Though Gerard’s heart had raced when he’d believed his father dead, there had been relief once he’d discovered him alive.
Gerard moved to pour his father a cup of tea and then went for his own before taking a seat by the open window. His father glared at the teacup before taking a sip. He’d never liked tea, but since Alexandra had suggested the old man drink it, there had been fewer coughing fits. For a while, Gerard had thought his father would get better, and a part of him had hoped that with the new life would come change.
But his father’s anger continued to grow with age, and Gerard wondered just when he’d stop hoping for more.
“I’m going to check on the village,” Gerard told him.
“Why? We don’t own it,” his father countered.
“That may be true, but it still bears our name,” Gerard countered. Avon Village ran itself, but Gerard still enjoyed seeing to the basic needs of the locals. “Also, I’ve decided to host a party. I’ll be spending most of the day sending out invites, though how many will come at such late notice, I’m unsure.”
His father grunted. “They’ll come. Every last one of them. You’re an earl and soon to be a duke.” He coughed and took in more tea before putting the cup down. “Invite Lord Grant and his family to the party as well. He’s not lived in the area long. It’s only right that you do. They live in town, which means he and his daughter are not likely to take up much room, but I’m sure they’ll enjoy whatever activities you have planned.”
Gerard though his father was right. Lord Grant was from the south but had moved to Avon sometime during the last year because of its close proximity to Bath. Gerard himself had not met the family as of yet, but he knew the party would be a good way to introduce himself.
“And I suppose you’ll be inviting Justin and his bride.” Avon rarely said Alexandra’s name or ever addressed her by her rightful title as though in defiance of the marriage, and the woman in particular. Gerard didn’t understand it since it seemed that Alex was one of the only people in the world who ever asked after his health—all despite the ghastly way he’d treated her a year prior. Alex was just as saintly as the one she’d been named after. Along with the tea, it had been Alex who’d suggested the duke’s curtains be thrown back and the windows be opened on beautiful days, which went against the wishes of Avon’s doctor.
Gerard looked at the open window and smiled. “She and Justin will come.”
Though he’d all but fallen on his knees to get them to agree. Justin’s mind had been set on keeping Alexandra at their own country estate, especially after her upset stomach the night before, but Alexandra had grown excited at the prospect of a party.
But then, there had been another reason they’d agreed to go as well.
“Lord Wint has come to England and will also be attending the party.” Gerard crossed his knees and settled in for discussion. “I met him at Justin’s home.” The former Viscount of Wint, who was Alex’s father, had died early last year, and no one had heard a word from the nephew who would replace him. There had been speculation on whether the title would simply cease to exist.
The new Lord Wint would be making his debut to Society at Gerard’s party. That was sure to gain his party more interest. Not that he needed it, though. Like his father said, anyone he invited would be a fool not to come.
His father’s brow rose. “Lord Wint. What’s he like?”
Gerard thought for a moment and then said, “Harland Upton is an all-around nice fellow. He offered Alexandra formal kinship—which immediately earned him the nickname ‘Harley’ from Alex—and a dowry, which Justin refused since he’d already received one from Alexandra’s brother, Christmas. He’s also scholarly and, apparently, he enjoys gaining his information firsthand. He’s traveled extensively.”
His father grunted. “I expected John’s nephew to have been a pig farmer.”
Gerard smiled. “Oh yes, I can only imagine how much pleasure that would have given you. Unfortunately, Harland was a man of means before he gained his departed uncle’s title, which means you’ll have trouble intimidating him in the same manner you have the rest of the world.”
His father smirked. “I could intimidate the man without leaving this bed.” He threw back the covers and slowly swung his legs over the edge. Gerard stood and moved to help him but stopped when his father lifted a hand in protest.
“Is she still with child?” Avon reached for his cane and righted himself.
Gerard frowned. “Who?”
His father glared at him. “Justin’s wife,” he spat.
Gerard lifted a brow. “Is Alexandra still with child? As opposed to what, Father? Have you been praying she miscarries?”
His father started across the room. “God no longer listens to my prayers.”
Gerard took that as a ‘no’, which made him wonder why Avon had asked about Alexandra’s condition. Was the duke, in his own way, asking after her health? Did he actually care for someone besides himself? “She’s fine.”
“Too bad her child will be part bastard,” Avon said over his shoulder.
And there went a perfectly good afternoon and civil conversation.
Gerard’s temper hit the roof. “Why do you do that? Why do you say something when you know it will only anger me and push me away?”
Avon looked over his shoulder. “Perhaps I want to push you away. Leave. I have to dress.”
Gerard shook his head. “You could have simply told me to leave. You don’t have to make me hate you.”
Avon waved him away without a word.
Gerard left the room and wondered why he tried.
And yet, he knew why he did. There were moments when his father gave him glimmers of hope, too bad they always came right before he smothered them out with vulgarity and evil. But a day was coming when Gerard would no longer be able to revive any hope where his father was concerned.
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5
CHAPTER
FIVE
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“You’re going to Avon Park?” Alicia walked briskly down the hall and toward the open area of the orphanage that served as both kitchen and dining room. The children were loud, screaming and laughing. But instead of forcing them quiet, Alicia simply spoke over them. “How marvelous an opportunity. I’ve heard the area is breathtaking. Will you be visiting Bath while you’re there?” She stopped a red-haired girl with muddy fingers who’d been causing chaos with other girls by chasing them around the room. “Go clean yourself off, Ginger.” Her eyes, which were a true blue, managed to seem both stern and soft at the same time.
The girl nodded and went to do as Alicia said. She wore a smile on her face as she went.
“I don’t know what Lord Obenshire has planned.” Rose was used to keeping on topic. Having spent her entire childhood in loud boisterous areas, she’d never realized just how loud it was until she’d moved out. In the quiet of her own room, she could almost feel the silence as though it were a living thing.
And she loved it. She’d finally managed to read Homer’s Odyssey without breaking for more than sleep and eating. It had been glorious.
But she admitted feeling a sense of longing whenever she returned to Best Home. The distance that only time could create rested there. She remembered running around with friends, performing songs for the orphanage benefactors, Nash teaching her to read her first word at the dining table, and sleeping between Alexandra and some of their other friends on the coldest nights in winter.
There were fond memories everywhere she looked and the smells—whether they be good or not—made her smile, because it was all a part of her. The only thing that had changed was the children.
And their caretakers.
Mary Elizabeth Best had died when Rose was barely one and her sister, Mary Frances Best, had ruled the orphanage as though the children were training for war. Compared to that, Alicia, whom Rose had kn
own since they were children, was different. While she had moments when she played the captain of her ship, there were many other times when her tenderness made more than one child ask aloud if they could call her mother. She was sweet and gentle and every child, no matter the age, craved that.
The amount of laughter had grown since Alicia had taken over after her aunt, Mary Frances, thought her old enough to do so.
Rose’s admiration of Alicia wasn’t because she was perfect, because no one was, but Alicia never seemed to give up on anything she thought to be right.
They moved through the dining room and through a door that took them into the part of the orphanage that was reserved as Alicia’s private residence.
“My father and aunts were born there. Did you know that?” Alicia asked as she led them around a curve in the hallway before they entered Alicia’s small foyer.
“I didn’t.” Rose had always imagined that the Best family was from London. Alicia’s father had been a butcher but had passed away a few years ago.
Alicia led her into the sitting room. “Aunt Mary Elizabeth’s first ideas for the home started in Avon. Aunt Mary Frances still owns the deed to their family home.” Her eyes brightened as she took a seat. “I’ll have Liz write you the address. You must go by if you ever have the chance and see if her manager has kept the place to rights. Peek around and bring me back something you think will brighten the house here.” Her eyes glittered at the idea.
Alicia’s space was nowhere near what one would consider high fashion, but it was clean and well maintained.
Liz came at that very moment with tea. She was a short woman with short blond hair and brown eyes. She wasn’t an actual maid but played the role whenever necessary. “I’ll get the address,” she promised while also letting them know she’d heard part of their conversation. “Though I doubt anything of value is there. Mary Frances said it was rented out until last year.”
Rose smiled. “I’ll check anyway and report back what I find.” Visiting the space where Mary Elizabeth Best had first gotten her idea for Best Home, which, thanks to its many wealthy contributors was known as one of the best groups of orphanages in the city, was a temptation too great to overlook.
Liz handed Rose tea, and she thanked her before she asked, “Was the home searched when everyone was looking for the journal last year?”
The journal that revealed Alex’s heritage had yet to be found and not a month went by that it wasn’t mentioned or whispered about. Chris had been forced to hire a guard at night to protect Alicia’s place since everyone seemed to believe that Alicia was the one who printed the article in the paper that changed Alexandra’s life forever.
Rose admitted that she had her own suspicions, but doing such a thing didn’t seem to fit with the Alicia that she knew. For one thing, Alicia was not a secretive person. When she did something, even if others wouldn’t like it, she did so boldly—a trait she’d likely learned from her Mary Frances.
But all Rose had to do was think of her obsession with Gerard to know that everyone had a secret or two.
Mary Frances came in at that very moment, looking rather pale. She fell into a chair and closed her eyes. “You’d have thought Handel released a new cannon with the way people were acting in the market.”
Rose narrowed her eyes as she tried to remember when George Frideric Handel had released a cannon. The answer she came up with was nearly a hundred years ago. No one knew just how old Mary Frances was, but Rose had heard people speculate that she’d outlived more than a few kings of England.
“Why were you at the market?” Alicia asked her aunt.
Mary Frances cracked one dark eye open and smiled. “To meet a certain someone,” she said defensively. “Even a woman my age can have secrets.”
Alicia rolled her eyes, and Rose suppressed a laugh. Mary Frances had wild tendencies that had only been put on hold during those years after her younger sister’s death, when she’d had to take on the responsibility of the Best Homes. She’d never married, claiming she’d never wanted a husband who would ‘rule over her’ as the Bible said. Neither had she given birth to any children of her own. The only person she’d ever truly loved had been her sister, which was the only reason she’d remained in London during the last twenty years. But now that she was free of all obligations, she was once again a free spirit.
Alicia told her aunt, “I told Rose to visit the house in Avon Village.”
“That old dusty thing?” Mary Frances asked. “I’ve not returned to it since before my sister’s death. By then, my brother and parents were gone and I had too much to do here in London. You’re not likely to find anything there. I admit, there are times when I’m convinced I should sell the property, but alas…” She wouldn’t, because it was where she and her sister had lived.
“How long were you there?” Rose asked, so very fascinated to learn that the women who’d raised her had not been from the city at all.
Mary Frances lifted a brow. “Still trying to guess my age, are you?” She smiled and a distant look filled her eyes. “I remember the day Mary Elizabeth was born. Our mother claimed that after raising me and our brother, Beth had been a calm after the storm. Our father had been educated, but except for the few local families who paid him to tutor their sons, he struggled to find work. So whenever he wasn’t in his books, he was butching meat and had no time for his children except to see to our education. So as you can imagine, our mother had not had it easy until Beth. She’d been obedient, but after spending too much time with me, she started to become a little untamed herself.” Mary Frances’ smile brightened. “But then one day all of that changed.”
“Why?”
Mary Frances shrugged. “She was around twenty when it happened. She met a boy, and though she never told me his name, I suspected he was from a wealthy family. All I do know is that he broke her heart and Beth decided she’d never marry, clearly taking after me in that fashion, but in nothing else.”
“Aunt Beth began her charity work after that,” Alicia said.
“Yes,” Mary Frances agreed. “And once our parents died, our home was opened to the poor, though by then I’d left to see France and Italy. When I returned, I barely recognized Beth.” She frowned. “One night, I caught her weeping in her space in the attic. When I asked her why she cried, she said it was for the many souls left in despair.” Mary Frances shook her head. “I’ll admit that to know Beth was a humbling experience.”
“I didn’t know this,” Rose said.
Mary Frances nodded. “Her life was prayer, work, and writing. She wrote to encourage the wealthy in our area to donate to her efforts, and she kept her journals as she grew older.”
“Prayer books,” Alicia corrected. “She was always speaking to God in those books.”
Rose found that interesting.
“Yes.” Mary Frances sighed. “And then she moved her efforts to London, driven to help everyone she could, taking on the burdens of the world. For the longest time, I thought Beth was some angelic being and much too holy to have ever done anything as simple as sin or fall madly in love.”
“But then she did,” Rose whispered.
Mary Frances smiled. “Oh yes. She was much older by then, however, far past the age of childbearing, as was her suitor. Beth was courted by Lord Bonham.”
“The Earl of Blackwood’s eldest son,” Alicia said with a note of pride.
Rose smiled. She knew most of the story from there, as did everyone in London. If anyone had forgotten what took place, all they had to do was read the paper from the previous year, because the tale had been printed once again right before Mary Elizabeth Best had been commemorated by the church. This was the part that made Mary Elizabeth so important in the eyes of Society.
There had been a ball in London where Mary Elizabeth had failed to charm the ton.
“They’d shunned Lord Bonham openly,” Mary Frances said fiercely. “The beau monde had made them both feel horrible for making such a choice. Only Lady Charles
was kind to her, having already been a strong supporter of Beth’s work.” And Lady Charles was still the Best Home’s largest sponsor. “Why a future earl would choose such a common woman for a second wife was the question that evening. It wasn’t as though he needed heirs. He’d already made two with his first wife, who’d passed on years earlier. Yet no one met Beth’s eyes or even dared speak to her that evening. My brother and I had gone to London to support her, but not even a day later, Bonham called off the engagement.”
Rose felt anger at Beth’s humiliation rise within her. She’d been in love and the man she’d given her heart to returned it when he discovered that his love was not greater than his pride. Love had not conquered all. “How horrible,” she whispered.
“Aunt Beth never spoke of it,” Alicia said.
“She didn’t want to speak poorly of Lord Bonham,” Mary Frances told her with a shake of her head. “My Beth was sweet through and through, and she proved so the very next day. You recall the day.”
The world recalled the day.
August 2, 1786.
Mary Frances sighed. “Lord Bonham had been called to meet King George at St. James Palace.”
Alicia touched the pendant around her neck that she wore under her dress. It was the only adornment she ever wore. “Aunt Beth went there to return his betrothal gift.” A pendant she’d ended up keeping until her death.
Mary Frances continued, “Margaret Nicholson had been standing outside the gate and had waited for the king to dismount from the carriage before she attacked.”
The Games the Earl Plays Page 4
