Hyacinth sighed wearily. “We have no lease, Prim. Mrs. Dalrymple allowed us to stay here but the truth of it is that this cottage was leased to mother and not us. Upon her death, that contract became null and void. There is nothing to protect us from being thrown out or to prevent the rents from being doubled if he chooses to demand more.”
And he would, Prim thought. The man was a toad. Or perhaps a weasel as he had the smallest and beadiest eyes she’d ever seen. He always gave the appearance of being furtive, as if looking around for anything he could steal or swindle.
A loud knock upon the door startled her out of her reverie. She looked at Hyacinth who was looking back at her equally nonplussed. “You go into the next room,” Hy said. “And so help me, if that is Jeb Turner come one more time to ask you to walk out with him, I’ve half a mind to take the fire poker to him!”
Jeb Turner was not a bad man, but he was not a man who held any interest for her. No man did. She’d seen enough of her mother’s lot in life to know that men brought nothing but ruin and heartbreak. To that end, she followed her sister’s instructions and ducked into the small parlor where she promptly concealed herself behind the door. The last thing she wanted was for Jeb to catch a glimpse of her. They’d never get rid of him otherwise.
Of course, if it was Mrs. Dalrymple’s rodent-like nephew there to demand the rent from them, she’d have preferred Jeb Turner. And if he were smitten enough with her to allow Hy, Lila, and Rowan to move into his little farmhouse with them, she could do worse than to marry him. That glum thought nearly brought her to tears and Prim prayed for some other possibility beyond the two she’d just imagined.
*
Garrett rapped on the door. Beside him, Nicholas glanced at him from the corner of his eye. It was clearly a look of disapproval.
“They’ll not answer the door to that,” his brother said. “They’ll likely think you’re the bailiff come to collect something!”
“They might have been upstairs,” Garrett insisted. “I don’t wish to stand here on their doorstep all day!”
Nicholas rolled his eyes. “It was your idea to come here, wasn’t it? The mother was a known prostitute. How can we even be certain that this girl is our sister?”
Garrett sighed. “There has always been a marked resemblance in our family. That certainly held true for us. Why shouldn’t it hold true for our younger sister, as well?”
Nicholas shuddered. “If she looks like the pair of us then there’s far more stacked against her in this life than simply her status of birth!”
Garrett would have replied, was poised to do so in fact with his mouth hanging open when the door opened to reveal a pretty but not extraordinary woman with reddish-blonde hair and a smattering of freckles across a nose that could only be described as gamine. Indeed, everything about her appeared to be wispy and fragile.
“May I help you?” she inquired softly. Her voice was cordial but also clearly concerned.
“Are you Miss Hyacinth Collier?” Nicholas asked as Garrett attempted to regain his composure.
“I am. But as you are on my doorstep that is clearly not unexpected news, gentlemen. But perhaps a more pertinent question would be who the two of you are and why you are currently on my doorstep?”
She might have been small in stature and possess the immediate impression of feminine softness, but it was evident that there was steel in her. Garrett felt a grudging respect. “I am Cornelius Garrett, Lord Ambrose, and this is my half-brother, Dr. Nicholas Warner… and I believe we have a half-sister in common. Lilac?”
The young woman’s lips firmed into a thin hard line. “She prefers to be called Lila. And I’ve no notion what you are doing here, but you may simply turn yourselves about and go back from whence you came. I will not just give Lila into the care of strangers regardless of what relationship they claim.”
“Miss Collier, I have not come to take your sister from you. What I have done is come to make some sort of restitution to your family for her care and to provide for her future as our profligate father should have done. Perhaps, if you’d permit us to come inside we could discuss this further? I assure you, we are here with the best of intentions,” Garrett insisted.
It was clear that she was conflicted. She stood there for the longest time and then finally, as if it seemed she was about to slam the door in his face, he heard another voice—just as feminine, but certainly not sweet. It was slightly husky and strangely seductive, though he had yet to see the owner of it.
“Let them in, Hy. It certainly can’t hurt to hear them out.”
The first woman, Hyacinth, stepped back and held the door wide in a somewhat less than gracious invitation. She turned to her right and said to the unseen woman, “Whatever the outcome, it’s on your head.”
“We’re in bedlam,” Nicholas whispered. “I could be at home with my wife right now.”
Garrett meant to shush him, but as the mystery woman stepped forward from a side room, he forgot everything else. To say that she was beautiful would not have been entirely accurate. Not because it wasn’t true, but because she seemed to be so much more than that. Her face was shifting constantly, a myriad of expressions fleeting across it until, finally, she managed to school it into some semblance of neutrality. Her hair was a lustrous shade of brown, slightly deeper than chestnut, but with strands of auburn and perhaps even a dark blonde woven into it. It caught the light and flashed a dozen different colors at him. Wide blue eyes, softly rounded cheeks, a stubborn chin and a perfect cupid’s bow of full lips completed the assemblage of delicate features that held him in sway.
“My sister, Primrose Collier,” Hyacinth said. “And I see you are struck as dumb as every other man upon meeting her.”
“Not every man,” Nicholas said. “Lovely as you both are, my beautiful wife is waiting for me at home and, if possible, I’d very much like to get on the road back to her today and certainly tomorrow at the latest. Perhaps we could begin the discussion of my now mute brother’s plans for Lila?”
Forcing himself to think, to speak, to not make an utter fool of himself, Ambrose added, “Yes. Forgive my lapse in manners. If we might sit and discuss this… I think that you’ll find my offer to be very generous.”
“Why don’t we adjourn to the sitting room then?” Primrose suggested.
Ambrose would have followed her into hell had she asked it.
Chapter Two
Prim seated herself beside Hyacinth on the small settee and faced the two dark-haired men who’d simply dropped into their lives. It was patently obvious from even a glance that they were, in fact, related to Lila. She had the same dark hair and eyes, the same high cheekbones and there was something else, some indefinable thing about the way they were put together, that also reminded her of her sister. But Lila was a much more fey creature than either of those gentlemen had been or likely ever would be short of taking too many blows to the head. Lila, bless her, could get lost in the middle of the room simply by being taken over by her own thoughts. It was the artist in her, Prim thought. The girl loved to paint, to draw, even to sculpt. They’d find her after a rain making things out of mud in the yard.
“How did you find us? More importantly, how did you find Lila?” Hy asked.
It was a good question. If Prim hadn’t been quite so addled by the one gentleman she might have asked it herself. They were both handsome, but it was the more smartly-dressed of the two who had immediately drawn her attention. If she were to be unkind she could have blamed it on the way he gaped at her as if she’d sprouted two heads. But it wasn’t that, at all. She had felt a strange breathlessness when she looked at him, a sense of expectation that she could not account for. Perhaps, she tried to convince herself, it was the promise of some sort of relief from the endless stress of their current impoverishment. But she knew better. It was as if something had awakened inside her. She’d seen the giddy rush of romanticism and passion in her mother every time Isabelle had met a new man who promised her love. In the en
d, they delivered only disappointment and heartbreak.
“Our father passed away over five years ago. But I have been sifting through ledgers, diaries, papers, letters and other correspondence for almost the entirety of that time in an attempt to locate my half-siblings,” the one who’d called himself Lord Ambrose said. He glanced sideways at Prim, their gazes meeting for a heartbeat, locking with a jolt of intimacy that took her breath away, before he once more faced Hyacinth. “There have been a lot of false starts and dead ends in trying to find them all.”
“How many?” Prim asked, against her better judgment. She had faint recollections of the former Lord Ambrose. He’d been loud, laughed constantly and had usually brought some sweet or tossed a few coins to her and Hyacinth before dancing away with her mother. But that had been before the squalid little room in the Devil’s Acre where they’d wound up.
“I have identified three, thus far. One was transported for thievery, another died of fever, and the third is at my side,” Ambrose replied. “I’m certain there are more, but the work is tedious and there are a vast number of dead ends. I would not have known about Lilac at all had I not found an old letter from your mother to my father after she’d moved here. She wrote to him asking for assistance.”
“You mean funds,” Hy said accusingly.
The man flushed. “Yes, I do.”
The deep well of shame that existed inside her suddenly spilled over and Prim had to look away. “Of course, she did.”
“You misunderstand, Miss Collier. It was not as if she were extorting him or even begging. She simply stated that her children were in need of clothing and food and she would be grateful for any assistance he could provide. There was nothing in it that should reflect poorly on her,” he stated. “There was another letter that followed, where she thanked him for his generosity and apprised him that her eldest children, you and your sister presumably, were both doing well. He had asked after you in his response, I presume. So he must have had some small fondness for you both I think. But in that letter, she also advised him that she had two other children besides. She informed him that Lilac was seven and Rowan was two at that time. Another series of letters followed and, in the last one, she had assured my father that she had no expectations he should acknowledge the girl. Your mother was doing what she must to provide for her children. And my father, who was responsible for the conception of one of those children, was shirking his duty to her and to the woman who bore her. If there is shame to be felt or guilt, it should be his and, derivatively, my own.”
Prim looked back at him, moved by the rather impassioned nature of his speech, but more so because it seemed as if he had seen straight into the heart of her. That alone was enough reason to get him far, far from them. Anyone or anything that could evoke such an emotional response in her, who could get past her defenses with such apparent ease, posed a threat to her and to those she loved. “Thank you for your understanding, Lord Ambrose. Let’s just get right to the point, shall we? Lila doesn’t know you. Nor did she know your father. He had finished with our mother long before she was born and never bothered to look back. And I do not harbor any resentments for him for that. The truth be told, I remember him fondly. He was kind to both Hyacinth and me, which is far more than can be said of any of the other men who drifted through our mother’s life. While I appreciate the fact that you wish to provide for her in some way, something that your father felt no need to do other than his occasional charity to our mother, I’m not certain it’s in her best interest to know anything about where she came from. She’s too young to remember much of our lives in London. She certainly doesn’t remember what our mother was forced to endure in order to provide for us. I can’t imagine that there could be anything that would induce us to alter that.”
His eyebrows rose slightly, but his expression remained neutral while his companion appeared to be quickly losing patience with the lot of them. When Lord Ambrose did finally speak, he sounded slightly amused by her reply. “Miss Collier, while I may have been to the manor born as it were, I’m not so entirely out of touch that I do not recognize the signs of struggle your family is currently displaying. Empty corners and marks on the floor where furnishings once stood. Sold off, no doubt. And as pretty as that flounced hem is on your dress, it doesn’t take a great deal of deduction to conclude it serves a greater purpose than mere decoration. I imagine it was made for you when you were much younger, or perhaps it was made for someone else entirely?”
Prim’s chin lifted and her shoulders stiffened of their own accord. Her temper, fearsome as it could be, was rising to the forefront and he’d made a terrible error in engaging it. “Have you finished, Lord Ambrose? Or are there yet more humiliating aspects of our impoverished state you’d like to expound upon? If not, I will happily show you to the door.”
“It is not humiliating to be poor, Miss Collier,” he protested.
“As you are incapable of speaking from experience on that score, my lord, I will respectfully beg to differ.” Before Prim could say anything further, the front door suddenly burst open. But it wasn’t their younger siblings returning. It was Mrs. Dalrymple’s nephew, Lewis Severne. It was not the first time he’d just let himself into their cottage but, of course, he did not view it as theirs. In his mind, they were the interlopers.
“Misses Collier,” he said, sparing a dismissive glance at the gentlemen seated opposite them. “I’ve come for the rent, assuming you have it.”
And now, Prim thought, their humiliation was to be complete. All they needed was for Lila to come in covered in dirt and Rowan to toss up the contents of his stomach on the single carpet they possessed. She closed her eyes and uttered a silent prayer for it all to be a bad dream.
Chapter Three
Garrett knew that they didn’t have the rent, of course. He’d made inquiries in the village and while the Misses Collier and their younger siblings were well liked, it was a known fact that only sheer stubbornness was allowing them to keep body and soul together. Having finally laid eyes on them, it was glaringly apparent to him that the description given time and again by every person they’d inquired with was absolutely true. If he were an intelligent man, that stubbornness he’d been warned of would have made him take her at her word and walk out of their humble cottage never to return. Instead, it only seemed to entrance him more. There was only one word he could think of to adequately describe Miss Primrose Collier. Dangerous. She was beautiful, but it wasn’t the outer shell of her that compelled him. There was a connection that he felt to her instantly, something that defied logic and explanation.
“Mr. Severne, as you can see, we have guests. Now is not the time. We will bring the funds to your aunt, Mrs. Dalrymple, this afternoon,” the eldest sister said calmly.
“My aunt is ill. She’s taken to her bed and will likely not recover,” Mr. Severne answered. It was apparent that he was not overly concerned for the woman’s imminent demise. In fact, he sounded only too pleased by it.
Immediately, the women’s expressions changed. He might have had no fondness for his aunt, but it was apparent they did.
“She was fine yesterday. We spoke with her! She had some clothing she wished to gift to us for the children!” Hyacinth proclaimed.
“I cannot believe that Mrs. Dalrymple would refuse to see us regardless of how ill she is! Why, when she fell and broke her leg last year, we went there daily and read to her while she recovered!” Primrose insisted. “I do not think you are reciting Mrs. Dalrymple’s wishes at all. I think if she’s not being allowed to have visitors that it is a decision you have made, Mr. Severne!”
The man had the nerve to smile but it was a chilled expression and revealed far more of his character than even his rude entrance had. “It is of no consequence what you believe, Miss Primrose. You have no authority with which to question me or how I see to the welfare of any female relative that is in my dominion. Now, I will have the rent or you will be out by nightfall.”
“Mr. Severne, we do
not have the rent in its entirety but we do have almost all of it,” Hyacinth began, only to be cut off abruptly by Severne.
“If you can’t pay all the rent then you can’t live in all of the house, now can you? Which room shall I let out to someone else, Miss Collier? The kitchen or one of the bedchambers? Well, what’s it to be?” he demanded snidely.
“I’ve half a mind to call you out, sir,” Ambrose said mildly.
Severne looked at him. “Who are you?”
“Lord Ambrose,” he said. For once, he was grateful that his sullied reputation preceded him. He watched the other man blanch, watched him recoil with fear. Murderer. Cold-blooded. Worse than his father ever dreamed of. It appeared that all the things whispered of him had reached Mr. Severne’s ears. “And yes, I’m as good with pistols as they say. How do you think you’ll fare, Mr. Severne?”
“Now see here, Ambrose, this is no business of yours—”
“If it were not my business then perhaps you should not have aired it in front of me to start,” Ambrose said and calmly reached into his pocket for the small purse he carried. “What is the rent, Severne?”
“Two pounds six,” Severne replied.
Given the obscenely small space of the cottage and that he could see water spots on the floor, it was robbery. Still perturbed with the man, Ambrose removed the appropriate coins and tossed them to the floor in front of Severne. It was an insult but he didn’t care. It was worth it to watch the bastard have to stoop and scrounge for the coins. “You’ve been paid. Now, you’ll leave this cottage and the next time you enter it, you will do so after knocking and being given permission. Do we have an understanding, sir?”
Severne rose, glared at him, but nodded. “We do. I bid you all a good day.”
“My lord, I am very appreciative of your assistance, but we cannot accept such charity!”
The Awakening of Lord Ambrose (The Lost Lords Book 6) Page 2
