by Cheryl Holt
“Pardon me, sir,” she said to him, “but you were gazing at Miss Carstairs so fondly. Do you know her?”
“Yes, I know her.”
“I know her too.”
He bit down a scathing retort of, I seriously doubt that.
“Good for you,” he muttered instead.
“I called to her, but she couldn’t hear me.”
“Yes, it’s been very loud.”
He tried to walk by her, but she clasped his arm. “Can you tell me where she went? Are you going there now?”
“No, I’m not going there,” he firmly stated.
“Where does she live? How would I find her lodging?”
He scowled. “I can’t tell you any of that.”
“When you talk to her, will you inform her you spoke to Caroline Grey? I’ve been searching for her.”
The name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it. “Yes, I’ll be sure to apprise her for you.”
It was a lie. In light of his current foul mood, he didn’t think he’d ever converse with Libby Carstairs again.
He wasn’t normally cruel though, so he could have mentioned that Libby was always working at various theaters, that Miss Grey could probably track her down at one of them. But in her bedraggled condition, she didn’t seem like a person Libby would want showing up to pester her.
He circled by her and kept on, and she said, “It’s Caroline Grey! Little Caro! Don’t forget! I’ve missed her desperately!”
She offered another comment, but there was too much noise, and he couldn’t hear what it was.
He marched past the teeming crowd, and no one was leaving. Their darling Libby had been freed, but they looked bewildered. How would they rid themselves of their pent-up energy? He hoped they didn’t start a riot merely because they didn’t have anything better to do.
His horse was right where he’d left it. The boy tending it was anxiously watching for him. Luke tossed him more coins than he should have, then he jumped into the saddle and turned the animal so he could travel in the opposite direction from the one Libby had taken.
Heaven forbid that he catch up with her. Heaven forbid that they cross paths again.
He rode away from her, from the prison, from London, and headed home to Barrett.
Millicent stormed into Charles’s library. She was boiling with fury, and she blamed him for every mistake they’d committed so far.
It was bad enough that she’d been forced to wrestle with that wretched Libby Carstairs by herself, but while Charles had been away, Simon Falcon had been toying with Penny’s affections and convincing her that Luke wasn’t a viable option to be her husband. Luke—who was a titled earl! Luke—who was head of one of the oldest, most prestigious families in the land!
The immature girl likely deemed herself in love with the despicable creature. Had it occurred to her that he was simply after her dowry? Was she expecting Charles to blithely offer it to the petty criminal?
Charles had just returned from town, and he was sitting behind his desk and drinking a whiskey. She hadn’t realized he was back, and she’d been rudely summoned to speak with him immediately. Apparently, he planned an urgent conversation, so she’d had to instantly march down the stairs to oblige him.
She had so many complaints to voice that she felt as if she was choking on them, and if he didn’t side with her for once, she didn’t know how she’d react.
“We’ve had the most shocking situation develop,” she said, seizing the offensive as she marched over to sit in the chair across from him. It didn’t matter what he was eager to discuss. She had too many issues of her own, and she had to get them out on the table before they reviewed any of his paltry problems.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Penny has been misbehaving with that scoundrel, Simon Falcon.”
“Oh, no.”
“I bribed him to go away and leave her alone.”
He sighed with aggravation. “Millicent! I wish you wouldn’t have. You should have let me handle it.”
“I would have been glad to, but you weren’t here. He took my money, and he insisted he’d heed me, but he hasn’t. What should we do?”
“I’ll deal with it.”
“Really? As you dealt with Miss Carstairs? I’m sorry, but I don’t trust you to manage it appropriately. If we’re not careful, I’m afraid the irresponsible pair might elope.”
He scoffed with derision. “Penny is not about to elope with Simon Falcon. She would never be that reckless.”
“Are you sure about that? She’s your daughter, so she has your same blood running in her veins. You were just a few years older than she is now when you dashed off with Amanda.”
“Penny isn’t me, and she wouldn’t hurt me that way. She understands how distressed I’d be.”
“If that’s what you assume—that Penny would never engage in mischief—then you’re a fool.”
He shrugged. “Probably.”
“Mr. Falcon is a confidence artist! I believe he intends to abscond with her so he can glom onto her dowry.”
“I would never sign it over to him, and Penny would recognize that. She would never traipse off to live in poverty with him. She’s been too spoiled by life.”
Millicent clucked her tongue in disgust. “Is that your answer? She’s spoiled so she won’t be negligent? Mr. Falcon is a handsome, flamboyant cad, and she’s clearly besotted.”
He shrugged again. “I’ll talk to her.”
“Then I’m certain it will all work out brilliantly,” she snidely said.
“I’m certain it will too,” he agreed.
It was pointless to criticize Penny. She’d been growing more recalcitrant and stubborn by the day, but he refused to accept what she was truly like. Well, Millicent had warned him. If he wasn’t concerned, why should she be? She shifted to the other topic that had left her consumed with rage.
“Have you seen the London newspapers?” she asked.
“Yes, I’ve seen them.”
“Miss Carstairs has successfully spread her lies. There will be no tamping them down.”
“No, I don’t suppose there will be.”
“People will demand you claim her—even though she’s a fraud!”
“It’s already started.” He was studying her over the rim of his glass, his expression curious and probing, as if he couldn’t quite remember who she was, then suddenly, he said, “You had her arrested. Would you like to explain that to me?”
She hadn’t expected the accusation, so she hadn’t been prepared for it, and she blurted out, “Of course I had her arrested.”
“You had Miss Fishburn arrested too.”
Millicent’s cheeks flushed. “She’s a thief. I caught her in your bedchamber, riffling through your jewelry.”
“What was stolen?”
She couldn’t reply because—as far as she was aware—nothing was missing. But Miss Fishburn was a slattern, so she would have stolen something if given the chance.
“I haven’t checked your dressers,” she said. “Besides, I wouldn’t know what was there in the first place. I’m not the person to make a list of the items.”
“The legal papers mentioned cufflinks.”
“Hmm . . .” she mused. “I recollect an allegation to that effect.”
“You had them jailed, and you forged my signature on the complaint. Then you used my seal—very much without my permission—so you could pretend that I was seeking the harsh treatment.”
“Don’t blame me for acting in your stead. I alerted you to Miss Carstairs’s scheme. I dumped the entire mess in your lap, but you ignored my advice. You didn’t threaten her. You didn’t buy her silence. You let her waltz off to town and inform the whole world. Gad, it was reported in the newspapers! I’ve never been so mortified.”
“What a
n odd statement.” His assessment became even more intense. “Why would you have been mortified? If anyone should be affronted, shouldn’t it be me? It’s my reputation and my lost daughter. How does the story impact you in the slightest?”
“Not impact me! Am I a member of this family or aren’t I? Am I your staunchest friend or not? If my efforts on your behalf can be so easily discounted, what have I been doing here all these years?”
The bitter words were out before she could swallow them down. They seemed to reverberate off the walls, and with her tiptoeing out onto such a dangerous ledge, his response was exactly what she could have predicted.
“I’ve been asking myself that very question,” he said. “Why have you been here?”
“I’ve been assisting you! I raised your children and ran your home. I shouldered the burdens a wife would have carried, and I won’t be denigrated for it. I’ve always had your best interests at heart.”
“Have you?” he blandly inquired.
“Yes, and don’t you dare deny it. In every instance, I’ve toiled away as hard as I could to make you happy.”
He frowned and shook his head. “That excuse won’t work this time. I’m a lazy lord. I admit it, and I’ve let you assume more and more authority rather than fight about it. Evidently, you now believe you have power that’s equal to mine.”
“I would never presume that.”
“You were eager to harm Miss Fishburn—simply because you were jealous.”
His affair was at the root of her pique, but she had no idea how to debate the issue. Who wouldn’t be jealous? She’d persuaded herself he would eventually marry her, but obviously, he never would have, so where did it leave her? Why couldn’t he comprehend how deeply she’d been wounded?
“You’ve shamed me with her,” she said. “You engaged in illicit conduct with a harlot—right under our roof—and you never paused to wonder how I might feel about it.”
“I thought I was very clear with you about my relationship with Miss Fishburn, but I guess I have to repeat myself. If I choose to grow friendly with her—or any other woman for that matter—it’s none of your business.”
“I’m to have no opinion?”
“No.”
She might have been a puppy he’d kicked to the curb, and she yearned to curl up in a ball and die.
“I’m not sure what to do with you,” he said, “and I’m curious to hear your suggestions. You’ve stepped over so many lines this week that I can’t count them all.”
“I’ve stepped over no lines! I’ve been helping you. Why can’t you understand that fact?”
“I figured that would be your defense—you were helping me—but you’ve provided aid I don’t want and would never have allowed.”
“What is that supposed to mean? Are you about to claim that charlatan, Libby Carstairs, is Henrietta?”
“I can’t imagine how I’ll proceed, but I will decide. Not you.”
“What about Miss Fishburn? Will you convey her to Roland so you can renew your affair? Will you force me to watch while you disgrace yourself?”
“I don’t plan to make you watch me ever again.”
There was a grim finality to his words that halted her in her tracks. “What are you talking about? Don’t speak in riddles.”
“It’s time for you to move home and reside with your brother again. It’s time he took charge of you.”
“Move . . . home? You’re being absurd. This is my home. It has been since Florence passed away.”
“I shouldn’t have permitted you to live with us.”
She huffed with offense. “Isn’t it typical that you’d reach your conclusion after I’ve sacrificed my best years for you?”
“I told you—on many occasions—that you shouldn’t waste your life on me, and I have to correct my mistake. I’m sending you back to your brother.”
“No! I refuse to obey you. He’s married to a harpy who rules the roost like a vicious quartermaster. What would I do there?”
“I don’t believe that’s my problem.”
“I doubt they’d let me come. They assume I belong with you.”
“You convinced yourself that you belong here, but I never thought you did.”
It was the cruelest comment ever uttered in her presence, but he wasn’t cruel. Normally, he was kind and polite, so he was more upset than she’d realized. She pushed off her chair and rounded the desk. She fell to her knees and clasped his hand.
“You’re distraught,” she said, “and I recognize why you are. You can’t bear to be embroiled in a scandal, so you’re lashing out at me—when there’s no reason to blame me. Try to see this from my point of view. I was merely keeping you safe from Miss Carstairs’s machinations.”
“It’s what is vexing me, Millicent. I didn’t need you to keep me safe. Whatever happens with Miss Carstairs, it’s between her and me. The situation with Miss Fishburn is the same. Now get up. You’re embarrassing yourself—and me.”
He stood and yanked her to her feet, as behind them, the door opened. She glanced over and frowned when she noticed who’d entered. It was the slothful, impertinent housemaid, Peggy, who’d eavesdropped on Miss Carstairs and Mr. Falcon. She was dressed for traveling in a cloak and hat, and she was carrying a heavy portmanteau.
“I’m ready, Lord Roland,” she said to Charles.
“Ready for what?” Millicent asked him.
Charles answered with the most bizarre reply. “Millicent, you are departing Roland immediately, and Peggy will accompany you.”
“I’m not leaving.” She laughed as if it was a horrid joke.
“I’ve rented a room for you at the coaching inn outside the village. You’ll stay there while I write to your brother and schedule your journey to his estate.”
“Don’t be silly. I won’t tarry at a coaching inn. I’m not going to my brother’s.”
She was very firm, but he ignored her and continued. “If he won’t consent to your return, I will rent you lodging in town. However, your circumstances will be quite reduced, so let’s hope he’s amenable.”
Millicent’s wary gaze shifted from Charles to Peggy, and she asked, “Why is Peggy here?”
“The butler informs me that you and Peggy have become great chums recently, so she’s the perfect servant to tend you as you transition into the next phase of your life.”
Millicent bristled. “Are you mad? She’s lazy and incompetent.”
“Yes, she is, and she’s also a tattle. She was observed chatting with a newspaper reporter out on the lane. I can’t imagine why she’d have been talking to him. Can you?”
Millicent swung to Peggy and fumed, “You shared our private business with a reporter? What is wrong with you?”
Peggy stared back, looking bored, and Charles said, “She’ll accompany you because—if she remains at Roland—she’ll be fired.”
“So fire her,” Millicent said. “It’s fine with me.”
“Instead of being terminated, she’s agreed to this arrangement. I won’t supply you with any other staff from the manor, so it’s her or no one.”
“I pick no one!” Millicent seethed.
Charles said to Peggy, “Miss Pendleton doesn’t need your help, so you may take your things and go.”
The girl didn’t have the good sense to be silent. “It was all Miss Pendleton’s fault. She stirred the trouble for Miss Carstairs. Not me, and I’ve never gossiped about you.” Then she had the audacity to inquire, “Will you pen a reference for me?”
Charles scoffed. “No, now get out of my sight or I may lose my temper.”
Peggy hesitated for a second, then spun and stomped out. The butler was there to lead her away.
Their strides faded, and a dangerous calm settled in. She and Charles were standing very close, and she peered up at him, searching for some hint of affectio
n or sympathy, but he glared coldly—as if he didn’t know who she was.
“Don’t treat me like this, Charles,” she begged. “Please don’t. I’ve always loved you!”
“Well, I have never loved you, and you have to go too. A carriage is waiting out in the drive. You’ll be conveyed to the coaching inn, and I’ll contact you in a few days, after I’ve heard from your brother.”
“Charles! Stop it.”
She would have fallen to her knees to beg him again, but he’d had enough. He seized her arm and marched her out, and she was so stunned she didn’t have the mental wherewithal to protest or even drag her feet.
They passed numerous servants, and they gaped at her, their expressions condemning. Were they all aware of what she’d done to Miss Carstairs? They were servants! Why would they have the gall to revile Millicent over any issue?
Charles kept on until they were outside and down in the driveway. As they approached the carriage, a footman whisked the door open. She didn’t move toward the vehicle, so Charles simply lifted her in and shut the door behind her. She would have grabbed the latch and jumped out, but before she could gather her wits, the driver cracked the whip and the coach lurched away so rapidly she was flung off the seat.
She grappled for purchase and righted herself, so she barely managed a final glimpse of the manor as it was swallowed up by the trees. Charles was watching her depart, looking cool and placid, as if nothing egregious had occurred.
The traitorous shrew, Peggy, was walking down the lane, her portmanteau banging on her hip. She didn’t glance up, didn’t step out of the way, and they skirted around her without slowing.
Millicent sagged against the cushion, wishing she was dead.
“Don’t make a sound.”
At the whispered warning, Penny awoke from a deep sleep. A hand was clamped over her mouth, and a large man was pressing her down. Her fear cleared quickly as she realized it was Simon.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Late.”
“How did you sneak into the house?”
