Jules had given his word, however. “I will offer for her tomorrow.” He spoke with conviction.
Jules tilted his neck to the left and then to the right, but the cracking failed to bring him the relief it normally did.
Was Miss Jackson a harpy? Was she unintelligent? Sickly? She’d not seemed like any of those things from what he’d noticed earlier that evening. But then again, he hadn’t taken the time to speak with her.
If she accepted him, which, of course, she would, those redheaded urchins would become a distinct possibility.
Ice flooded his veins. Oh, hell, his mother was going to be—
“I’m afraid it will not be so very simple as that,” Mr. Jackson interrupted the jolting direction of Jules’ imagination.
Why wouldn’t it be? Jules did his best to tamp down his frustration. Damn it all to hell, he’d done this to himself.
“My daughter,” Jackson continued. “will indubitably reject your proposal initially.”
Relief flooded through Jules. “Would you prefer something else then? One of my unentailed estates?” Although Jules would hate to part with any of them, it would cause far less upheaval for himself. Dash it all, and for a handful of others as well.
“Oh, no. I expect to collect. If you remember correctly, you did not wager an offer for her, you wagered that you would convince her to marry you.”
The card Jules had been tapping bent and then folded onto itself. “You do not seriously expect me to—”
“Win her hand.” Jackson’s eyes, which were far from lifeless now, locked with Jules’ without wavering.
“And if I fail?”
“Let’s give you until the end of the house party, shall we? If my daughter refuses to capitulate by then, I will return to America and she will be able to boast that while in London, she was eagerly courted by an earl.”
If Jules was not a man of honor, he could avoid the leg shackle by courting her in a lackluster fashion. But that would mean reneging on a bet. That was something he’d never do. Honor was everything.
Even if the girl was an absolute shrew, he was going to put his best foot forward. Despite the unsettling color of her hair and eyes, she was not unattractive. It was more than likely that she was simply unrefined and lacked dignity. Otherwise, Jackson wouldn’t feel compelled to resort to winning a husband for her in a card game.
A sick feeling rolled through Jules. What the hell had he done?
Because, of course, she would accept him.
What woman wouldn’t?
Chapter 3
THE DEVIL’S TONIC
“Was it as horrible as you expected?” Charley’s maid, Daisy, asked as she began unlacing the stays at her back. Charley’s grandmother had insisted that if Charley were to attend a house party, she must have a maid who could also serve as a chaperone or companion if necessary. Daisy had barely arrived from the agency before Charley’s father collected them to journey to Westerley Crossings.
It was likely that if her grandmother had had a chance to vet Daisy at all, she would not have approved.
The young woman had worked in Cheapside for a seamstress since she’d been ten, she’d explained to Charley, when her aunt and uncle had sent her packing. As the carriage hired by Charley’s father rolled slowly toward Westerley Crossing, Daisy’s story unfolded. She’d explained how she’d worked doing all manner of chores for a small stipend plus room and board, but that she’d watched and learned the trade, knowing she would eventually move onto something better.
In a theatrical whisper, she’d confessed that she’d exaggerated her experience just enough that the agency would recommend her for a lady’s maid position. Rather than appalled when the young woman confessed to the partial deception, Charley had instead been somewhat impressed with her ingenuity. Her maid possessed a decidedly American outlook on life.
Charley approved of Daisy wholeheartedly.
Charley hadn’t initially thought she would need a person to attend to her personal needs, but with all the clothing and accessories her grandmother insisted she bring to the house party, she conceded that perhaps she did.
And furthermore, now that she was caught up in the thick of all these British trappings, Charley was grateful for the companionship of someone who actually seemed to approve of her.
Even though Charley had been acquainted with Daisy for less than a week, she already seemed less like a servant and more of a friend. The girl was kind, unassuming, familiar, and close to her in age.
Charley closed her eyes. “It was not quite as horrible”—she answered and then took in a deep breath when the garment loosened—“but I didn’t enjoy it.”
Daisy laughed heartily, causing one of her unruly chestnut curls to escape her mob cap, “Surely not all the young ladies in attendance are empty-headed? Or perhaps you’ve found a handsome gent to snare?”
Charley snorted.
Wouldn’t that just be a hoot? That would make not only her grandparents happy but her aunt back in Philadelphia as well.
She clenched her teeth. It was likely exactly what her mother would have wanted for her.
Charley’s parents had met in Paris just before the American Revolution and at the time, the prospect of marrying a wealthy American distiller had been an exciting and romantic one. After knowing one another for less than a month, the unlikely couple had wed without obtaining Lord and Lady Thornton’s permission.
They never would have granted it, of course.
Now that Charley had met her grandmother, she couldn’t help but wonder if her own mother had not been looking to rebel. Her mother had acted rashly, and it had altered the course of her life. Oh, she had never admitted to regretting her marriage outright, but she hadn’t had to. Her resentment of living in such rustic conditions in ‘the colonies’ had been subtle but pervasive.
And yet, Charley’s father had never stopped doting on his perfect English wife.
Charley lowered herself onto the bench in front of the mirrored vanity and watched her reflection as Daisy removed the pins from her hair.
Any handsome suitor that wooed her would only be doing so in hopes of getting his hands on her father’s money. She’d very nearly fallen for one such villain; she’d not do so again. A sick feeling swept through her at the unsettling memory.
Even if one of the bachelor guests at this house party sought her out, there was no way she would ever trust any of them.
“Like fire, it is,” Daisy commented, not for the first time, as she drew the brush through Charley’s hair.
Charley remembered the look on her grandmother’s face the moment Charley had removed her bonnet. Pained was the best way to describe it.
The expression had been familiar to Charley. Too familiar. Her mother had made the exact same one almost every day Charley could remember. How had such a delicate and refined woman given birth to someone like Charley? Charley’s father had referred to her mother as his English ray of sunshine.
Charley wasn’t as tall as most men, for certain, but she certainly wasn’t tiny by any means. She leaned close to the glass and touched her fingertips to the smattering of freckles that danced across her nose and beneath her eyes. She actually liked her eyes—they were the same color as her father’s. It was her hair to which most people took offense.
Which reminded her why dinner had not seemed as horrible as she’d imagined it would be.
Following the long and drawn out meal, Ladies Tabetha and Bethany had both declared that her hair was quite lovely and original.
“Our hostess’s daughters were kind.”
Her father had disappeared with the gentlemen and although Charley would have managed just fine on her own, the hostess’s daughters had refused to leave her to her own devices. In between various introductions, they had told her who to avoid, who would make for worthwhile acquaintances, and despite Charley’s protests, they’d told her who they thought would make for a good husband.
“I cannot help but admit that I am jealo
us. You’ll get to dance and take tea. Please, please, if they serve any scones with cream, I’ll be forever in your debt if you sneak one back to me. Not to mention all those handsome lords.” Daisy giggled. “Feel free to bring back one of them for me as well.”
Charley met Daisy’s twinkling gaze in the mirror and rolled her eyes. “You know I’m not interested in any of that. I have no interest in marrying I’m far more interested in—”
“—making the devil’s tonic,” Daisy finished Charley’s sentence for her.
Charley couldn’t help but grin. Despite already seeming utterly devoted to her new mistress, Miss Daisy Crowly considered spirits to be no less than an abomination. Which reminded Charley that she needed to ask the countess’s cook what sort of wood had been used to smoke the duck that had been served as the third—she frowned—or had it been the fourth course? No matter. The aromatics had been unique. “If you would taste it, you might change your mind.” The last of her statement emerged with a yawn.
“Since I won’t be tasting it, there’s no chance of that. And while you’re fussing over oats and whatnot, just know that I’ll be doing everything I can to help you land a suitable husband.”
Perhaps Charley’s grandmother would have approved of Daisy after all.
Daisy had been free with her opinion all week, and Charley really did appreciate her candor but… Charley sighed. It’s what any friend would do.
A friend…
The idea sent a warm sensation radiating from Charley’s chest.
Simply because Daisy was in her grandmother’s employ didn’t mean that she was not a human being with thoughts and ideas like everyone else. Nonetheless…
“Do not be disappointed when I don’t. We’re only here to secure new business connections.” Which, despite the ridiculous trappings of London society, Charley did consider to be a worthwhile endeavor.
“Oh, I won’t be.” Daisy winked. “Disappointed, that is. Soon enough, you’ll realize that by marrying a proper English gentleman, you’ll be helping your father out at the same time. Now climb into bed, Miss Charley, I already see shadows staring out at me beneath your eyes.”
Charley shook her head, suppressing a grin. She did not want to encourage Daisy’s quest.
“Come morning, I’ll look the same as I did today. But I do want to be thinking my best. If I’m to be of any assistance to my father.”
“Thinking! Too much of that and you’ll scare them all away.” But Daisy was laughing as she moved to slip into the dressing room where a cot had been set up for her. “Sweet dreams, Miss Jackson.”
“Good night, Daisy,” Charley murmured.
She drifted to sleep, not thinking of husbands and marriage and romance, but of grains and water and yeast.
* * *
“Please tell me it’s simple fare,” Charley said to her father who was sitting alone at the very long table. She eyed the covered dish suspiciously but took a plate for herself anyhow. A person could hardly start a day without first eating a hearty breakfast. It was barely seven in the morning and the evening before, Lady Bethany had informed her that guests weren’t expected to rise until after noon. Which was neither here nor there. Simply because they were waking up in a different country didn’t mean Charley or her father would take to lounging in bed until noon.
Charley had risen at dawn to dress and just as she expected, found her father already finished with his first cup of coffee, spectacles perched on the end of his nose, reading correspondence from one of his managers.
Since the age of seven, when she’d realized her father inspected his facilities first thing every morning, she’d made it a point to always be ready to tag along. It had been comforting then but was almost even more so now, to listen as her father mused about the various aspects of their business. At some point, he’d told her that his father had done the same.
Her father grunted before answering. “Could only make out about half of it.” He gestured with a fork toward the plate he’d pushed to the side.
Charley draped her coat on a nearby chair and then turned to the sideboard. If guests weren’t expected to rise until later, why was so much food already laid out? Unless Lady Bethany had been wrong—Charley resisted the urge to cluck her tongue in disapproval—a good deal of this might go to waste.
Taking a few slices of bacon, eggs, and toast for herself, she set right to eating so she was almost finished when her father pushed back his chair.
Not wanting to be left behind, she moved the plate away, slipped her arms into her coat, and followed him as he strode purposefully through the corridor and then out the front door.
Her father finally broke the silence when they were some distance from the manor. “What do you think of England, Charley?”
She felt almost giddy whenever her father asked her opinion and this morning was no exception. Charley glanced around and carefully considered her answer.
Grudgingly, she conceded to herself that the grounds at Westerley Crossings were more interesting than she’d originally noticed when they first arrived. Trees, green fields, paths winding snake-like throughout the vast acreage, and she could hear flowing water nearby. Still, she refused to offer up any compliments.
“Everything is so old,” she said.
“Your grandparents have your best interests at heart.”
“Not them.” Charley rolled her eyes. “Just… everything else. And the people are arrogant. They think they’re so much better than us.” Which wasn’t strictly true, but it was mostly true.
“You seemed to get on well enough with Westerley’s sisters last night.”
“They are… an exception.” Most of the people she’d been introduced to had studied her as though she was some sort of unique artifact brought to England from faraway lands. That was how it had felt, anyhow.
“You need to be more open-minded, Charlotte.”
“Why?” She scowled at the ground. “It’s not as though we’ll be here very long. Must we really remain for this Season business? Aren’t you anxious to get back to work on the new distillery in Knoxville?”
Her father didn’t answer right away, but then he stopped and jammed his hands into the pockets of his coat. “I am American. You,” he turned to her. “Are half-British.”
“I was born in America.”
He began walking along. Charlotte was used to his long strides and almost skipped so that she could keep up with him.
“More than anything, your mother wanted this for you.”
This wasn’t new information. It was difficult to argue with him where her mother was concerned. Six years before, her mother had extracted numerous promises from him when she’d been laying on her deathbed, most of which he’d already made good on. By now, they’d reached a small rise and her father paused again to study the landscape around them.
“Interesting soil in these parts.” Charley crouched down and pinched some of the dirt between her fingers, eager to change the subject. “But it doesn’t have enough sand.”
“No,” he agreed and took up his long strides again. “I intend to travel north of here, closer to the coast after this house party.”
And if it was by the coast, the dirt would consist of more sand, naturally.
“That is an excellent plan. I don’t really need Grandmother’s ridiculous lessons anyway. Do you have any particular place in mind? Are you considering opening a distillery in England?” Her brows shot up at the notion. “I thought you were only seeking assistance in foreign distribution—not production.” Her mind began racing at all of the issues they might run into.
“Not any time soon. I can’t stay away from Knoxville much longer than I already am.” He sent her a meaningful sideways glance. “But you might look into it after you marry.”
Charley’s pleasure at the prospect of journeying up the coast plummeted. “I already told you,” Charley just barely kept herself from stomping her foot. “I have no wish to marry, now or in the future.” She wished he would take
her at her word. Of course, she wanted to make her father happy. He was everything to her—her best friend, her mentor, her boss, and the smartest man she’d ever met.
“It’s what your mother wanted.” He stared into the distance. “And if you wait much longer, all your prospects will dwindle away. What are you? Twenty? Twenty-one?”
“Twenty-four,” she provided, not at all surprised that her father didn’t remember her exact age. “And it’s hardly fair that you should promise something that is ultimately my own decision. I’m a grown woman. I’m not like her. I never have been. She never understood me.”
“She was your mother,” he snapped. “And she was quite right that a young woman’s place isn’t in business. I promised your mother that I’d bring you to England to marry, and I’ll do everything in my power to ensure that you do.”
Charley clenched her jaw as she ambled along beside him. Sometimes he could be so blasted frustrating! “If she loved England so much, why did she stay in Philadelphia?” It wasn’t a fair question, but neither were her mother’s expectations.
The look her father sent her ought to have singed Charley’s eyebrows. But she wouldn’t be cowed, because she knew the answer already. It was because her mother had married Daniel Jackson, and his home was in America. That’s what wives did; they bowed to their husbands’ demands.
Charley had no intention of marrying now or anytime soon. If ever.
When a woman married, she figuratively and legally handed over control of her life to another person—some man—who of course, would never have her best interests at heart.
Why would he?
She was going to return to Philadelphia, and once they were home, she intended to work so hard that her father had no choice but to allow her to take the reins alongside him in the running of his business.
But first, she must suffer through England.
Chapter 4
JUST VISITING
Cocky Earl: A Regency Cocky Gents Novel Page 3
