“You have no right to throw us out,” Jonas snapped. “You have crossed a line here, Pendleton. You will face financial reprisals that you cannot imagine. You will watch everything you’ve built crumble before your very eyes. You will pay for even thinking about my wife.”
She wasn’t your wife, you weasel. She was free. Theo took a deep breath, repeating the only words that stood between him and the anger that spurred him to attack the men before him with his fists. “Get. Out.”
Verner stood, mumbling something to the men, but he couldn’t keep them from leaving in a fog of threats and anger. When they had gone, he turned to Theo with a sharp glance. “You’d better prepare yourself, boy,” he warned ominously. “You’ve brought hell down on your head, and there’s nothing I can do to help you now.”
Chapter 22
“Willa,” Alina called into the empty hallway. The maid appeared as though out of a mist, silent and pale as she’d been of late. Alina waved her over. “I’ve a question for you.”
She came and sank into a curtsy at her mistress’ side. “Yes, my lady?”
“Have you heard from my husband?” Alina asked. “I knew he went into town yesterday, but he didn’t come home last night.”
Willa kept her gaze averted. “No, my lady. He didn’t return last night. I believe he had an appointment in town this morning.”
“An appointment?” she asked without really wanting an answer. “With whom?”
Willa raised her eyes briefly, an indecipherable message hidden within them. “Mr. Pendleton, my lady. The barrister.”
Alina swallowed and looked down. She wondered when Theo’s name would stop slicing her heart so viscerally. Composing herself, she looked back at Willa. “Thank you, Willa. Please let me know as soon as he reappears at Marshall Gardens.”
“Of course, my lady.”
When she turned, Alina caught sight of her little son standing in the shadow of a nearby doorway. “Jinx.” She forced a smile. “What are you doing?”
“Is Papa home today?” he asked softly.
“Not now, but I’m sure he’ll come home soon so you can play with him.”
“I don’t want to play with him,” he said quietly, stepping out of the shadow. “I want to play with you.”
Alina didn’t feel like cavorting about in the garden, but the sight of her son’s sadness was impetus enough and she stepped forward with her hand outstretched. “Of course, we can play. Would you like to walk with me to the swing under the tree?”
“No.” He looked tired and worried, two emotions that didn’t belong on a young boy’s face. “Maybe we can just play spillikins?”
“Of course. Let’s go by the fireside,” Alina suggested gently, taking her son’s hand.
They walked downstairs together and opened the carved box of ivory spillikin sticks, blunted at the end. She dumped the sticks into a haphazard pile on the hearth and pulled two free for maneuvering. She handed one to Jinx and used the one in her own hand to remove one of the ivory bits without moving the rest of the pile.
“You took an easy one,” Jinx pointed out, a hint of a smile sneaking onto his wan little face.
“Isn’t that the point?” she teased back. “Now, your turn.”
Jinx lowered himself to the hearth and eyed the pile of sticks like a surgeon preparing for a complicated operation. He inserted his own stick with practiced ease, nicking the edge of another to flick it free of the pile and onto the carpet at their feet.
“Impressive,” Alina said with a smile, “but your technique will end up throwing a stick in the fire if you’re not careful.”
They continued on, taking the deficits as they came, until only a few sticks remained tangled together on the hearth. It was just as Jinx nabbed another stick and flicked it carelessly toward the fire that Jonas finally returned to the home, slipping so silently into the room that Alina didn’t notice him until his hand reached out and caught the ivory bit as it hurtled toward the flames.
“There, boy,” he admonished, tossing it in Jinx’s lap. “You shouldn’t be so careless.”
Jinx blushed, wordless, and hung his head.
“Speak up,” Jonas snapped at him. “Tell your Papa you’re sorry.”
“I’m sorry, Papa.”
“It isn’t good to play with fire.”
“It isn’t good.”
“You might get burned.”
Just then, Alina risked a glance up at Jonas’ face and saw with an icy chill that he wasn’t looking at his son at all. He was staring at her. You might get burned. She cocked her head in a silent question, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he rounded on Jinx like a tiger crouching over his prey.
“How many times,” he hissed, “have I told you to tend to manly pursuits? This childish game is an embarrassment.”
“Jonas—” Alina began.
“Hush,” he hissed, cutting her off. “There will be ample time for you to explain yourself later, but for now, it is the boy’s turn to learn to face his own wrong deeds and not hide under his mother’s skirts.”
“I asked to play the game,” she tried again.
“And will you forever be doing what the women in your life request?” Jonas asked Jinx. “Will you let them pull you hither and yon as though you are a rudderless ship in the storm?”
“Rudder?” Jinx asked, clearly confused and frightened.
“Go upstairs, Jinx,” Alina instructed, hoping her voice sounded calmer than she felt. “Ask Willa to help you change for dinner. Your papa and I have something to talk about.”
“That’s right, Jinx. Run along like mummy says,” Jonas mocked. Alina prayed the boy was too young to notice the disdain in his father’s voice. She hugged him and sent him away, waiting until the door had closed behind him to turn on her husband.
“What is the matter with you today?” she demanded, trying to control the frustration in her voice. “He’s a small child—of course he still likes spillikins and swings. There’s nothing the matter with such pastimes.”
“No, woman.” Jonas advanced upon her, pulling her by the wrist until she was standing on her feet. “That is not how this is going to go. I have a business meeting at dinner tonight—a new investor who has a slew of men he wants me to meet. That is the only reason we are not having this conversation here and now—”
“What conversation?”
“Do not interrupt me, and do not act offended in my presence. I am the only one with the right to be offended. You will appear at dinner, but Jinx will not. Have him eat upstairs, as children ought to. Wear something striking, and try to be composed. After dinner, you and I will talk about what the future will bring.”
There was an added edge to his voice, and Alina couldn’t ignore the chill it brought her. He was always unkind and often dismissive, but he was behaving like a wounded man—putting on a show of self-righteousness. He would only do such a thing if he thought he had caught her in some wrong. She pulled her hand away, twisting her wrist in the process.
“I will be at dinner,” she informed him coldly.
“Of course you will be.” He turned on his heel and was gone.
Upstairs, Alina took some time to prepare. She tried to hold on to the anger she’d felt downstairs—it was a better bedfellow than the fear and despair—but it drained away as she felt the familiar weight of scarlet silk descend over her head. Willa dressed her in silence, a strained expression on her face. She laced the dress tight, draped a silk choker around her lady’s neck, and piled Alina’s hair up with a few curls cascading.
Alina watched it all as though from a distance. She didn’t feel like a real woman—she felt like a doll, manhandled into a position that was affected and a lie. When the wardrobe was done, she risked a glance at Willa. “Do you think I will do?” she asked, almost wistfully.
“For the issue at hand, my lady,” Willa answered with a strained note in her voice. Then, almost as an afterthought, “You always did look the part.”
Alina wanted t
o ask her what part she meant, but she knew the answer. From the beginning, she’d had the looks and the poise to pass as one of Jonas’ pretty little collectables—like the crystal balls he’d brought back from overseas, or the fine tapestries he’d hung in his study to boast of his time abroad in India. And she was just another collectable, fit to look the part of Jonas’ wife.
She walked downstairs a few moments before eight, listening to the clock strike the hour with the sound reverberating in her chest. The guest was actually three guests—men who looked like all Jonas’ business partners: sallow, grave, and ludicrous. The tallest was very thin and waved his spidery hands about whenever he talked. The smaller man, greying around the edges, kept sneaking glances at Alina across the table and winking at intervals.
She kept her head down, listening to the discussion and disguising her discomfort with small sips from her wine glass.
“You’ve met my wife,” Jonas said when they were all seated around the table. “Mrs. Alina Hartley.”
“The jewel of Marshall Gardens,” the tall man said, waving his thin fingers. “Ah yes, you must be so happy for your husband’s safe return. Not many are so lucky.”
“It is precisely on that point that we come to you today,” the shorter man said, winking again at Alina. “Our investor is a superstitious man, and he finds your miraculous survival at sea to be a sign of good will—he thinks you are a good investment, Mr. Hartley.”
The third man spoke up in a thin, weaselly voice. “Surely we shouldn’t talk business at the table. We can wait until the lady retires.”
Alina cast a look at her husband. It was uncommon, indeed, for her to be privy to these conversations. Usually, the men waited until the women had retired from the table, and then they made the world’s decisions over a cigar and a stiff drink. Jonas turned his gaze on her, icy and sharp.
“No, Alina will stay by my side all evening. This is not a house where you need to stand on ceremony, gentlemen.”
“But surely, out of respect for the lady—”
“If such respect were necessary,” Jonas said with a forced grin, “I would enforce it. As it is, my wife will take what she is given.”
Alina took another sip of wine, wanting to disappear into the dining room floor, away from the eyes of the men who were so openly witnessing her shame.
“As you wish,” the third man said, taking a large bite of lamb stew and then falling into a list of figures and facts about the company and investor they represented. As he talked, the words floated in and out of Alina’s ears, replaced by a sort of rushing blankness that she couldn’t escape. She was unable to focus on these men and their greedy plans. All she could see was Jonas, who was staring across the table at her as though the three men clamoring for his attention didn’t even exist. He was watching her with sharp eyes, pinning her to the table in front of him like a butterfly.
She didn’t know what his game was, but she was certain now that he had one. As the meal drew to a close, she rose along with the men and retired as though to the parlour. On her way out the door, Jonas seized her elbow in the talon of his right hand and held her there, immobile, in front of their guests.
“I’m certain we shall be able to go into business with your investor,” he said coldly. “But the real reason I brought you here today is that my near demise has put me in a mind to think about the future. You know I have a son, do you not?”
The men nodded agreeably.
“If I die, I am to pass on my fortune to my son. At least, that was the original will.”
Alina felt her veins turn to ice.
One of the men, the tallest of the three, coughed twice. “Are you telling us there has been a change?”
“Yes. I called on you because my brother, Matthew Hartley, has worked with you for some years. I would like it known publicly here,” he jerked painfully on Alina’s arm, “in the presence of all witnesses that I intend to change my will so that Matthew Hartley will be the executor of my company if I am to die. I will leave a small sum to Jinx, but your firm, under my brother’s supervision, will take over my family holdings.”
Alina held back her gasp. She didn’t want to give Jonas the satisfaction, but for some reason he was punishing her—somehow, she’d moved from being a wallflower he could happily ignore to being a threat he saw fit to quench.
When the visitors had gone, agreeing to draw up the necessary paperwork to fulfill Jonas’ demands, he led Alina to the parlour, his hand never leaving her elbow, and pushed her onto the couch. He took up a seat across from her, leaning back as though they were a happily married couple enjoying drinks and a chat on a cool evening. His eyes narrowed to wicked slants.
“Now, Alina. It’s time we talk.”
Chapter 23
“I think you’ve said quite enough,” Alina said coldly. “Why would you wait until such a public place to announce that you were disinheriting our son?”
“It’s not a full disinheritance,” Jonas clucked disapprovingly. “See, this is why it’s no good for women to handle financials. They get so hysterical if things don’t go their way.”
“I know you’ve put Matthew in charge of your money in the event of your death. How can that be a good decision, Jonas? He doesn’t care for you—he was cold as ice the day of your funeral, only looking to line his own pockets.”
“He is mercenary,” Jonas agreed. “But at least he is honest about it. You and your lover are mercenary, as well, but you put on pretentions of holiness.”
The word ‘lover’ burned into Alina like a brand. “Excuse me? What are you talking about?”
She rose to her feet, but a look from Jonas sent her back into the couch again. “Please, spare me your self-righteous monologues. You will not leave this room until we are done speaking, and then it will be on my terms and my terms alone,” he snapped.
Alina bit her lip, waiting to hear what he would say.
He stared into the fire for a long moment, then slipped his fingers into his pocket and pulled out a folded letter. It took Alina a moment to recognize the missive—it had been through some wear and tear since last she had laid eyes on it—but when she saw it at last, her heart sank. “Where did you get that?”
“This?” Jonas turned it in his fingers, letting the firelight paint the surface in great, golden shadows. “Your maid, Willa. She’s a fair sight more loyal to the Hartley lineage than to the woman who married into the wealth and now brings dishonour to the family name.”
He held the letter out to Alina, but she didn’t move to take it. He shrugged, as though uninterested. “You have no desire to read it? I suppose not. I suppose you’ve thought often of those words you wrote so vulnerably all those days ago. Didn’t you wonder why he hadn’t received it?”
She still didn’t move to touch the note, but it hovered in Jonas hand like a reprimand. She took a deep, shaking breath. “Jonas, I don’t know what you think you read in that letter, but I was merely asking for him to visit whilst I was in Brighton—we had business, about your estate, to discuss.”
“‘You are a good, decent man in a world that turns out few decent men,’” he quoted icily. “What were you alluding to there, my sweet? Have you much experience with men who are not decent?”
She was on dangerous ground. “What exactly are you accusing me of, Jonas?” She would make him say it.
“I’m glad you asked.” He folded the letter back up and tucked it into the pocket of his coat. “I’m accusing you of infidelity.”
Longing for a Liberating Love: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 18
