by Deb Marlowe
“She is a young woman who knows what she wants—and goes after it. Strength! Tenacity! She is exactly what the Newland line needs.”
“Then you marry her! For I certainly never shall.” He shuddered at the mere thought of it.
“You are not to be so contrary. It is beyond foolish to ignore a good match, just to spite me.”
“I’m not going to enter in any match, but if I were, that is the worst one I could conceive of!”
“Her dowry is twice that of the Brightley girl’s.”
“And her character is many times deficient. The girl is a schemer.” He snorted. “Hardly a fault in your eyes, I know. But I heard the girl myself, plotting to take a lover after we were married—and we’ve never had more than one dance!”
That did give his father a second’s pause. “She’s not a fool. She knows the rules. She’ll do nothing of the sort until she’s secured you an heir.”
He gave a disdainful laugh. “Oh, as if you’d have been so accepting, had my mother made you a cuckold?” He took a deep breath and reached for reason. “Listen, Father. I am not marrying anyone. But your thinking is clouded.”
He should stop now. Just go. But he found he could not leave without defending Glory.
“You are not making sense. Lady Glory is a virtuous girl. But even if their moral characters did cancel each other out, it still doesn’t wash. You’ll trade Lady Glory’s title and connections for a couple of thousand pounds? It doesn’t sound like you—or like a man so keenly interested in the heartiness of his bloodline.”
“Yes, well, that’s the main point, isn’t it? The family says that her withered leg resulted from an accident, but how do we know the truth of it? If she was born with that . . . anomaly . . . then they wouldn’t admit it, would they?”
Keswick’s temper roared to new heights. “That is utter nonsense. Her injury is nothing, but now you insult her honor and that of her entire family! I forbid you to spread such a vile rumor or speak so again! There has never been a hint of deception from Glory or her family.”
“Oh, truly? I don’t recall her sister being so forthcoming about the size of her inheritance, when she came out.”
“What heiress does crow about her fortune? Would you have her driving about in a coach of gold, tossing largesse to the crowds? I do not understand your thinking. Who could have put such a thing in your head?”
Oh, but he knew the answer already, and he saw it confirmed in his father’s shifting gaze. “She does have you spellbound, doesn’t she? You cannot listen to the Vernon chit. That virago will say anything to get what she wants.”
“Perhaps, but she could pass that spirit and determination on to your sons.”
Spirit and determination—he should have been talking about Glory. She had all that—and caring and a lovely, sweet nature that any man should be glad to have in his life. But it wouldn’t be him, so it didn’t bear thinking about.
“I’ll not be marrying either girl. If you admire the Vernon harpy, then have at her.”
“Nonsense. I’ve already been in talks with her father.”
Of course he had. Keswick’s eyes closed in despair.
“Believe me, I had to dance about a bit, explaining your reputation,”
“I wish I might have seen it, but you’ve wasted your time. I’ve already told you—I’ll never marry while you live. Did you believe I didn’t mean it? I won’t marry a woman I can’t respect and care for—and if I found such a creature, I assure you, I would never expose her to you.”
“Your responsibilities—”
“Yes! Let me at my responsibilities, why do you not, Father? Turn over the home estate, one of the farms in Ireland, or one of the shipping ventures you’ve invested in, why don’t you?”
His father’s face remained impassive and blank.
“That’s what I thought. You harp on about my responsibilities, but I cannot touch a parcel without your permission—and you won’t give it. You complain about my wild ways, but what else am I to do with myself? You set me on this road and I’m performing beautifully, am I not?”
“When you are ready—”
“Oh, I am ready! But I don’t want your damned earldom. You can hold it hostage until the end of time, as far as I’m concerned.”
His father’s eyes narrowed. “You think I don’t know what you are up to? I know. Your worn down little estate in Berkshire? Solas Ag Crithlonrú,” he snorted. “Sentimental twaddle.”
“Thriving and profitable,” Keswick corrected with extreme satisfaction. “And that is only the first of my blissfully lucrative projects.”
That caught the old man by surprise and Keswick happily turned the knife. “Oh, yes, Father. You can drive the earldom into the ground, if you wish. I’m well on my way to having an empire that will dwarf it.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why you would think I would ever do a single thing at your bidding. You’ve made my life a misery, stolen or destroyed everything or everyone I cared for.”
“It was all to toughen you up,” his father said roughly. “God, you were a sniveling little thing when you were small. But you learned, didn’t you? My lessons made you strong.”
“Oh, yes,” he answered. “I did learn.” The words sounded soft and deadly even to his own ears. “It worked. I’m tough. I’m independent. And now, I don’t need anyone, Father. Least of all you.”
His father’s fury coiled tightly behind his eyes. He looked like a snake, all tensed up with nowhere to strike. Well, it wouldn’t be at him. Keswick had cut the head off of this serpent—and now he knew it.
Mean as a snake, but stubborn as a badger. Even as he watched, his father collected himself. “This isn’t over,” he said, and walked out of the stable.
It was, for now. But there would be more battles, Keswick knew it. He paced, fuming. Unless he left. Now. This minute. He should draw the old bastard away from Glory and her family. He waited long enough to be sure his father would have made it to the house, then turned to follow.
And found Glory standing near the doorway, waiting.
Chapter 17
Once again, Keswick did not look pleased to see her.
She didn’t let it deter her. She just waited while he stomped up, a belligerent look on his face.
“You’ve been here the whole time?”
She nodded.
He cursed.
“What does it mean?” she asked gently. “Solas Ag Crithlonrú”
He was going to balk again. She saw it in the shuttering of his gaze.
“You might as well tell me. The secret is out.”
Alarm lit up his expression. “You cannot mean to tell anyone else?”
“Not if you don’t wish me to.”
“I don’t. Of course I don’t.”
“I admit, I understand your hesitations better, now that I see what you are up against.”
He gave a bitter laugh. “You don’t know but a portion of it. But you know more than most, and I would ask you to keep my secret, just as I promised to keep yours.”
“You know I will,” she soothed. “But were you not the one who said it might help, to speak of your pain?”
He started to answer, then stopped. Running a hand over his face, he spun around, walked to the empty stall door and back again. He stared at her for a long moment, then crossed to another wall of the stable and emptied a crate of its tack bits and implements. “Sit down,” he said, upending the crate and sitting it at her feet. “I’ll tell you, but only because you don’t know what I am up against. What you are up against. Not truly.”
She sat. And waited quietly.
“Shimmering light,” he said after a few moment’s of silence.
She frowned. “I’m sorry?”
“Shimmering light. Solas Ag Crithlonrú. That’s what it means. I named the place for my mother. She always brought light and laughter with her, everywhere she went.”
“She shielded you from the worst of it?” she asked softly. “While she lived.�
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“She tried, although at times it only seemed to make him worse. And after she died . . .”
Grumpet came sauntering back into the stable just then, and Keswick swooped down to pick her up and tuck her into the crook of his arm. Absently, he stroked her, and it seemed to make the words come easier.
“He’s always been caught up with the idea of shoring up the family, strengthening the blood line. The heir after me is my second cousin. He’s a nice enough chap, but my father despises him, as he also hated his father. For what reason? I don’t know. But he’s horrified at the thought of the title passing to that branch of the family tree.
“And you’ve no idea what caused the enmity?”
“No.” He grimaced and shook his head. “They were at school together. Perhaps something that happened there? But it might not have been a specific incident.” He frowned. “I learned, after I was grown, that my grandmother lost several children, both before my father and after him. One other boy was born, but he was sickly and died while still a babe. My father was young at the time, perhaps four or five years of age, but he was old enough to see and remember. Maybe that is what started it?” His lips compressed. “All I know is that he is convinced of his own superiority.”
“Over the dreaded cousins?”
“Over nearly everyone. He regards himself as smarter and stronger in almost every way. And he lives in fear of frailty. He has always watched me closely. My earliest memory of him is the weight of his stare. His measuring gaze. He could not abide any sign of anything he considered weakness—and he would go to great lengths to do away with it.”
His gaze sharpened as it landed on her. “That’s what you need to understand. It’s why I don’t want him to think you mean anything to me at all. He will hurt you, Glory. He’ll stop at nothing to run you off.”
Her mouth twisted. “What will he do? Mock me? Call me a cripple? That’s going to happen in any case. It’s happened here, in my own family’s home.”
“Yes, he will mock you. To your face. To his friends. To the entire ton. He’ll have broadsheets drawn up. He’ll publically call you a cripple, a hoyden, an adventuress. He’ll hire someone to write a song about it. He’ll print up pamphlets shaming you.”
She stared at him. “Don’t be absurd. Of course he would not do all of that.”
“He will. It’s what he does.” He set the cat down and started pacing again. “My mother kept a dog as a pet, a great, shaggy beast of an Irish Wolfhound. I adored that dog, and she returned my affections. She slept with me in the nursery and followed me about all day. Fern, the nursemaid, used to complain she was trying to steal her position. We were inseparable. Until one day, when the dog ate something bad for her. She grew very ill and my mother thought she would die. She tried to prepare me and I was inconsolable. My father was furious about the fuss. Eventually the dog did recover, to our relief. But he had it drowned—to teach me not to become so attached.”
She gasped and tears filled her eyes.
“That was just the beginning,” he said hoarsely. “After my mother died, the only person who would talk of her was Fern. She kept her memory alive. She tried to look after me, just as my mother would have wished. She sang me to sleep when I awoke in nightmares and tears. She told me the old tales my mother loved. She bandaged my cuts and scrapes. You asked about birthdays—she was the only person ever, after my mother died, to remember the day. My father, however, decided she was making me soft.”
“What did he do?” she asked fearfully.
“Bribed her away. He didn’t just fire her. He bought a boarding house and gave it over to her, just so I could see that she was choosing it over me.”
She shivered at the cruelty of it. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. The memory of her brother in law’s story came back to her. “And Saoirse?” she asked.
Startled, he raised a brow at her.
She blushed a little. “Tensford told me about her. I did push him a bit. He said you bought the horse yourself.”
“Yes. I wanted something of my own. Something he couldn’t take away or destroy. Lord, how we did ride! I went everywhere, anywhere, to escape the house and my father.” He scowled. “It didn’t matter that I owned her outright. He sold her the day after I left for school.”
It all made perfect sense. His reluctance to form connections. His trust in only his proven friends. “Keswick, I’ve asked to be your friend, practically forced it upon you. I want you to know, he won’t change that.”
“No. I’ve told him you mean nothing to me. He must believe that.”
“He cannot bribe me, or sell me, or shame me into abandoning you.”
“You don’t know what you are saying.”
“I do.”
‘You think so. You believe so. But you wouldn’t be the first woman he decided to drive away.”
She stilled.
“I won’t see it happen to you.”
“What happened?”
He heaved a great sigh.
“Tell me, Keswick.”
He leaned against the stall door. “I rode all over the estate, all over the countryside, really, in those days with Saoirse. I began to see the strengths of our estate, and some of the weaknesses, too. Places where a change in tenancy would do good, others where an application of modern methods might yield much better results. But the land agent, the game warden, even most of the tenants, they turned away from me. He had denied me a place in the running of the estate and they all knew it. None of them wished to bring down his wrath by encouraging or engaging with me.”
He slid down to sit on the dirt floor and his head dropped back against the door. “So, I began to ride farther afield. I spoke to other land managers, saw how other estates and villages were run, and noted which were thriving, and why. I was up near the old Heddon Mill when I met a man, a squire, in a pub. We struck up a conversation, and though he was older, he was interested in my ideas and willing to share his. We met up several times and talked and talked. One day, he invited me back to his house.”
He gave her a bleak smile and she stood up and went to sit beside him, their backs against the stall door. “His home wasn’t anywhere near as grand as ours, but it was so much better. It was a home, warm and comfortable and full of a real family—and all of the love and squabbles that went with it. I was enchanted—and I certainly liked the look of his eldest daughter.”
Glory swallowed, but said nothing. She’d wanted to know.
“She was small and blonde and quiet-mannered. So normal. She seemed pleased with my attentions and her parents seemed so, too.”
“But not your father?”
“She was a squire’s daughter. Solid gentry. Perfectly respectable. I wanted nothing more than to become part of their family. But my father would not have it. She wasn’t lofty enough to suit him. They had no connections in the ton. He told me to end it.”
“But you didn’t?” She couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous. Angry, too, because no matter what had happened, she knew he’d been hurt by it.
“No. But Father cornered her somewhere. He was typically rough in his address and it frightened her. I think she would have ended it right then, but her father had got his back up. He felt for me, for my situation, I know he did. But I think he also liked the idea of his daughter becoming a countess one day. He decided to speak to my father himself. He told him to stop interfering and to allow us to be happy.”
She grimaced. “I don’t imagine that went over well.”
“About as well as you’d expect,” he sighed.
“What did your father do?”
“What he usually does. He won. I don’t know what the information was, but he dug up something embarrassing or incriminating, and he used it. It must have been bad enough, for it silenced her father instantly. And my father, who likes to do things thoroughly, combined the stick with a carrot—he offered not to expose his dirty information, if the family took his generous offer of a stay in Bath, where their daughter could
be sure to find another suitor, more appropriate for her station.”
“Good heavens,” she said faintly. “He is diabolical.”
“He is—and he will aim it all at you, if he thinks you are a threat. And if you persevere, he will turn on your family. Is that what you want?”
“Of course not, but it is better than the alternative. You told me I must fight tyranny. And so I shall.”
“You shall not. I won’t have you hurt.”
She was awash with emotion, each a wave crashing against her. Defiance. Both a thrill and a sense of tender gratitude for his fierce protectiveness. Pain, thinking of all that he’d suffered. And utter determination that there would be no more.
Hope.
She felt hope. Truly. For the first time.
She knew what she faced now. Both Keswick’s father and his own fears. She wouldn’t fail him, not even if it meant giving up her own dream.
“I’ll go. Immediately,” he continued. “Back to London.”
“But won’t that prove to your father that you do care for me? He’ll expect you to do just that—as a gambit to draw his attention away. He’ll see it for a protective move.”
“That’s what it is. I don’t want him near you.”
“But if you want to convince him of your disinterest, you should stay. Spend time with Tensford and pay no attention to me or to Miss Vernon.”
He groaned and knocked his head against the stall door. “Damn. Why are you so often right? You likely are, in this case, too.”
“I’m afraid you are just going to have to get used to it.” She rolled her head against the door and looked over at him. “Besides which, Tensford will have a fit if you go. He has that man from the British Museum coming tomorrow, to see the fossil and attend the ball. Apparently he’s already requested to speak to you, me, and Miss Munroe. He wants to ask questions about how we found it.”
His head fell in his hands. “It sounds dreadful. I’ll have to avoid you, and keep myself occupied while doubtless both my father and Miss Vernon try to plague me.” He peeked at her. “And the worst part? I’ll have to endure the damned ball, without a dance with you.”
