by Cheryl Holt
“Why would I?” Lydia seethed. “So I could live like you? Hand to mouth? Gambling and swindling and barely holding on? I won’t defend my choices, Annabel.”
“I have more fun than you Lydia.”
“There’s more to life than fun.”
“I’m sure you believe that, but I never have.”
Whenever Annabel visited her sister, she swore she wouldn’t fight with her, wouldn’t tease or insult her, but Lydia was so unlikeable, such an easy target for jabs and gibes. How could Annabel keep from mocking her?
Why do I bother?
It was the question she always asked when she was leaving. She had such a small family. There were her mother’s relatives, the ones who’d disowned her mother when she’d run off with Cecil. Annabel had once sought shelter with them, but her grandfather, Lord Roxbury, had the servants escort her off the property. After that humiliation, she’d never again admitted her connection to them.
The only others who could claim her were Michael, Lydia, and Harry. When they were such a tiny bundle of kin, shouldn’t they try to get along?
But with Lydia being such a shrew, it was too daunting. She and Lydia were oil and water, they didn’t mix, and as she walked out the door, she wondered if she’d ever be back.
There was a mounting block out by the barn, and she climbed onto her horse on her own because there were no servants working in the yard who might have assisted her. She tugged on the reins to depart, and Peggy stepped outside.
“Pardon her, Miss Annabel,” Peggy said. “She can’t help being bitter.”
“Yes, she can, Peggy, but she likes to be unhappy. She was born miserable. My father always told me so.”
“Will you come again soon?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“And I was curious about Harry...” Peggy glanced furtively at the house as if worried that Lydia might overhear.
“What about him?”
“It’s the harvest break at his school. Most of the boys have left for festivals and celebrations.”
Annabel sighed. “But not Harry?”
“No, and he wasn’t allowed home at Easter or summer.”
Annabel frowned. “Why didn’t you write and tell me?”
“I didn’t know where you and Michael were living.”
“I’ll do a better job in the future of keeping you informed.”
“I miss Harry, Miss Annabel, and I wish he could spend the week with us.”
“Why can’t he?”
“Mr. Boswell won’t pay the coach fare, and Lydia doesn’t have it.” Peggy scoffed. “She wouldn’t pay even if she did. Mr. Boswell has forbidden Harry from staying with us, but if I had two pennies to rub together, I’d defy that arrogant miser and purchase the ticket myself.”
“The school’s not that far from here.” Annabel understood what Peggy was really saying. “I’ll take care of it, Peggy. Michael and I will fetch him.”
“Thank you.”
“You need to talk to Lydia about it. Once we ride in with him, I won’t have her complaining over the fact that he arrived.”
“I’ll handle it on this end. Just bring him to me.”
Annabel kicked her horse into a trot, and as she waved goodbye, she was smiling, glad she’d get to see Harry, but irked that it meant she’d have to see her sister again too.
“WHO IS AT THE door this time?”
Millicent Grey peered over at her butler, Mr. Addington, who was hovering in the hall. She was sequestered in an upstairs parlor of their town house, busy with Benjamin’s wedding preparations. She’d given specific instructions that she wasn’t to be interrupted for any reason.
Benjamin was about to finally be Lord Lyndon—a moment she’d anticipated her entire life—so she was suddenly extremely popular. She had to limit the number of callers she received.
People with whom she hadn’t conversed in a decade kept stopping by. They were people who’d gossiped about Benjamin and Baby Caleb, who’d pointed fingers and hurled despicable allegations, but Benjamin was about to be a peer of the realm, and they figured their insults were forgiven and forgotten.
Well, they might assume all was forgotten, but Millicent certainly didn’t, and she would never forgive those who’d defamed her son and slandered her family name.
An aristocratic wedding was a lavish event, and Benjamin’s fiancée, Veronica, was no help whatsoever. The annoying child enjoyed the pomp involved in her becoming a countess, but when it came to actual effort in making it happen she was conspicuously absent.
Millicent had once presumed that Veronica would be the perfect bride for Benjamin, but with her being incompetent at planning a large party Millicent was having second thoughts.
With the trouble the betrothal had stirred between Wesley and Benjamin, Veronica was on thin ice with Millicent. Then again, in Millicent’s eyes Benjamin was a stellar, stunning man, and no bride could ever be worthy of him.
“Mrs. Grey,” Mr. Addington replied to her query, “you won’t believe who is here.”
“If you don’t tell me, I’ll never know, will I?”
“It’s Soloman Grey, ma’am.”
Her jaw dropped in shock. She was aware that Benjamin had been writing to Soloman, demanding he return for the investiture. He was Caleb’s guardian and half-brother so Benjamin felt it was appropriate that Soloman be present.
Millicent had never agreed that Soloman should be included. Nor had she expected he would travel to England. The blasted oaf had been gone for ten years. If she’d had any idea that he’d show up, she’d have found a way to intercept Benjamin’s letters.
“Soloman is...here?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t admit I was in residence, did you?”
“Not yet. Shall I bring him up to speak with you?”
She stared out the window, struggling to assess the situation.
Benjamin was about to achieve his destiny. It was a fate she’d foreseen from the time she’d been a young wife. A Gypsy who told fortunes had confirmed it. Benjamin would be Earl of Lyndon. He would be celebrated as one of the greatest men in the land.
While the scandal surrounding Caleb disappearance was still bandied, it wasn’t as scorching hot as it had previously been, and she wouldn’t fuel the fires of speculation. Benjamin was about to be accepted into the highest circles where he’d always belonged.
But if Soloman was by his side, Benjamin would never attain the accolades and tributes he deserved. Soloman was a bastard son, a by-blow, an actress’s mistake. With such a dubious parentage, he should never be allowed to fraternize with his betters.
Her brother-in-law, Ralston Grey—Soloman’s father—had insisted the family embrace Soloman. Millicent had complied with Ralston’s command, but had silently gnashed her teeth over Benjamin and Soloman being raised together. She hadn’t wanted to quarrel with Ralston about it, but Ralston was dead, Caleb had been declared deceased by the courts, and Benjamin was about to be Lord Lyndon.
Millicent couldn’t guess if Soloman had killed his baby half-brother, but if he was the one who’d committed the heinous deed, it had left the road open for Benjamin to seize the day as Lyndon.
If Soloman was responsible, she was privately grateful, but that didn’t mean she had to be cordial. Benjamin couldn’t be permitted to bond with Soloman again, and Soloman couldn’t be permitted to stand at the altar when Benjamin spoke his vows with Veronica. The whole notion was preposterous.
“Please advise Soloman that we’re not at home,” she firmly stated.
Mr. Addington was usually stoic and compliant, but it was clear her remark had upset him. Ultimately though, he calmed. “When shall I tell him you will return?”
“Inform him that I am away for several weeks at a spa and unavailable to visitors. Then inform him that Benjamin is in Scotland on business.”
“Are you sure I should, ma’am?” he dared to ask.
A caustic glare passed between them, and she was vividly remi
nded that he worked for Benjamin and not for her, but he would do as she bid him or he’d be out on the streets by tea time. Benjamin would never know he’d been terminated.
“Yes, I’m sure you should,” she said.
“If he inquires as to when Captain Grey will—”
“Don’t forget it’s Lord Lyndon now.” She’d already ordered the staff to refer to him by his new appellation.
“If he inquires as to Lord Lyndon’s schedule”—he was obviously irked and furious—“what shall I say?”
“You have no idea when he’ll be back. You should also mention he shouldn’t count on Benjamin being in London in the near future. In fact, if he would like to sail for Egypt immediately it would probably be for the best.”
Addington tarried, being particularly recalcitrant in a manner he never was then he clicked his heels and departed.
The room’s lone window looked down on the driveway. She tiptoed over and peeked down. She could see the hackney cab that had delivered Soloman to the house, and she watched until he appeared and climbed in.
He could have been Benjamin’s twin: tall, muscular, fit, dark-haired, blue-eyed. He had been and still was a handsome devil, but trouble followed him like a black cloud, and she couldn’t let any of his bad luck rain down on them.
Not when all of her dreams were about to come true.
She hadn’t been completely deceptive. Benjamin really was away, attending his bachelor party in the country. Hopefully, Soloman would grow tired of waiting for him. He’d pack up and head to Egypt before Benjamin knew he’d arrived. If he didn’t go on his own, perhaps Millicent could devise a way to make him go.
For of a certainty, he couldn’t be allowed to stay and insert himself into the middle of Millicent’s greatest triumph.
APTAIN GREY BEGS YOU to join him for supper.”
“Supper?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“I couldn’t possibly.”
Annabel smiled at the footman who’d accosted her in the foyer. She’d just arrived from her long trek to Boswell House, and she tried to scoot around him, but the wily fellow was quick and determined. He blocked her way.
“The Captain asked me to escort you to him the moment you returned.”
“I’ve been riding all day. I have to wash and change.”
“The Captain told me to tell you he knew you’d say something like that, and you’re not to wash or change.”
“Not wash or change? He can’t be serious.”
“He was very serious, Miss Fenwick. He also told me to inform you that whatever trick you’re thinking of pulling next, it won’t work.”
“If I refuse to accompany you, what will you do?”
“I am to physically restrain you then carry you to him.”
“He’s mad,” she fumed.
The man flushed with chagrin. “Please don’t make me restrain you.”
“Captain Grey is a bully.”
“I like him fine, Miss, and I need my job. I couldn’t bear to upset him.”
“No, we daren’t upset the poor boy.”
“If you’ll come with me?”
He motioned to the stairs then started up. She marched behind him, curious as to where they were going and what she’d encounter when she was there. Why couldn’t Captain Grey leave her alone?
His home was filled with loose doxies so he could have his pick and never be bored. But so far, she was the only one who’d intrigued him. Wasn’t it just like a man to want the one woman who wasn’t interested?
As they reached the landing, Michael was rushing down.
“When did you get back?” he asked.
“Just now.”
“How was your ride?”
“It was good to be out in the country.”
“How is Lydia?”
“Guess.”
“Miserable and grouchy?”
“She spent the whole time whining about her father-in-law and how she must abide by his edicts at all costs.”
“How could Cecil have sired her?”
“Perhaps her mother was already with child when Cecil eloped with her. Maybe he’s not her father.”
It was a prospect they’d often debated, even in front of Cecil who’d insisted Lydia was his daughter despite how she had nothing in common with him or her two half-siblings.
Cecil had always absconded with pretty girls then he’d swiftly squander their dowries. Plain, ordinary Lydia was reported to look like her deceased mother so Annabel had never understood why Cecil had glommed onto the pitiable woman. He’d claimed Lydia’s mother was sweet and charming in the beginning, but she’d changed after marriage to him had ground her down.
Annabel could comprehend how a female would suffer with a husband like Cecil. It was the reason she’d never consider matrimony. She was too afraid she’d bind herself to what she assumed was a suitable candidate only to have him turn into a version of her reckless, unreliable father.
“I’ve agreed to complete a task for Miss Peggy,” Annabel said.
“What is it?”
“Harry hasn’t been allowed home in almost a year. I promised her we’d go to his school and convey him to Lydia’s for the harvest holiday.”
“Why bother, Annabel? You know Lydia won’t like it.”
“I’m not doing it for Lydia. I’m doing it for Peggy—and for you and me. And mostly for Harry. We haven’t seen him in ages.”
“True.”
“Will you come with me to fetch him?”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“I’ll try. Right now I’m off to London with Wesley.”
“So late?”
“The moon will be up. We’ll be fine. We’ve invited a few doxies to return with us, and hopefully they’ll be packed and ready to travel and we won’t have to wait on them.”
“Bring some especially intriguing ones, will you? Captain Grey obviously hasn’t found anyone to tickle his fancy.”
“He’s found you.”
“Very funny,” she griped. “Hurry back. I’m counting on you to help me retrieve Harry.”
The footman was growing impatient, apparently worried that Captain Grey wouldn’t like the delay. Michael seemed to notice.
“Where are you off to?” he asked.
“Captain Grey has demanded I attend him.”
“Ho-ho! He has, has he?”
“This fellow”—she gestured to the footman—“was commanded to deliver me to him immediately.”
Michael grinned. “He must want to speak with you very, very badly.”
“I don’t suppose you’d accompany me and tell him to stuff it, would you? Couldn’t you at least pretend to protect my virtue?”
“First of all, you don’t have much virtue. And second of all, I’m perfectly happy to share you with him, and I’m sure you can take care of yourself. You hardly need me interfering.”
He gave a jaunty salute then skipped down the stairs, calling, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Bloody sod.” Her rough language caused the footman to stumble on the step. “Sorry,” she murmured, but she really wasn’t.
She’d never met a man she could force to behave as she wished. Not her father. Not her brother. Not Captain Grey. They never did as she asked, never did what she required. In that regard, her father had been awful, but her brother was even worse.
The footman started off again, and they wound down a long hall to a pair of ornate double doors at the end. Evidently, she was to parley with the Captain in his bedchamber, and if she’d been a weaker sort of female she might have quailed at the notion.
She stuck her hand in the pocket of her riding habit, checking that her pistol was still there. It was.
The footman knocked twice then entered with a grand flourish, loudly announcing, “Miss Fenwick is finally here, Captain.”
She hovered on the threshold, and the footman supplied a bit of a shove then closed the door behind her. She thought about spinning around and foll
owing him out. After all, what could Captain Grey do if she left?
Well, he’d chase her down, and she wouldn’t have a minute’s peace until he was satisfied she’d obeyed him. Annoying cur!
On tenterhooks, she dawdled in the silence until she noted a warm fire was burning in the hearth and a table for two had been set in front of it.
Someone had gone to an enormous amount of trouble. There was a pristine white table cloth, linen napkins, the best crystal goblets. Over on the sideboard, there were several dishes covered with lids, and her stomach growled as she smelled various delicious aromas.
Much of her anxiety fled. Apparently, he intended to feed her before he ravished her.
She pulled off her hat and gloves and tossed them on a nearby sofa. Then she went over to the table, sat down, and poured herself a glass of wine. As she was enjoying her first sip, he strolled in from the bedchamber.
“There you are,” he groused. “It’s about time you showed yourself.”
“Nice to see you again too, Captain.”
He marched over, dipped down, and kissed her as if he had every right. To her great disgust, she let him proceed. Still though, she felt duty-bound to complain.
“Captain, we’re scarcely acquainted. You can’t simply walk up and kiss me whenever you’re in the mood.”
“Yes, I can, Annabel. I’ve explained this to you. My house, my rules. If I decide to kiss you, I will. Don’t bother protesting. I won’t listen.”
He’d just washed. His hair was wet, his skin damp. He smelled like soap, clean laundry, and fresh air, and she caught herself smiling with pleasure. She wanted to dislike him, but he made it so difficult.
Looking decadent and marvelous, he slouched into the chair across from her. He assessed her, his lazy gaze taking in her dusty clothes, her scuffed boots.
“Where have you been?” he asked.
“Riding.”
“All day?”
“Yes, all day.”
“I could have sworn we had an appointment at ten.”
“You had an appointment. I had other plans.”
“You are the most impertinent female I’ve ever encountered.”
“I’m sure that’s true, seeing as how your world is filled with fussy, naïve debutantes.”
