by Allison Lane
“What did he do?” His heart chilled as he considered possibilities.
“Refused to pay tuition, refused to provide either the Season or the dowry his father had promised, then made sure that the estate yielded so little that we could not afford even a short trip to Bath. He swore that he would destroy me if I dared go to town.” She shrugged.
“So you stayed here and blamed your grandfather?”
“Not exactly. By then, I had learned that he was no better than other men. He wanted me off his hands, so he ignored his son’s hatred and the pain I would have suffered from being held up to public ridicule. He was probably plotting to find Mother another husband, so he must have regretted giving us Redrock.”
“Not all men are schemers, Miss Ashburton. Perhaps he thought she would enjoy meeting her peers. London is quite entertaining, and she had never been able to enjoy it. How old was she when she married your father?”
“Sixteen.”
“No wonder she was not out.”
“She would never have had a Season. Her father considered London a den of iniquity unsuitable for gentlemen, let alone ladies.”
“Is he a Puritan?”
She absently straightened a pile of newspapers on a table, preventing him from seeing her face. “He was a vicar before inheriting an estate.”
“But even a rigid-thinking vicar would support her against Ashburton’s spite – or has he passed on?”
“I’ve no idea, but I doubt he would lift a finger for her. He thinks her dead.”
“Then he should be pleased to learn that she is well.”
“You misunderstand.” Her tone hardened. “The family disowned her twenty-seven years ago. To them, she is dead.”
He stared. Twenty-seven years would have been about the time of her marriage. Had she eloped? But Hope’s words answered one of his questions. Only someone harshly religious would have arranged a private sitting room as Mrs. Ashburton had. He’d been surprised at the stark gray walls and sparse, uncomfortable furnishings. The tapestry frame had contained a nearly finished rendering of a brutal Judgment Day in which few souls were awarded redemption. The only other personal items had been a well-worn Bible and a book of sermons.
But he knew better than most that parental regard always overcame anger in the end, no matter how severe the transgression. “I am sure he uttered harsh words at the time, but cooler heads would eventually have prevailed,” he said soothingly, moving around until he could see her face. “Even my own father, who is far from pleased with me, would never bar the door.”
“He can’t. You are his heir. Whatever his own feelings, he has no choice but to accept you.” The bleakness in her voice pulled him up short.
“You are serious.”
She nodded. “Mother rarely talks about her family, but I have learned a little over the years. They are very rigid thinkers who will never forgive the stain she put on the family name.”
“Stain?”
“Father seduced and abandoned her, leaving her with child,” she said bluntly.
“What a cad!”
She shrugged. “Her father did not tolerate sinners, so he threw her out with nothing but the clothes on her back. Only the eight shillings she’d concealed in her hem kept her from starving on the long walk to Sussex.”
He could feel the blood drain from his face. Such cruelty was so far beyond his own battles with a man he had long considered an ogre that he could barely comprehend it. For the first time in his life, he admitted that his father truly cared about him. Despite their differences, Montcalm would not dream of treating him so badly. If he’d truly despised his son, he could have canceled his allowance years ago, or even incarcerated him.
Hope continued. “She wrote home twice – once to announce her marriage, and again, after Father died, to reveal my birth. They did not respond. I was a sickly infant, so she put them behind her and concentrated on me.”
“How long had she been wed before you were born?”
“Three months.” Again she turned her back on him. “When she arrived at Ashburton Park, Grandfather was furious – or so he claimed. Mother never talks of those days, but he told me the tale just before he died. He forced Father to wed her, then settled them here, canceling Father’s allowance so he would have to remain and meet his obligations.”
“A huge demand.”
“An impossible demand,” she countered, whirling to glare at him. “Father was an arrogant, selfish drunkard who exerted no control over his behavior and rarely looked beyond the desire of the moment. When he met Mother, he wanted her. So he took her. He was furious to be thrust into marriage five months later with a girl he’d already forgotten. My birth was several weeks early because one of his beatings initiated labor.”
He cursed, but she ignored him.
“Mother named me Hope because she hoped I would survive long enough to be baptized. Father refused to summon either a doctor or a vicar, lest his own crimes come to light, so she lay near death for nearly a month, with only Mrs. Tweed to attend her. When Grandfather discovered the truth, he summoned Father home.”
“For a tongue-lashing, I suppose.”
“Father was already furious that his great sacrifice had not produced an heir. Their confrontation exploded into a fierce argument, though Grandfather declined to give me any details. In the end, Father bolted for the local inn, where he added several bottles of wine to what he’d already consumed. On his way back to the Park, he tumbled into the river and drowned.”
“Your mother was better off without him,” he said frankly. “As were you.”
“I know. Dealing with Uncle Edward is difficult enough. At least he does not resort to violence when in his cups.” She picked up a feather duster and attacked the mantel.
That explained Hope’s fear, he realized. None of the men in her mother’s life had been pleasant, but those who were closest had invariably caused pain – the father who threw her out; the husband who first ruined her, then nearly killed her; the brother-in-law who made her life as miserable as possible. Even Hope’s grandfather had failed her. No wonder she feared placing another man in a position of power.
He touched her arm, turning her to face him. “You have been poorly used by men all your life, haven’t you?”
“No more than others.”
“Much more. Most people are not like that, Miss Ashburton. I will never treat you thus,” he vowed, then continued before she could respond. “But I do not understand why Ashburton hates you – or your mother, for that matter. Surely his father explained what had happened.”
She smiled wanly, then took a seat, motioning him into a chair well out of reach. “Uncle Edward adored his brother, emulating him in all things. In his mind, Arnold could do no wrong.”
“Was he blind and deaf? Surely others derided Arnold’s excesses.”
“Just as others deride Dornbras?” she asked, a twinkle briefly lighting her eyes. “I understand that Lord Rockhurst has long railed against him.”
“Touché, my dear. Some of us are indeed blind, though at least I have seen the light.”
Her humor faded. “Uncle never has. He twists his memories to make Father a saint, explaining criticism as jealousy or a way to deflect attention from the speaker’s own misdeeds. He blames us for Father’s death and for ending his Grand Tour – he hated abandoning those signorinas. Since Grandfather made him settle the succession the moment he returned, he also blames us for saddling him with a managing wife.”
“He blames you for his wife?”
“Of course.” Surprised threaded the words. “Like most men, he cannot attribute his problems to fate, let alone admit fault. We have become his scapegoat for everything wrong in his life. Grandfather’s death shortly after leaving here added another grievance – we had parted in anger, contributing to his fit.”
He heard the guilt. “You cannot believe that you killed him.”
“Uncle Edward does.” She shrugged.
“So he prevented
you from entering society and did his best to ruin you.”
She nodded.
“But he can no longer hurt you,” he reminded her softly. “You are free to pursue the life he held hostage. It is not too late to seek marriage and a family of your own.”
“I have no interest in such affairs,” she vowed, though he thought a hint of longing briefly flashed in her eyes. “And you haven’t been listening. As long as my uncle breathes, he will destroy me if I dare enter society. Besides, Mother needs me. Who would nurse her through her next illness if I abandoned her?”
It was not the response he wanted, though he would welcome Mrs. Ashburton into his home. And while she had been unexpectedly candid, he still had questions. Even considering his own experience with blind stupidity, her explanation for Ashburton’s was inadequate. The man was not actually insane, so why was he still threatening her?
But Hope was clearly through confiding in him, so he turned the topic. “What were you looking for in the herbal?”
“A tonic that might restore Mother’s strength.”
He doubted such a thing existed, but this was not the time to quibble. “Revealing that Redrock will recover its former prosperity might help.”
“I can hardly explain that without telling her that you now own it. She can barely manage to eat. How can I burden her with new troubles?”
“You consider my ownership trouble?”
“Let’s see—” Laughter filled her eyes as she ticked off points on her fingers. “Your first reaction was to break the lease. Then you moved in, exposed me to censure from my neighbors, provided me with two additional patients, brought my uncle’s wrath onto my head—”
“Enough,” he begged, chuckling as he covered his head to protect it from her barbs. “I am a depraved devil unfit for human society, a traitor to every decent thought, a Jonah, a—”
“Doing it far too brown, my lord,” she said, joining his mirth.
“A bit, but so are you. I admit to inadvertently wronging you – and will do all that is possible to rectify my errors – but I’ve done nothing to harm your mother. Nor will I. Tell her of the change. Knowing that Ashburton can no longer meddle in her affairs could provide peace of mind. Tell her I am restoring the estate. Since she receives half the income, her finances should improve. I cannot let Redrock languish, as it will supply all of my own income.”
“So I’ve heard. Why does your father want you at home?”
“To turn me into a boring, disapproving recluse like himself.”
“Impossible. You are far too alive to bury yourself in the country.”
“That is not strictly true. I would not bury myself as he does, but neither am I happy living in town. London society is more interesting in small doses than as a steady diet. And I am fascinated by innovation, particularly in agriculture.”
“Then I would think your father would be pleased.”
“He doesn’t trust my judgment,” he admitted, pacing to the window and back.
“Why?”
He nearly tossed out his usual reply – stubbornness – but she needed to know the truth. “He cites youthful indiscretions to prove me incompetent – like the Horseley ball and the Ashleigh affair.”
“Wasn’t that a ridiculous wager over walking backward from London to Brighton, or some such thing?”
“Not quite that stupid, but how did you know of it? It happened at least ten years ago.”
“Agnes. She has repeated every scrap of gossip about you for months.”
He groaned. “No wonder you think me depraved. But the truth is rather tame. It was not I who proposed the wager – Ashleigh’s walk was from Hyde Park Corner to Chalk Down, by the way; silly, but hardly impossible. I backed him for the grand sum of ten guineas, for I knew how stubborn he was. He would die rather than admit defeat.”
“So you are again claiming sainthood?” She smiled.
“No. There are any number of things I would do differently if I could go back, but we can only live in one direction. Where Father and I differ is that he prefers not to live at all. We even disagree on planting and harvesting. He refuses to accept that new ideas might actually be better.” He sighed.
“So you came to blows, so to speak, and now you have no allowance.”
“We will make up this quarrel eventually,” he admitted. “Part of it was my fault for not explaining my intentions.” Where had that admission come from? Portraying himself as a hotheaded fool would hardly make her more amenable to wedding him. “Sooner or later, he is bound to realize that the incidents he most despises happened long ago.”
“And that you are now dedicating your life to productive occupation and a sober existence?” She burst into laughter on the final word.
He joined in. “Not quite that staid, God help me.”
“I didn’t think so. But you are right about Mother. Despite your questionable reputation, knowing that Redrock has changed hands must be good news.”
Smiling, she headed upstairs.
Good news. He had taken a huge step toward winning her hand today. Warmth spread through his chest.
* * * *
Max stood in the library doorway as Hope and Blake returned from a walk in the garden. She laughed, looking more carefree than he had ever seen her. His teeth clenched as Blake patted her hand. Despite the man’s protestations of disinterest, he was being far too friendly.
Blake headed for the stables, leaving Hope to enter the library alone. How many other assignations had they conducted under his nose?
Fury built a red mist before his eyes – fury at Blake for courting her when he knew she was spoken for, fury at Hope for turning brighter smiles on Blake than on the man she must wed, and fury at himself for not settling this sooner.
“Am I to wish you happy?” he demanded when she reached the door.
“What are you talking about?” The light drained from her eyes, revealing deep weariness.
He had no right to be irritated with her, but he couldn’t stop his words. Every time he thought he understood her, she proved him wrong. This morning, she had seemed to favor him, but that had been wishful thinking, he saw now. She was far warmer with Blake.
So let Blake have her, urged the voice.
But he couldn’t. She was his responsibility. And Blake insisted that he didn’t want her. “You and Blake have certainly become close,” he snapped, ignoring her sudden pallor. “How can you wander about in his company without a chaperon?”
“You’ve never complained about meeting me without a chaperon.”
“And look where that’s gotten us! I’ve compromised you so badly that we will have to wed if I’m to have any hope of redeeming your reputation. But even that won’t help if you insist on throwing yourself at every man you meet.”
“You are mad.” She backed a step.
He grabbed her shoulders so she couldn’t run away. “You are staying here, Hope. We need to settle this.”
“There is nothing to settle.”
“You cannot ignore facts,” he insisted. “I’ve compromised you.”
“Fustian. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“What about coming to my bedchamber in the middle of the night?” he pointed out, furious to see denial stamped on her face.
“No one will ever know about that.”
“Don’t count on it. Truth always comes out in the end.”
“No.”
He snorted. “Pay attention, Hope. Nothing escapes the gossips. They will twist every word, every glance, every denial into new scandal. Can’t you hear Mr. Winters chortling over your downfall, or Miss Porter telling the world that you are my latest conquest. And what do you think your uncle will do?”
“I don’t care.” Tears brightened her eyes.
“But I do.” He held her gaze for a long moment. “I won’t have either of our names dragged through the mud.”
Pulling away from his grip, she retreated to the far side of the room. “You will have to live with suspicion, m
y lord.” Her voice was firm. “I would rather be the subject of endless gossip than wed you, so you can give up this silly notion and leave. You won’t circumvent the lease so easily.”
“Damn the lease!” he snapped, temper shattering as he strode after her. “You can’t avoid the truth by confusing the issue. Or is it Blake? Have you decided that he will make a more conformable husband?”
“What?” She blanched.
“Forget Blake,” he growled, backing her into a corner, even as a voice in his head warned him to calm down. “He has no interest in acquiring a wife, so throwing yourself at him merely marks you as a forward hoyden.”
“How dare you twist the facts and assume others behave as you would? If any tales are bandied about, I’ll know who to blame. You are despicable.”
“No. I am realistic. You are the one who is hiding, Hope. You claim not to care, yet merely mentioning impropriety has you in tears.” He reached out to wipe the evidence from one cheek. “You know we must wed. Instead of arguing about it, we would be better served to work out the details.”
“Arrogant, conceited fool.” She slapped his hand away. “Pay attention. I have no intention of wedding anyone, least of all you. I’d become Uncle Edward’s mistress first.”
“The hell you would!” He jerked her close enough to glare into her eyes. “You are mine, Hope. It’s time you admitted it.”
Something kindled deep in the gray that was neither fury nor fear. Giving himself no time to think, he took what he’d wanted since arriving at Redrock. His lips crushed hers as he plundered her mouth.
For a long moment, Hope was too surprised to move, but as his tongue boldly twined with hers, she sagged against him, relishing his kiss as if it were food and she was starving.
Her senses reeled from an emotional onslaught she’d hardly followed and didn’t understand. When she’d spotted him in the library doorway, her first reaction had been joy, quickly stifled because she dared not reveal her growing obsession. After avoiding him for two days, she’d been horrified to discover that she missed his flirtatious banter and myriad touches. Hardly an hour had passed when he wasn’t in her thoughts. She still couldn’t believe she had told him so much about her family that morning, but once she’d started talking, she hadn’t been able to stop.
