by Cheryl Holt
"What’s going on?" he asked them.
"Grandmother says we shouldn’t play together," Percival explained.
"So you’re flagrantly disobeying her?"
"Yes," they replied in unison.
Jackson grinned. "Marvelous. It’s about time Beatrice had a new generation to plague her."
They crawled through the straw and approached, and with them standing side by side, Jackson was struck by their dissimilarities. They were the same height, but Michael was slender and fit while Percival was chubby and awkward. Even though they were covered with grass and dirt, Michael looked regal and majestic, Percival grubby and miserable.
The differences rattled Jackson.
During his ride, he’d arrived at a decision about them. Grace wasn’t interested in the title. She simply wanted financial assistance for Michael, but Beatrice and Susan were adamant that Michael be disavowed.
Jackson assumed he’d found an answer that would satisfy the three women. He would support Michael as any family would do for a beloved bastard son. A fine home. A suitable allowance. The best tutors, and later, a proper school and marriage.
It wasn’t fair to Michael, but it was a compromise Grace would accept.
But on seeing the pair up close, he was vividly reminded of how remarkable Michael was. He resembled Edward in every way while Percival resembled him not, at all, and Jackson was once again pitched into a quandary.
How could he deny Michael his birthright? How could he ignore such stark evidence?
"Percival and I have become fast friends," Michael said.
"Good," Jackson stated although he wasn’t sure a cordial relationship was appropriate.
"I’m very worried about him," Michael continued. "His mother and grandmother have been quite cruel to him—because of me—and I would hate to get him in more trouble."
"I’ll talk to them," Jackson said.
"Thank you."
They gazed up at him, and Michael nudged Percival, urging him forward.
"Sir…" Percival stammered.
"Uncle Jack, remember?"
"Yes, sir. I want you to know that I…I…don’t care if I’m the earl or not."
"You don’t?"
"No, and I think Michael would be very grand at it." Percival nodded vigorously to emphasize his point. "He would be very grand."
"Percival doesn’t like to boss people," Michael said.
"And Michael likes to be in charge," Percival added.
"I see." Jackson was more confused by the second.
They were astute boys, and they were definitely correct. Michael would be a better earl, but there were many variables besides the simple fact of who would be better.
"It’s not that easy to make such a change," he advised.
"We realize that," Percival said.
"Have you discussed this with your mother?" Jackson asked.
Percival peered at the ground and mumbled, "Yes."
"She hit him, Uncle Jack." Michael’s fury was palpable. "When he told her, she hit him."
Jackson bristled, instantly overcome by memories of his own whippings as a child. He’d been tough and stubborn and able to tolerate harsh treatment, but pummeling someone as meek as Percival was spiteful and malicious.
"Listen, Percival." He dropped to one knee so they were eye to eye. "Let’s not mention Michael to your mother or grandmother again. Let me handle them for you."
"I will, sir."
"I swear to you that neither of them will ever strike you again."
"Do you mean it, Uncle Jack?"
"Yes, you have my word. Never after today."
"I told him it was wrong for her to do that," Michael said.
"Yes, it was," Jackson agreed.
"I told him he should tell you, that you could help."
"You should always come to me about anything." Jackson tousled Percival’s hair. "I’ll assist you in any way I can. That’s my job now. It’s how your father wanted it to be."
"We can still play, can’t we?" Michael asked. "We can still be friends?"
"Yes, but keep your heads down. Don’t ruffle feathers if you don’t have to."
"We won’t."
They turned and raced out the rear of the barn, and Jackson walked over and watched them go.
They were proceeding to the woods, Michael in the lead, Percival stumbling along behind. Michael had to stop constantly, and he’d gesture to Percival to hurry. Jackson smiled. As a child, himself, he and Edward had often run in the grass with Duncan trailing after them like a lost puppy.
It was nice to see old routines repeating. It was nice to see boys flitting through the grass and into the woods. It made him feel that a good ending might be possible.
He spun away and went to the house. He needed to wash and eat and ponder his decision.
Beatrice had demanded the meeting with Grace, and he’d arranged it. He’d hoped both women would realize a few things about the other.
Beatrice had been her usual obnoxious self, and Jackson hadn’t attempted to counter her behavior. She assumed that she’d put Grace in her place, that Grace understood the family was united against her, and she wouldn’t dare pursue any claim on Michael’s behalf.
Beatrice could believe whatever she wanted, and while she was preening and patting herself on the back, Jackson would move forward with what he wanted instead. The problem was that he still couldn’t devise a workable solution.
He had to speak with Grace. She had a habit of misconstruing, and she was likely fuming over the meeting, over his motives. If he discovered that she’d jumped on a horse and fled, he wouldn’t be surprised.
He was climbing the stairs, lost in thought, and when he glanced up, Susan was coming down. At the same moment, she noted him, and her expression hardened.
He halted, waiting until they were shoulder to shoulder.
"I learned something very disturbing about you," he said.
"I don’t care."
"I heard that you hit your son."
Her eyes narrowed. "What did you say?"
"A servant informed me that you hit your son, that he saw you."
"Produce the man," she huffed. "I shall call him a liar to his face, then have him flogged and tossed off the property."
"I won’t have you using corporeal punishment on Percival. Not so long as I am his guardian."
"I have never touched that boy, but if I had, I would remind you that I am his mother. However I treat him, it’s none of your business."
"You’re leaving for London tomorrow."
"I absolutely am not," she seethed.
"Yes, you are. Percival is staying here with me, and you are leaving. Have the maids pack your bags."
"You have no authority over me."
"You don’t think so?"
"No, I don’t think so."
He smiled a lethal smile, full of deadly intent. "I’m ordering you to be on the road by nine. Push me, Susan. Refuse to obey me and see what happens."
She puffed up as if she’d let loose with a hundred insults, but there was really no way she could defy his edict.
"I hate you!" she hurled.
"I know."
She whirled away and flew down the remainder of the stairs.
"Beatrice! Beatrice!" she shouted, though what she imagined Beatrice could do, he couldn’t fathom.
He liked Percival, and the more he thought about it, Percival and Michael should be friends. And if Percival deserved anything, he deserved a respite from his mother.
The poor child! She would strike him again at her peril!
He kept on, and as he approached his door, a footman rushed up and handed him a note.
"From Miss Bennett," the man said. "She asks that you look at it immediately."
"Where is she?"
"I believe she’s in her bedchamber, sir."
He flicked at the wax seal and read, Come to me at once. I am hiding in my room and will not exit until I speak with you. She’d signed it with her in
itials, GB.
He chuckled, intrigued by the drama and humored by her words. She was alone in her room? The prospects were ripe for misbehaving.
"Hiding, Miss Bennett?" he mused to himself. "From who? My mother?"
The encounter between the two women had been tense and horrid, but he couldn’t envision Grace being terrified over it.
He washed and changed his coat, then he hurried to the other wing of the mansion where Grace and her family were lodged. He neared her door, and before he could knock, she yanked it open.
"Get in here," she snapped, and she grabbed his wrist and pulled him over the threshold.
"Where is your caution, Grace? Aren’t you worried someone might see?"
"No. I have bigger problems."
"Bigger than being caught with me?"
He ducked down to steal a kiss, but she shoved him away.
"Your mother is a malicious shrew."
"You noticed, did you?"
"I’ve been scared to leave this room. I was afraid she might have me attacked in the hall."
"She can be vicious."
"Why on earth would you put me through such an unpleasant appointment?"
"She insisted on meeting with you."
"So? You’re thirty years old. You haven’t learned how to say no to your mother?"
"It’s easier to let her have her way, then go behind her back and act as I planned all along."
"And what have you planned?"
"I have no idea."
She was distressed, pacing back and forth. He watched her, greatly humored to have her so flustered. She always seemed composed and in control, and it was refreshing to realize that it was possible to disconcert her. She stopped and demanded, "What is wrong with your sister-in-law?"
"Susan? What’s wrong with her? Besides everything?"
"She was waiting here for me after I left you and your mother."
"Waiting for you?" He gestured around. "Here?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"She felt honor-bound to inform me that I’d be sorry, and she’d make me pay."
"She said that?"
"Yes. The woman is insane."
"You don’t have to tell me. I used to be engaged to her, remember?"
"How did you stand it?"
"I’ve been in Egypt for a decade. I needed that long to recover."
She was pacing again, tugging at her sleeves and rubbing her brow. He reached out and drew her to a halt.
"Would you calm down?"
"She practically threatened to kill me. No, I won’t calm down."
"She’s vicious but harmless."
"Harmless!"
"You’re in no danger."
"That’s what you think."
She stumbled away and plopped into a chair. She looked so pretty and so troubled, and he was once again on the precipice of offering boons that should never be voiced aloud.
"Would you let me leave?" she asked. "Please? You keep insisting I stay, but it would be better for everyone if I went away."
"To where?"
"I don’t know. The village? London? Give me a few pounds, and I can be gone within the hour."
He walked over and rested a hand on her shoulder. "I’m surprised by your agitation. You seem so tough. Why are you so frightened?"
"She’s bigger than me! And she’s crazy. If I wasn’t afraid of her—and your mother—I’d be as mad as they are."
"I just saw Susan, and I’ve ordered her to London. She’s departing tomorrow."
"Why?"
"I heard that she hits Percival."
"She hits him?"
"Yes, and I don’t like that sort of behavior. I lived through quite a bit of it myself when I was young."
"What about Percival?"
"He’ll remain here with me."
"You swear she’s going?"
"Yes. First thing."
"Good." She took a deep breath and let it out. "What about your mother? I can’t hide in my room forever."
"No, you can’t, so I’ll send her away, too. Or they could stay, and you and I could take the boys and go."
"My sister would have to come, too."
Excitement shot through Jackson. He was making decisions on the run, not pausing to figure out what was best. But the notion of traveling with Grace, of flitting off together, was incredibly thrilling.
He’d been laboring under the assumption that they’d soon part, but why should they? He was thoroughly enjoying their acquaintance. Why not spend a few more weeks or months with her? Why not? What was stopping them?
"Yes, your sister could come," he said.
"Where would we – ?"
A knock sounded on the door, and they froze.
Though Grace had breezily contended she didn’t care if anyone knew he was in her room, the reality was very different. She was panicked, and so was he. He absolutely couldn’t be caught with her.
Furiously, she motioned him to silence, gesturing to the inner chamber. He grinned and obeyed, tiptoeing behind the door, but keeping it ajar so he could peek out and eavesdrop.
Once he was shielded from view, she called, "Yes? Who is it?"
"It’s your maid, Miss Bennett."
Grace went over and peered out, but she blocked the entrance with her torso so the maid couldn’t push past her.
"What did you need?"
"It’s your sister, Miss Bennett."
"What about her?"
"Have you seen her today?"
"No, why?"
"How about last night?"
"Well…no," Grace replied more slowly.
"Could I be frank? Please don’t be angry."
"I won’t be angry. What is it?"
The maid leaned in and whispered, "Her bed wasn’t slept in."
Grace frowned. "Not slept in?"
"No, and I don’t wish to spread tales, but I can’t imagine any good reason why she wasn’t there. I thought you should be informed. She is very…young."
"Yes, she is."
"Were you aware that she’s been out riding for hours—alone—with Mr. Dane? They’ve been together constantly."
"With Mr. Dane? Are you sure?"
"Yes, Miss Bennett. Do you…ah…know Mr. Dane?"
"Yes, I know him all too well."
"She left you a note." The maid stuck out her hand. "It was under her pillow."
"A note?" Grace mumbled as if she’d never heard of such a thing.
She tore at the seal, blanched, then—totally forgetting herself, the maid, and the situation—she stormed over to him and shoved open the door.
The maid saw him, and she blanched, too. Jackson did the same. They were a room full of shocked blanchers.
"Oh, my lord," Grace wailed to Jackson, "you won’t believe it."
"What is it?" Jackson frantically asked. "What’s happened?"
"Eleanor has eloped to Scotland with Duncan Dane."
"Eloped!"
"Yes." Grace waved the letter in his face. "They’ve had nearly a two-day head start."
"Are you positive you haven’t misunderstood?"
"Read it for yourself!"
She thrust the paper at him, and he hastily scanned the words.
"Dammit," he muttered.
"Duncan can’t have any honorable intentions toward her."
"No, he doesn’t have an honorable bone in his body."
"Or any money to support her afterward?"
"No," he repeated.
"She must be mad," Grace moaned. "Will you go after them? Will you stop them before it’s too late?"
Jackson felt dizzy with rage. He’d specifically commanded Duncan to stay away from Eleanor Bennett. He’d been very clear, and Duncan couldn’t have misconstrued his warning.
Had he done it to spite Jackson? To spite Grace? To spite both of them?
"I will kill him," Jackson seethed. "I will absolutely kill him!"
He raced out, shouting orders to have a bag packed and a horse saddled, so he cou
ld ride like the wind to find Duncan and wring his scrawny neck.
DC
"That wasn’t so bad, was it?"
"It was fairly bad."
"You’re married, Duncan Dane. What do you think of that?"
Eleanor removed her bonnet and tossed it on the bed in the room they’d rented for the night. It was small and seedy and the least romantic place in the world, but considering their location, they hadn’t had a lot of choices.
They were across the border in Gretna Green, the haven for British scoundrels and seduced maidens. It was where a girl came when she was desperate to wed, when she was in trouble or in love with a boy who could never garner her parents’ approval.
Boys—of low means or despicable reputations—made the trip when they were shrewd enough to latch on to a girl with money, when they were eager to rush and avoid an honest courtship.
In a thousand years, Duncan could never have pictured himself in the notorious town.
"Do you expect the marriage is legal back in England?" he asked, almost hoping she’d say no.
"Of course, it’s legal there." She waved the marriage certificate the minister had given them. "Why would you suppose people travel here constantly? It’s to accomplish quickly what takes an eternity in England."
"There are many reasons people take their time before they wed."
"Name one."
"To be sure it’s the correct decision."
"Or so they have an excuse to drag their feet forever," she countered. "Can you imagine anyone who might have dragged his feet forever? Let’s see," she mused, "I guess that would have been you."
"There’s nothing wrong with being sure."
"And there’s nothing wrong with hurrying when you’re certain it’s what you want."
She started to undress, and he watched her with a strange detachment.
He still couldn’t believe he’d proceeded. What had happened to him? What was it about her that made it impossible for him to put a halt to her nonsense?
She was impertinent and reckless yet he staggered after her, unable to protest or dissuade her from her folly.
The entire trip had passed like a dream, and he couldn’t understand why he’d agreed to it. All along the route, he’d been on the verge of abandoning her.
At coaching inns, when they’d pause to eat, he’d found excuses to head for the stables. He’d intended to jump on a horse and desert her, but on each occasion, he was disgusted to discover that he couldn’t sneak away.
