by Cheryl Holt
There had been no concealing her condition from the headmistress. Her father had been summoned, her shame revealed, but to her surprise, he’d been quite grand about the entire debacle.
He had devised the false story about an academic trip to France. He had found the facility where she’d given birth. He had dealt with the Prescott family and had made it clear they would have to be responsible for the child.
Through it all, Maud had been numb. She’d viewed her pregnancy as a sort of morbid illness she’d barely survived. She’d expelled the growth from her body, then it had been whisked away and delivered to the Prescotts.
She’d seldom reflected on any of it ever again. She was adept at ignoring unpleasantness, and the calamity had been the greatest unpleasantness of all.
Mr. Slater was in charge of the girl’s care and maintenance. How dare he break his word! How dare Jo chastise Maud over the issue!
Maud snorted out a laugh that sounded a tad deranged. Jo was kind and decent, possessed of all the honest traits Maud lacked. She would yearn to bring the child to Maud’s home, but it would never happen.
At a very aged twenty-five years, Maud had begun to suspect she would remain a spinster. She recognized that she was no beauty. Nor was she the most agreeable person. Yet she had a trust fund, a house, and a dowry, so she’d never understood why no man had stepped forward.
Her lawyer, Charles Townsend, was the one who’d arranged her future. He’d realized she was a hidden gem, and he’d suggested she might like to meet his younger brother, Thompson, with an eye toward matrimony. When Mr. Townsend had proposed, she’d accepted immediately.
He was a bit rough around the edges, but mostly, he was handsome and charming, and she couldn’t have done better for herself. Well, she might have done better if her father had still been alive and rich and able to contract a suitable match.
But that era was behind her. On her lawyer’s advice, she was marrying Mr. Townsend in September, and she would never jeopardize her chance to become his bride. She was certain that news of a bastard daughter would be a death blow to her happiness.
Jo might worry about an urchin being wrenched from Benton and sent to an orphanage, but it was Jo’s habit to worry. It wasn’t Maud’s.
Maud didn’t regret and she didn’t feel guilty, and she had some errands to finish. She’d start by visiting the tailor who was sewing Mr. Townsend’s wedding suit. It would be a very busy day.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Have you decided?”
“No.”
“You should.”
Peyton frowned at Evan Boyle and inquired, “Why? Am I in a hurry?”
“I think you are.”
Peyton had completed his business in the city, and he was back at Benton. Evan had ridden in shortly after he’d arrived, so his friend was available to provide the entertainment he desperately required.
He’d loafed for two weeks at his town house, and after all those days away, he’d thought he might have a more positive attitude about his return to the estate. But he didn’t. There were too many awful memories, and he couldn’t set them aside as he ought.
He was bored to death and wondering why he would ever retire from the navy. If he resigned his commission, it would mean an end to his wayfaring. He’d have to declare himself a farmer, then lock himself in at Benton Manor where he would watch the crops grow.
At the notion, he shuddered.
“What is wrong with you?” Evan asked. “Are you feverish?”
“No, I was just contemplating how dreary it would be to retire here.”
“Oh, do be silent. I swear, you complain more than any man I’ve ever met.”
“Well, it would be dreary.”
“Then hire a good manager and reside in London. You can amuse yourself at balls and parties, and you’ll travel to Benton in the autumn for the hunting and to check your agent’s figures to ensure he isn’t cheating you too badly.”
“Speaking of figures, I need you to look at the ledgers.”
“Am I to be your unpaid accountant?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the matter?” Evan oozed sarcasm. “Don’t you trust your brother-in-law, Mr. Slater?”
“I have no idea if I should trust him or not. That’s the problem.”
Evan smirked. “I never liked him. He’s pompous and dodgy.”
“So am I. So are you.”
They were in a cozy parlor, sitting by the hearth and drinking brandy. It was a cool, rainy afternoon, and they were being extravagant by having the servants light a roaring fire. It was one of the privileges of rank that he enjoyed.
He’d spent much of his life in unpleasant weather—cold, wet, wind, ice—and it was lovely to be warm simply because he felt like wasting some logs.
Evan was Peyton’s same age, and they were similar enough in appearance—black hair, blue eyes, tall height—that they could have been brothers. Evan was a much better person though. He was stable and loyal and devoted to his mother and sister. Peyton had grown up as a sort of orphan they’d adopted, and he possessed few of Evan’s stellar traits.
As a boy, Evan had socialized with Richard Slater, but Peyton hadn’t been acquainted with Richard or Barbara. He’d been introduced to them at Neville’s wedding which was the only family event he’d attended during the years he hadn’t been welcome at Benton. He’d never understood why Neville had invited him to be his best man.
Basically, they’d been strangers, but curiosity had lured Peyton home, and he’d forced himself to oblige his brother who probably hadn’t deserved any courtesy.
Richard and Barbara were strangers too, and they were all tiptoeing around, trying not to rock any boats. He wished he could wave a magic wand and make them vanish. If he wasn’t constantly compelled to consider what they wanted—and what was fair—he might be able to more quickly resolve his own issues.
The butler entered, but Peyton didn’t know him. He preferred Mr. Newman who was at the house in town.
“We’ve received the afternoon post,” he said to Peyton. “There was a letter for you.”
He handed it over, then hovered in the corner where he could eavesdrop and report their comments to Barbara. Peyton shooed him out, and he was definitely slow in departing.
“Cheeky bastard,” Evan muttered once he was gone.
“They’re all Barbara’s people. She brought them from the Slater property when it was sold.”
“I bumped into her brother, Roger, in town the other day. He was a sorry sight, addled with whiskey at my club. It was embarrassing. The footmen had to escort him out and put him in a cab.”
“Their father’s recklessness cost them dearly. It was difficult for all of them.”
“I’m not certain about all of them.” Evan snickered maliciously. “Richard, Barbara, and their mother seem to have landed on their feet. They lost their own home, and they appear to have taken over yours.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
“What was it again?”
“Are you coming back to active duty with me? You’re a bloody earl now, so you can dawdle in England forever if you like, but I am a commoner, and I can’t remain on eternal holiday. I have to return to work. If you’re not ready, I’ll have to go without you.”
“You’d accept an assignment to another ship and sail off without me?”
“I’m in the navy, Peyton. I can’t tell my superiors to sod off merely because I’m waiting on you to fix your life. I don’t have a choice.”
While Evan had been rambling on, Peyton opened the letter the butler had delivered and was delighted to find it was from Jo Bates. On observing her signature, he suffered such a thrill that he was mortified by his reaction.
He snorted with disgust, and Evan said, “Are you laughing? At what? As far as I can see, nothing is funny.”
“No, I’m just…ah…appalled with mys
elf.”
“Well, you are an appalling fellow, but what has you finally noticing it?”
Peyton didn’t dare mention Jo. Evan most likely assumed Peyton was about to propose to his sister, Amelia. She was fetching and vivacious, and they got along famously. He hadn’t ever been overly keen on being a husband, but age thirty was swiftly approaching, so it was time to bite the bullet. He’d persuaded himself she would be an excellent wife.
But that was before he’d ascended to the title. Did Evan understand that fact? Should Peyton have to spell it out? Amelia wasn’t the best candidate anymore, and he probably ought to admit it. Yet as with so much else that was vexing him, he couldn’t bear to stir that pot. It would wreck his relationship with Evan, and he couldn’t hurt his old friend in such a dastardly way.
He peeked down at Jo’s letter, not surprised to discover that her sister was refusing to let Daisy live with them. Jo promised to devise a solution and begged that he not allow Richard to take action on July fifteenth. As opposed to all the other problems plaguing him, it was easy to grant her request.
He read her note over and over, then he folded it and stuck it in his coat.
Since the night he’d kissed her so ferociously at the town house, he hadn’t seen her again. It had never occurred to him that she’d sneak out without a goodbye. That last morning, when she didn’t arrive for breakfast, he’d sent a maid to check on her. When the woman conveyed the news that Jo had fled, he’d been yanked to his senses.
He had no business flirting with her, particularly in light of his brother’s conduct toward her sister. He’d mostly forgotten about her, but she’d slithered back. Her letter put the whole subject of Daisy, Bobby, and Jane front and center.
“Do I detect feminine handwriting?” Evan slyly pried.
“Yes.”
“Anyone I know?”
“No, you don’t know her.”
He sighed and gazed out the window. He’d like to visit her, but it was impossible. He had to be careful about exhibiting any heightened interest in a female. It had been important before, but with him being an earl, it was doubly important. Evan’s sister was a clear example of the trouble he could instigate when he glanced in the wrong direction.
“You won’t believe the situation I’ve stumbled on here,” he said.
“Yes, I will. Tell me.”
He tapped the pocket where Jo’s letter was hiding. “It’s what I was just contacted about. Would you be shocked to hear that Neville was a rutting dog?”
“Aren’t most men if given the chance?”
Peyton scoffed with derision. “I suppose, but Neville was the consummate champion.”
“What do you mean?”
“He sired nine bastard children—that I’m aware of.”
“No!”
“Yes. There may be more trotting around the kingdom, but if so, I haven’t been apprised.”
“Gad. I’m…stunned.”
“Let me stun you further. Three of them are living at Benton.”
“What?”
Peyton explained about the lonely cottage at the edge of the estate, about Daisy, Bobby, and Jane, about Neville bringing them to Benton for the express purpose of tormenting Barbara.
“She and Richard are demanding I evict them,” Peyton said. “Neville’s not present to block any removal, so they’re clamoring for a resolution.”
“Will you cede to their demand? Will you send the children away?”
“I must admit to being torn. Wouldn’t it be better—for the children—if they left? Wouldn’t they be happier somewhere else?”
“It depends on where that somewhere is.”
“Richard is trying to convince maternal relatives to take them.”
“Has he had any luck?”
“No. The letter I just received? It’s from one of the aunts. She’s made no progress.”
“You realize, don’t you, that you’ve voiced the perfect reason to get your butt back to the navy? Who would want to deal with this quagmire? No matter what route you select, people will be furious. Especially your in-laws. If you don’t side with them, you’ll stir a hornet’s nest that will never end.”
“Exactly,” Peyton agreed.
“I’d dump it all in Richard’s capable hands. He can be the ogre.”
“I’m definitely considering it.”
Except that Peyton kept thinking about Jo Bates. What if he failed to intervene and Richard behaved horridly toward Daisy? Jo would never forgive him, and even though he was determined to never see her again, he couldn’t bear to disappoint her.
Yet he couldn’t confess it to Evan. Not when Evan’s sister, Amelia, was all but sitting in the spot between them and begging Peyton to notice her.
“Is it still raining?” Evan inquired.
“Yes.”
“I’m bored. Let’s play cards. We can gamble, and you can permit me to win some money off you.”
“We’re not gambling. You cheat, remember?”
“Not always.”
“Ha! I know you too well.”
“No, we should gamble. If you win, you’ll simply empty my wallet. If I win, you’ll bid Benton adieu, come back to the navy, and we’ll sail out of England on the quickest tide we can find.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Who’s tempting you? I’m exhausted by your dithering. You can’t make up your mind, so I will force you to.”
Peyton stared out the window at the gray, soggy afternoon.
Why not head to the navy? It was the only place he’d ever been content. It was the only place he’d ever truly belonged. The slow days at Benton dripped by like a kind of medieval torture, and he couldn’t abide much more of it.
In every other facet of his life, he blustered forward without second guessing his every step. He could hardly captain a navy ship any other way. It was just over issues at Benton where he was frozen and unable to pick a path.
His equivocation was ridiculous and exasperating, but he didn’t feel that Fate should have tossed the estate in his lap, so the problems didn’t seem as if they should be his dilemmas to solve. Obligation was gradually creeping in, and he couldn’t escape its weighty pull.
He wished Jo Bates could see him when he was in such a pitiful condition. She’d have a few pithy words to share about his wretched inability to decide.
Evan yanked him out of his miserable reverie.
“Amelia sends her regards.”
“How is she?”
“She’s grand. If it ever quits raining, how about if we ride to town? We can stop by and chat with her.”
Peyton tamped down a reaction. Any misconceptions Evan and Amelia Boyle had about his intentions were his own blasted fault. How was he to repair the false perception he’d generated?
“Yes, we should do that,” Peyton said, rather than argue or offer a comment he’d regret later. “Now ring for the butler, and we’ll have him dig up a deck of cards. I hope your purse is full—so I can empty it.”
* * * *
“I’m off to town.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
Richard peered over at Peyton and kept his expression carefully blank. It was the best news he could have received.
When Peyton had initially come home on furlough, he’d spent three tedious weeks at Benton where he’d snooped and eavesdropped and made a nuisance of himself. Then he’d traveled to London and had spent two weeks there.
His recent visit had only lasted for a day. His friend, Mr. Boyle, had arrived, and they’d been trapped in the house by rain. They were masculine, dynamic men, and they’d prowled about like lions locked in a cage.
The weather had cleared, and they were leaving for the city again, their horses saddled and out in the drive. He and Peyton were standing in the foyer, and Mr. Boyle was down with the horses, so he and Peyton were alone.
“Mr. Boyle looked through the ledg
er books,” Peyton said.
“I realize they’re your books, Peyton, and you may use them as you see fit, but must you parade them outside the family?”
“It appeared to him as if we’re broke. Are we?”
“I suppose broke is a relative term.”
“How relative?”
“Your brother was a gambler and wastrel, Peyton. You knew that.”
“No, actually, I didn’t.”
Richard shrugged. He’d loathed Neville, with his licentious affairs and wild routines. Richard’s deceased father and his own brother, Roger, had carried on just as flagrantly. His family had lost everything due to their reckless habits. If Barbara hadn’t married Neville before calamity had struck, they’d all be living in a small flat with Roger in London.
Richard had no patience or sympathy for negligence. He most especially couldn’t abide how Neville had disgraced himself with his doxies, how he’d repeatedly shamed Barbara. But no one had been able to stop him from engaging in any offensive act that tickled his fancy.
They’d been at his mercy, and now, Peyton had inherited, so they would be subject to his whims and impulses. He had deliberately separated himself from them, so it had been difficult to ascertain what sort of person he really was. Was he cunning like a fox? Or was he simply too dimwitted to delve into complex details? It was a frustrating question that Richard couldn’t answer.
For the most part, he would tread cautiously around Peyton, would bow to his authority and let him have his way, but he wouldn’t budge on matters involving his mother or sister. He would do whatever was necessary to protect them.
“Your brother wasn’t concerned about our finances,” Richard said.
“Is any aristocrat? I’ve always heard they’re very stupid about money.”
With Peyton being an earl, the remark seemed like a bog that could suck Richard in, so he bit down on his opinion.
“We have debts,” he said instead.
“Are they enough to bankrupt us?”
“Time will tell I guess.”
“I’m taking the ledgers to London. I’ll have my accountants there double-check the numbers.”
Richard continued to mask his discomfort. “As you wish.”
