by Joan Smith
“Why are you staying at this house, a bachelor's establishment?” Jeremy demanded, fixing me with a suspicious eye.
“Because thanks to your incompetent management of Westgate, we cannot afford an hotel!"
While we shouted at each other, Edmund slammed down his cup and rose slowly up from the table, leveling a baleful look at my brother. I envisaged a duel. Something in the way they glared at each other put the image in my head.
“Come into my study,” Edmund said in a cold voice. It was not an invitation, but a command.
Fearful of what might pass, I hopped up and followed them, despite Maisie's hands grabbing at my skirt to hold me back. “Jeremy, don't be a fool!” I said as we went. “Edmund has been extremely kind, very helpful to us. It is his doing that we got my necklace back."
“It was his doing that you lost it,” my foolish brother countered.
“If you're looking for a fight, boy, you've got it,” Edmund told him, closing the door rather hard behind him. “This is the second intimation I have had from the Braden family that I am a thief. One cannot call out a lady; a gentleman is not so protected."
“Apologize at once, Jeremy!” I ordered.
“What about the necklace?” he asked, looking with uncertainty from me to Edmund, but mostly at the murderous expression in Blount's eyes.
“I have got it back. Sir Edmund had nothing to do with its disappearance."
“What of the phony engagement?” he persisted mulishly, but in a less arrogant manner.
“That is irrelevant—a ruse we dreamed up between us to take Edmund to Rusholme. No one will hear of it."
“You shouldn't have been selling the necklace in any case, Lizzie,” he said, deciding I was a more vulnerable opponent.
Edmund was already simmering; this question took him beyond the point of restraining his tongue. “As questions are the order of the day, Mr. Braden, let me pose you a few. How does it come you place the burden of running a derelict old heap of a farm on two ladies? Your mismanagement has done the dairy business more harm than the plague. I personally suffered the loss of two dozen prime milchers, and know folks who were damned near wiped out. Your sister was kind enough to undertake selling her inheritance to pull you out of the suds, and you have the insufferable gall to upbraid her for it. My great crime in the affair was to be sideswiped by your sister's carriage. As a consequence, I have been accused of common thievery, involved in brawls, arrested for assault, bitten by a dog, missed my brother's wedding, spent several days and a considerable amount of money trying to find the damned necklace. I have been reduced to gambling with criminals, having my own property stolen and must now go to Bow Street to try if I can to clear the matter up. If you have something to say of your sister's spending a few nights under my roof, with her aunt as chaperone, pray say it now, and have done. You may be sure you will be called to good account for it. If you have no more sense than to accuse your own sister of improper conduct, you are not worth killing, but by God it will give me satisfaction to knock your teeth down your throat."
He looked ready to do it. His fingers were already curled into fists. Jeremy swallowed a couple of times and began backtracking. “What was I to think when Maisie told me about the accident and Lizzie having her diamonds stolen?"
“If you had any common decency, you would think how you might help her!” Edmund answered swiftly, angrily.
“That is exactly what I am thinking!"
“It is of no help coming here and creating a scene!” I told him.
“I don't mean that! I am going to sell Westgate, Lizzie. My mind is made up. I don't want it. I will be taking a post at Oxford when I graduate, and mean to remain there permanently. The farm is nothing but a nuisance to me. I'll sell it. With the mortgage paid off, there will still be enough to buy a small cottage near the university, or I can live there."
“What about Maisie and me?” I asked, nonplussed at this turn, though selfishness from my younger brother was no new thing.
“You two women can't run the farm,” he pointed out. “You already proved that."
“Let him sell it,” Edmund advised. “The best news I have heard all year. Let someone who knows what he is about take it over. A mismanaged estate is the worst nuisance imaginable."
“But where will Maisie and I go?"
“Accept Beattie's offer,” Jeremy suggested. “Or if you don't like him, marry someone else."
I was not about to reveal the lack of suitors to my host. “We'll discuss this later,” I said quickly. “You might have told us your plans, Jeremy. It is of some interest to us, you know, to learn we are about to lose our home."
“Uncle Weston would be happy to have you at Rusholme,” was his next suggestion. He had not yet heard of Glandower's plan to deliver a new mistress to that establishment, nor would he have seen any difficulty in three mistresses, if it came to that.
I accepted this home, in theory, to terminate the highly unpleasant conversation. “Uncle Weston is in town,” I mentioned. “He will be here shortly, to go with us to Bow Street. We can talk later."
“I still have a great deal to say to you,” Edmund warned him. “You also have something to say to me. I have not heard any apology."
My brother looked more confused than apologetic when Blount stalked from the room, leaving us alone.
I had not the least desire to come to cuffs with Jeremy at this time. I wanted more than five minutes to ring a peal over him, and Weston would be here within that space of time. “I hope you're satisfied!” was all I said, before bolting out the door after Edmund. He did not bother to follow. Already his eyes had strayed to some bookshelves along the wall.
When I reached the dining room, Edmund was laughing with Maisie, restored to good humor by some magical means. Maisie inquired after my brother. “He's in the study, and I hope he stays there. He is selling the house on us, Auntie."
“I know. Edmund just told me."
“I am surprised it has put you in such good humor."
“It is the best thing could happen to us,” she replied. “Edmund suggested old Beattie might be glad to get it back. It used to be part of his estate, you know, and he could well afford to buy it if he wanted."
“He never mentioned wanting it,” I reminded her.
“Not in words, but you must remember we have more than once wondered if his offering for you was not because he thought the house was in your name. You said so yourself."
“I don't remember anything of the sort! Of course he knows it is in Jeremy's name."
“Edmund thinks the best thing is to go home and not let Beattie know we are eager to sell,” she outlined. “He has an excellent plan, as he always has,” she added, with an approving smile at her new protégé. “He says..."
The knocker sounded, preventing my hearing his excellent plan. It was Uncle and his stepson. I got my wrap and bonnet, Edmund his hat and gloves, and we two were off to Bow Street to make our report. Maisie was busy ordering the servants to prepare delicacies to tempt Jeremy's jaded palate.
The visit to Bow Street was not in the least unpleasant. I thoroughly enjoyed laying charges against Fortescue. With some persuasion, Edmund arranged it that we not have to remain for the trial, as my property had been returned. We left off signed statements. They had plenty of other witnesses ready and willing to testify that Mr. Douglas-Aberdeen-Fortescue-Czarnkow was assured of a long spell of free lodging.
Uncle Weston and Cummings left at once to terminate the lease on the latter's apartment and get him permanently returned to Rusholme. They parted with all manner of cheerful promises to call on us, along with requests for us to come and see them on our wedding visits. We agreed amiably to this absurdity, then went to Edmund's waiting carriage.
A festival mood descended upon us as a result of seeing our wrongdoer safely locked up. Edmund was sure the fellow would pick a lock or break a window and be back on the streets in no time, filling his pockets with stolen goods, but I did not fear that lightni
ng would strike twice. It would not be me he preyed on next time. The rest of the world must fend for itself.
“What was the plan Maisie spoke of, about selling Westgate to Beattie I mean? I cannot think how he will offer if we are to conceal from him the news we want to sell."
“Trust me. I'm a genius, remember?"
“Don't you be making plans behind my back too. What a stupid thing for Jeremy to do, not telling us he means to sell. I want to apologize for his lack of manners."
“I believe it runs in the family. Was I too hard on the cawker?"
“Not half so hard as I mean to be, when we get back."
“His instincts were correct at least, to defend your reputation. You don't suppose he will force me to have you? Marry you, I mean."
“I never heard of an unlicked cub forcing a full-grown grizzly bear to do anything. Tell me the great plan Maisie spoke of."
“I thought I might visit with you a few days at Westgate, letting word seep out I am interested in buying the place. When Beattie hears it, he will, we hope, take the idea that if it is to be sold, it would better be reannexed to Eastgate. He will make you a counter offer, and Jeremy will accept it. Voilà!" he said, splaying his hands in triumph.
"Voilà what? Who is to say he will be so compliant as to make this offer? I never heard such rubbish in my life. We must put it up for sale in the regular way. I see absolutely no merit in your scheme beyond its novelty."
“That's odd. Maisie saw the merit of it at once."
“I am not so sharp as Maisie. Tell me."
“The point is, it provides me an excellent excuse to visit you, as my first pretext of hiring you a steward was rejected out of hand, and with very poor grace too, I might add."
“I thought you were eager to get home."
“I am, but not alone,” he said, taking my left hand in his. My heart speeded up. “Marriage and other disasters have the reputation of occurring in three's. We have Willie and his bride, Glandower and his, now I fear my number has come up.” His other arm slid around my waist.
“You had no luck with your prowling last night, in other words, and are feeling amorous."
“You understand me uncomfortably well. No luck. My heart was not in it. I think you know where it was."
“Those are dangerous words, sir. When a man starts letting on he has a heart, his first object is to lose it to some poor lady."
“They don't come much poorer than you,” he was uncavalier enough to remind me.
“I meant poor in the ‘poor Willie’ sense."
“Ah, Willie! I find myself envying him of late. I have lost not only my heart, but my head as well."
“Next thing to go will be your freedom. What of your misogamy?"
“It got smashed to bits, along with my carriage wheel. I expect it is even now lying in a ditch outside of Devizes, gasping its last gasp. Poor devil."
“I would make a perfectly wretched wife, Edmund. I am a nagging, foul-tempered harpy, who would keep you under cat's paw."
“That is exactly the sort of lady I require. A watering pot would not suit me. I recognized you for an arch-shrew when you advised me to find a strong-willed woman, provide her with a club, and marry her. I considered it just one step shy of a proposal when you said it. Shall we go shopping for a club now?"
“Let us go home instead. I expect you are eager to get fighting with Jeremy, and I feel an urge to kick my mutt."
“I am not feeling at all bellicose at the moment,” he insisted, his arms tightening around my waist. “I will just remind you, however, you cannot get my ring off, and your alternatives are to either lay legal claim to it, or have the finger removed by surgery. It is entirely up to you."
“I think with a little butter..."
“Think again!” he said, and attacked me, very angrily, in the carriage, in broad daylight. I was subjected to a fairly brutal embrace which I enjoyed thoroughly, though it left my composure, to say nothing of my toilette, in a shambles.
“Try to remember I am not one of your pickups from a public inn!” I gasped, when he released me.
“No, you are much more accomplished. Just wait till I get you that whip to defend yourself."
"Club, Edmund, and don't think I won't use it."
“Don't think you won't have to!"
Our voices had risen somewhat above a normal conversational tone. We both realized it at once, and laughed. “We're off to a fine start, aren't we?” I asked.
“Nope, we haven't started yet. High time we did.” He reached for his watch with an impatient gesture.
I sighed to consider the large job I was taking on, keeping pace with him.
* * *
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