by Cheryl Holt
"I’m looking for a scoundrel," a familiar voice bellowed to someone out in the foyer. "A handsome, charming card player. He’s absconded with a young lady."
"This is a reputable business," a man responded. "We wouldn’t have such a scandalous person staying here."
"I’ll just check if you don’t mind."
"Dammit," Duncan muttered as Jackson marched in.
There was nowhere to hide, no rear exit by which Duncan could flee.
Jackson saw them immediately, an expression of homicidal fury darkening his face. He stomped over, growling, "You no good, sorry, son of a—"
"Mr. Scott"—Eleanor leapt to her feet—"it’s not what you think."
"You’re wrong, Miss Bennett," he tightly replied. "It’s precisely what I think."
Duncan had risen, too, and it was a mistake. When he was standing, he provided a much bigger target.
Jackson lunged, grabbing Duncan by the lapels of his coat, lifting him and tossing him across the floor as if he weighed no more than a feather. Duncan crashed into the table behind them, demolishing it, then smashing into the wall.
"Mr. Scott!" Eleanor was shrieking. "Stop it! Stop it!"
Jackson stormed over to Duncan, ready to administer a pummeling. Duncan had intended to come up swinging, to fight back as he always had when they were boys, but he’d landed so hard he was too disoriented to react.
"I ought to beat you within an inch of your life," Jackson seethed.
"Feel free," Duncan said. If Jackson killed him, he wouldn’t have to confess his sins to Eleanor.
"I can’t believe you’re still with her, Duncan. Weren’t you planning to abandon her along the road?"
"No!" Duncan exuded offense, as if the thought had never occurred to him.
"You despicable libertine," Jackson hurled. "Why did you do it? To spite me? To spite Grace?"
"You and Grace had nothing to do with it."
Duncan suspected he’d done it for love, that he was wildly, impossibly in love with Eleanor, but he’d never admit it in a thousand years.
"Thank God I found you before you crossed the border with her." Jackson turned to Eleanor. "Let’s go, Miss Bennett. Your sister is having a fit."
"Go!" Eleanor gasped.
"Yes. Get your things."
"I can’t."
"Why can’t you? I won’t leave you here with this rogue."
"He’s not a rogue," she insisted. "He’s my husband and I—"
Jackson paled. "He’s your what?"
"My husband."
"We made it to Scotland," Duncan grumbled, earning himself a kick in the leg from Jackson.
"Tell me it’s not true, Miss Bennett," Jackson groaned. "Tell me you didn’t go through with it."
"Of course, I went through with it, and I couldn’t be happier."
She showed him the paltry wedding band Duncan had received as part of the fee he’d paid the minister for performing the ceremony.
"You married him?" Jackson appeared as if he might faint.
"Yes, and I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your hands off him." She grinned. "I’m partial to his handsome face, and I won’t have you blackening his eyes."
Duncan staggered to his feet as Jackson glared and postured. He was so angry that smoke was practically coming out of his ears.
"I don’t care if you married him," Jackson said. "There has to be a way to get it annulled."
"Annulled!" Eleanor huffed. "Why would I want it annulled?"
"We’ll return to Milton Abbey," Jackson advised her, "and you can discuss this with Grace. I’ll contact my lawyers and start them working on it."
"I can’t return to Milton."
"Why not?"
"Duncan and I are headed to London."
"To do what?" Jackson asked.
"To do what all newlyweds do. Move into his house. Meet his friends. Throw a big nuptial party. He’s promised to buy me some new clothes, too. After all, he’s such a stylish gentleman, and I can’t walk around as if I’m a—"
Jackson whipped away and loomed over Duncan.
"Move into your house?" Jackson hissed. "Meet your friends? Buy her a wardrobe?"
Duncan glanced over at Eleanor. She was terribly confused, and he couldn’t bear to break her heart, but reality had finally caught up with him.
"I might have hedged a little," he told Jackson.
"Hedged?" Jackson scoffed.
"I was swept up in the moment, and I…that is…I thought maybe…I…"
Duncan stammered to a halt.
The room was very quiet, the other customers watching as if they were in the middle of a staged dramatic play.
Jackson stared and stared, the immensity of his disappointment crushing Duncan as nothing else ever had. Eleanor shook off her stupor and hurried over to Duncan. She slipped her arm through his, presenting a untied front to Jackson.
Duncan should have shoved her away, should have faced Jackson on his own, but her touch and support were very welcome. How long would she continue to give it after she learned his actual propensities?
"Tell her," Jackson ordered Duncan, gesturing at Eleanor.
Duncan didn’t speak, and Eleanor asked, "Tell me what?"
"Tell her right now," Jackson fumed, "or I will tell her. I don’t think you want her to hear it from me. I can guarantee you won’t like my take on it."
"What is it?" she inquired. "Say it and get it over with."
"I might have fibbed a bit," Duncan admitted.
"About what?"
"About…everything, I suppose."
"What is your definition of everything?"
Duncan couldn’t confess the rest. An awkward silence ensued, and Jackson had to enlighten her.
"He doesn’t have a penny to his name, Miss Bennett." There was an audible gasp from the spectators. "There is no house in London. There is no fine London social life full of parties and balls."
"No house?" Eleanor looked like a young child that had lost its favorite toy.
"No house," Jackson repeated. "Just bills and debt collectors and cuckolded husbands who would be happy to shoot him on sight."
Eleanor gaped at Duncan, then Jackson, then Duncan again.
"You lied to me?" she said to Duncan.
"Yes. I’m sorry."
"What are we to do now?"
"I have no idea."
She frowned, then began to tremble, her entire body quaking with emotion.
He thought she was about to burst out sobbing, but instead, she started to chuckle, and it grew into a misery-filled laugh. She stumbled over to a chair and plopped down.
"Aren’t I in a pickle?" she murmured to herself. Then she peered around at the assembled company and asked all of them, "Aren’t I in the worst pickle in the world?"
Everyone nodded in agreement.
DC
"Have you seen that horrid boy anywhere?"
"No, Mother."
"You’re sure?"
Percival stared at his mother and lied.
"You warned me not to talk to him, remember?"
"Yes, I remember. I appreciate your listening to me."
They were in the library, his grandmother seated behind the desk, his mother pacing.
Many odd events were happening, and Percival didn’t understand any of them.
His uncle had ridden off without a word, but no one would say where he’d gone or when he’d be back. Eleanor Bennett was missing and so was Mr. Dane.
And now, Grace Bennett had been roughly hoisted into a carriage and carted off by Mr. Rafferty.
Percival probably wasn’t supposed to know Mr. Rafferty, but then, he often saw things he shouldn’t.
Mr. Rafferty had once come to their London house and taken away an elderly servant who’d been quite a grand fellow. He’d told funny stories and always asked Percival about his day. He’d sneaked chocolate treats for Percival, against his mother’s specific command that he not have any.
One morning, he’d been working f
or them, and the next, Mr. Rafferty had arrived and escorted him out. When they’d passed through the foyer, the older man had had a black eye and his hands had been tied behind his back.
Percival had been frantic to learn how he’d gotten himself into trouble. The servants whispered that he’d been accused of stealing money from Percival’s grandmother, but none of them believed it. Percival didn’t, either. He worried constantly about the man and how he was faring, and it was his favorite dream that when he was grown and in charge as earl, he would find the man and bring him home.
He’d observed Mr. Rafferty on a few other occasions, and every time he appeared, someone vanished. That was why—when Percival had noted Mr. Rafferty riding up the drive—he’d been wary.
He’d immediately had Michael hide in their fort, then he’d come inside and eavesdropped. His grandmother had people searching for Michael, but he couldn’t be located, and Percival was extremely relieved that he’d had the foresight to conceal his brother.
"Who was the man who was just here?" he inquired of his mother merely to hear what she would say.
"He’s employed by your grandmother."
"What was he doing?"
"It’s your grandmother’s business and none of yours. Don’t ask childish questions."
"Where has he taken Miss Bennett?"
His mother whipped around.
"Miss Bennett? Why would you wonder about her?"
"He was very angry with her and very rough. She seems so nice, and I was curious as to how she’d upset him."
His mother and grandmother exchanged an irritated glance, then his grandmother said, "Why don’t you go out and play, Percival?"
"All right," he agreed. They didn’t notice that he hadn’t argued as he typically would have.
He turned and walked off, but he simply pretended to leave. He halted by the door and stood quietly in the shadows.
"I’m so glad Miss Bennett is gone," his mother muttered.
"So am I," his grandmother replied.
"How confident are you in Mr. Rafferty? Are you sure she’ll be transported to Australia? What if something happens and he isn’t able to get her on the ship?"
Percival bit down a gasp.
"Mr. Rafferty is incredibly competent," Beatrice said, "and he’s never failed me. He’ll get her on the ship. Don’t fret about it. She’ll never bother us again."
"I wouldn’t want Jackson to ever figure out what we did to her."
"She deserved to be tricked." Beatrice shrugged. "How can I be blamed if the stupid fool signed a false confession? Any result she suffers is her own fault."
"I believe Jackson might have been fond of her. He won’t be happy if he discovers she’s been badly used by Rafferty and that we paid him for his services."
"He won’t learn of it. Who would tattle? You? Me? We’re the only ones who know, and I don’t intend to ever tell him. Do you?"
"No." His mother started pacing again. "What if the servants can’t find the boy?"
"They’ll find him," Beatrice grumbled. "There are only so many places he can hide. Stop fussing."
"What have you heard about that orphanage where you’re sending him?"
"Just that it’s very far from Milton Abbey. Michael Scott will disappear, so you’ll always be a countess and Percival will always be the earl. Georgina Scott, Grace Bennett, and their dirty little secret will be buried forever. Now stop fussing."
Percival shook with fury. Michael was his brother and his friend, and Percival would never let any trouble befall him.
They’d already worked out how their futures would unfold. Michael would become earl, and he would do all the things that he was good at doing. He would boss and lead and order people about.
But there were many other tasks that came with being earl. There was money to count and papers to manage. Percival liked to read and study and write his letters, and Michael hated those chores.
Percival would do them for Michael. He would spend the rest of his life assisting Michael. They would never be parted—Michael constantly said so—and Percival didn’t care what his mother or grandmother thought about it.
They could not be allowed to hurt Michael. If they succeeded, he would end up like the elderly footman Percival had liked so much. He would vanish, and Percival would never know where he was or how he was faring.
He sneaked out of the room and raced down the hall.
As he left, his mother asked, "Who was that? Was someone there?"
For once, he ran like the wind, so even if she looked out, she wouldn’t notice him.
He dashed out of the house and through the garden, not slowing until he was at the fort. Michael saw him and hurried out.
"What’s wrong?" Michael inquired.
"They’ve had Mr. Rafferty take Miss Bennett away."
"Take her! She’s gone?"
"Yes. They tricked her and made her sign a false confession. And guess what?"
"What?"
"They’ve arranged to have you taken away, too."
Michael’s eyes widened with dismay. "To where?"
"To an orphanage that’s so far away, you’ll never be able to find your way back to Milton."
"Is it in London?"
"It must be," Percival wailed. "If they catch you, you must promise you’ll come back. No matter what, you have to come home."
"Of course, I’ll come home," Michael vowed. "It’s you and me together forever. Remember?"
"Yes, I remember."
Michael stuck out his hand, and Percival clasped hold. They proceeded with their secret handshake that only they could ever know.
"I wish Uncle Jack was here," Michael said, "so he could rescue Grace."
"What should we do in the meantime?"
"We have to help her ourselves. Let me think on it. We have to figure out where she is."
"Rafferty is putting her on a ship—to Australia!"
"Then she must be in London. There’s a huge harbor there." Michael scrutinized Percival. "We might have to ride to town. Could you Percival? If Uncle Jack doesn’t return, we might have to save her."
"Yes, I could ride to town with you."
"You’d have to disobey your mother."
"I would Michael. For you, I would do anything in the world."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Jackson rode up the long drive toward Milton Abbey, and he paused to enjoy the view.
The house was situated on a slight hill overlooking the fields and park. The afternoon sun cast the stone a warm peach color. The spot appeared peaceful and serene, the sort of place where a family could be content.
Though they had property all over the kingdom, he’d passed most of his childhood at the Abbey, and it was difficult to believe it could have been so unpleasant.
His father had died when he was tiny, and he had no memories of the man. Jackson wondered—had his father lived—how things might have been different. Had Beatrice always been cruel and petty? Or had he reined in her spiteful impulses?
He’d been gone for three days, pointlessly chasing after Duncan and Eleanor. They were trailing after him at a much slower pace. He couldn’t guess what would become of them. They were so besotted that they weren’t worried over their plight, and Jackson had no idea what he’d tell Grace.
She’d likely kill them both, beginning with her sister who, it seemed, had orchestrated the entire debacle. Duncan shouldn’t have abetted her, but it was too late for assigning blame. The deed was done, their path set.
To his enormous annoyance, Jackson thought he’d probably wind up dumping money on the newlyweds. What other option was there?
The notion of providing a single farthing to an irresponsible wastrel like Duncan was galling, but perhaps—with Eleanor as his bride—he’d mend his worst ways. It wasn’t likely, though. Eleanor relished his bad habits, but Jackson could always hope.
On the journey, he’d had plenty of time to ponder the future. He’d reflected on family, on happiness, on what he wan
ted out of his life.
He’d been away from England for so long, and his history with Susan and Beatrice had clouded his every waking moment. So he had to cut the tie that bound him to them. He had to start fresh, with his prior animosities pushed aside.
He’d let them have too much power over him, so he’d given himself permission to be free of their influence. On seeing Duncan with Eleanor, on realizing how his friend had latched on to Eleanor and risked all for love, Jackson was intrigued beyond measure.
Because Susan had betrayed him, he’d told himself that he would never attach himself to a female again. But then…he’d met Grace.
Over the past few weeks, he’d dallied with her, and through it all, he’d kept telling himself it was just a temporary affair of limited scope and duration. Yet why did it have to be temporary? Why assume they had to part?
Grace was smart and kind and loyal. She’d persevered through hardship and adversity. Any man in the world would be lucky to have such a woman by his side.
Why couldn’t Jackson be that lucky fellow? Why not? What was stopping him?
He wasn’t a nobleman as his brother had been. He was an independent adult with his own fortune. There was no one to command him, no one to choose who he would wed.
Why not wed Grace?
He was in love with her, and it wasn’t the silly, adolescent fervor he’d felt for Susan. He could envision building a life with Grace, sharing every experience, growing old. Together.
Suddenly excited to see her, he kicked his horse into a trot and hurried to the house. His mind awhirl with plans, he leapt to the ground and raced up the steps and into the foyer.
He had to make some changes. He’d ordered Susan to leave, but then, he’d pursued Duncan, so he presumed she was still in residence. She and Beatrice had to go back to London.
Then he and Grace would stay at the Abbey with the boys, and he would begin the legal process of untangling the mess with Michael and Percival.
He didn’t care what Beatrice wanted. He didn’t care what Susan thought.
Michael was Edward’s first-born son, and Percival was very likely not his son, at all. Michael would be earl and deserved to be earl.
