CAD'S WISH

by Cheryl Holt

  “Yes, you can take her away,” Winston said to the boy, then he murmured to her, “Don’t forget: If you can’t convince Marston to have you, then you will have to relinquish Parkhurst to me once he leaves.”

  “I won’t forget.”

  She stood and departed, and he eased back in his chair, though he was momentarily disturbed by how the boy glared virulently in his direction.

  Winston ignored him, being content to gloat over the fact that Marston would never marry Rebecca, so Parkhurst was about to be Winston’s.

  Amelia never should have included it in Rebecca’s dowry anyway. He’d ordered her not to, but she’d proceeded secretly, so she’d have to be punished for deceiving him.

  He’d been harassing Rebecca about the property for weeks. Why shouldn’t it be his? She didn’t need Parkhurst, but he definitely did.

  She’d sign it over or he swore he’d lock her in an asylum, then seize it in the courts as her guardian. He was that determined to wrest it from her, and the conclusion would crash into her like a runaway carriage. She’d never see it coming.

  ****

  “Have you spoken to her?”

  “Yes, but it was a waste of breath. She was as intractable as ever.”

  Amelia sighed with disappointment. She’d asked Winston to talk to Rebecca, hoping a severe lecture would force her to be more compliant, but from the morning Amelia had mentioned finding her a husband, she’d been sly and disrespectful.

  They were in Amelia’s bedroom suite. She was seated at her dressing table, and she’d been brushing her hair and getting ready for bed when Winston had blustered in.

  “Were you able to corral Marston into socializing with her?” Winston inquired.

  “No. He barely glanced at either of us.”

  “I warned you that it was stupid to contact his father about a betrothal.”

  “Yes, yes, you’ve only scolded me a thousand times.”

  “Then why don’t you listen?”

  He loomed up behind her and laid his palms on her shoulders, and he squeezed tightly enough that it hurt. She shook him off and spun to face him. He wasn’t that tall, but he was standing, and she was sitting, so he towered over her.

  “Rebecca is a good catch!” she insisted, and he scoffed.

  “That might be true in your deluded mind, but not in anyone else’s. We are taking Parkhurst out of her dowry. You are not to offer it in the future.”

  “But…but…if I remove the estate, how will she tempt a candidate? How will I snag an aristocrat for her without it being included?”

  “You don’t want to snag an aristocrat for her. You’re assuaging your own vanity. Rebecca doesn’t care one way or the other. You could probably betroth her to a dog, and she wouldn’t notice.”

  “Her father gave Parkhurst to her! She can buy herself a very high husband with it.”

  Winston leaned down, so they were nose to nose. “She’s agreed to sign her share over to me.”

  “You should have discussed it with me first.”

  “Why would I discuss it with you? You have been insane about the entire engagement, and I need the money. How often must I explain it to you?”

  “She’s my only child, and I have to do what I think is best for her.”

  “What about what is best for me? I have a month to repay my loan. If I don’t, you’re aware of what will happen to me. Will you let me be killed by my creditors? Is Rebecca’s portion of this blasted farm worth more than my life?”

  Winston could be melodramatic, and he had a temper, which she wouldn’t indulge. “Your creditors won’t kill you. They’re bluffing.”

  “Can you swear they are?”

  He was awful with money. As her bequest from Sir Edmund had dwindled, he’d begun looking into various mining and import schemes to rebuild their emptied nest egg.

  Over the past year, he’d joined a men’s club in town where he frequently heard about new ventures that would provide a large return on any capital. He’d refused to clarify any details, claiming she wouldn’t grasp the intricacies of commerce, but they’d sounded rather shady to her.

  He’d had no funds to invest, but there had been eager men who’d stepped forward with loans, as well as with vows that the projects were incredibly safe. In the end, he’d lost every penny he’d borrowed. And now, the men who’d forked over a small fortune to him were demanding what was owed—with substantial interest accruing.

  A group of ruffians had visited them and had ordered him to comply in thirty days, and he was growing frantic. She was certain he was exaggerating the danger. This was England. Villains were not allowed to commit murder over a debt.

  “If Rebecca wed an aristocrat,” she said, “no fiend would dare to threaten you. A lofty marriage, into a prominent family, would supply some protection. Have you thought about that?”

  “Bugger your aristocrats! Stop harping about them!”

  She’d exhausted his patience, and he whipped away and slammed out of the room.

  She sat forever, drained over how she’d arrived at such a despicable spot. As a girl, from the minute he’d moved into her father’s house to teach her brother, she’d been fiercely smitten. She’d been very young though, and in hindsight, she suspected she might have succumbed to a very wily, craftily planned seduction.

  There had been no possibility of her marrying him. He’d been too far beneath her, and she’d been given to a much older, widowed, Sir Edmund, instead. Her love for Winston had never dimmed though, and it had sustained her for an eternity, with her steeped in poignant yearning for how they could eventually be together.

  It had taken a decade for Sir Edmund to pass away, then she’d rushed into the marriage to Winston that she’d always wanted. Her father and brother had been deceased by then, the title handed over to a distant cousin who didn’t care how she carried on. She’d latched onto Winston immediately, but…

  The reality wasn’t anything like the dream had been. He was difficult, greedy, and unhappy, and he blamed her for every mistake he made. Most especially, he accused her of tricking him. Sir Edmund hadn’t been nearly as wealthy as they’d believed, so he hadn’t ended up with the grand life she’d promised.

  She hadn’t inherited Parkhurst either, even though she’d expected she would. She hadn’t understood what Sir Edmund had arranged until his Last Will was read, and she’d been too nervous to inform Winston of the situation. She’d wed him—had trapped him—before she’d confessed the truth, and he’d never forgiven her for her duplicity.

  He’d been plotting to get hold of the property ever since, and with his debts mounting, he was sure he could steal it from Rebecca.

  Would Amelia prevent him? How could she? If she tried, it would be one more nail in the coffin of his love for her. Each year, it waned a bit more, and she was afraid it would soon blink out completely. What would she do then? If she didn’t have Winston, what would she have?

  She stared at the door, wondering if she shouldn’t chase after him and apologize for having such an ungrateful daughter. But just that moment, she didn’t have the energy for groveling. She blew out the lamp, then staggered over and climbed into bed, feeling greatly soothed by the dark night.

  ****

  “You look very fetching.”

  Nate smiled at Rebecca. She was plain, but rich, so he wasn’t put off by her ordinary features. She was quiet too, which was definitely a benefit. In London, he was surrounded by doxies who were bold and brash and who blathered on constantly. In his view, women didn’t need to be spouting off every second.

  “Thank you for the compliment,” she said. “I know you don’t mean it, but it’s sweet that you offered one.”

  “I do mean it!” he claimed. “Why would I lie?”

  “You’ve discovered I’m an heiress, and suddenly, you’re dancing attendance on me. I can’t help but be suspicious.”

  His cheeks heated, and he hoped she didn’t notice. “It’s nothing like that. I’m simply a friendly per
son.” He gestured to the harpsichord. “Would you play a song for me? I was drinking port with your stepfather, so I missed most of your performance.”

  “I shouldn’t inflict my pathetic talent on your poor ears.”

  “I bet you sounded marvelous.” He beamed at her, struggling to appear amiable rather than lecherous.

  “Thank you again,” she said, “but I’m aware of my short-comings. Besides, my parents have already gone up to bed. If I start banging on the keys, it might disturb them.”

  They were still in the front parlor, with him seated on a sofa, and her seated on a chair across. Initially, she had been on the sofa, and he’d slyly snuggled down next to her, but she’d promptly jumped over to the chair.

  He’d tarried after supper, trying to enjoy a normal evening of normal conversation, but normality with the Websters had been impossible. Hunter had vanished into the garden, and when he’d returned, he’d headed straight to bed. Hannah Graves had come in after him, and she’d headed up too. Nate had worked at chatting with Mr. and Mrs. Webster, but they’d been quarreling, so the entire ordeal had been awkward.

  They had finally departed too, and a spark of excitement had flared as Nate assumed he’d have Rebecca all to himself, but he’d never been lucky.

  A pair of footmen were hovering over by the hearth and furtively watching him. The bastard brother, Jackson, kept flitting in and out too, providing the distinct impression that he was spying on Nate.

  Nate was a renowned scapegrace who’d engaged in his share of sexual misadventures. There were always girls who sent the wrong signal, who insisted afterward that they hadn’t been interested, but how was a fellow supposed to guess?

  When he’d been younger and stupider, he’d landed himself in several embarrassing incidents where his father had paid damages to angry parents in order to rectify Nate’s carnal blunders. Those conclusions were a closely guarded secret, particularly from Hunter who didn’t like to see women mistreated.

  “It’s stuffy in here,” he said to her. “Would you like to walk with me in the garden? The fresh air would be beneficial.”

  “It wouldn’t be appropriate for us to walk so late.”

  “Shall we play cards then? Everyone else has called it a night, but I’m feeling annoyingly perky. How about you?”

  “I don’t like to play cards. I think I’ll probably head up to bed too.”

  “But it’s so early.”

  “I’m afraid it’s our country schedule. We sleep early and rise early.” She motioned to the two footmen. “They have to start their chores at dawn. I’m sure they’re exhausted, and we shouldn’t force them to dawdle.”

  Of all the worries on Nate’s plate, the fatigue level of the servants was far down on the list.

  “We’re leaving in the morning,” he said, panicked that he hadn’t made any progress with her.

  “I’m sorry we weren’t able to furnish more socializing, but we don’t have much company.”

  “Why don’t you have much company?” he asked. “Parkhurst is such a beautiful property. I’d imagine you entertaining constantly. Is there a problem with your neighbors?”

  She frowned, as if he’d crossed a line he shouldn’t have crossed, then she stood and said, “Goodnight, Mr. Carew.”

  He leaned nearer and murmured, “Would you call me Nate?”

  “I couldn’t. I don’t believe my mother would like it.”

  She strolled away, and he sat on the sofa, listening as her footsteps faded. After it was silent again, he held out his whiskey glass to one of the footmen.

  “Fill me up, would you? Then you can take to your bed. I’ll be going up shortly, so you don’t have to glower at me like a grouchy nanny.”

  “We don’t mind waiting with you,” he said as he poured liquor to the rim. It was nice to see the dolt wouldn’t be stingy.

  “I’ve excused you,” Nate told him, “and if you’re ever scolded for abandoning me, you can say I chased you away.”

  “Will you remember to blow out the lamp?”

  “Yes. Go! Go!”

  The pair whispered a quick debate, then one of them yawned, which settled it. They slunk off too.

  He should have followed them, but he hadn’t been lying to Miss Rebecca when he’d said he was feeling perky. His thoughts were racing with schemes and how he could bring them to fruition.

  His father had been a gentleman farmer who’d loved to hunt, dally with loose women, and gambol in town. He’d lived extravagantly and had died penniless. The family’s estate had been seized by creditors.

  Nate had had nothing to inherit, but he was possessed of his father’s same expensive habits. He reveled like a wealthy man, so he’d borrowed money everywhere, and his recklessness was becoming a dicey issue.

  He wasn’t a nobleman who could spend without consequence. He couldn’t ignore merchants and fail to pay—as pricks like Hunter and his father could do. He was receiving demand letters from tradesmen, and legal action had been commenced to collect numerous debts. He was three months behind on the rent, and even his tailor had refused to accept any new orders unless Nate squared some arrears.

  Miss Rebecca is an heiress…an heiress…an heiress…

  The word heiress rang in his head. She’d been dropped into his life—as if by magic. Hunter had had a chance to snatch her up, but he hadn’t been interested.

  Well, Nate was interested. If he married the boring, insipid girl, his fiscal difficulties would be wiped away. Why shouldn’t he try it?

  Her mother wouldn’t like it, but Nate wasn’t concerned about her. He had a dormant conscience and no scruples. He wouldn’t blink an eye over convincing Rebecca to elope. He was a smooth-talker, and he simply required some time to ease her into the idea of how romantic it would be to run away together.

  Hunter wanted to ride off in the morning, but Nate had to persuade him that they should tarry for a few days. Nate needed the opportunity to ingratiate himself so she’d begin to trust him.

  And if she couldn’t be convinced?

  She wasn’t the first female who’d told him no. If she couldn’t be cajoled through gentle methods, he was happy to use rougher ones. She would be his bride—by fair means or foul. Her money would pay off his debts, and he’d be a landowner again. His legal troubles would vanish, and his social standing would be restored.

  Yes, yes, yes. Rebecca Graves was the answer to his prayers. She just didn’t know it yet. She’d be lucky to have him as her husband. Even if she didn’t feel lucky in the end, she’d be his anyway, and he would be delighted to have rendered the conclusion that was so desperately necessary.

  ****

  Jackson hovered in the shadows, watching Nate Carew finish his liquor.

  Once he’d swallowed the last gulp, he lit a candle and went to the stairs. He left the lamp burning, even though he’d promised the footmen he’d blow it out. Jackson did it for him, then he tiptoed after him to be sure he proceeded to his bedchamber without any detours.

  He wandered down the halls, and he was drunker than he’d let on, and it was another strike against his character. Jackson was a young man, but he’d observed too many of his mother’s dissolute companions when they were inebriated, and he couldn’t understand why anyone would like being so sloppy or out of control.

  Carew reached his room without incident, and Jackson dawdled until he spun the key in the lock, then he snuck away and descended to the lower parlors.

  The house was quiet, everyone asleep but him, but then, he suffered from terrible insomnia. It was a condition that had developed when his mother had still been alive. She’d frequently disappeared for days—and nights—at a time, and he’d paced in the dark, wondering if she’d ever return.

  Many of his earliest memories were of those exhausting, scary episodes.

  He’d been given a bed in the attic that he was sharing with a cordial footman. The housekeeper hadn’t been able to figure out where to put him, and when Hannah had been apprised of the decision,
she’d been aghast. She’d planned to demand he have a suite of his own, claiming he deserved it as Sir Edmund’s only son, but he didn’t want a fancy room.

  He was content with less conspicuous accommodations. It allowed him to come and go without people noticing. It was how he liked to carry on, and he learned many important details that way.

  It would be a very long night, and he suspected Winston Webster had many secrets tucked away in private spots. He went to the man’s library and started to snoop through the drawers in his desk.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Could I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  Hannah smiled at Rebecca. They’d gone to church in the village, and they were walking home. The vicar had droned on during his sermon, so the service had been extra long, then there had been a breakfast social on the lawn afterward. She’d had a chance to chat with neighbors she hadn’t seen in ages, so it was almost noon, and they were finally headed back to Parkhurst.

  It was just the two of them, which Hannah liked very much. No one from the manor had attended with them, especially not Hunter Stone who’d previously bragged about being a heathen. Besides, he was leaving for London and would have already departed. She suffered a twinge of regret about it, but it was only a twinge.

  He was an intriguing distraction, and she had many familial matters to deal with. She didn’t need him diverting her from her problems.

  “I talked to Jackson about this,” Rebecca said, “and he insisted I tell you right away.”

  “Have you become friendly with him? I’m so glad to hear it. I like having a brother. How about you?”

  “Well, I didn’t suppose I would like it—or him. Initially, when you informed Mother about him a few months ago, she flooded the house with awful comments, so I assumed he would be awful, but I like him very much.”

  “Good. He had a grim upbringing, and it shaped him in rough ways, so he doesn’t always behave as you or I might expect. We have to remember that about him—and make allowances.”

  “Might we have other half-siblings out there in the world?”