Dilemma of the Earl’s Heart: House of Catesby - Book 6

by Brooks, Sunny

  “Within the hour, Lord Catesby,” she replied, glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner. “Come now, I suppose we must prepare.”

  Lord Catesby chuckled, his eyes darting to hers and causing her to blush all the more. “I must say, I find that I am rather expectant with this part of my mother’s plan, Miss Patterson. What say you?”

  She stepped closer to him, the heat from the fire warming her completely. “I find that I am a little anxious, my lord,” she replied, her voice a little thin. “What if it is all to go wrong? What if my cousin does not believe you?”

  He patted her shoulder before resting his hand there for a moment, running it down her arm so that he might catch her fingers. “He will,” he stated, firmly, giving her not even a single moment to disagree. “It will all come out in the end, my dear. You will be safe; your brother will be able to return home, and you shall have your fortune in its entirety when the time comes.”

  She let out a long, slow breath so as to ensure she remained composed and calm. “I hardly care about that any longer, Lord Catesby. Just so long as my brother is safe, then that is all that matters to me.”

  This seemed to please him. “Which is just as it should be, Miss Patterson.”

  Chapter 11

  “I hear footsteps.”

  Francis looked down at Miss Patterson and saw her cheeks flush with heat. Her eyes were flickering with both fear and expectation, akin to his own swirling emotions. Believing it to be Mr. Jefferson who was to come into the room, having been prompted by Francis’ footman, Francis took Miss Patterson in his arms, holding her tightly against him. Her back was to the door, and he let his hands slip to her waist, her hands linking behind his neck.

  Her breath quickened, matching his own. This was both a delight and torture, giving him just what he desired whilst anticipating that he was to be encountered found at any moment. George, Francis’ footman, had been told to speak to Mr. Jefferson about the presence of Lord Rapson within the house, making sure to appear as though he ought not to be speaking so candidly. He was also to mention that he knew Lord Rapson often enjoyed spending his evenings in the library, which was just where Francis intended to be ‘discovered’ with Miss Patterson.

  “Are you quite ready, my dear?” he murmured, seeing her eyes burn with a sudden fire.

  “Quite,” she whispered, moving all the closer.

  He had not intended to kiss her but, much to his surprise, Francis realized that this was precisely what he was going to do. His mother had suggested that he and Miss Patterson stand close to one another, embracing with a tender affection, but had never once suggested that there be anything more than the holding of hands. And yet, somehow, he had lowered his head and captured her lips with his own, forgetting entirely about the reason for their closeness.

  “Good gracious, Lord Catesby! I did not know you had a mistress within these four walls!”

  Miss Patterson lurched away from Francis at once, and it was only the fact that he held her tightly around the waist that kept her from moving away entirely. The fear in her expression was immediate, and Francis felt his own heart tug with both anger and dread.

  “Mr. Jefferson,” he said coolly. “I was not expecting you. I thought you had retired for the evening.” Francis was relieved to see that Miss Patterson had recalled what she was meant to do and had kept her back to her cousin, refusing to reveal herself to him.

  Mr. Jefferson eyed her carefully, before turning his sharp gaze back onto Francis. “I thought to come and fetch a book or two,” he explained, lazily. “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “Is that so?” Francis murmured, lifting a brow. “Well, if you will just excuse me for a moment, I ought to –”

  “Is this your wife?”

  Francis lifted his chin, glaring at Mr. Jefferson’s impertinence. “Mr. Jefferson, I hardly think it is of any importance to you whether or not I am wed. These affairs are entirely my own.”

  This harsh reprimand, however, only appeared to make Mr. Jefferson’s interest all the more apparent.

  Mr. Jefferson took a step forward. “Of course,” he muttered, whilst still casting a sharp eye over the back of Miss Patterson’s head. “It was just that we did not dine with anyone else and I did wonder if you had any other guests present.”

  Francis’ eyes glittered. “Again, Mr. Jefferson,” he stated, firmly. “None of this is of any importance to you and I would kindly –”

  Mr. Jefferson gasped, one hand to his mouth whilst his eyes widened. “Good gracious! Rebecca!”

  Miss Patterson, who had half turned her head so that her cousin would be able to make out her profile, drew a little away from Francis, who let one hand slip from her waist, pushing her behind him.

  “It is you,” Mr. Jefferson continued, sounding utterly thrilled. “My, my, my. However, did you end up here?” His dark eyes flickered to Francis and back again whilst a wide grin spread across his face. “Came to him for help, did you?”

  Miss Patterson lifted her chin. “I am the housekeeper, Mrs. Harrington.”

  Mr. Jefferson let out a shout of laughter. “Is that what he calls you, is it? Keeps you here as the housekeeper but makes sure you know precisely what your role is – your nightly duties.”

  Francis’ body rippled with anger. “Steady, Mr. Jefferson. That’s quite enough.”

  Mr. Jefferson ignored him, however, seemingly aware that Miss Patterson was in something of a difficult situation.

  “My goodness, Rebecca, how unfortunate that you have been discovered! And here I am looking for your brother, only to discover you here! My, my. Your reputation is quite ruined now, you know. What will you do now?”

  Miss Patterson stepped away from Francis entirely, crossing her arms across her body in a defensive gesture. “My dear Mr. Jefferson, I care very little about my reputation. I have my fortune, as you know.”

  Mr. Jefferson chuckled. “And what of your brother and his future, Rebecca? To have a sister so soiled, so defiled – well, that will make his chances of finding a suitable bride almost impossible! No-one will want to align themselves with such a family now, will they? What are the chances for your brother to then find himself a wife and produce the required heir?” His eyes glittered, and he took a small step forward. “Very little, do you not think?”

  Francis said nothing, despite the growing urge to step forward and smite the man hard across the face. They had known that Mr. Jefferson would use what he had seen against Miss Patterson, just as he had done. He was immensely proud of Miss Patterson, seeing her standing there with a firm stance and cold, sharp eyes that glared at her cousin. She was not showing him even a modicum of fear, despite the fact that she was probably trembling inside. After all, had he not felt her shudder in his arms but a few moments ago?

  She glanced up at him and, for a moment, Mr. Jefferson’s smile slipped. Francis knew what he was thinking. Should Francis offer to wed the lady in order to save her reputation, then there would be very few consequences. In fact, Miss Patterson would do her family line the world of good in marrying an earl. This was where he had to step in, where he had to show his disdain for the idea of marrying the lady, even though it was quite the opposite of what he felt.

  “I am sorry, Miss Patterson,” he grated, his hands curling into fists as he forced himself to steady his resolve. “But you can receive no help from me.” Shaking his head, he let his eyes drift away from her, placing an arrogant expression on his face. “After all, a gentleman does not marry their mistress.”

  A small cry of glee escaped from Mr. Jefferson’s throat. “So, you see, Miss Patterson, you can have very little option but to do as I have asked,” he said, as Francis slowly began to make his way towards the door, feigning disinterest. “What say you to that?”

  Francis heard Miss Patterson take in a shuddering breath and felt himself curl with rage. He wanted nothing more than to throw himself at Mr. Jefferson and beat the man until he knew nothing but the welcome arms of unconsciousness, but he had
to continue on with this façade. After all, that was what it was, he reminded himself. Play acting. A disguise. A falsehood that would lead to Mr. Jefferson being outsmarted and disgraced.

  “Ah, Lord Rapson,” he said loudly, pushing the door open to admit Miss Patterson’s brother. “I’m afraid I have something to confess to you.”

  Mr. Jefferson swung around as Lord Rapson stepped inside, his face paling a little as he looked from one gentleman to the other.

  “It seems Mr. Jefferson had stumbled upon myself and your sister in a rather…intimate embrace,” Francis continued, in a somewhat apologetic tone. “I do apologize for keeping her presence here a secret, but she came to me begging for help and urged me not to let a single person know of her whereabouts, not even you.” He saw Mr. Jefferson’s mouth swing open in surprise. “I know you have been looking for her.”

  Lord Rapson played his part wonderfully. He let his eyes trail from Miss Patterson to Mr. Jefferson before turning dark, angry eyes onto Francis.

  “Do you mean to tell me, Lord Catesby,” he said, harshly. “That you have been keeping my sister here all along?”

  Francis shrugged. “She has been the housekeeper,” he said, truthfully.

  “Amongst other things,” Mr. Jefferson added at once, putting his hands firmly on his hips. “And unless you want all and sundry to know of what else your dearly loved sister has been up to, you’ll hand her over to me, Rapson.”

  Lord Rapson started as though he had been slapped and it was only with a sharp warning look from Francis that he prevented himself from swinging around and punching Mr. Jefferson hard across the face. Closing his eyes for a moment, Lord Rapson drew in a long, calming breath before turning away from Francis and facing Mr. Jefferson.

  “You’ve been looking for me,” he said, slowly. “Why?”

  Mr. Jefferson chuckled. “I am not to be outdone, Lord Rapson. I know what I want, and I intend to have it.”

  Lord Rapson shook his head, putting one hand to his brow. “You want money. I will give it to you.”

  A sneer crossed Mr. Jefferson’s face. “Not enough. I want your sister’s fortune – and having her as my bride, and as one of my possessions, will make me more than satisfied.” His sneer spread as he looked at Lord Rapson with a hard look in his eyes, ignoring Francis completely. It was as though the man had forgotten that he was even in the room, focusing entirely on Lord Rapson.

  “Else,” Mr. Jefferson continued, firmly, “everyone in good standing will know of your sister’s disgrace. Think of the damage that will do to your good name, to your attempts to secure a bride. Your name will be tainted, your children unable to escape the shame brought on them by her.” He spat the last word, shooting a glance at Miss Patterson who was still standing tall.

  Lord Rapson said nothing for a moment, swaying slightly. “How did you find me, Mr. Jefferson?”

  Francis stepped back into the shadows, allowing the scene to play out in front of him. Mr. Jefferson had a gleam in his eye that made him think Miss Patterson had been quite correct to suggest that Mr. Jefferson had gone mad. He appeared almost crazed with the desire to have what he had long sought. He was speaking with such freedom, seemingly so unconcerned at Francis’ presence in the room, that Francis felt himself grow tense. There was no certainty about what Mr. Jefferson would do once he discovered that this had all been nothing but a ruse.

  Mr. Jefferson chuckled. “One of your maids is very easily persuaded, Rapson. A little bit of attention and she gave me whatever I wanted. So sympathetic, truly.” Leaning lazily on the back of the chair, he gestured towards Miss Patterson as he spoke. “No-one knew where your sister had gone to, but I soon found out that you had been corresponding with someone of late. Took a little bit of persuading but that stupid maid soon brought me your last piece of correspondence with Lord Catesby.” Shaking his head with a touch of wryness about his expression, he looked at Lord Rapson with a degree of satisfaction. “Those maids are so easily persuaded and, as I have said before to you, Rapson, I always get what I want.”

  “And you want me.”

  Mr. Jefferson did not so much as glance at Miss Patterson. “I want your fortune,” he said, with a small sneer. “You ought to have given it to me the moment I asked for it. Your father always promised I was to have something!”

  “And you did, did you not?” Lord Rapson interrupted, darkly. “But it was not enough.”

  “It is never enough!” Mr. Jefferson shouted, his face suddenly going a dark, blood red. “I was to have the title! I was to be the heir! And then suddenly you reappeared!” Something flashed in Mr. Jefferson’s hand, and Francis felt his heart stop dead. This was not something they had ever considered.

  Lord Rapson shook his head slowly. “There was a misunderstanding, that was all, Jefferson. News was brought to my father that I had been taken gravely ill and, of course, a good many people presumed I had died as often happens. It was not the case, as you can see.” Shaking his head, Lord Rapson let out a long breath whilst fixing his cousin with his gaze. “You have no claim to anything, Jefferson.”

  Mr. Jefferson looked all the more crazed. “I need the money, Rapson!” he shouted, clearly growing desperate. “I must have it, else –”

  “Else, what?” Lord Rapson interrupted, loudly. “Your creditors will come to your door, to take away all you own? All the money you claim you require is simply due to your own lack of sense, Jefferson. Your vices, your follies, are all your own. You can try to claim my sister to seek her fortune, you can even attempt to kill me in order to gain the title – but it has all come to naught. Indeed, it will not be my sister who is disgraced but rather it will be you.”

  This appeared to be too much for Mr. Jefferson to take. Before Francis could move, he leapt wildly at Lord Rapson. It was as though it all happened slowly, for Francis could not move, could not even speak as he watched Miss Patterson let out a shriek and twist her body to prevent Mr. Jefferson from reaching her brother.

  Chapter 12

  The two bodies fell together with a thump on the carpeted floor, just as the dowager burst into the room. Francis had ordered her to remain outside with the footmen and butler ready for his order but having heard the scream from both Mr. Jefferson and Miss Patterson, had been unable to wait any longer. Francis, finally free of the ice that had filled his limbs, rushed forward with his mother towards Miss Patterson and Mr. Jefferson, who was being dragged to his feet by one furious and terrified Lord Rapson.

  “Hold him,” Francis ordered, as Mr. Jefferson was thrown towards the footmen and butler. He bent down by Lord Rapson, seeing a dark stain begin to seep through Miss Patterson’s gown. His throat ached with fear.

  “I am quite all right,” Miss Patterson replied, her voice weak. “It is just my arm, that is all. Do help me sit up.”

  “This was not what we had intended,” he whispered, as Lord Rapson tried to help his sister up carefully. “We thought to –”

  “Never mind that,” the dowager snapped, grasping his arm. “Help her up and seat her here.” She turned to the butler, telling him to fetch the doctor at once and ordering hot water, cloths, and bandages. “Goodness me, Miss Patterson, whatever were you thinking?”

  Francis, still on his knees, shuffled towards Miss Patterson, looking at her arm with concern. It was bleeding, evidently and he could not tell how deep the wound was.

  Lord Rapson pulled a chair over to his sister and sat down heavily, clearly shocked by all that had gone on. He took her free hand and held it tightly, his expression tight. “You did not have to do that, Rebecca. I –”

  “I could not let him hurt you,” Miss Patterson interrupted, gently, as the dowager carefully pulled the torn sleeve away from Miss Patterson’s arm, revealing the wound to her forearm.

  Lord Rapson swallowed hard, shaking his head and raking one hand through his hair over and over as he attempted to speak. “You could have been gravely injured, Rebecca.”

  “But she is not,” the dowager replie
d, practically. “You must have raised your arm in defense of your person as you jumped in front of your brother, Miss Patterson, but I do believe you saved your life by such an action.” She smiled at the young lady, clearly relieved and yet upset at what had occurred. “You are quite remarkable, truly.”

  Francis was utterly relieved to see Miss Patterson manage a small smile, though her face was rather white. She was not going to die, it seemed, and his heart finally broke free of the terrifying worry that had torn through it the moment he had watched Miss Patterson leap in front of Mr. Jefferson’s knife.

  “What shall I do with him, my lord?”

  Slowly, Francis got to his feet, turning to see Mr. Jefferson sitting, white-faced, in his chair. The man had appeared to shrink into it, as though only just realizing what he had done. Anger coursed through him, urging him to move forward and strike the man hard but it was only by sheer force of will that he remained exactly where he was.

  “Send for the constabulary,” he grated, harshly. “This man made an attempt on the life of Lord Rapson and, in doing so, has gravely injured Miss Patterson, the viscount’s sister. In addition, I believe he is very badly in debt and will be wanted by a good many others.”

  Mr. Jefferson let out a low wail of fear, no longer the arrogant, haughty gentleman who believed he owed everything.