Catherine Coulter the Sherbrooke Series Novels 6-10 (9781101562123)

by Coulter, Catherine

  “I can see why your uncle would resign himself,” Jason said. “Since you haven’t managed to find yourself a husband and are well on your way to your dotage, he doesn’t want you hanging about Ravensworth. How many seasons have you had? Five? Six? Of course if your father is providing a big dowry, it wouldn’t matter if you were sixty, without a tooth in your mouth. Some fool would be on his knees begging you to make him the happiest of men.”

  “Not so far into my dotage as you are, Mr. Sherbrooke. May I ask why you bothered to come home? I heard you were content to live with James and Jessie Wyndham and raise their children.”

  “Didn’t you say I only thought about sleeping with women and racing?”

  “That too.” She frowned as she patted her horse’s neck, keeping him calm. Charlemagne loved to fight or gallop with the wind, he didn’t care which. She knew he was keeping a hopeful eye on the two Sherbrooke horses, hoping she’d let him go kick them into the fodder bin. She let him rear up on his back legs, fling his great head from side to side, and give a very fine show.

  “See to your horse, Miss Carrick,” Jason said, “else the gentlemen will have to rescue you.”

  “As if I would ever expect one of your ilk to rescue me.” She sneered.

  James felt as if he’d been pulled back in time. He burst out laughing, couldn’t help himself. It was a Corrie sneer, one she’d perfected more than seven years before and used with flawless timing to make him so angry his eyes crossed. He wondered if his twin would fall for it, turn purple in the face, yank her off her horse, and wallop her butt.

  But Jason merely sneered back at her, a sneer more potent than hers. He’d learned that in America? “Listen to me, Miss Carrick,” Jason said slowly, as if speaking to the village idiot, “I plan to buy Lyon’s Gate. It will be mine. Go away.”

  “We will see about that, won’t we?” Hallie Carrick wheeled Charlemagne about, let him rear up and paw the air one more time. She smiled as he bugled a clear challenge to Bad Boy and Dodger, whose eyes were rolling, on the brink of pulling free of their tethers.

  Jason spoke in a low quiet voice and both horses calmed.

  “Wait,” James said. “Where are you staying? Surely Ravensworth is too far a ride for you today.”

  “I am staying at the vicarage in Glenclose-on-Rowan with Reverend Tysen Sherbrooke and his wife.” She struck a pose. “Why, I do believe they’re your aunt and uncle.”

  Jason stood there, shaking his head back and forth. “No, that isn’t possible. Why ever would they have you there? Rory wrote me from Oxford, not above a month ago, so even he’s not at home any longer, and there are no spinsters your age—”

  “Leo Sherbrooke is marrying a dear friend of mine, Miss Melissa Breckenridge. I’m supporting her to the altar on Saturday, and that’s why I’m visiting the vicarage.”

  “You make it sound like you’re going to have to carry her.”

  “No, Melissa is actually a blithering idiot when it comes to Leo. She’ll probably be running, skirts held high, to get to him as fast as she can. I will precede her, strewing rose petals from Mary Rose’s garden, all the while praying that Melissa doesn’t gallop over me to get to her groom. Whilst I’m strewing, I will marvel at the stupidity of girls giving over all their freedom, not to mention their money, to a man.”

  “Their father’s money,” Jason said.

  “Jessie Wyndham would surely shoot you if you said that in her hearing. As would my stepmother.”

  “That’s true,” Jason said, surprising her. “There are exceptions, albeit very few.”

  James’s eyebrow arched. “I take it you don’t care for Leo?”

  Jason said, “I think Miss Carrick would like to serve all men up in the same soup, chopped into small pieces.”

  She gave him a considering sneer. “Very small pieces. However, for a man, Leo isn’t all that bad. I wouldn’t care to deal with him every day of my life, but I’m not the one who has to marry him. If he follows in his father’s footsteps, at least he won’t run to fat or lose his teeth, and that’s saying something. Perhaps he laughs as much as his father as well. All in all, I suppose I must admit that if one has to be shackled in leg irons, Leo just might be one of the best of the lot.”

  James said, “Leo is more stubborn than his hound Greybeard. Does your friend know that?”

  “I don’t know, but I imagine it’s too late to tell her now. She wouldn’t believe me. Or if she did, she would doubtless believe it charming.”

  “Greybeard also sleeps with Leo.”

  “Oh dear, Greybeard is rather large.”

  “Indeed,” said James. “I see conflict on the near horizon.”

  “Surely Leo would rather sleep with his new wife than his old dog.”

  “For a while, at least,” Jason said, cynicism dripping from his mouth.

  James said, “So Leo is all right, as is my uncle Tysen. I assume you also admire your father and uncle?”

  “Well, yes, I suppose I must.”

  James said, “Well, then, it seems to me you can hardly say we’re a bad species.”

  “You have made a good point, my lord, but the fact is, you could be a rotter and I just don’t know it yet. But experience with your twin here suggests that a girl—spinster—better tread warily around him or suffer the consequences.”

  “What consequences?” Jason asked.

  He’d stumped her, both James and Jason saw that he’d left her with not a word to fire back. She opened her mouth, closed it. She looked at Jason like she wanted to ride her beast right over him. She finally managed to get out, “To my mind, calling men a species grants them too much importance.”

  “That was paltry, Miss Carrick,” Jason said, a potent sneer on his mouth. “Let me ask you, what man hurt you so badly that you’ve painted every one of us with your manure-covered brush?”

  She froze in the saddle. Jason watched her force herself to ease, force herself back in control. It was amazing how quickly she got hold of herself again. What he’d said had hit close to home. So, there had been a man who’d hurt her. Would she screech at him like a fishwife? What came out of her mouth was, “I found out about this property from your uncle Tysen. He was telling us about Squire Squid and how he’d spent so much money on the stables and paddocks. And Leo chimed in about the son, Thomas, who was a wastrel and a bully, and how he wanted to sell out to pay off all his creditors. Leo brought me here yesterday and I knew the moment I saw the stables I wanted it. He also agreed to escort me here today, but since he is a man, and since today he managed to drag Melissa along, he clearly had other things on his mind. Since Melissa would try to shoot the moon out of the heavens if Leo wanted it, you can be certain that he’s hauled her off to some private place in the woods to frolic.”

  “Frolic?” Jason’s eyebrow was up, the sneer sharp. “What a blurry, watery-as-soup word that is, fit only for females who don’t like to speak clearly and to the point.” An infinitesimal pause, then, “Or they can’t be any clearer since they don’t know what they’re talking about.”

  James eyed his twin. What was going on here? Well, it had been five years, and Jason had been living in a foreign country. Perhaps men in America insulted women in this fashion?

  James cleared his throat, bringing both sets of eyes toward him. “The house is a disaster. Surely you don’t wish to be bothered with such a moldering ruin.”

  “Who cares? It’s the stables, the paddocks, this beautiful breeding room and birthing stall that are important. Did you see the tack room? I will be able to work there with my head stable lad.”

  Jason wanted to tell her he’d shoot her between the eyes before he’d let her buy Lyon’s Gate, but instead, he turned to his brother. “Let’s go. I intend to buy this property immediately. You, Miss Carrick, are out of luck. Good day, ma’am.”

  “We’ll just see about that, Mr. Sherbrooke,” she called over her shoulder as she galloped off down the drive.

  “Leo getting married? I can’t ima
gine Leo married,” Jason said, laughing.

  “I suppose no one mentioned it in their letters to you. You haven’t seen him in five years, Jase. He’s as horse-mad as you are, spent the last three years up at Rothermere stud with the Hawksburys.”

  “Have you met the girl he’s going to marry? This Melissa who’s mad for him?”

  “She’s quite charming, really. Very different as girls go, you could say. I hadn’t met her friend here, though.”

  “Even being British by birth, she still acts like an American, more’s the pity. That means what I said before—she’s brash, overconfident, doesn’t know when to back down . . . Well, that’s neither here nor there.”

  “She’s very beautiful.”

  Jason shrugged. “Why isn’t Leo trying to buy this property? How old is Leo now?”

  “About our age, maybe a bit younger. Actually, Leo has his eye on a stud up near Yorkshire, near Rothermere and his future wife’s family. Oh yes, we’re all going to the vicarage Saturday for the wedding, spending the night there, which ought to be an experience given that Uncle Ryder is bringing all the Beloved Ones. We’ll be piled to the rafters. Oh yes, Uncle Tysen is marrying Leo and Melissa.”

  Jason had turned to watch Hallie Carrick ride away, that fat braid of hers flopping up and down against her back. She rode well, damn her. Could be she rode as well as Jessie Wyndham.

  “I’m leaving for London within the hour. I will have this property. I will see Thomas Hoverton myself. It will be done before that girl can begin to sort out a plan of action.”

  James doubled over in laughter. “This is simply too rich. Corrie isn’t going to believe this.”

  He was still laughing when the two of them walked into Northcliffe Hall, Jason’s boots pounding up the front staircase to get himself packed and off to London.

  Twenty minutes later when Jason was riding down the wide Northcliffe drive, James shouted, “Don’t forget to be at the vicarage on Saturday.”

  CHAPTER 7

  At first Jason didn’t recognize her. He heard a light, lovely laugh, and his head turned automatically in its direction. Was this the bride? No. It was Hallie Carrick. Gone were the old breeches, the ratty hat, the thick dirty braid, the boots as dusty as her face. In their place was a gown of pale lavender, with big billowy sleeves, a neckline that could be more modest, and a waist the size of a doorknob. Very tightly pulled stays, he imagined, but what he was looking at now was her hair. It was golden, no other way to describe the color, the exact same color as her father’s—shiny as the satin gown his aunt Mary Rose was wearing—woven into a thick, intricate braid on top of her head with little wisps and curls dangling artistically around her ears. Small diamond earrings sparkled through those myriad wisps, sparkled just like her laugh.

  Jason smiled an easy, very masculine smile. She was a girl, despite her boasts and braggadocio. Why not admire her since Lyon’s Gate was now his? He could afford to be gracious. He’d won. His ownership hadn’t ever been in doubt, even though Thomas Hoverton hadn’t been in London when Jason had gotten there. It had taken him only an hour to track down the Hoverton solicitor, Arlo Clark of 29 Burksted Street, who’d nearly broken into tears and fallen on his neck when he’d realized Jason was there to actually make an offer for the Hoverton property. Mr. Clark had the papers right there in a drawer, where they’d moldered for nearly two years. The offer was more than generous, though Jason realized the solicitor would never admit that. One had to play the game. The game was finished soon enough, and Jason had signed his name with a flourish and a sense of deep pleasure. Mr. Clark then signed in Thomas Hoverton’s place since he was his legal representative.

  Yes, Mr. Clark knew Wily Willy Bibber, the Sherbrooke solicitor, and they would see to the transfer of funds. Everything was right and tight. Jason could take possession of Lyon’s Gate as soon as he wished to.

  Yes, Jason could be gracious to this American baggage with her British accent and British blood. Now he could even appreciate her virgin blue eyes, her golden hair that surely belonged to a fairy tale princess—an image that didn’t suit her personality at all—and a figure to make any man whimper. And that laugh of hers—too free, too easy, far too American—sounded like she didn’t have a care in the world. Well, she shortly would when she realized she’d lost to him.

  He’d arrived no more than ten minutes before the ceremony and had instantly been surrounded by his huge family. For today at least, there would be no swirling tension in the air because he wasn’t the focus of everyone’s attention, thank God. No one would ask how he was feeling or if he’d yet gotten over the betrayal that had nearly destroyed his family. His uncle Ryder, a child sitting on each leg and a child on either side of him, had everyone press together so Jason could fit on the same pew. His aunt Sophie was seated between two older children, Grayson next, holding two small children on his legs. Grayson, a born storyteller, was his uncle Ryder and aunt Sophie’s only natural child, tall with the Sherbrooke looks, and eyes as blue as a clear summer sky.

  Jason’s parents, Hollis, James, Corrie, and the twins, twitching and yawning and jabbering in twin talk, were in the pew in front of him. Jason saw that every adult was responsible for one child, including his grandmother, who wasn’t frowning at the small human being seated quietly beside her, surely a special gift from God. He saw his aunt Melissande, all of fifty now, seated two rows up. She was still so beautiful she stopped young men in their tracks. She looked more like his and James’s sister than their mother’s elder sister. Uncle Tony, her husband, was seated next to her, one arm resting on the pew behind her, his fingers playing with a strand of her beautiful black hair.

  The church was filled to bursting since all of the groom’s relatives had come to Glenclose-on-Rowan for the wedding. The only missing relatives were Aunt Sinjun and Uncle Colin from Scotland and Meggie and Thomas from Ireland. Jason settled in on the pew next to a four-year-old boy who, Uncle Ryder whispered over the top of the child’s head, was named Harvey. He looked too old for his years, and he looked afraid, but that would change now that he was with Ryder. He was a very lucky little boy. He would eventually forget all the bad things that had happened to him. Harvey had large, very dark eyes, nearly as dark as Douglas Sherbrooke’s eyes, and straight, shiny, dark brown hair. His cheekbones were still too sharp, his body too thin, but that would change as well.

  When Miss Hallie Carrick glided down the aisle to support Miss Breckenridge, strewing rose petals from Mary Rose’s garden, he caught her eye and gave her a cheerful little wave. Was there a sneer of triumph on his mouth? No, surely he was too well-bred to allow any sort of gloating to appear.

  Evidently she didn’t consider his little wave and smile gloating because, funny thing was, she looked momentarily surprised, and nearly dropped the lovely bouquet of flowers she carried. Jason would swear she giggled as she had to do a fast step to grab the small ribbon-tied roses. Then she smiled back and returned his little wave.

  Harvey poked him in the ribs. “Who is that angel wot’s sashshaying down the aisle flingin’ rose petals about and eyin’ ye?”

  “That’s Miss Carrick, the bridesmaid to Miss Breckenridge, the bride,” Jason said. “She is rather flinging the rose petals about, rather than gracefully strewing them, isn’t she?”

  “Lawks,” said Harvey, his voice loud and crystal clear over the organ music, “she could dump ’em out o’ a bucket right on me ’ead. Ain’t she jest purtier than the sun shinin’ down on a puddle of clean water in Watt’s alley? I wants to marry the angel when I grows up.”

  “No you don’t, Harvey. Trust me. She’s no angel. She’d chew your ears for breakfast.” He took the little boy’s hand and drew him closer. There were smiles and some laughter following Harvey’s announcement. Harvey opened his mouth, but Jason, well practiced with the Wyndham children, said quickly, “I want you to count the hairs you can see on my arm until you’ve got them all.”

  “There ain’t many showin’,” Harvey said, “an�
� that’s good ’cause I can only counts to four.” That was too bad, Jason thought. Four-year-old Alice Wyndham could count to fifty-one. At least Harvey counted with great precision. It kept him quiet for about twenty seconds. Jason looked down the bench at his uncle Ryder, who’d just kissed a child’s head. He was nodding at Jason, smiling. Since his uncle Ryder had been a very young man of twenty, he’d been taking in abandoned children or rescuing them from drunken parents or sadistic masters. It was his aunt Sinjun who’d started calling his children the Beloved Ones.

  Jason lifted the fidgeting Harvey onto his left leg, and thankfully soon felt the small body collapse back against his chest. Jason managed for the most part to keep his eyes on his cousin Leo Sherbrooke as he stood tall and proud opposite a heavily veiled girl who was, evidently, Melissa Breckenridge. She didn’t leap on Leo, at least until her new father-in-law, Reverend Tysen Sherbrooke told her, a wonderful smile on his face, that the bride could kiss the groom.

  At the reception following the ceremony, guests overflowed the vicarage into the lovely vicarage gardens. Reverend Sherbrooke was heard to bless God for delivering up this magnificent sunny day a good dozen times. After three toasts of the excellent champagne provided by the earl of Northcliffe, Tysen cleared his throat to draw everyone’s attention. Unfortunately at that particular moment, one of the children shouted, “I have to go behind that bush!” which had everyone dissolving into laughter. Tysen tried again. “My wife has informed me that to keep us all from becoming drunk as loons, eating and dancing is required. The countess of Northcliffe has consented to play if all the young men will assist in clearing space in the drawing room.”

  Within four minutes, Alexandra had struck up a lilting waltz with Leo leading his bride to the center of the floor. Jason turned when he heard the catch of a breath. He saw his uncle Tysen staring at Leo, shaking his head in bewilderment, probably because his son was actually now married. He had one arm around Rory’s shoulders, all of nineteen, a student at Oxford, nearly a man grown. So many changes, Jason thought, all the cousins getting married, producing the next generation.