“I wrote with my left hand as well,” Lady Brandell went on. “Though I stopped as a young child. My parents forbid it.”
Something flickered over Nash’s features before he straightened them. “Were your parents kind?”
Lady Brandell shrugged. “As much as any others, I suppose.” Then she waved her hands and said, “As though you actually care to speak about my parents.”
“Oh, but I do care.” He held out his arm to her. “You’re a very interesting woman, Lady Brandell. One would never know it, until you shared.”
Lady Brandell gladly took his offered arm, and clung to him for the rest of their tour through the house. There was another classroom and nursery on the first floor, then upstairs were the bedrooms. The children shared the beds, at least two to a mattress. The furnishings and walls looked in disrepair, but Nash assured them that by the end of the season, the entire house would be redone. When he wasn’t sharing stories about his time as a child, he asked Lady Brandell questions, proving he did, in fact, find her interesting.
When the tour ended, they found themselves back downstairs, and shown to a sitting room. The hammering had ceased, and a window had been left open to clear the air.
Nash uncovered two couches and took a seat next to Sam. The couch was rather large, yet he sat close enough for his knee to brush against her skirts.
She’d never been attracted to a man like him. Usually, the men she met weren’t very large at all, only inches above her own height, with a body made for leisure activities. Nash looked as though he could take on a bull, if he felt the need to. She watched his hands, recalled them sliding down her arms, remembering what it was like to be buried against his large chest, that first night.
Her musing proved that she should stay away from him. He was not a gentleman, and thus would not fulfill the bargain with her father. Besides, she had no idea what his thoughts on marriage were.
Did he want to get married? Some men didn’t. She’d heard a few gentlemen admit to only doing so out of obligation. Nash had no obligations to anyone but himself, and had made it clear he would not bow to the rules that governed other men.
He was dangerous in so many ways, and she was sure she didn’t know the half of it.
“Now,” he said, once he was settled. “We can discuss what I’ve discovered about Lord Selby.” There wasn’t much. He’d spoken to Selby’s friends and discovered that Selby had fancied a woman of low birth, or at least, that was what Brayton had told him.
Though Brayton had also mentioned Selby fancying Samantha, herself.
Thinking about Selby, again, made Sam decided that should he be found, she would pursue him. Thinking of a strategy to gain his attention was far better than thinking about Nash and his kisses, and anything else that would ruin her further.
Lady Selby sighed. “Could my son be with this woman, then?”
“Perhaps,” Nash said. “I’ve a few men looking for him, but I don’t think we’ll find him with a woman.” He glanced over at Sam before turning back to Lady Selby. “Lady Coburn mentioned that Mr. Ogden said something of ill taste this morning...”
The room grew quiet.
Lady Selby pressed her lips together and then closed her eyes with a sigh.
The dowager grabbed her hands, holding her tightly. “It’s all right, dear. We can trust him.”
The words surprised Sam, and she didn’t have to look at Nash to know they’d surprised him, as well.
But nothing surprised her more, than what not only Lady Selby shared, but the dowager, as well.
* * *
11
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
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Nash walked into Chris’ office, unannounced. His main office was located at the toy store, but he had plenty of others that nearly no one knew about.
He walked in on a meeting. An older woman turned around, but it was Chris who held his attention. In his hand was what looked to be a ball of fur, but at closer inspection, Nash noticed it was shaped into a bear. The small animal looked soft. Twin black eyes stared up from over a protruding nose. Nash was momentarily intrigued by the toy.
The woman turned back to Chris and said, “What do you think, Mr. Smith?”
Chris moved his hazel gaze back to the toy between his fingers and gave it a squeeze. Nash watched as the bear filled itself back out.
“Cotton,” the woman said for explanation.
“How long did it take you make this?” Chris asked.
“A day, no more.” The woman looked at Nash, as he closed the door behind himself. Then she turned back to Chris. “With more hands, I could...”
He cut her off with a lifted hand. “Make me ten. I’ll test them and let you know how they do.” It was a rare treat to see Chris at work. Nash rarely caught him doing more than paperwork. He crossed his arms and observed the rest of the meeting.
“Ten?” The woman sighed. “I suppose I could find some fabric and—”
“I’ll supply everything you need.” He pulled out a sheet of paper and dipped a pen in ink before he began to write. “You’ll take this note to Mr. Fillmore.” Fillmore was a very popular place for men’s clothing in London, Nash knew. It was where he purchased his own suits.
“The tailor on St. James?” she asked with astonishment.
“Correct.” He finished the note and then handed it to her. “His people will help you make the stuffed animals with your direction.”
“Are you sure he’ll do it with only a note?” she asked.
Chris owned Fillmore’s store. But only few people were aware of that. So instead of telling her so, Chris nodded. “I need ten by Friday. Those I will pay a reasonable price for, but no more until after the test.”
“Where is the test done?” she asked.
“I’ve a few children I plan to give them to. They’ll tell me whether or not they like them.” He was speaking of the orphanage. That was where Chris tested all his toys, which was convenient.
He stood, indicating the meeting was over. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Garrett.”
Mrs. Garrett curtseyed, and smiled up at Chris as though he were a prince. “Thank you, Mr. Smith.” She clenched her note and slipped from the door, as though Chris had promised her everything she ever hoped for.
Nash closed the door again and looked at his brother.
The office was very small, and without a single adornment, besides the stuffed animal that now sat on the desk. Anyone looking at Chris would think he made just enough money to get by. His clothing was always well cut, but he didn’t bother wearing gold or silver buttons, and though his townhouse was well decorated, it was small, considering what the man could afford.
In truth, Chris was wealthier than most of the blue bloods, but no one knew that but Nash and Reuben. Nash didn’t understand his brother and his need to hide behind the image of a simple storekeeper, but had always assumed it to be that Chris was an extraordinary humble man.
Now, Nash wasn’t sure he knew anything about Chris, or his intentions.
“You’re keeping this one?” Nash asked, as he moved to the desk and picked up the bear. It was softer than he’d expected. He wanted to rest his head on it and use it for a pillow.
“I’ve a nephew who might enjoy it,” Chris announced. He was speaking of Alexandria’s son.
“What happens if the children don’t like it?” Nash asked.
“Then I don’t buy any more of them, and Mrs. Garrett will have to return to her mother-in-law’s kitchens,” Chris said coolly. “But they will sell.” And he’d make a tidy fortune.
Chris’s gaze narrowed, not in anger, but suspicion. “I didn’t expect you to come to me.”
Neither had Nash, but his meeting at the orphanage had taken a turn he hadn’t been prepared for.
He took the seat in front of Chris’s desk, and put the bear down. “You offered to help, so here I am.”
<
br /> Chris lifted a brow but said nothing.
Nash asked, “What ideas did you have in order to remove Lord Brandell from his seat?”
Chris crossed his arms. “We’ve gone from removing him from the world, to simply taking his seat. That speaks well of your self-control.”
“Only because I want him to live and suffer for what he’s done.” Nash had been holding in his rage until that very moment. The thought of killing Brandell did give him pleasure, but the thought of the man suffering, for as long as he’d made his mother suffer, would be more fulfilling.
Chris stood. “Say no more until Reuben joins us. We’ll eat while we wait.” Chris moved to the door and called one of the men who were working in the toy store. After giving him instructions, he closed the door behind him.
The meal came quickly. Reuben came later, and then Nash went into the story, first by sharing the disappearance of Lord Selby.
“Today I took the women to the orphanage, and we spoke of Mr. Ogden.” Nash was now standing by an empty wall.
Reuben sat. “He’s the man you suspect to have kidnapped Lord Selby, in order to take the title?”
Nash nodded.
Chris asked, “But what does this have to do with Lord Brandell?”
“Mr. Ogden may have taken instruction from my uncle, and rid the world of Lord Selby, just as he got rid of my father.” He remembered his mother’s face as she’d told the story. Nash had felt his heart tearing apart, as he was forced to watch his mother in tears, without being able to do anything to comfort her. He couldn’t hold her and offer her the love he wished he could give, the love of a son to his mother. That would never be them.
But this, he could do.
Reuben narrowed his green eyes. “You think Lord Brandell helped Mr. Ogden?”
“It’s what my mother thinks,” Nash said.
“Be mindful of your words,” Chris said in a very controlled voice. “If you continue to speak of these people as your familiars, it will eventually slip from your mouth when they are in your company.”
“Then maybe they should know,” Nash said. He’d never wanted one of Mrs. Best’s letters in the papers, more than he did now. He started pacing. “My mother… she’s alone. I don’t want her feeling that way. She should know I’m here, that I’m not dead.”
Reuben shared a look with Chris before turning to Nash. “What exactly did Lady Brandell say?”
“She blames herself,” Nash said. “She takes the blame for Lord Selby’s disappearance and her husband’s death. She recalls finding Uncle Rez speaking to Mr. Reed, his assistant, in a quiet tone that morning before they went on the hunt. She said she felt something odd about their meeting, and then, hours later, her husband was returned to her, dead. She said it was Mr. Reed who shot him. He’d been carrying a few of the guns for the men. One fell and went off. The lords all agreed to call it an accident and say they didn’t know who shot the gun, so that Mr. Reed wouldn’t see prison.”
Nash hadn’t been able to believe what he was hearing.
“How did your mother find out this story?” Reuben asked.
“From Karl.” He cursed his cousin. “Karl was deep in his cups one night; and shared what he’d heard his father and Mr. Reed discussing; in private.”
“And you believe it to be done on purpose?” Chris asked.
Nash rounded on him. “Of course, I do!”
Neither of his brothers seemed convinced.
Reuben said, “Even if the men spoke of it, it doesn’t mean it wasn’t accidental, and it’s more than likely that the other lords simply took pity on Mr. Reed for killing the earl.”
Nash shook his head, but then sighed. “Yes, it is possible the other lords had nothing to do with this, but my uncle is guilty.”
“Why do you think so?” Chris leaned on top of the desk. “What has you so convinced that your uncle plotted the murder?”
“Because Uncle Rez’s wife wouldn’t support Lord Brandell’s political party. She made everyone look poorly on him as the leader of his household; and lose the respect of his peers. Then Mr. Reed just so happened to be at the top of the stairs, when Uncle Rez’s wife took the tumble to her death.”
That gained his brothers’ attention. Lord Brandell had gotten rid of his wife and brother in the same manner—Mr. Reed.
“And now,” Nash said. “Lady Selby and my mother claim that Mr. Ogden and Lord Brandell have become fast friends.”
Reuben cursed and then shook his head. “I think you’re right. It’s all too convenient.”
“Indeed,” Chris said slowly, still watching Nash. “But there still seems to be something you’re not telling us.”
Reuben looked at Nash just in time to see his eyes widen.
Nash didn’t know how his brother knew he hadn’t shared everything, and didn’t ask, either. Instead, he shared his theory. “After I saw the women to their carriage, I went to see Alicia.” Alicia Best was the current caretaker for Best Home. “I asked her to see the books on all the sponsors Best Home had in 1788.” That was the year Nash had arrived at the orphanage. As London was finding out, Mary Best, the home’s original owner, had enjoyed keeping her records, and Alicia had easily found the pages Nash had asked to see. He’d spent the rest of the afternoon poring over those books. “Jeb Reed was listed as giving two pounds. The sum wasn’t great, but he was there, listed a few months after the day I was born.”
“Reed got rid of you,” Reuben said. “For your uncle. Do you think giving you away had been his plan? Or do you believe Reed had a moment of conscience?”
“The latter,” Nash said. “He also gave in ’87 and ‘86. He stopped soon after I arrived, likely not wishing anyone to connect me back to him.” Spared, because he was a child.
“How fortunate for you,” Chris said, as he gained his feet. “And for us, it seems. Now, I’ll share with you how I plan to not only remove Lord Brandell from his seat, but also how I plan to give it back to you.”
This announcement surprised Nash, but not Reuben. It seemed the brothers had already discussed this topic, which proved they actually meant to help Nash after all.
But to have the title… Nash wasn’t sure he wanted it. He only knew he wanted his uncle gone. He didn’t care to have it, himself. Karl could become Lord Brandell, for all he cared.
“What is your plan?” Nash asked.
“It’s dangerous,” Reuben said. “If your uncle is, in fact, the devil you claim him to be, you could be risking your very life.”
“All right,” Nash said with little worry. If his uncle wanted violence…
Chris narrowed his eyes. “And it won’t work if Brandell or Mr. Reed dies, Nash. If you ever want to see them brought to shame, they must still be breathing in the end.”
Nash held Chris’s gaze. “What’s your plan?”
There was a long pause.
And then he told him.
* * *
12
CHAPTER
TWELVE
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“Lady Samantha, I’ve never seen you take such great care with your appearance for dinner.” Karl lounged in a wingback chair in the corner of the sitting room, looking rather dashing, himself. His gaze raked her heatedly, but when it came to Karl, Samantha never knew if his attraction to her was real or not, and she knew he did so purposefully. He never allowed anyone to know his true thoughts. He crossed his arms. “Jolan, doesn’t Lady Samantha look ravishing?”
Jolan made a sound that sounded as though he neither agreed nor protested the statement, but he wasn’t looking at Samantha, either, so she had no clue what was playing in his mind. Jolan looked much like Karl, tall and attractive, but his coloring was completely different. His hair was brunette with only a hint of red, and pale blue eyes. His skin was gold, while Karl was pale.
Sam looked down at her beige gown. She had dressed with great care; but not any more t
han she’d done for other meals; she was sure of it. Which meant Karl was teasing her, trying to anger her. She ignored him and turned to Lord Brandell with a curtsy. “My lord.”
Brandell’s gaze was that indifferent look that lords mastered, but she knew the indifference was only a ploy. Brandell was one of the men who’d offered to make her a kept woman.
And if she ever felt inclined to take a lover, he would be the very last person on her list. Especially after what Lady Brandell and Lady Selby shared a few days ago. Since then, she’d lived in fear. Every noise she’d heard at night had made her jump. It was no wonder his sons were odd. Each was likely just trying to survive until the next day. The horrible man. She felt worse for Lady Brandell. Sam thought her the strongest woman in the world. She sat day after day in this house with this man and never said a word.
Once Upon an Earl_Heirs of High Society_A Regency Romance Book Page 9
