposed to mean? Of course I am, you idiot.”
“Then why didn’t you make a deal with Lord Dain? We could have solved all our monetary problems in one blow. But you’re too bloody proud to deal with a former rival. You’re too proud to accept that you can’t run the estate—that you’re a failure!”
Tom blanched. “Didn’t you ever learn to have opinions of your own? You sound just like Father.”
Charles’s face turned beet red. “I am no man’s puppet! All those years I faced him alone while you lived comfortably in your little Swiss paradise. You couldn’t stand up to Father. So you left Mother and me to pick up the pieces of your departure. And then when he died, you came back and stole what Father wanted to give me. Well, I’m through with trying to be polite. I’m through with you!” He turned toward the door.
Blood pounded in Tom’s ears. Didn’t Charles know why he’d left? For all those years of their childhood, Tom had endured their father’s beatings, watched him bully and control his mother and his brother, and he’d been powerless to stop him. Not until he’d walked in on his father actually forcing himself on one of the housemaids had he truly understood the extent of the old man’s depravity.
In the wake of that discovery, and Victoria accidentally witnessing the aftermath, Tom finally told his father he wouldn’t stand for it any longer. The old man simply instructed two of their burliest footmen to drag Tom from his bed and throw him out into the cold. Thankfully, one of them had been human enough to grab him a change of clothes.
Tom hadn’t stood up to their father until it was too late, but he had tried. For what little good it had done.
Could Charles not know Tom had only inherited the estate through their father’s neglect? Tom hadn’t expected or wanted the blasted place. The earl could have gone before Parliament to disinherit Tom, but he hadn’t. There was no way of knowing what had prevented the old man from doing it, but nothing could change his lack of action now.
“Charles—” Tom stepped forward and grabbed his brother by the arm.
Charles spun around and punched Tom in the stomach. The force knocked him two steps back, the pain sending shock waves through his midsection. He struggled for breath.
Susie jumped out of her chair with a cry.
Charles tore open the library door, stepped through, and whipped it closed with equal force. Four books on the shelf closest to the door thudded to the ground. Charles’s steps echoed on the marble as he stomped to the front door. He slammed it as he left.
Tom knelt on the floor and tried to breathe through the lightning-quick zigzags of pain.
“Are you all right?” Susie asked, bending over him.
He nodded.
“You could have handled that a bit better,” she said, offering him a rueful smile.
“I know,” he grunted, taking a deep breath and holding it.
“Should we go after him?”
He shook his head and exhaled. “Let him calm down. He has to come back sometime.”
Susie stood and started pacing the room.
“Tom, I should have told you days ago, but I couldn’t be sure anything was truly amiss. He was only acting strangely—”
Tom shook his head. “Start from the beginning.” He inched his way back to his chair and hauled himself up to sit.
Susie sat opposite him. She explained how Charles had been looking through the ledgers the day after they’d sold their horses and how he’d started leaving earlier than normal. “Please don’t be angry, Tom, but today I decided to follow him.”
He closed his eyes and tried to breathe normally. His first impulse was to lecture her about her safety, but she’d only argue, and he didn’t have the strength for another disagreement. “Tell me what you saw.”
“Not much, actually—only Charles going into a house. I wasn’t going to say anything to him, but when I came home, and saw the bill from Fortnum & Mason that Charles had signed, I couldn’t help myself. I confronted him about the bill and the house, and he completely lost his temper. I don’t know what it could be, but I think there’s something very wrong with Charles. Have you ever seen him act as he did today?”
Tom shook his head. “Not in the past year. He never had a temper when we were young. He must have developed it . . .” The change in his brother could not be wholly attributed to their father’s influence. Tom was just as much at fault. Charles had been right about one thing—Tom’s exile had been relatively comfortable compared to Charles’s years under their father’s power. Was it any wonder Charles was behaving erratically?
Tom let out a deep sigh. Guilt crept up on him again, and he didn’t know how much he could take in one day. He felt his self-control cracking, and he didn’t have a bloody idea what to do about it. “You were right to tell me what you saw, but there is no need for you to trouble yourself further. Whatever Charles might be doing, he’ll find it difficult once I cut off his lines of credit.”
“Tom, if there’s one thing I do know about Charles, it’s that very few things will stop him from getting his way.”
Tom exhaled again and tried to relax into the back of the chair as he contemplated that sentiment.
Susie walked over to one of the bookshelves and retrieved a volume. “This may not be the right time, but I just finished this, and perhaps it might afford you some measure of escape.” She handed him the book.
He opened the front cover. The title page read:
PRIDE AND PREJUDICE:
A NOVEL.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
BY THE
AUTHOR OF “SENSE AND SENSIBILITY.”
Wasn’t this the author Vicky and Carmichael had spoken of at the ball? The same one Vicky had asked him to read?
“There’s a certain Mr. Darcy character who reminds me very much of you.”
He raised a brow at her. “Susan, I really haven’t the time . . .”
“Yes, I imagine that is precisely what Mr. Darcy would say,” she said with a smile. “This just might illuminate some peculiar truths about your nature.”
Tom stood with a harrumph he only half meant and walked to the desk with Pride and Prejudice gripped in his hand.
Chapter the Nineteenth
It was folly to be disturbed by it.
—Jane Austen, Emma
Victoria, listen to this!” her mother exclaimed from her writing desk.
From the corner of the blue parlor, Vicky looked up from her embroidery. Her mother twisted around in her chair, waving a letter above her head in triumph.
She brought it to eye level. “Mrs. Jacoba Carmichael and her son Mr. Simon Carmichael are pleased to invite the Earl and Countess of Oakbridge, Lady Dain, and Lady Victoria Aston to join them in their box at the Covent Garden Theatre to see The Conquest of Taranto on Wednesday at five in the evening.” Her mother looked up from the card. “How perfect.”
Going to the theater might be amusing, but Vicky wouldn’t call it “perfect.” She looked at Althea, who had glanced up from a book to hear their mother’s news, but her sister wouldn’t meet her gaze.
“It’s very kind of Mrs. Carmichael to invite us,” Vicky said.
“Kind, indeed. And opportune,” her mother added, turning back to her desk to write their reply.
Vicky frowned. “How so? Papa cannot go to the theater in his condition. And those kidnappers are still on the loose—”
“Pish, my dear. Althea and your father will stay at home, and you and I will attend the theater with two of the guards your father hired. Mr. and Mrs. Carmichael won’t mind.”
Vicky glanced at Althea, but she’d turned her attention back to her book. “But, Mama, do you think we’ll be safe in a crowded theater? Even with the guards—”
“Mr. Carmichael will be as good as a third.”
Vicky scrunched her brows together. “How so?”
Her mother turned in her seat and fixed her gaze on Vicky. “You must have noticed how he dotes on you, my dear.”
“Hardly dotes, Mama. We get on well together, perhaps, but he hasn’t shown me any particular favor.”
Her mother and Althea gave identical, ladylike sniffs of disbelief.
Vicky bit the inside of her cheek and rose from her chair. A few days ago, she would’ve been pleased if Mr. Carmichael showed her favor over other ladies, but now, after Tom’s assertions and the conversation between Mr. Carmichael and her father, she didn’t know what to think.
Someone rapped at the door, and Vicky’s mother called for them to enter.
Sheldon bowed. “My lady, Mr. Silby has come to call on Lady Victoria.” He sent a glance at Vicky.
Her eyes widened. “Please tell him we are not at home, Sheldon.”
He nodded, but Vicky’s mother spoke her name in an exasperated tone.
“I’m sorry, Mama, but I have no intention of marrying Mr. Silby. Had Tom not been at the park that day, Mr. Silby would have insisted on driving Sarah and me back in his damaged curricle. He is reckless and a bore besides.”
“It is rather early to be calling,” Althea said with a look at their mother.
“Oh, very well.” The countess waved a hand in the air. “Sheldon, you may do as Lady Victoria says.”
“At once, my lady.” He gave a solemn nod.
“Feel at liberty to make that a standing order for Mr. Silby,” Vicky cut in.
Sheldon inclined his head, and Vicky smiled as he caught her eye and left the room.
“And what of Mr. Fothergill, Mr. Shore, and Lord Blankenship?” her mother asked.
Vicky eyed her, wondering if she knew Vicky had given similar orders regarding those three. She very likely did. “Had you been present, Mama, you would have felt the same as I.”
Her mother hummed in her throat. “Thus we are left with Mr. Carmichael.”
“Even Mr. Carmichael predicted I wouldn’t like Mr. Silby,” Vicky pointed out.
Her mother raised a delicate brow. “Victoria, have you seen Mr. Carmichael bestow half so much attention on any other lady?”
“I am hardly in his company all of the time,” she replied, heading for the door.
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