Lyon's Gate

by Catherine Coulter

  Yet again, Jason wanted to laugh, but didn’t. “Let’s just wait and see what happens with Mr. Chartley. Regardless of whether or not I end up with Lyon’s Gate, I will help you find Thomas.” He couldn’t believe he’d said that. He fell silent, watching her.

  “You’re not as angry as you should be with Thomas Hoverton,” she said slowly, eyeing him. “Why is that?”

  Jason smiled. “Fact is, he didn’t get my money. Not because I’m such an excellent man of business, mind you. It was the Sherbrooke solicitor, Wily Willy Bibber, who refused to pay the solicitor a single groat until I had taken actual possession of Lyon’s Gate.”

  Hallie felt like a complete and utter fool. She turned on her heel and went back up the wide staircase. Midway up, she paused and turned to see Jason standing in the entrance hall, staring up after her.

  She said, her voice emotionless, “I understand now why Lord Renfrew took Mrs. Matcham for a lover not two weeks before we were to be married. He believed I was too stupid and too infatuated with him to find him out. Do you know what? I didn’t find out about Mrs. Matcham until after I had broken our engagement. What I did find out was that his tailor, a Mr. Huff, hadn’t been paid for six months. He came to me, you see, hoping I would pay him. He told me not to be surprised if more tradesmen arrived on my doorstep since all his lordship’s creditors knew now that his lordship had found a lovely plump pigeon who was so green she’d probably start blooming before spring.”

  “That’s a goodly dose of humiliation,” Jason said. “Are you talking about William Sloane?”

  “No, William Sloane gambled away nearly all the money before he conveniently died, and his brother, Elgin Sloane, became Lord Renfrew.”

  “But didn’t your uncle meet him? Make certain he wasn’t marrying you for your money or—”

  “Yes, he did. It was William who had the bad reputation, not Elgin. After all, Elgin Sloane had only been on the London scene for seven months before he met me. No one knew the real state of his finances.”

  “So only the tradesmen knew the truth about him.”

  “Evidently so.”

  “At least you found this out before you married.”

  “If I’d found out after the wedding, I would have shot him.”

  “That’s an American thing to say.” But he laughed. “You would have been hung here. It was then you decided you wanted to own a stud?”

  “Yes. I will become independent, and never marry.”

  “As I’ve said, Miss Carrick, there are probably many properties for sale as well as many men out there who aren’t rotters like Elgin Sloane.”

  She waved away his words. “Or, I suppose, I could become a nun.”

  “I can’t imagine any mother superior worth her salt taking you on. I strongly doubt you are docile enough to take orders.”

  She shrugged. “Regardless, I will never marry, not unless I lose my wits entirely and pour my money into another bounder’s hands. I believe I’ll hire someone to watch me. If I am in danger of falling into that wretched trap again, that person will simply shove me into the herring barrel.”

  “Like I said, not all men are bounders, Miss Carrick.”

  She shrugged again, not looking at him.

  He felt her pain and hated that he felt it. She turned to go back up the stairs when he called out, “Like you, Miss Carrick, I have also determined that I will never marry. I am fortunate that it isn’t my responsibility to provide an heir for the Sherbrooke line, so it won’t matter.”

  She said nothing, but he knew her attention was focused on him. Still, he wasn’t about to say anything more, and was horrified at himself for saying this much. Never would he speak of it, never—“It happened to me nearly five years ago.” He shut his mouth. He was a fool, an idiot. None of this was her business, anyone’s business.

  “You were going to marry a girl who wanted you only for your money?”

  He laughed, this time a low, vicious laugh from deep inside him, and the words tumbled out. “Oh no, I far exceeded your paltry betrayal, Miss Carrick. I picked a girl who would have killed my father if Corrie hadn’t shot and killed her.” He couldn’t stand himself. He’d poured all that out just to make this outrageous girl feel better. Thank God there was nothing else to burst out of his damned mouth. A pity one couldn’t retrieve hasty words and stuff them back down one’s throat. He turned on his heel and left the town house.

  Hallie Carrick stood on the stairs for a very long time. She’d heard all sorts of gossip about why Jason Sherbrooke had abruptly left England and gone to live with the Wyndhams, but nothing close to this. He was right. She was hurt and humiliated because one dishonorable man had tried to get his hands on her money. What had happened to her was common, but what had happened to him—the way he’d been used, it would rot the soul. He had run away to America; he’d tried to run away from himself. She didn’t think he’d succeeded. She turned to go up to her bedchamber. He would never trust another woman. She would wager her substantial dowry on that. She couldn’t blame him.

  CHAPTER 11

  At lunch the following day, Douglas said, “I’m very sorry, Miss Carrick, but Mr. Chartley is selling Lyon’s Gate to Jason for the sum he himself paid for it.”

  “And a paltry amount it was. Yes, it is what I imagined would happen,” Hallie said. “Isn’t it interesting that after all of this, you, Mr. Sherbrooke, have gained what you wanted and paid only a pittance for it?” She rose slowly. “I would like to thank you for your hospitality, my lord, my lady. I’ll be leaving in the morning for Ravensworth. I must pack now.”

  She nodded to each of the Sherbrookes in turn, and walked out of the drawing room to see Willicombe standing at the foot of the stairs, clearly blocking her.

  “Yes, Willicombe?”

  “I just wanted to tell you, Miss Carrick, if you’ll forgive my impertinence, that I have a cousin who worked for Lord Renfrew. My cousin said his lordship was a smarmy, mean-spirited man, the kind who would seduce a parlor maid and pat himself on the back for his virility. Never said a thank-you to any of his servants. It was my cousin Quincy who told Lord Renfrew’s tailor, Mr. Huff, that his chances for gaining money owed him were not good. Quincy had no idea, of course, that Mr. Huff would come to you with his hand out. Still, it turned out for the best, didn’t it?”

  “Yes, indeed it did. What a very small world it is.” Willicombe gave her a small bow and she walked up the stairs, only to stop again halfway up. “Do you know what happened to Lord Renfrew, Willicombe?”

  “His lordship married a Miss Ann Brainerd of York. Her father owns many canals criss-crossing the north country, and made his fortune carrying goods up and down those canals. Now trains are making the canals obsolete because goods are transported much more cheaply and quickly that way. It’s rumored Lord Renfrew hasn’t gained as much from the marriage as he’d expected. Evidently, his wife’s father realized quickly enough that Lord Renfrew wasn’t a man of sterling character.”

  “Well, that’s some justice, isn’t it?”

  “Except for her poor ladyship.”

  “There must always be someone who loses, Willicombe.”

  “Yes, miss, isn’t that the truth?”

  “Your cousin, what did he do for Lord Renfrew?”

  “He was his lordship’s lead coachman both here in London and at his estate in the country.”

  “What is your cousin doing now, Willicombe?”

  “He is a junior coachman for Lady Pauley, Miss Carrick, over on Bigger Lane. She is quite fat, is Lady Pauley, fair to makes the horses groan when two foot-men shove her up into the coach, Quincy says. It’s a pity.”

  “Is Quincy a strong fellow?”

  “Nearly as strong as Remie, my nephew.”

  “Thank you, Willicombe. I must think about this.” She left Willicombe looking up after her. The young lady had lost, right and proper, proving what she’d said—someone always had to lose. It was the way of the world. He wondered what would happen to her n
ow. He wondered why she was interested in Quincy.

  At dinner that evening, Douglas eyed a silent Hallie a moment, then said, “Let me tell you more about Mr. Chartley. As we suspected, there is a Miss Chartley. We met her when we visited Mr. Chartley at Twenty-five Park Lane, a lovely corner mansion that Lady Bellingham’s heirs rented to him for the season.

  “Miss Chartley has just turned eighteen. She is, ah, not terribly toothsome, rather she’s on the plump side and her teeth are a bit long and forward, and her laugh, well, it made my nerves jump.”

  Jason looked at Hallie, whose head had been bent over her plate until his father had begun to speak. He saw her jaw drop. He burst into laughter. To her surprise, Hallie joined him, the first sounds out of either of them since the family had sat down to an excellent dinner of braised beef and onion-dunked potatoes, two of Cook’s specialties.

  The earl nodded at them, pleased. “Now, the truth of the matter is that Miss Chartley is quite lovely. She has been raised well, has lovely manners, and will do well now that I will allow her into society.”

  Alex said to her sons, “Your father hasn’t had a chance to be charmingly ruthless for a good while now. Everyone is in awe of him; some actually quake in their boots, and it has become too easy for him to get his own way outside the portals of Northcliffe. Inside those portals, however, it is a vastly different matter.”

  Douglas raised his glass of Bordeaux and toasted her across the long expanse of table. “Behold what happens to a man when he’s been married close on to forever.”

  “You look quite splendid, sir,” Corrie said. “It occurs to me that perhaps I should take lessons from my mama-in-law. James gets his own way far too often for my tastes. If it continues, he will be a domestic tyrant within another year, maybe two.”

  “I will give you lessons, Corrie,” Alex said. “It is perhaps more needful since James is so very beautiful. Given how their aunt Melissande is still so glorious, I fear that James and Jason will continue to season well, and that could be a female’s downfall. Yes, lessons you must have, dearest.”

  Hallie said, “When my stepmother is angry at my father, her face turns red, she calls him wonderfully inventive names, and tells him he can sleep in the stables. I remember one morning I walked into the stables to see them asleep together in a stall. Hmm. Perhaps, my lady, I can pass the lessons along to Genny.”

  But she was leaving in the morning, Jason thought.

  The following morning at precisely ten o’clock, Mr. Chartley rose to face a lovely young lady who stood in the doorway of the drawing room. “My butler tells me you are the daughter of Baron Sherard and the niece of the earl of Ravensworth.”

  “Yes, Mr. Chartley, I am. I am here to buy Lyon’s Gate from you.”

  “This is quite remarkable, Miss Carrick. Do come in, won’t you? Some tea perhaps?”

  “No, sir, but it is kind of you to offer. I am offering you ten percent more than Jason Sherbrooke is offering you. Plainly, I am offering you more than you paid Thomas Hoverton for Lyon’s Gate. Selling to me, you will make a profit.”

  “You know, Miss Carrick, that I have already agreed to sell Lyon’s Gate to Jason Sherbrooke.”

  “Yes, sir, but you haven’t yet signed over the deed to him. It isn’t yet legal.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” Mr. Chartley brushed his fingers through his thick black hair. “This is quite remarkable,” he said again. “Young lady, how long do you think I would retain my reputation if I failed to carry through on an agreement I made? No, you needn’t say anything, that is something that concerns you not one whit.” Mr. Chartley sighed. “If I don’t sell you Lyon’s Gate, your uncle will prevent my precious daughter from entering society. On the other hand, if I don’t sell Lyon’s Gate to Jason Sherbrooke, his father will prevent my precious daughter from entering society. I believe that I am between the proverbial rock and the hard spot.”

  “That is correct, sir. I am the rock. I suggest you accept my offer since the hard spot isn’t in sight. That way you will make a profit.” She gave him a fat smile. “Ah, my uncle—the earl of Ravensworth—looks upon me as a daughter. He was a military man, you know. I wouldn’t want to cross him, were I you. As for my father—”

  “I know all about your father,” said Mr. Chartley. “As I do the earl of Northcliffe. Indeed, I see very clearly now. If you will take a seat, Miss Carrick—”

  The drawing room door burst open and Jason strode in, the butler behind him, flapping his hands.

  Mr. Chartley said, “I believe the hard spot just entered, Miss Carrick.”

  Hallie leapt to her feet. “I was so very quiet, I didn’t tell anyone—what are you doing here?”

  Jason gave a brief bow to Mr. Chartley. “Forgive me, sir, for barging in like this, but I followed Miss Carrick here.” He stood there, hands on his hips, looking like he wanted to throw her out the wide drawing room windows.

  “You can leave, Jason. No one asked you here. Mr. Chartley and I are conducting business.”

  “He has already agreed to sell Lyon’s Gate to me. Give it up, Miss Carrick, give it up.”

  “No, never. Two can play the same game, Mr. Sherbrooke. You have only your father to pound nails in Mr. Chartley’s social coffin, whereas I have my father and my uncle to use as, er, leverage—”

  “Mr. Sherbrooke, Miss Carrick, I see that I must make a decision. If the two of you would excuse me.” He was out the door, closing it quietly behind him.

  Jason and Hallie stared each other down from the length of the drawing room.

  “How did you know?”

  “I asked Remie to keep an eye on you. If one trusts a woman, one should leap immediately into the Thames and drown oneself.”

  “I saw Lyon’s Gate first!”

  “That doesn’t merit a response, Miss Carrick. Go away now. You’ve lost. You admitted it last night. Go home.”

  “My threats are just as potent as yours, Mr. Sherbrooke. Why don’t you—”

  “I could hear the two of you in the hall.” Mr. Chartley stood a moment in the drawing room doorway, then walked in, smiling at both of them impartially, and held out an envelope to each of them. “Now, this is the very best I can do to ensure my daughter’s social success. I trust that neither of you will feel compelled to seek my destruction.”

  “What have you done, sir?” Jason asked, taking the envelope. “You’ve already accepted my offer.”

  “I did, Mr. Sherbrooke. But now I have a new understanding of the situation. I suppose you and Miss Carrick could bid on Lyon’s Gate until I was close to making a fortune, but I am not a stupid man.” He smiled impartially at both of them. “Call me Solomon.”

  “What is this, sir?” Jason asked.

  “Sir, surely we can come to an arrangement that will prevent the earl from ruining you. What is in this envelope?” asked Hallie.

  “Ah, would you just look at the time. I must meet my precious daughter on Bond Street. She has a fitting today at Madame Jordan’s. Your father so kindly recommended her to me, Mr. Sherbrooke. May I have tea sent in?”

  “No,” Hallie said, clutching the envelope to her chest. “I must be going.”

  But Mr. Chartley was faster. Jason and Hallie faced each other again, both holding a sealed envelope.

  “Mr. Chartley says he’s Solomon?” Jason said.

  “I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.” Hallie picked up her skirts and left Jason standing alone in Mr. Chartley’s drawing room, the envelope still unopened in his hand.

  Thirty minutes later, Douglas folded the paper and slid it back into the envelope. “Well, I think I wish to share a bottle of wine with Mr. Chartley. This is quite well done of him.”

  Hallie paced the width of the estate room, a small, thoroughly masculine room of rich brown leather with a mahogany desk and matching bookshelves. Both Douglas and Jason watched her. She stopped at the window and shook a fist in the direction of Mr. Chartley’s rented house. “He’s a scoundrel, no bet
ter than Thomas Hoverton. He’s sold the property to two people.”

  “No,” Douglas said. “He sold two people each a half a property.”

  “Well, yes, he did, but—”

  “It was very clever of him. You, Miss Carrick, placed him in an utterly untenable position.”

  “No, it was you who did that, sir. I simply played the same cards. You threatened to exterminate the poor man and his poor daughter if he didn’t roll over like a dead dog and do exactly what you said. I merely followed your example, and look at what it has brought us.” She waved the deed and the draft on the Bank of England in his face. Her own face fell then, and she sat down hard in one of Douglas’s big leather chairs and put her face in her hands.

  Jason said to his father, “I’m gratified. She didn’t pull an elegant stiletto out of her sleeve and plunge it through your arm.”

  Hallie’s head jerked up. “I didn’t think of that. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get my knife. But there is a problem. These sleeves are so blasted big you can’t hide anything in them. A knife would clatter to the floor.”

  “Don’t move, Miss Carrick,” Douglas said. It was his turn to pace the room, his eyes on his boots. He stopped, turned to face the two young people. “I suggest we think of Mr. Chartley as an agent of fate.

  “The fact is, the both of you now own Lyon’s Gate. I further suggest you both sit down like the two adults you are, and figure out how you’re going to make this work. I hesitate to destroy Mr. Chartley, given his ingenious solution.” Douglas walked to the door, then turned to face them. “Miss Carrick, using my tactics on Mr. Chartley was an excellent strategy. You are a woman of backbone. I must admit that Jason and I were both gloating last night, not blatantly, naturally, since that would be rude.”

  “I knew you were gloating.”

  But the earl was gone.

  “Quietly gloating,” Jason said, frowning at the empty doorway. He heard his father’s boot steps receding down the corridor toward the front of the town house. His father was a smart man. Jason eyed Hallie Carrick. “What the devil are we to do?”