Worth; Lord Of Reckoning

by Grace Burrowes

  Thomas smelled a great deal better than any yeoman Yolanda had stood downwind of. He quoted poetry, and he loved his children.

  “I’m sixteen. If I say I do fancy him, you’ll laugh at me. If I say I don’t, you’ll accuse me of lying. Brothers are awful.”

  “You didn’t laugh at me,” Worth pointed out. “If this is the fellow you want, Lannie, then do the pretty in Town next Season, but know that you’ll be welcome to spend your summers here at Trysting.”

  Yolanda’s exact plan, though she’d been unsure how to manage the part about summers at Trysting. Worth’s generosity was too convenient not to be a little suspect, though.

  “You aren’t saying he’s beneath my notice when I’m the daughter of an earl, my brother is an earl, and I’m generously dowered, for which I do thank you.”

  “You’re my sister. Of course you’ll have a decent portion, and I will not lecture you about your station. You’re the acknowledged illegitimate daughter of an earl, and if you haven’t already sensed it, the tabbies of Polite Society will ensure the distinction is noted by all.”

  Yolanda turned an idle page, though Worth’s blunt acknowledgement of reality was comforting in a way his generous dowry could not be.

  “School was no different. If I’d been the illegitimate daughter of a mere baronet, it might have been worse. Coin does seem to open doors.”

  “You are not like any sixteen-year-old of my acquaintance, Lannie Kettering. Next you’ll be reading the financial pages.”

  Yolanda put her book aside, because he’d given her the opening she needed.

  “I saw a piece in the Times about the Drummond being late for its scheduled return and you being a major source of investors. Are you in trouble, Worth?”

  * * *

  “Had I not been quizzing Avery on her fairy tales”—Hess handed his brother two fingers of brandy—“we would have had no conversation at dinner to speak of. Are you and your housekeeper feuding?”

  “We are.” When had Hess become Worth’s drinking companion? “My thanks.”

  “Is this feud over the menus, perhaps?” Hess took the second of the library’s two largest, most comfortable chairs. “Or maybe she wants a raise in her pay?”

  “She deserves a raise in her pay.” Though Jacaranda, in her contrary fashion, would regard a pay raise as an insult. “I asked her about traveling north with us next month, serving as Lannie’s companion for the winter months at Grampion.”

  “Miss Snyder isn’t willing to serve any longer?”

  The question was posed casually, but Worth had been watching the glances exchanged at dinner. “You find Miss Snyder attractive?”

  “Her papa is heir to a barony.” Stated even more casually.

  Worth set his drink on the low table. One Kettering brother in perpetual rut was one too many. “Go back to Town, Hess. Avail yourself of what Mary freely offers and settle your nerves.”

  “I did.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I did avail myself of what Mary so delightfully offered, and my nerves are settled.” Hess took a contemplative sip of his drink, and indeed, he did appear to be more relaxed than he had upon arriving from the north.

  Rotter.

  “Settle them again. The activity bears repeating in the right company.”

  “Up to a point,” Hess allowed. “Then it is merely an activity, and as pleasant as it is, I found my nerves adequately settled by the one occasion.”

  “Pleasant.” Life had been simpler before Hess had resumed being a brother—also lonelier. “If it’s merely pleasant, then you’re going about it wrong, brother mine.”

  “I was never afflicted with the passions affecting the rest of our family.” Hess retrieved Worth’s drink and handed it to him. “Back to your Mrs. Wyeth. What is the problem?”

  The question of the hour.

  “I delivered her an ultimatum,” Worth said, “or as good as, and that after telling her she could have between now and forever to make up her mind.” Though every half-witted, spotty legal clerk knew a decently drafted contract specified an exact period of performance.

  “What did your ultimatum regard?”

  “What do you think it regarded?” Worth paced to the window—the sparkling-clean window, which he was tempted to put his fist through. “I offered her marriage, she politely laughed in my face. Why should she give up all this freedom, the endless adventure of warring with the dust and the mice and the gossiping menials when all I offer is a ring? So I offered something less weighty—my heart on a platter—and she dithered. She’s still dithering and talking about going to visit her family.”

  “Well, there’s your answer, isn’t it?”

  “Must you be so honest?”

  Hess rose and put a hand on Worth’s shoulder. “I cannot fathom women, never have, never will. You’ve more than the normal complement of sense, though, Worth, and a Kettering’s portion of pride. Why do you persist when the reception is feeble?”

  “Because it isn’t feeble, damn it. She nigh devours me when we’re private.”

  “And you devour her?”

  No, that was the question of the hour.

  “I haven’t yet.” Worth traced his finger down the lattice-work of the mullioned window. “It’s a near-run thing, Hess.”

  “You’re in unfamiliar waters?”

  “Deep, shark-infested unfamiliar waters with cross-currents and undertows.”

  “Then it’s time for a strategic return to dry land, old man. You’re the only brother I have, and I refuse to stand by and watch you dragged out to sea ever again.”

  Worth stood, staring out the window, long after Hess had sought his bed. He considered getting drunk, something he hadn’t done for a decade or so, but if he imbibed, he was more likely to talk himself into visiting Jacaranda’s boudoir.

  He went for a long swim, diving frequently to the coldest reaches of the pond, and eventually sheer fatigue took the edge off his mood. He arrived to his rooms tired, chilled, and no clearer in his mind than he’d been earlier. While part of him was certain Jacaranda would dither and prevaricate on his offer for the rest of her natural days, another part of him wondered if she was waiting for some sign from him, some subtle indication of worth he’d failed to give.

  So he fell into a restless sleep and dreamed of the Drummond coming to grief on rocky shoals within sight of port.

  * * *

  “Why is my stable master waltzing about the garden with Miss Snyder?”

  “Good morning, Mr. Kettering.” Jacaranda rose from her place at the table to stand beside him at the window to the breakfast parlor. “Roberts and Miss Snyder do not appear to be waltzing.”

  Simply standing near Worth had Jacaranda’s pulse leaping, had her leaning infinitesimally closer to catch his scent.

  “Promenading, then. Are they enamored of one another?”

  “If they are?” she asked, resuming her seat.

  “Then good for them,” he said, taking his own. “At least somebody on this benighted estate is finding some pleasurable company.”

  She took a sip of tea and scalded her tongue. He’d very nearly hurt her feelings, though she wasn’t good company.

  “My apologies.” Worth reached for the teapot. “I’m on tenterhooks regarding an investment, and my nerves are unsettled.”

  “You usually take it with cream and sugar,” Jacaranda said as Worth winced at the taste of his tea.

  Worth spooned the sugar in generously. “Does anything on this property escape your notice, Mrs. Wyeth?”

  Her wits, her common sense, her ability to be honest with the man she’d come to love.

  “Much,” she said, wondering—hoping?—he was in this foul mood because he’d not come to her bed last night.

  She’d missed him, missed him badly, and tossed and turned for hours. She’d made the decision to return home to Dorset, but longed to consummate her dealings with Worth Kettering before she did.

  A woman already su
nk in falsehoods might as well steal some memories, too.

  “I take leave to doubt you miss anything of significance, madam. Is that all you’re eating?”

  Toast and butter. Daisy’s breakfast in the early weeks of her pregnancies. “My appetite is off.”

  His gaze narrowed. “Is it really? What a pity.”

  “You are not a mean man. What has got into you?”

  “Do you recall telling me I could have your coin?”

  Not an answer, and he was busy putting more omelet onto Jacaranda’s plate.

  “I recall that, yes.”

  He stopped heaping eggs before her. “Why won’t you marry me?”

  “Oh, Worth.” She stared at her plate, trying to form an answer as tears welled. “Not fair.”

  “What isn’t fair,” he said, his voice low, “is that you pleasure me like a siren in the night, find bliss in my arms, and then turn up diffident and prim at the breakfast table. Am I really such poor husband material, Jacaranda?”

  She fell back on the truth.

  She dabbed at her eyes with her serviette. “I honestly do feel an obligation to my family, but you and I also hardly know each other. I am not the ideal wife for an earl’s heir. You would agree with me if you knew me better.”

  “The earl’s heir? I’m not asking you to marry Grampion’s unborn children,” Worth said. “Trust me, Hess is getting up the nerve to find himself a countess. I know the look, and he’s a smart lad. Winters are long in the north, and families tend to be large.”

  “Hush.” Jacaranda rose. I love you, I love you. “One doesn’t pick a husband like a new mount at Tatt’s. You and I suit in one regard, I’m confident of that, but I sense others have suited you as well, and you know you’re not my first.”

  He rose. “Dear heart, that can hardly matter to me when you won’t even permit me to be your second.”

  His eyes held puzzlement, hurt, and not a little determination, so Jacaranda left the room at the fastest walk dignity would allow.

  * * *

  Worth pushed the remains of his breakfast away and went in search of his brother, resisting the urge to chase after his unwilling intended. Instinct suggested that if he pursued Jacaranda too tenaciously, she’d flee not simply to her sitting room, but clear back to that cottage in Dorset she seemed so fond of.

  He could not fathom why. Some secret tormented her or some familial obligation. Perhaps she had a child in her brother’s care in Dorset—

  Walking by the library, Worth was surprised to hear an otherwise peaceful morning punctuated by Yolanda’s voice, nearly raised at her older brother.

  “You said you wouldn’t drag me north against my will!”

  Hess’s voice came next, civil, but tense from the tone, the words indistinguishable.

  Worth debated mentally, then pushed the door open. He loved them both, and they were clearly in difficulties.

  “Greetings, siblings. A pleasant day for a disagreement, is it not?”

  “We weren’t disagreeing,” Hess began, as Yolanda crossed her arms and declared, “Wonderfully so.”

  “What seems to be the trouble?” Though for once, no part of Worth relished a touchy negotiation, no part of him was eager to see if he could untangle the Gordian knot of Hess’s sense of duty, Yolanda’s injured pride, and his own desire to remain as close to Trysting as possible.

  Yolanda’s chin jutted in Hess’s direction. “He says we need to think of repairing to Grampion. He wouldn’t invite me home when I was desperately homesick, but we must hare off there now when you’ve perfectly lovely accommodations for us all here in the south.”

  “She wants to make sheep’s eyes at that dratted farmer,” Hess retorted. “If I leave her here, you’ll need to post a watch on her.”

  Yolanda’s eyes glittered ominously. “Unfair, Hessian. If I’d wanted to misbehave in that manner, I would have accepted all the invitations I received to join the school’s gardener in his charming little shed, wouldn’t I?”

  “What?!” Both brothers spoke—bellowed, more like—at once. Worth recovered first.

  “What invitations, Yolanda Kettering? And don’t think to prevaricate with us now.”

  Her expression was chillingly blank for such a young lady. “His name was Arnold, and he was a nuisance, but he was Mrs. Peese’s nephew, so my complaints weren’t considered noteworthy.”

  “Of what exactly,” Hess asked, “did you complain?”

  Yolanda’s gaze traveled from one brother to the other. She settled on the sofa, in the same manner the accused takes the dock. “Promise me you won’t yell at me?”

  “We promise.” In unison.

  “You won’t throw things?”

  The brothers exchanged a look.

  “We won’t throw things of value at you,” Worth said. “Stop fretting and tell us.”

  “He started with a few little touches, at first,” Yolanda said, staring at her hands. “The other girls thought it was daring, because he’s not…he’s not spotty. Some of them said he was handsome in a common sort of way.”

  “Famous,” Hess hissed. “You’ve been subjected to the attentions of a not-spotty gardener in the one place a girl should be free of such bother.”

  Worth sent his brother a quelling look. “Go on, Lannie. We’re listening.”

  “He must have known he wouldn’t get in trouble, because he started leaving me notes then, in personal places.”

  “Personal places, Lannie?” Hess asked.

  “Under my pillow, among my clothes.”

  “With your unmentionables,” Worth said. “He’s a dead gardener, this spotless wonder.”

  “You mustn’t,” Yolanda wailed quietly. “All the girls knew, and to them, daring progressed to amusing.”

  “But not to you.” Worth settled beside her. “To you it became frightening.”

  “He waited in my room one night and k-kissed me.” Yolanda grimaced at the memory. “It was horrid. He was horrid, and he said things.”

  Hess took a cushioned chair, his fingers drumming on the arm. “Things?”

  “Things he wanted to do to me. You didn’t answer my letters, and Mrs. Peese said I was imagining it all, but I wasn’t.”

  “God in heaven.” Worth brushed back a lock of Yolanda’s hair. “Did he manage to do more than threaten you, kiss you, and scare you witless?”

  “He had better not have,” Hess said, back on his feet. “I’ll see the place shut down, I will.”

  “You mustn’t.” Yolanda leaned into Worth. “When Mrs. Peese asked the other girls, they said they’d seen nothing, heard nothing, but they all knew he’d treated another student the same way the previous year. She was a by-blow, too.”

  “So, little lunatic that you are, you cut yourself,” Worth guessed. “Beat them at their own game, brought me running, and got free of the scoundrel. Well done.” He kissed her forehead and glared at Hess over her shoulder.

  “Right,” Hess said, “well damned done indeed. I’m surprised you didn’t call the idiot out, or entice him into his lowly garden bower, then wallop him with a shovel where it counts.”

  Yolanda dropped her forehead to Worth’s shoulder. “I thought about it, but nobody supported my version of events, and a violent lunatic is worse than a hysterical female. I didn’t know if Worth would come fetch me or not.”

  “Worth came,” Hess said.

  “I will always come when you ask it. You’re my sister.”

  “You didn’t know that.” Yolanda took Hess’s proffered handkerchief. “You were so dark and stern and brisk. You never said I was your sister until recently.”

  “You’re my sister.” He hugged her, pushing the words past an abruptly tight throat. “Hess is my brother, you are my sister. Avery is our niece. We’re a family.”

  “I will not drag you north,” Hess said, clearing his throat. “I will, however, offer a medicinal tot all around.”

  Yolanda sat up. “Brandy? For me?”

  “It’s medici
nal.” Hess passed her a scant portion and Worth a more generous serving. “I really do want to see that school closed.”

  “But what will the girls think?”

  “What will their families think, to know such a situation wasn’t dealt with appropriately?” Hess countered. “Consider another girl, Lannie, younger than you, not as resourceful, not as brave. She won’t think of a scheme to get herself sent down. She won’t even protest.”

  “Like the girl last year,” Yolanda said. “She didn’t come back for Hilary term, and nobody said anything.”

  “Ketterings don’t meekly allow such injustices, and they don’t quietly tolerate another’s dissembling,” Worth said. “Either the gardener takes a post where he can’t prey on girls or the school will be closed. Between Hess and me, we’ve the connections to see to it.”

  “We do,” Hess said. “I’ll give it a day, then draft a letter for you two to look over. It’s the right course, Lannie.”

  “It is,” she agreed, taking a shuddery breath. “This brandy does help with one’s nerves.”

  Worth downed his at a swallow, more proud of his siblings than he could bear. “Having family helps, too.”

  “Here, here.” Hess held up his glass, as did Yolanda. A knock on the door interrupted Yolanda’s maiden attempt at a toast.

  “A note for Mr. Kettering,” Carl said. Worth took the folded and sealed missive, dreading any news that took him away from Trysting

  “A pigeon up from Devon,” he said, crumpling the paper into a ball.

  “It’s urgent?” Yolanda asked.

  “Pigeons generally are. The timing is miserable.”

  “You fear for the Drummond?” Hess asked.

  “I do.” And, worse, he feared for his future as Jacaranda Wyeth’s husband. “Somebody should have passed along some gossip by now, something from one of the Cape Town ships, or Lisbon. Some-damned-where between here and the Antipodes, somebody has to have seen the Drummond under way and headed home.”

  “Unless it came to grief again,” Yolanda said. “Oh, Worth—”

  “I’m for Town,” Worth interrupted her. “Hess, I’d appreciate it if you’d hold the reins here. Lannie?”