“Matthew, if you send her to the gallows, it will haunt you for the rest of your life. I know what it is to feel desperate, at the mercy of selfish men, without options other than those I can create myself. I hate her for trying to hurt you, for planning to steal from her own family, but I know what it is to make wrong choices.”
Matthew turned her in his arms and for long moments tried to find some peace in the sound of the river rolling past.
“She is dangerous,” he said at last. “She nearly killed me, nearly killed you. She exploited a foolish younger sibling who’d looked up to her. She had a hand in destroying any hope my first marriage had of success. She lied to and manipulated her idiot of a husband. I’m enraged simply listing her transgressions.”
Theresa kissed him, a wifely, comforting sort of kiss. “I’m furious, and my luncheon is threatening to reappear. Let’s get back to the house. Our absence will have been noticed, and our children are doubtless worried.”
Two words—our children—pierced Matthew’s awareness like a beacon of light across a foggy midnight sea. Truly, he’d married well this time.
“Come,” Matthew said. “Time enough later to argue over the fate of the prisoner, if my brother doesn’t accidentally shoot her and toss her remains into the river.”
Theresa kept his hand in a snug grip, and even when the trail narrowed and they had to walk nearly single-file, she didn’t turn loose of him.
Nor he of her.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Agatha is being held under armed guard in the dower cottage,” Matthew said, leaning an elbow on the library mantel when all the guests had been cordially sent on their way. “Mind you, I’m not asking you three to make a decision regarding her fate, but your opinions are welcome. As far as I’m concerned, Agatha has broken the law, and is guilty of multiple felonies. Nonetheless, she is family, as is her spouse.”
Theresa had never admired her husband more, for Matthew was trying so hard to be fair and rational, despite his continuing ire toward Agatha. Thomas too, was maintaining his peace, sitting beside Theresa on the library sofa, when he’d made it clear he’d rather be building a gallows at the foot of the drive.
Christopher settled into the reading chair by the fire, a brandy in his hand.
“Rem, Richard, and I have talked, Papa, and you needn’t be so careful. He’s Uncle Emmanuel to us, and that’s all he’ll ever be.”
“I doubt I’ll be writing to him any time soon,” Richard said from his end of the sofa. “Agatha’s sentence ought to be hard labor while subsisting on a diet of her own pear compote for the rest of her life.”
Remington was sitting behind the library’s desk, looking much like… Matthew. Like his papa.
“Do they have pears in the Antipodes?” Rem asked.
At the sideboard, Axel ceased fiddling with his violin’s tuning pegs. “Excellent question.”
Matthew exchanged a look with his brother. In twenty years, Theresa might still not entirely understand such looks, but she wouldn’t need to. She understood her husband.
And she understood that his sons—her sons, too, now—were brilliant. “Are you suggesting transportation?” she asked.
“That would get Uncle Emmanuel out from underfoot if he emigrated,” Rem said, “and he’s much in need of a fresh start. Aunt was a model of Christian charity and decorum, as far as anybody knows, and her bad behavior seems to have limited itself to family. Maybe transportation is what she deserves.”
“And pear compotes,” Richard said. “For his stupidity, Uncle deserves her.”
Thomas laid an arm across the back of the sofa. “You won’t miss your uncle?”
Thomas knew what it was to be sent far from home, but how perceptive of him, to realize those left behind might miss the one banished—terribly.
“Uncle can come home to visit in ten years if he’s of a mind to,” Christopher said. “Or not. I don’t fancy a long sea journey, myself.”
“Nor I,” Richard said.
“I’m prone to a bilious stomach on the high seas,” Remington observed. “Though a jaunt over to Paris this summer to work on my French might be in order.”
Axel sighted down the length of his violin bow. “If I see Capshaw again, I’ll kill him. I’ll enjoy killing him. If he’d been a half-decent husband, a half-decent man, we would not be in this contretemps. He took advantage of Matilda, neglected Agatha, neglected his very acres, and disrespected Theresa. My nephews are more compassionate than I can be, so I’m off to practice in the conservatory.”
The library door closed softly behind him.
“He’ll play the Kreutzer Sonata,” Remington said, getting out from behind the desk. “Second movement.”
“First,” Christopher countered, rising. “Five quid on it.”
“You’re on,” Richard said, standing and stretching. “But he’ll play the last movement. It’s the most fiendish.”
“Also the jolliest,” Remington said.
Each one of them paused to kiss Theresa’s cheek before heading out the door. Thomas rose and looked about the library. “I seem to have misplaced my baroness.”
“She’s in the kitchen with Priscilla,” Matthew said. “Defending the remains of the buffet from Nicholas and Beckman.”
Theresa had burst into tears at the sight of Priscilla, who’d been reading a story to a rapt Nicholas in the loft. Alice had eventually peeled mother and daughter apart, but not until Theresa had promised to relay every moment of her adventure to her daughter.
“I should be in the kitchen,” Theresa said. “I’m your wife.”
Matthew prowled over to the sofa and took the place Thomas had vacated. “Sutcliffe, go cadge a meat pie from your baroness.”
“I’ll cadge something from her. Theresa, I take it you’ll bide here tonight?”
“Of course, she will,” Matthew said, gesturing toward the door with his chin. “As will Priscilla and Miss Portman. We can sort out the rest later, your lordship.”
Thomas stayed where he was, standing before the sofa. “I realize you sent me off to keep me safe from the twins, Theresa. That’s the only explanation that makes sense of all the facts. Those two would have cozened me into drinking, gambling, and worse dissipations, had I not been packed off to university, and then sent away from Sutcliffe.”
Well, of course. The day needed only this.
“You’re not to bring that old business up now,” Matthew said, tucking an arm around Theresa’s shoulders. “Go find your baroness and tell her to take you home, Sutcliffe.”
“Matthew, it’s all right,” Theresa said, letting Thomas draw her to her feet. “Thomas has guessed the whole of it. I made an agreement with my cousins. My pin money in exchange for them leaving Thomas alone. Then I hadn’t any pin money, because Grandfather concocted a scheme to marry me off.”
“So you got me banished, ruined yourself, and they divided up your settlement,” Thomas said, taking her in his arms. “Or did I get some of your settlement?”
Theresa could not find the words to lie to him.
“Thomas got every last groat, didn’t he?” Matthew muttered. “Your settlement for his freedom. Sutcliffe, you really must leave. Not the house, of course, but the room. My wife and I need to have a succinct discussion about her overly protective nature.”
Thomas’s arms remained around her. “Today, you reminded Agatha that she might have sought Matthew’s help. I know what you were thinking: You should have sought my help. Don’t be daft. We’ve had that discussion. I was all but penniless, eager to see the world, legally powerless where you were concerned. No matter how you might have cautioned me, no matter my own common sense, if the twins had been set on wrecking my life, my life would have been wrecked.”
Once again, Theresa burst into tears, and these too were tears of relief. “I should have told you, Thomas. I should have confided in you, trusted you. But you wouldn’t have taken the money, you wouldn’t have left me. You were no match for them. I sho
uld have—”
Matthew’s handkerchief dangled in Theresa’s line of sight. “He was a university boy, ignorant of life, and full of himself. For God’s sake, if I could be talked into marriage prior to my majority, and me a sober, upright, sensible fellow, just imagine what quagmires of debt and vice Sutcliffe could have landed in.”
“Entire swamps,” Thomas said, dabbing at Theresa’s cheeks. “Oceans in fact, I’m sure of it. I would probably be transported by now myself, or worse, if I’d fallen in with those two.”
“I was afraid you’d call them out,” Theresa said. “They were such bad apples, Thomas. When they called each other out, all I could think was, they didn’t get you.”
Thomas kissed her forehead. “Listen to me, because this needs to be said: Thank you, but—”
“If you ever do anything like that again,” Matthew interjected, “we will both be quite wroth with you. Sutcliffe, you’ve made your point. Turn loose of my wife.”
Thomas kissed Theresa’s cheek this time. “You’ve married a jealous man, Sister. If he’s ever difficult, you have only to apply to me.”
Matthew took him by the arm and marched him to the door. “I made the same offer to your baroness, on your wedding day, and I have both sons and a brother to back me up.”
Thomas’s smile would have put the sun to shame. “Sons, brothers—plural—and now even a daughter, thanks to the Jennings family. What matters all that, when Theresa is my sister?”
He sauntered out, and Matthew—wisest and most loving of husbands—let him have the last word. Then Matthew advanced on Theresa, hands on his hips.
“Madam, if that buffoon ever makes you cry again, I shall thrash him, family or not. Neighbor or not. If anybody makes you cry, I shall thrash them.”
Theresa sank back onto the sofa, and Matthew came down beside her. “I thought you were the king’s man, Matthew. A model of good sense and rational thinking.” She loved his good sense and his ability to patiently create order from chaos.
He kissed her knuckles and kept hold of her hand. “Bother good sense and rational thinking. I am your man, and it’s high time some other damned fool spent all of his waking hours searching for laundry thieves and prodigal hogs. Perhaps I shall take up the violin.”
Theresa snuggled closer and looped Matthew’s arm around her shoulders.
“Will you learn to play lullabies?”
“For you, my beloved, I will learn to play—lullabies? One hasn’t a need for a lullaby outside the nursery. Priscilla is too old for a lullaby and much too imaginative.”
Theresa searched for the right words, cheerful, but casual. Thrilled, actually, but ready to be mistaken.
“Earlier today,” Matthew said, “you mentioned that your luncheon threatened to make a reappearance.”
Of all the dire threats, he would recall that one. “I did say that.”
“Now you’re prosing on about lullabies.” He treated Theresa to a fierce perusal. “Mrs. Belmont, my nerves are delicate right now. You mustn’t tell my brother or my sons I ever said such a thing, though I suspect Priscilla would be very understanding. Have we conceived a child already?”
Tears trickled down Theresa’s cheek. “I become lachrymose when I’m carrying. You mustn’t think anything of it.”
Matthew’s embrace was all the tenderness any princess might have wished for from her prince. He kissed Theresa’s closed eyes, her cheeks, and each finger.
“I’ve barely made proper love to you,” he whispered. “Oh, this is marvelous. You are marvelous.”
“The improper approach will sometimes do the trick. You aren’t upset?”
“I’m… in awe. Awash with wonder, enraptured, delighted, and my brother will be so jealous. We must be considerate of his sensibilities.”
What they must do was find Axel a wife. “You can’t say anything, Matthew, not yet. It’s very early days, and one can’t be certain about these things.”
Except Theresa was certain, and all four times she bore Matthew a daughter, she knew early, and she turned into a watering-pot. The former king’s man was patient, doting, and prone to lecturing with each confinement, but he bore up under the ordeals with good grace, and when the time was right, found the perfect pony for each daughter.
And granddaughter.
And even for the great-granddaughters.
-THE END-
To my dear readers,
I hope you enjoyed Matthew and Theresa’s story, but Theresa is absolutely right—we MUST find a true love for Axel Belmont! Which brings us to… Axel: The Jaded Gentlemen, Book III
In the Belmont family tradition, Axel occasionally takes a turn serving as magistrate in his little corner of Oxfordshire. When the owner of a neighboring estate is the victim of a homicide, Axel initially suspects the man’s much younger wife, Abigail Stoneleigh.
But then Abby appears to be in harm’s way, and Axel’s investigation uncovers longstanding deceptions aimed at cheating her out of wealth and happiness. The solution to this deadly puzzle remains elusive, even as Axel captures Abby’s heart and surrenders his own. Axel is a fine investigator, a devoted father, a brilliant botanist, (and an excellent kisser), but will he solve the mystery before villain strikes again?
I’ve included a sneak peek in the pages that follow, and you can already order the ebook version from my website at graceburrowes.com.
In case you missed the first tale in The Jaded Gentlemen trilogy, Thomas: The Jaded Gentlemen--Book I is also available in both ebook and print versions.
And if that’s not enough happily ever after to add to your To Be Read pile… in November, the second book in my True Gentlemen trilogy comes out, Daniel’s True Desire. If you recall Daniel Banks from the Lonely Lords series, you’ll know the good vicar is very much in need of a lady to set him to rights, but instead he gets a pack of rotten little boys, a few rambunctious toads, some shaggy ponies…and true love.
Happy reading!
Grace Burrowes
PS: Stay up-to-date on all my book releases and other news by signing up for my newsletter. I will never sell, give away or share your information, and I only publish a newsletter 4-6 times a year.
From Axel: The Jaded Gentlemen, Book III
“Mrs. Stoneleigh.” Axel took her cold hand, bowed over it, and examined her as closely as manners and candlelight would allow. She was tallish for a woman, though still a half foot shorter than Axel’s own six foot and several inches. Abigail Stoneleigh was also, he admitted begrudgingly, pretty in a quiet, green-eyed, dark-haired way.
Because she was—had been—another man’s wife, Axel’s assessment of her beauty had never gone further, though if she weren’t so perpetually aloof, if she ever once smiled, she might even be beautiful, not that he’d care one way or the other.
She had to be chilled to the bone from the temperature of the room. Axel led her over to the hearth, where a dying fire was losing the battle with the January night air.
“I should warn you, Mrs. Stoneleigh, I am here in the capacity of magistrate as well as neighbor.”
“To come at this hour was still considerate of you.”
The woman’s spouse was crumpled over the desk, not fifteen feet away, and she was offering pleasantries? Everybody coped with death differently. Caroline’s passing had taught Axel that.
He took off his jacket and draped it around Mrs. Stoneleigh’s shoulders. “Why don’t we repair to the family parlor? I’ve asked Shreve to bring the tea tray there.”
Mrs. Stoneleigh’s gaze swung away. She peered through the French doors into the darkness beyond.
“My—the colonel would not want to be alone.”
Wherever Stoneleigh’s immortal soul had gone, the life had departed from his body. Axel knew better than to argue reason at such a time.
“The deceased cannot be moved until I’ve looked the situation over more closely, and I would prefer privacy to do that.”
“You may have your privacy, Mr. Belmont, but I’ll send Amb
ers to stay with him thereafter. I’ll await you in the parlor.”
As imperious as a bloody queen—a pale, bloody queen. “You don’t want Shreve with him, or perhaps his valet?”
“Ambers. Shreve is overwrought.”
While the lady was glacially calm. She also bore the faint fragrance of attar of roses, which realization had Axel longing for his glass house all over again.
He escorted her to the door, then turned his attention to the question of how a man reasonably well liked, in good health, with wealth aplenty, and no apparent vices had managed get himself shot through the heart at close range in his very own home.
* * *
“Let me tell you what I’ve observed so far,” Axel suggested, when he joined Mrs. Stoneleigh in the family parlor. “Shall I pour?” A widower would expire of dehydration if he didn’t learn to navigate a tea service.
“I’ve had a cup, thank you,” Mrs. Stoneleigh replied. “Shreve brought the brandy if you’d prefer.”
Well done, Shreve. Tea at nearly midnight, at the scene of the crime, was insufficient fortification given what Axel had to tell her.
“Brandy would be appreciated.”
Mrs. Stoneleigh poured him a generous portion, the glow from the hearth creating fiery highlights in her dark hair. Her movements were elegant and graceful, and that was somehow wrong.
Was she surprised by her husband’s death? Relieved?
“First,” Axel said after taking a bracing sip of fine spirits, “my condolences on your loss.”
“My thanks.” Two words, and grudgingly offered. She took one side of a brocade loveseat pulled close to the hearth. “Won’t you sit, Mr. Belmont? The hour is late, you have to be tired, and you are about to discuss difficult matters. I’d rather be able to see your face.”
Blunt, Axel thought, running a hand through his hair. Mrs. Stoneleigh had a way of expressing herself that made him feel as if he were trying her patience and insulting her intelligence.
All thorns and no blossom. Axel could be blunt too. He lowered himself not into a wing chair, but to the place right beside her.
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