Thief Steals Her Earl

by McKnight, Christina

  And you, he added silently.

  “I have told you repeatedly, I forbid her to attend a school away from this townhouse and if she were to travel with me, her education would continue to be seen to.” Cart knew the possibility of her agreeing to his demand was slim. She was a fairly rational thinker and disregarding his offer so readily did not suit her character. “However…” She sighed as if seriously considering his proposal. “When would she leave?”

  “As soon as I’ve located and interviewed a school—and found it appropriate.”

  “Thirty pounds.” Lady Cartwright was nothing if not insightfully clever with her bargaining skills. “And she does not depart until after the season ends and I’ve settled on my own travel plans.”

  “You understand that as Lord Cartwright—and Theo’s legal guardian—I do not have to obtain your permission?” he asked. “I only seek to keep the peace in this household by extending to you my plans for her future, no matter if they impede yours.”

  “You will ruin any prospects she has of a proper match,” Lady Cartwright accused. “No man will seek the hand of an overly educated, free-minded young woman.”

  “I think you misjudge what gentlemen find appealing in the fairer sex.”

  “It most certainly is not a woman who seeks a career as a doctor—or heaven help us both—studies the law.”

  She could not understand why any woman would seek to study more than needlepoint and the harpsichord. However, times were changing. The roles of men and women were blurring—and Cart would not allow his only sibling to enter her adult life without the skills and knowledge to care for herself and her family. It mattered naught that Theodora was a woman and, therefore, deemed less than a man.

  Cart shuddered to think what would have happened if he’d been a woman, arriving home to find out someone had taken all that should have belonged to him and should have supported many generations to come. Theo would never know that fate.

  “School for Theodora—and thirty pounds for you to do with as you wish,” he offered. “In exchange for you not fighting me on this decision.”

  It was the best agreement Cart could hope for. It would definitely be worth the many pieces he would be forced to sell in order to scrape together the funds he’d promised her.

  “Momma.” Theo’s voice came from the open doorway.

  Cart replaced his peeved expression with a welcoming smile for his sibling, hoping his mother saw fit to do the same.

  “Yes, my dear.” The words were strained.

  “Cook is looking for you to discuss the menu for supper.” Thankfully, Theo appeared oblivious to the debate regarding her future that had only moments before heated hotter than ever. “She awaits you in the drawing room.”

  Lady Cartwright swung back around, a generous smile playing across her lips as if to show him she were still in control—at least where the staff was concerned. “I agree with your proposition, Simon. Do fulfill your obligations quickly. I have much to prepare for.”

  She turned on slippered feet and marched toward the door, pausing briefly to peck Theo on the cheek before departing the room with her skirt billowing in her wake.

  “What have you been quarreling over this hour?” Theo asked, entering the room further.

  “You know us too well, Sprite,” he replied, hoping to distract her from the question. When she refused to rise to the bait of her hated nickname and only stared, awaiting an answer, Cart continued, “It is of no import—only adult matters.”

  “I am not far from being an adult, Cart.”

  He took a moment to look her from crown to toes, shocked by how true her statement was, but never would he admit it. At her age, there were many young women already promised to their husbands. “I assure you, the thread of our discussion was as uninspiring as the unseasoned duck soup Cook makes every Christmastide.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “Yuck!”

  “Exactly so.” Cart relaxed into his chair. “Now, where did you run off to when my visitor arrived? You were very serious in your negotiations to see her.”

  Theo’s face paled. “Oh, I realized neglecting my studies only to gain a peek of your caller was not my wisest decision.”

  “You seemed very convinced of it before,” he said. “Why the quick change?”

  “I am almost of an age to be rid of these plaits and short dresses. It would not be in my best interest to gain a reputation by spying on others.” Theo had been taking note of their mother’s strict lectures on decorum. “Besides, whoever she was cannot be all too interesting. She was here to visit you, after all.”

  Cart chuckled. “Yes, yes, I know. You find your older brother highly tedious and dreary.”

  A bit of coloring returned to her cheeks with his laughter. “I will let you return to your dull routine.”

  She dropped into an exaggerated curtsey, one their mother would in no way approve of, her hands lifting her skirt high enough to expose her stockings where they ended just below her knees.

  “You are allowed to pester me any time,” Cart said, settling his glasses on the bridge of his nose once more. “And I think you shall be meeting my visitor at some point.”

  Theo’s smiled wobbled slightly and he filled with concern.

  “Is all as it should be?”

  “It is just that your mention of routine reminded me that I must practice my piano before Gustavo arrives for my lesson.”

  “Very well.” Cart nodded in dismissal, though he felt her words were forced.

  But there was much he need ponder before his afternoon in Hyde Park on the morrow. None of it having to do with his mother or her travel plans and all to do with Jude; namely, how he would hide his lack of a proper open-air carriage—or rideable horse.

  Chapter 11

  “I have confirmed several times, Marce.” Garrett was at his wits end, Jude could tell. He’d untied and discarded his cravat over an hour before, his empty tumbler sat unattended on the table in Marce’s gold and red receiving room, and he currently lay prone on her low-slung lounge, his free hand toying with the hanging golden tassels. His pose was in direct opposition to the exasperation in his tone. “We go through this every year. I promise to keep watch on the girls, manage Craven House as best I can, and keep the card room steady and the clients happy.”

  His words did nothing to alleviate Marce’s furrowed brow and hectic movements behind her desk.

  “Sister, things will go as they do every year,” Jude said, attempting to help her brother. The grimace he gave her told Jude she needed to work harder. “Come now, Marce. You’ve taken this journey each year since Mother passed. This year will be no different. You will depart from four siblings and will return to four siblings.”

  “This year is very much different.” Marce pulled open a drawer and removed a stack of thick stationery embossed with her initials MD, placing it in her travel case. Next, she made sure her ink was closed tightly and would not leak. It followed the paper into the case, along with several quill pens and Craven House’s household ledger. “Everything is out of control.”

  “Do you not mean everyone?” Payton had the good sense to mumble behind her hand to Jude and Sam.

  The three women sat on the settee across from Garrett, their bodies wedged close together on a seat meant for two. Each with their own reason for staying silent when Garrett and Marce discussed back and forth about the upcoming week.

  Jude hadn’t any idea why Payton or Garrett sought to push Marce along on her trip, but her twin and she knew a few days without Marce’s hawk-like watch over them would benefit them greatly…namely, giving them the opportunity to be rid of the vase.

  In the foyer, Marce’s traveling chest awaited her exit.

  In her private salon, her siblings awaited her departure.

  Not a thing was out of order.

  Part of Marce’s unrest was normal—something each of them noticed as her time away from Craven House approached each season. In the days leading up to this time of year, Marce w
as even more domineering than usual. She’d made the journey like clockwork since their mother’s passing, the same as Madame Sasha had before her. Marce never spoke of where she traveled to or who sent the carriage to collect her. When they’d been younger, Jude, Sam, and Payton had dreamed that a prince sent for Marce—that the well-sprung, ornately adorned traveling carriage with the deep green velvet seats arrived each year to whisk their eldest sister away to a far-off castle where she was actually a princess.

  Their assumptions were never met with agreement or denial. When Marce returned home after her time away, she was once again the jovial and even spirited—though commanding—family leader they loved.

  Marce was correct in thinking everything was out of control—more so than Jude hoped she realized. It was not many nights ago that Jude spent time locked away and if Marce hadn’t been in town, there was no telling what might have happened to her.

  They’d never imagined that Lady Haversham—with Ellie’s help—would take the trio under her wing and present them properly to society, but that was the reality. No longer could Marce lock them away in their schoolroom, forcing them to master their studies.

  Each knew that Marce could not support them forever. At some point, they need marry or find a means to help support themselves and Craven House.

  Their home had undergone many changes in recent years. No longer was the name synonymous with ill repute. Gone were the many rooms used to entertain gentlemen of the aristocracy, as well as the women who survived by serving them. Yes, remnants of olden days remained, specifically, the card games Marce hosted several evenings per week to help support the women who sought out Craven House for aid. The same women that Madame Sasha, their dear mother, would have helped by allowing them to sell their bodies under this very roof. But Marce had found a way around that—given those same abused and abandoned women hope for a future that did not include further abuse, no matter the coin they made.

  Though it had come at a huge financial strain and was affecting their entire family.

  Jude respected Marce’s decisions, even though they meant many sacrifices for them all. They had no lady’s maids to attend them, no fancy gowns ordered regularly, and sometimes, meals were little more than what Cook could put together from the small garden behind Craven House.

  There were hardly enough funds from the gaming hell for their barest necessities.

  Marce insisted the sacrifice would be worth it for them all.

  As it already had.

  Marce—and her siblings—were permitted a life on the fringes of society. It was not much, but it would guarantee them all some sort of match. In turn, her sister was wise enough to use her connections within the ton to secure honest work for the women who came to Craven House for help.

  That meant much secrecy and avoidance when peers asked of their relations. The perceptions of Craven House among the beau monde were not favorable in any way. Surely, men had enjoyed the entertainments provided by Sasha, their mother, but many thought that meant Jude and her sisters were women of loose morals, available for the taking. This was only overshadowed by the wives and female relations of men who’d frequented her home in the past. They assumed all measure of debauchery still existed within its walls—which created fallacious perceptions of Jude and her sisters.

  The one thing Marce did for herself was this journey each year.

  A soft knock sounded at the door.

  “Come in.” Marce sighed, standing from her seat behind her desk as Craven House’s only full-time servant entered.

  “Your carriage has arrived, m’lady.” Mr. Curtis bowed his head. “Should I gather your belongings?”

  They all held their breath, fearing Marce would cancel or postpone her departure until her siblings came to heel and things returned to a more orderly state.

  The silence dragged on, when finally, Garrett pushed to his feet. “Marce, you know you must go.”

  Must? Jude stared at the pair—some silent message and answer traveling between them. For the first time in many years, Jude questioned her closeness with Garrett. She knew he favored her, their personalities closely mirroring one another, and that she served as his confidante, but there was obviously something he kept from her. Though Jude was guilty of doing the same of late.

  Marce reached into her drawer once more to retrieve a stack of correspondence, slipped it into her bag, secured the flap on her travel case, and stepped around her desk. She stopped before Jude and her sisters where they all sat, quiet yet watchful.

  “Will I regret this decision?” Marce asked, turning a hard stare on each of them in turn. She stopped when she got to Jude. “Can you remain out of the watchman’s residence?” She didn’t wait for a response but moved back to Sam. “Can you refrain from starting a scandal that will cast a dim light on Lady Haversham?” She was a full head shorter than Sam and Jude, but her stance and glare made her appear taller than Garrett’s near six feet. “And do not let me hear that you snuck into the card room while I was away.”

  Payton moaned. “That is unfair.”

  “Would you like to know what is unfair?” Marce’s hands went to her hips, her lips pursed and her voice stern. “Me being woken from my bed in the middle of the night to collect Jude. Me working all day to make sure the three of you have a meal to eat. Me having to settle your gaming debts, Payton.”

  Jude turned sharply to her twin, who gave her the same puzzled expression. Could the notices her sister had been receiving all be due to their youngest sibling? But no, they had always been cautioned against overspending or requesting frivolous things. Since their mother’s passing and Marce taking charge of Craven House, things had changed and the normal funds they were used to receiving had all but dried up.

  “What debts?” Garrett voiced Jude’s question. “I have heard nothing of this—and who would take seriously a wager against a child?”

  “I am not a child—“

  “Who is not important, as I have handled the situation with no one the wiser—even the lot of you. I had agreed never to bring it up again, but…” Marce cut off Payton’s protest before pausing and breathing deeply, her bosom heaving, straining against her tight bodice. She picked up her case once more. “I think it is imperative each of you knows that there will be serious repercussions if I return to find any of you have gotten into trouble. Do I make myself clear?”

  Garrett threw his chin up, motioning for them to stand.

  They popped up from the chaise lounge so suddenly that their movement pushed it back a few inches, its feet scraping against the hardwood floor.

  “Of course,” Sam inclined her head.

  “Very well,” Payton sighed.

  “You will not regret taking your yearly holiday.” Jude stepped forward and embraced her sister. Payton’s gambling debts were not the worst of the family problems—it could not be the only thing that weighed so heavily on her sister’s shoulders, the delinquency notices pointed to far deeper troubles for Craven House. “We shall endeavor to not embarrass you—or Lady Haversham in your absence.”

  Marce wrapped her arms around Jude and returned the hug, her small stature holding the strength of a woman twice her size. “You better hope you do not. I would have no regret locking the trio of you in your rooms for the next decade.”

  When Jude released Marce, Payton and Sam gave her quick hugs, and the three stepped back.

  Marce turned to Garrett. “Are you certain you can spare the time to keep watch at the card tables?”

  “Have I let you down?” he asked. When Marce said nothing, he added, “Recently?”

  It broke the tension that had clouded the room since Marce had summoned them all not long after the noonday repast.

  Curtis, their manservant, cleared his throat from the doorway. “My lady, the driver says if ye are to arrive before nightfall, ye must depart now.”

  She nodded to the elderly man and with one last lingering look to her siblings, Marce walked toward the door. “I shall be gone a week,
at most.”

  And only a three or four-hour carriage ride from London, if she were to arrive by nightfall as Mr. Curtis hinted. She certainly wasn’t traveling all the way to Bath in such a short amount of time.

  “Godspeed, dear sister,” Garrett called, retaking his place on the lounge.

  “Do keep everyone from the gallows while I’m away.”

  “I can’t do any worse than you, I fear,” Garrett answered with a chuckle.

  “I am serious.”

  Jude, Payton, and Sam kept silent, content to watch the encounter between their eldest siblings.

  It was only imperative that Marce be gone shortly, Sam and Jude had a ride in Hyde Park to prepare for—and neither wanted any questions from their sister.

  Marce handed her traveling case to Mr. Curtis before walking through the open door. Her footfalls could be heard as she made her way to the foyer, the elderly man in her wake.

  “I thought she’d never leave!” Sam fell across her bed, the ropes holding the straw-filled bedding in place creaked at the sudden weight. They’d quickly made their excuses and departed for their bedchambers after the front door closed behind Marce. “How are we supposed to get rid of that blasted vase with Garrett so close at hand?”

  Jude had been worried about the same thing. It was her hope that Payton kept him occupied while she and Sam did what they needed to do. Namely, be rid of that cursed item and, with a bit of luck, put their thieving ways behind them for good. Or at least that was Jude’s expectation. Unfortunately, their only option at the moment was Lord Cartwright. Even though Jude despised misleading him.

  She was torn, even though it was a necessary evil—helping her family keep their home meant lying to and misleading a man who’d captured her interest beyond a handsome smile.