Miranda giggled. “That still sounds so strange.”
“Strange? You have spent your entire life preparing to hear it, and now that you have, it’s strange to your ears?” The earl rolled his eyes but leaned in to kiss her temple in a display of pure love.
“Good morning, Lord Aunton.” Isabel offered Jonathon a polite nod.
He gave her a cold bow but hadn’t cut her direct, so she claimed that a win. The bridal couple excused themselves, leaving them alone, or as alone as two people could be in a crowd. “How are you?”
“Do you really care, Izzy?” He glared at her. “My understanding was you would prefer to never see me again.”
“I….” She would have said something, wanted so desperately to say anything, but her attention moved to the presence of the tall Duke of Foxhaven heading their way, followed quickly by the Marquis of Breckinridge, whose tight jaws and furrowed brows alerted her all was not as it should be. “Jonathon, something is wrong.”
He turned and froze as the other two approached. “Jonathon, come with us please.”
“What is it?” he asked but followed. Although she didn’t belong nor did they have any relationship, she followed. Jonathon introduced her. “You know Miss Hathaway. Her family owns the lands that border my father’s.”
“A pleasure to see you again.” Foxhaven offered her a brief forced smile before turning to his friend, gripping his arm. “Jonathon, a messenger just arrived. You’ve been called home.”
“Home?” He reached for her, and she offered her hand. “My brothers?”
“As far as we are aware, your brothers are all fine. Jonathon, it’s your father. They say he doesn’t have much time.”
“Your horse is being saddled as we speak.” The marquis put a chair behind Jonathon and pushed him into it. “Your saddlebags are being packed. What else do you need?”
“Nothing. I’m just in shock. I haven’t been home in years.”
“Perhaps the kitchen could put together a food basket,” Isabel suggested.
“Good idea. Would you see to that?” the duke asked. “We will get you around the far side of the house, Jonathon, so you don’t have to answer any questions. None of them need to know anything yet.”
Jonathon covered his eyes and swayed. “I can’t tell if I am still hungover or in shock. Perhaps I shouldn’t have had so much brandy last night.”
“Why don’t you have my carriage brought around. I can take him home,” she offered. “My footman can ride the horse behind us.”
“That might be for the best. Jonathon?” The marquis nodded.
“Fine,” he mumbled, rubbing at the back of his neck.
If he was agreeing to spend hours in a confined coach with her, then he was in shock. “Let me find my maid. I’ll meet you in the back of the house.”
“He’ll be ready when you come down.” Foxhaven pulled her to a halt. “Speak to no one but your maid. This is not word that needs to get out. Not today.”
She moved through the crowded room, smiling and pretending all was fine. Up in the rooms she had been given, she found her lady’s maid brushing out one of her gowns. “How long will it take for you to pack us up?”
“Ma’am?”
“The old earl is dying. We need to get his son home post haste.”
“With the help of some other maids, we can be packed up in less than half an hour.”
“Very well, but say only that I have been called home. After I speak to the kitchen about some provisions for the road, I will have footmen assist you with the wardrobe cases.”
In thirty-five minutes, the door to the carriage closed behind her. Jonathon sat staring out the window, but she suspected he didn’t see anything. If everything went well, they could be home by nightfall. He refused any food or conversation, but when she placed her hand on his knee, an intimate gesture that her maid ignored, he gripped it within his own. No matter how much he disliked his father, finding out the old man was dying might have come as a shock. Was he ready to take over the earldom, and what issues did he face?
As the moon crested the horizon, casting a pale glow over the countryside, her carriage pulled up the rocky unkempt drive of his family estate. They’d made good time. Stopped only to freshen the horses and to allow everyone to stretch their legs. The two inns supplied them with fresh food, but other than the little amount her maid had eaten, the food had gone mostly untouched. With the exception of a small candle burning in the upstairs window, the house appeared deserted. “May I ask one more favor of you?”
“Anything.” Right now, she would allow him whatever he needed.
“My horse. There is no suitable place to stable him for the night.”
He couldn’t know how true his words were. The stables had been in bad shape when he’d left home all those years ago, and the disrepair hadn’t gotten better. In fact, she had heard rumors the roof had fallen in at the last snow. “Say no more. We will take him home. You can have someone pick him up whenever you are ready.”
“Thank you.” He nodded to the maid and exited down to the ground. He paused before throwing his saddlebags over his shoulder as if steadying himself for what was to come.
Unsure what to do, how to help, she blurted out, “Take the baskets of food.”
“I couldn’t.”
She pushed the baskets toward him. “For your brothers.”
She watched as he stared at the hampers and eventually gave in. Who knew how long it had been since anyone in the house had had a good meal? Her coachmen brought the baskets to the front door as it opened, and Peter, the youngest of the brothers, came running out and threw himself at Jonathon. “You’re home.”
“Peter, this can’t be you.” Through the playfulness, she could hear the pain of not seeing him for so long. “Why aren’t you at school?”
“I haven’t been to school this year.” His thin shoulders shrugged.
“I see.” He looked at her over the blond head of the young boy.
Within seconds, two more brothers came into the doorway, including the second eldest who could pass almost as Jonathon’s twin. Gabriel reached out and pulled Jonathon into an embrace.
“I got here as soon as I could.”
Gabriel looked up, his eyes going wide. “With Miss Hathaway?”
“She volunteered to see me here.”
“We happened to be at the same event.” She got the distinct impression Gabriel was uncomfortable with her presence on their property. “Please, send a message if you need anything.”
Jonathon bowed, the weight of his situation etched into his face before a mask fell into place. “Thank you again, I appreciate…everything.”
Jonathon watched until the carriage rolled out of sight. “Peter, take the food into the kitchen, will you?”
“What’s in here?” The little boy’s stomach growled, and fury filled Jonathon again. “Patrick, come and see. Jonathon brought food.”
“I guess food is far more exciting than you.” Matthew, the middle brother, chuckled. “I’m relieved to have you home.”
“This isn’t my home. Where is the earl?”
“In his bedchamber.” Gabriel waited until the younger boys were out of earshot before continuing. “I don’t think he will make it through the night. Perhaps he has been waiting for you.”
“Then, let us get this over with, shall we?” He took the stairs with determination. “Did you get the money I sent this month?”
“We did.”
He paused on the landing. That his brothers were going hungry infuriated him. “Why didn’t you tell me it wasn’t enough?”
“We shouldn’t be your responsibility.”
“But you are.” He didn’t bother to knock. The room, like the rest of the house, was cold and sparsely furnished. The bed had been moved as close to the fireplace as one could get without it catching on fire. The frail old man coughed, and, as he quieted, Jonathon came into his line of sight. Gayish skin covered bones
with little muscle mass, and his face resembled more of a skull than the strong man he had been a decade ago. Jonathon wouldn’t have recognized his paternal parent on the street, had they passed. Not that he believed the man could make it to the chamber pot on his own legs. “Milord.”
Hollow blue eyes stared up at him as frail fingers wiped spittle mixed with blood from his mouth. “The prodigal son returns.”
“As you see.”
“Even the devil himself can’t outrun the Grim Reaper.” Coughing started again, but, even now, Jonathon couldn’t bring himself to care. “There is a great deal you will need to do.”
“I am sure there is.”
“I just hope you are a better lord than I was.”
Jonathon paused at that. Could the man actually have regrets? Could he be asking for absolution in his final hours? Was that why he had summoned his eldest home? The one whose name he hadn’t even spoken in years. If he was indeed asking, then Jonathon would need to open himself up for forgiveness.
“Do you think I don’t know the shape of the estates? I know how you despise me, have since your mother put her spoon in it. But your hate for me drove you to succeed. I made you the man you have become.” He coughed and closed his eyes. “I can’t change the bastard I am. I see you don’t plan to argue with me.”
“Did you call me here to tell me this?” Anger resurged in his gut. “To gloat about your perceived success where I am concerned? Believe me, if you knew how I was succeeding, you would expire right here and now.”
“Jonathon, enough,” Gabriel warned from the door.
“I called you here because you are about to be the head of the family. My title will pass down to you. No matter that Gabriel would be my choice over you.”
“See, all those years of trying to keep me healthy were for naught. You could have just let me catch the ague and die.” He leaned against the wall, torn between trying to be respectful to the earl and wishing him ill for all he had done to his mother and brothers.
“I don’t want to be the earl,” Gabriel mumbled.
“You sure, Gab? You could kill me now. Blame it on the old man and no one would question it. All this”—he put his arms up and turned—“could be yours.”
“Stop it, Jonathon. None of this is funny.” Gabriel paled.
“Do I look amused? His pride, his stubborn ego has brought this once-flourishing estate to ruin, and I have no bloody idea how I am going to save it with my ass in debtors’ prison. Because, for the first time since Mum died, he is worth more alive than dead. I haven’t the foggiest idea how we are going to pay the death tax.”
“He isn’t even dead yet,” Gabriel hissed. “And all you can think about is money?”
No, he was thinking about the lack thereof. Tamping down his anger, he addressed his heir with a softness to his voice he could not summon for their father. “It’s something you should be focusing on. I’m not throwing words like debtors’ prison around idly. It’s a great possibility that looms outside this estate.”
He rubbed the tension forming at his brow. Gabriel spent his life desperate for their father’s approval. Unlike Jonathon, Gabriel had never realized it couldn’t happen. The only thing the old man loved was his title. Not the estate, certainly not the servants, or even, in the end, his children. Nothing mattered but being an earl. But he had nine siblings who, for good or bad, hadn’t seen the worst his father had to offer. They hadn’t been aware of their mother’s last moments.
“Perhaps it would be best if you spent his last hours with him. He should be with someone who loves him.” He patted his brother’s shoulder.
“No, stay.” His father coughed. “You won’t deny a dying man’s last request?”
No, he wouldn’t, and, as it turned out, it was indeed his father’s last request. An hour later, his father began to cough up blood. No matter how he despised the man, he would wish on no one the fate that he beheld. “Go freshen up. I will see to him.”
Gabriel, his eyes red rimmed, looked at him but didn’t see him. He stared out into what appeared to be nothing. “Thank you for staying.”
“He was my father as well.”
“He was an asshole. As am I for forever wanting his approval,” Gabriel muttered. “No matter how we tried, he would not allow you back. He hated that you wouldn’t bow down to him. You forced him to see the error of his ways, that not even the estate falling down around him had done. And I still took his side.”
He couldn’t even remember what he had said the day he had been banished. His words years ago had been born out of anger, frustration, and heartache. Though he never knew what had happened to turn Izzy from him. His world had splintered and his heart separated from his body. He had known his father was to blame. By the time he reached the house, wet and dead on the inside, he knew he would no longer kowtow to a man he couldn’t respect. There was nothing left for him to take away.
The argument had started in the hallway when the earl caught sight of his soaking-wet son, and soon escalated into the sparse dining room where angry words echoed through the halls. The only regret he had was that the younger boys had paid witness to the ugliness of the battle before the housekeeper shuttled them off somewhere else. He never knew where because, when he raced out with only his saddlebags and his horse, no one had been there to see him off.
“He was your father. For good or bad.” Jonathon gripped his brother’s shoulder, trying to infuse his strength into the other man. “You had to live here long after I was gone. We do what we must to survive.”
“We survived because you sent money and food.” His brother looked over at the dead form of their father. “Why did you never speak a word of what happened to our mother? Why carry that burden on your own?”
“Because it was mine to bear.” Tonight was not the time to find out exactly how much his brother knew about their mother. Nor how he found out. “You knowing would have accomplished nothing but make the earl send you away, too.”
“We would have been better able to understand the depth of your anger.” Squaring his shoulders, he bowed to his brother. “Milord, you are now the Earl of Stockton.”
“Unlike the man before, the title means nothing to me. My family and the people on these lands are what matter to me. I need to tell our brothers that their father is dead. Tonight, a brother is all that I am.” He pulled the aged, yellowing sheet over his father’s head and ushered Gabriel out the door with him. One of the three staff still in residence waited outside the door. “Alfred, we are in mourning.”
“Yes, milord.” The man bowed. “Shall I call for the local vicar?”
“Thank you, yes. The boys may need his prayers.”
“Your brothers, milord, are in the kitchen.”
“I will address them now.” He steeled himself to put on a strong front. As he walked into the kitchen, eight sets of eyes all the same color blue as his looked up at him. “The earl is dead.”
“No, the earl is standing before us,” Gabriel announced.
Never had he been less thrilled about his title than he was then.
Isabel knocked on the door to the big house. She’d waited as long as she could. Her news could not wait out the proper mourning period. Her condition wasn’t likely to wait. The new earl had locked himself into his house, and no one in the village had seen him other than when he ventured out for Sunday services. Who could blame him? The debt collectors were coming out in force. She knocked again. Gabriel opened the door. “Miss Hathaway, what are you doing here?”
“I need to speak to Jonathon.”
“His lordship is in a meeting.”
Gabriel had never liked her, but she didn’t care about his rudeness. “I must see him. It’s urgent.”
“I wasn’t lying. He is in a meeting.” Gabriel stepped to the side. “When he comes out, I can tell him you’re here.”
“Do you know how long he will be?”
Gabriel mumbled, more to himself than
her, “How long does it take to write a marriage contract?”
“Marriage? He is getting married?”
“Yes, apparently this rich American has more coin than brains and wants his family attached to an old English name,” Gabriel said with a shrug.
What little she had managed to keep in her stomach now threatened to make a real appearance. “He can’t marry her.”
“And why the hell not?”
“Because I’m carrying his child.” She pressed a hand to her stomach, and the room started to spin.
“Ah bloody hell.” Gabriel lifted her into his arms, carrying her to the sole chair in the corner in what was once a library. “You have shit timing. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
She watched through the open doors across the hall as Gabriel whispered into Jonathon’s ear. His head shot up, and their eyes met. But, unlike in the past, the blue orbs seemed lifeless. “Please excuse me, Mr. Quincy.”
He turned to his brother before approaching her. How this scene reminded her of a scene years ago. This time, however, she could not run, and she hoped neither would he. “Jonathon.”
He closed the door. “Isabel, is it true?”
She pushed past the lump in her throat. “Yes. I tried to allow you to mourn longer.”
“As it happens, you left it almost too late.” He paced a bit, paused then continued. “Forgive me. I am not certain what the social demands are in this situation. Are you feeling all right?”
“Beyond a bit of queasiness, I am fine.”
“I see. You can understand my confusion. You have on multiple occasions declined my suit and said nothing on earth could induce you to accept my hand.”
Eating crow when she was so nauseas was not helping her situation. “Things have changed.”
“So it would appear.” He stopped pacing. “But I do not know the script.”
“I need you to marry me.” She hated the begging in her voice.
“Very well.”
After a long pregnant pause, she asked, “Very well?”
“I shall contact the archbishop and call on your father this afternoon.” He moved over to the window, gripped the sill, and laid his forehead on the pane. “I assume you would rather go through a special license than have the banns read.”
The Viscount and the Heiress Page 5
