Beastly Lords Collection

by Baily, Sydney Jane

  Being ever practical, she knew there was no solution her husband could come up with in his own mind. Therefore, spending long minutes going over the events of the previous night would do nothing but upset him.

  She tapped his knee to get his attention. “Tell me more about this mill.”

  And she drew him out of his thoughts with question upon question about the mill manager, George Marley, how well Simon knew him, how long the Deveres had owned it, and more. Until they arrived in Derbytown.

  It was an impressive operation, grinding all manner of grain for the surrounding townships, as well as a large baking company that sold in Wirksworth.

  The mill manager seemed neither nervous nor guilty when Jenny and Simon were shown into his office.

  “Lord Devere,” Mr. Marley said rising from his desk and bowing. “I had no idea you were visiting.”

  In truth, they had told no one, in case they needed to take advantage of the element of surprise.

  “It’s Lindsey now. May I introduce to you my wife, Lady Lindsey.”

  “You don’t say? Wonderful! I’m honored, my lady.” Marley bowed again in her direction, then he became all business. “I doubt you came all this way to show off your lovely countess to me, my lord. Is there a problem?”

  “Mayhap,” Simon said. “However, my wife is more suited to the task of explaining the issue.”

  “You don’t say!” Marley repeated, taking another appraising look at Jenny, glancing over the shawl wrapped around her neck like a man’s cravat.

  Simon gestured with a wave of his hand to his footman who waited by the door with the appropriate ledger. Bringing it forward, he deposited it on Marley’s desk.

  “I am good with numbers,” Jenny blurted, grateful Simon nodded in agreement.

  “My wife has found some discrepancies and some oddities. I am sure you will be able to explain these. Meanwhile, I’ll take a look around, if you don’t mind. I’m sure one of your men can show me.”

  They’d agreed ahead of time that the footman would stay with her and Simon would look around as he used to do, taking the measure of the operation. Marley’s raised eyebrows did not deter them from the plan, and in a moment, Jenny was seated opposite the mill manager.

  She got right to it, flipping open a ledger to a marked page and pointing out the time a few years back when the payments no longer were entered in the household accounts.

  Marley frowned. “That’s been years! Why hasn’t anyone asked before?”

  “You know his lordship was away,” she said delicately. “As was his cousin, Sir Devere.”

  At the mention of Tobias, Marley’s expression turned grave. “Shame about that one. Terrible thing to leave a widow and children.”

  “Yes,” she agreed.

  “Well, my lady, I can show you precisely what the profits are on a monthly basis and how much we’ve sent to the estate quarterly, if you understand my meaning.”

  “Yes, I assure you, I quite understand.” Amazing, Jenny thought, that the man had accepted the situation as easily as he had.

  Marley had a shelf full of ledgers behind him. Pushing his spectacles up his nose, he reached the shelf without standing and pulled the closest leather-bound book in his direction.

  “The very last one is this figure.” He tapped a somewhat dirty fingernail upon a handsome sum of money.

  Jenny nodded. “That’s what I was expecting, given the amount from about six years back.”

  “Depending on the time of year, that’s about what his lordship always receives for the months when we’re grinding.” He flipped to the front of the ledger and ran his finger down a handwritten note tucked inside.

  “Payment goes to an H. Keeble in London, as directed.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Is there something wrong, my lady?”

  “I have never heard of this person.”

  Marley frowned, then he shrugged. “He’s been receiving the payments these last six years.

  “I suppose that was upon Sir Tobias Devere’s edict?”

  “Yes, my lady. Exactly.”

  Poor Simon. How distraught the news of his cousin’s deceit would make him. It was not simply the loss of the funds, but the betrayal by one whom Simon had loved and trusted.

  *

  Not ten minutes later, after Mr. Marley had escorted her to where Simon was discussing the fineness of the ground wheat with a worker, they were on their way.

  “You’ve discovered something,” he said at once.

  “Unfortunately, yes, confirmation of perfidy.”

  Telling him where his income was going, she watched Simon’s face cloud over. “Did you get this Keeble’s address?”

  She nodded.

  “Perhaps he is the mysterious Sir Agravain.”

  Jenny frowned. “I beg your pardon? Why would King Arthur’s villainous knight have anything to do with whoever was helping himself to the Devere fortune?

  “Maude was less than forthcoming with the name of her solicitor. Yet I suppose it will be easy enough to determine if this man is one and the same.”

  “We are traveling away from London,” she pointed out.

  “For now.”

  *

  It was less than an hour’s ride to the next stop, a bleach mill. The fumes were overwhelming, but Jenny found out the same information in short order. H. Keeble was collecting the income. After directing the mill manager that payments should no longer be sent to London but directly to Belton Park, they hurried on.

  “Another hour to my uncle’s,” Simon told her after they’d stopped to stretch their legs at an inn and eat a late luncheon.

  “Will you ask him if he knows about his son’s … um … diversion of funds?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know yet. Toby was fond of his father, and I imagine the man is still quite stricken with grief. How will he feel if I start interrogating him about my cousin’s bookkeeping skills?”

  “Will we spend the night there?”

  Simon eyed her thoughtfully, his glance predictably going to her well-covered neck.

  “I was planning on it. We could take a room at an inn instead.”

  She considered. Either way, Jenny had the feeling they were going to have a strife-filled night unless she was extremely careful.

  “Staying at your family’s home in South Wingfield is perfectly acceptable to me. I’m sure your uncle will want to spend time with you,” she said, hoping she was correct.

  Alas, she wasn’t. In the front hall, instead of Simon’s uncle, the man’s second wife, Lettie, awaited them, draped in a gown of black bombazine, signifying her mourning for her husband’s son.

  The woman’s job, it seemed, was to admonish them for not giving enough notice in advance of their arrival. For though Simon had sent word two weeks earlier, apparently, it was considered bad form by Lettie’s husband.

  “My lord is most unhappy that you find us in such a state.”

  Truthfully, Jenny thought it would have taken far longer than a week or two to put the place in order. The tapestries looked dingy, the foyer floorboards were unwaxed, and the place held a general air of both neglect and paucity.

  Even the butler’s uniform was missing a button, and she could see his stocking through the worn toe of his shoe. If Jenny looked carefully, she had no doubt she’d be able to see his toe through his torn stocking, as well.

  “We are family,” Simon insisted, as if nothing they encountered could matter.

  However, they spent the better part of an hour trying to enjoy a cup of watered-down sherry with the peevish mistress of the house while seated in a sadly furnished room with peeling wallpaper and one boarded up window pane. Moreover, there was a chip out of Jenny’s drinking glass and something very uncomfortable poking up into her thigh from a hole in the sofa.

  “We didn’t want you to go to any trouble,” Jenny added again when Lettie brought up for the umpteenth time how inconvenienced they were by the unexpected visit. Simon’s uncle had stil
l not appeared.

  “With more warning,” Lady Devere declared, “we might be eating a slightly better cut of meat tonight, and there’d be a grand pudding to top it off. We eat rather simply when we’re on our own.”

  By the thinness of the woman, not to mention her hollowed cheeks, it appeared they were alone for many meals. And if two weeks were not enough to see they had a fitting evening meal, then Jenny doubted this woman had any business running a household.

  “In any case, the maids have got your room ready,” Lettie continued.

  “Thank you for your welcome,” Jenny insisted, though she felt anything but.

  Simon was oddly quiet, perhaps distracted by the black crepe draped everywhere, over mirrors and windows and doorways.

  Jenny tried to see past the mourning decorations. With a little spit and polish, though less than a fifth the size of Belton, the house could be made quite hospitable.

  “You have a lovely home,” she lied, hoping to set the woman at ease over the joyless, rundown residence.

  “Compared to Belton, it is a hovel,” came gruff words from the doorway, as Lord James Devere finally deigned to grace them with his presence. “Which is why I can’t understand why you’ve come all the way here.”

  Simon stood at once and strode across the distance between them, arm outstretched in greeting.

  Jenny’s heart skipped a beat when for a moment it appeared as if her husband’s uncle would not take the proffered hand. After a moment’s hesitation, he did. She would have thought a warm embrace would have been more fitting in any case but could tell instantly that would never happen. This man seemed as rigid and cold as her husband was yielding and warm.

  He must be deeply grief-stricken over his son, she concluded.

  “I came to introduce you to my countess, Lady Genevieve,” Simon said, and the use of the title and her formal name gave her pause. Her husband was offended, or hurt, by the cold reception and clearly wanted to remind his uncle who they were, not some petty relations to be treated badly.

  James Devere glanced toward her, raking her with his disinterested glance as she stood and curtsied. Jenny swallowed her intense feeling of dislike. He is suffering from melancholia, she reminded herself.

  “You are the new bride.” He said the last word between gritted teeth. “The woman who has captivated my nephew so quickly following his return.”

  Frowning, Jenny couldn’t say why, but his words seemed insulting. What’s more, his tone implied he couldn’t for the life of him see why Simon had chosen her. Be that as it may, she decided to react with the respect the man deserved as the patriarch of her husband’s family.

  “I am pleased to meet you, my lord.”

  His response was a thinning of his lips and a low-murmured, “Hmm.”

  Oh, dear. This was not going as she’d hoped at all.

  “I offer my condolences on the loss of your son,” she added.

  His head whipped up, his expression tightening as his gaze locked onto hers.

  Lettie gasped audibly, and Jenny had to steel herself. Surely the man was about to let loose with a tirade.

  Perhaps sensing the same, Simon came to her side and took her arm under his.

  “I am truly sorry, Uncle, to be the one to bring back sad tidings. Toby was not only my cousin but also my beloved friend, as you know.”

  Bless him for taking the focus onto himself, when apparently, she’d committed a faux pas for bringing up the dead man.

  James’ mouth worked as though he was trying to get words out. In the end, he merely nodded to his nephew before turning to his wife.

  “Is our meal ready?”

  Lettie moved forward to her husband’s side. “I’m certain it is.”

  And with that, they left the parlor for the dining room and an unfashionably early, utterly cheerless dinner, the long stretches of silence broken only by the scraping of the silverware upon the plates and an occasional remark from Lettie.

  For his part, Simon tried to begin a conversation by describing the holdings they’d recently visited. This elicited nothing but a sour expression from his uncle whose stare remained fixated on his wine glass except when he was drinking from it.

  Jenny remained silent, unable to think of what she could add to this unhappy occasion.

  When, after a copious amount of wine, James Devere did at last speak, she couldn’t help wishing he had remained silent.

  “Since you had the good fortune to return from that cursed, useless war when my son did not, I thought you might have had the good sense to marry his widow.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Even as he said the words, Simon’s uncle’s gaze never lifted from the table.

  “Seems as if it would’ve been damn convenient, what with a readymade family and all.”

  Lettie closed her eyes a moment, exactly in the instant Jenny felt hers go wide with the rudeness of the man’s statement.

  Across from her, Simon bristled, appearing to grow larger as he took in a deep breath.

  “As it turned out, Uncle, I was lucky enough to find precisely the right woman for me.” He offered her a smile that took the sting out of James Devere’s words and warmed her to her toes.

  “Well,” was all their surly host said.

  Clearly, Simon had had enough. “I think it high time the countess and I took to our chamber.”

  God, yes! She couldn’t wait to get away from the taciturn, unwelcoming James Devere. Grief was an excuse only up to a point.

  Poor Simon, she thought, having merely this man as his last living relation!

  At her husband’s nod, Jenny stood, waiting for his uncle to stand as well. He did not. Perhaps he was too far in his cups to recall his manners.

  “Good night, Lady Devere,” Jenny said to Lettie before turning to James Devere. “Good night, my lord.”

  “Hmm,” he said.

  In response, Simon bowed to Lettie, bid her good night, and ignored his uncle altogether.

  As they reached the top of the stairs, her husband murmured in her ear, “That went well.”

  Jenny couldn’t help the first giggle that escaped her. Her nervousness had built up to a bursting point. Now, it came in full-throated laughter that brought tears to her eyes.

  At first, Simon seemed surprised, yet by the time they reached their room, he was laughing with her.

  “After all,” she said as they sat upon the bed holding onto each other, “if we can handle Ned in my family, we can handle James in yours.”

  He stroked her cheek.

  “I did not like that my uncle insulted you.”

  “I didn’t feel insulted. He doesn’t even know me. He merely wanted to keep a connection to his son and expressed it badly.”

  Simon’s thumb brushed over her lips, causing a delightful tingle to begin.

  “How did you get to be so understanding, Lady Lindsey?”

  He moved his hand and cupped the back of her head.

  Locking gazes with him, she answered before all her thoughts were scattered by the kiss she knew was coming. “Born this way, I suppose.”

  And then his mouth descended upon hers.

  A little while later, she admitted, “I’m rather glad your uncle drove us from the dining room. I much prefer being alone with you.”

  “Agreed, wife.” Pushing her back upon their bed, Simon’s kiss deepened. She curled her fingers in his hair and opened her mouth to his.

  However, when he would have trailed kisses from her jaw down her neck, he growled.

  “Will you remove the shawl, please?”

  Knowing this would ruin their romantic encounter, she sighed. “It’s keeping me warm. Have you noticed our room is like ice? I think there is one tiny piece of coal in the fireplace.”

  “I will keep you warm.”

  Slowly doing as he asked, Jenny didn’t need a mirror when she had her husband’s wincing face to tell her how she looked.

  “Christ! I should be whipped.”

  “Stop
it,” she ordered. “I’m sure the arnica helped. Undoubtedly, my neck will appear bruised for a few days.”

  “Your flesh is colored like a juggler’s cap, purple, black, even green.”

  “Then let us go to bed and put the light out, then you don’t have to look at it.”

  Still, Simon hesitated.

  “I am asking you to come to bed with me and hold me in your arms.”

  His mouth twisted. “Unfair, wife. You know I cannot deny such a request when I’ve wanted to touch you all day.”

  More slowly than the night before, they made love. His hands upon her skin, stroking and teasing her, brought Jenny quickly to throbbing desire. His mouth left off kissing hers to perform wickedly delightful acts on her heated body. By the time he settled his hips between her thighs, she was nearly begging him to fill her.

  It was perfect, and Jenny couldn’t imagine how she’d gone without such sensations for the first two decades of her life. Nor how she could ever do without her strong, passionate husband ever again.

  *

  Simon’s heartbeat started to slow as he lay beside his luscious, soft wife. However, the satiated feeling dissipated as the minutes passed. Their lovemaking had been intense and sweet at the same time. Rather like Jenny. Moreover, each time he touched her naked body, each time he sunk into her, he loved her more.

  For certainly, this was love causing his abject terror at the idea of falling asleep and possibly hurting her again.

  Having decided the best course of action was to wait for her to drop off to sleep, then creep from the bed to the chair, he would spend this and every night away from her. For he knew precisely what would happen if a certain dream started. And it would start, as it had almost every night since his return.

  The thought he might hurt her the next time he touched her gnawed away at him, keeping him awake. When her breathing became deep and even and her body’s movements stilled, then he left her safely to her slumbers.

  *

  Jenny awakened to sunlight and birds chirping and smiled, feeling like a princess. No, she corrected herself, she felt like a countess.

  Glancing over to where her husband slept beside her, she frowned. Gone! He moved very quietly for a large man. She’d not heard or felt him rise from the bed.