Rogues to Riches (Books 1-6): Box Set Collection

by Erica Ridley

  She blinked, cast a sidelong glance at Charlotte, then fixed him with a wounded look. “If that excuse were remotely true, mightn’t you think it an inopportune moment to take on the responsibility of a bride? Clearly it’s not as awful as that. If you don’t wish to help your parents, just say so. When the lease runs up, we’ll go back to the country and… and manage. We always do.”

  Anthony’s stomach clenched. How he wished her suspicions were true. He had never been able to turn his parents down when they needed a bit of blunt. But this time, he would have to. And his parents might have to “manage” on their own for far longer than they might think.

  “Charlotte and I had a somewhat unplanned elopement,” he explained, careful to avoid sharing too many details. “I found out how tenuous my situation was the following morning. You are correct. It was the most inopportune of moments. But right now, every penny I can find must go toward keeping me out of prison. Or at least reducing the length of my stay.”

  His mother paled. She turned her wide eyes not to him, but to Charlotte. “It’s true? They can take Anthony away?”

  “They will take him away,” Charlotte corrected grimly as she slid her hand into his. “Unless we can raise enough money to stop it.”

  “I got myself into this scrape,” he started to remind her.

  Charlotte held up her other palm. “I’m your wife. Now it’s our debt.”

  He tightened his jaw. That wasn’t how it was supposed to work. He was the man. The provider. The law bestowed ownership of all property on the husband because the husband was meant to use his resources to protect the wife. Not leave her abandoned and penniless. Right along with his parents.

  How on earth would he be able to take care of his family from prison? The reason his parents loved him so much was because he indulged them at every opportunity. Once he was gone, they would lose their home. They might even end up in debtors’ prison alongside him.

  “We can’t let that happen.” His mother wrung her thin hands, eyes wide with desperation. “We sold everything of value last year when we were evicted from the old townhouse. Your father hasn’t a single book left in his library. The most expensive thing in this house is the one fine gown I intend to wear all Season. I commissioned a host of interchangeable trims so that no one will realize I’m always wearing the same dress. How can I help when we have no money to give you?”

  Anthony blinked. He hadn’t realized his mother had ever taken any cost-saving measures in her life, much less that she actively thought ahead to try and minimize debt. Her complaints about his father’s visits to the club were now colored in a different light. Perhaps it was not the drinking she objected to after all, but rather the associated account they could never manage to settle. The extra burden on her son.

  “I shall have to sack Scroggs.” She took a shaky breath. “The poor girl. And your father will simply have to do without the club. He cannot argue. ’Twas past time. How we shall entertain ourselves in an empty house with nary a book to read, I have no idea. I suppose I shall be too busy scrubbing pots to have time for frivolity anyway. The silver!” Her eyes suddenly lit up. “What if we sell the silver? And your grandmother’s porcelain dining ware? How much do you owe the creditors? Will that do?”

  Her questions robbed Anthony of the ability to speak. All the porcelain in Mayfair wouldn’t repay his debt, but the important thing, the inconceivable thing, was that his mother would sacrifice it. His heart wrenched. That dining ware was by far her most valued possession. Something she protected so fiercely, no maid in London was allowed to touch it. She treated each piece like riches on display at a palace.

  And she would sell it all without hesitation.

  For Anthony.

  “I have family jewelry of my own,” Charlotte said. “Perhaps you’d care to accompany me on a visit to a pawnbroker? I cannot think of a worthier cause than Anthony.”

  “We’ll all go,” his mother said with determination. “His father might still have something valuable we could sell. There can be no greater emergency than this.” She patted Anthony’s arm despite the panic shimmering in her eyes. “Don’t worry, son. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  He swallowed the truth. Less than a week remained. But even if he couldn’t save himself, he could not allow his fate to destroy his parents.

  Charlotte squeezed his hand, her blue gaze intense. “I can tell by your face that you think our efforts will not be enough. Even if you’re right, even if we sell the garments off our backs and they still take you away, I will get you out.”

  Anthony’s heart flipped and he pulled her close. She was more treasure than he deserved. He held her tight. Breathed in the scent of her hair.

  She clutched him as if she would never let him go.

  His throat stung. Although they hadn’t exchanged traditional vows, she was on his side, for richer or for poorer. He glanced over at his mother. His parents were, too. They would all look out for each other.

  This was what having family truly meant.

  Chapter 18

  When morning came, Charlotte awoke to find Anthony kneeling before his open trunk in search of some item within.

  She rubbed her eyes. They hadn’t unpacked their traveling bags the night before, in part because they had been too exhausted to do so… but primarily because the only furniture in the bedchamber was the bed.

  At some point when times had been tough, Anthony’s parents had sold the wardrobe, the dressing table, even the shaving mirror. Charlotte pushed herself up on her elbows and gazed about the empty chamber in renewed astonishment. A small pitcher of water was the sole nod to luxury.

  She had been so jealous of these people. Not the Fairfaxes specifically, but people like them. People less than the Fairfaxes. Hadn’t she dreamed of being a cobbler’s daughter, a blacksmith’s daughter, anything but what she was? If this was how poor fashionable people lived, what must home life have been like for the poor but respectable children who had spat at her in the streets?

  Probably worse than her own. The revelation stunned her.

  As a young girl, the weight of her mother prostituting herself had been all Charlotte could feel, all she could see. She’d been too hurt, too ashamed to consider that perhaps the reason her mother didn’t quit her profession was because she didn’t want Charlotte to grow up without food or clothing.

  She couldn’t imagine the childhood Anthony must have had. Rich one moment, in abject poverty the next. Selling clothes, books, anything. It was clear that his mother loved him. It was equally clear that no one in his family could be trusted with so much as a farthing. Not if they were still making the same mistakes. Living on credit and wishful thinking.

  Little wonder Anthony had reached the predicament he was in. He was too fashionable to pursue a trade, too poor to resist the allure of making a fortune with a simple wager. Caught in the middle.

  She took another look at the bare walls, the carpetless floor. Posting houses were more luxurious. Even if Anthony had wished to pursue a trade or business management, with what capital would he have made his investment? She ran her fingers over the threadbare blanket. All possible paths had led him straight to the gaming tables… and to ruin.

  “You’re awake.” Anthony pushed up from the floor with a smile. “How did you sleep?”

  “Very well, thank you,” she lied. The tester and curtains were missing from the bed, and the draft from the window had given her gooseflesh every time the wind blew. She sat up. “I see you’re already dressed. Are you parents early risers, too?”

  “Not unless midday is early.” His lips curved in self-deprecation. “I used to be even worse. All night in the vice parlors, all morning making up for lost sleep.” His amusement faded. “I suppose I’ll have plenty of time to sleep in Marshalsea.”

  “No,” she said sharply. “The Duke of Courteland’s will remains to be read. Perhaps my sire made me sole heiress of all his riches.”

  Anthony’s face twisted, but he mad
e no comment.

  He didn’t have to. Charlotte’s shoulders slumped. They both knew how improbable that was. Any man who couldn’t be bothered with her while he was alive could hardly be expected to care a whit once he was dead.

  After she had washed and dressed, Charlotte upended the contents of their purses atop the bed. It had become something of an obsession to count their money every night. And every morning. But no matter how many times she sorted the bills and coins into small, short piles, they never added up to enough. What they needed was a miracle.

  A knock sounded on the front door.

  Anthony frowned. “It’s far too early for a social call.”

  Her stomach dropped. “Maybe it’s the debt collectors.”

  He headed to the door all the same. Scroggs would not be doing the honors. The maid had been given her pay last night, along with several glowing letters of recommendation. She had made her escape posthaste. There was no one left to answer the door.

  Charlotte started to follow, then hung back just out of sight. This was London. She could not let her comfort at being with Anthony make her forget the harsh reality of the world outside. The last thing she wished was to be treated with contempt right here in his parents’ house.

  But as mortifying as such an experience would be, it would be even more humiliating to know that she’d harmed his parents’ reputation by her mere presence.

  Anthony opened the creaky door. “Yes?”

  “I’m terribly sorry to bother you,” gushed a female voice, “but I am in a dreadful way. One of the ladies in my book club told me I simply must speak to Mrs. Fairfax, who will put everything to rights. Have I called at the correct address?”

  “I’m afraid my mother is still abed. If you’d like to leave a calling card—”

  “Your mother?” sputtered the female voice. “Oh, no. I’m looking for a young Mrs. Fairfax. Not a day over twenty, I’m told. Pretty face, yellow hair…”

  Charlotte’s heart thumped. The caller was looking for her?

  She stepped around the corner before she could lose her courage. “Good morning. I’m Mrs. Fairfax. How may I help you?”

  A completely unfamiliar matron wearing an exquisite fur-lined pelisse and a breathtaking diamond necklace stood in the doorway. To Charlotte’s utter shock, not only did the woman’s face light up upon spotting her, but the lady also bobbed slightly, as if giving a hurried curtsey.

  Charlotte’s mouth fell open in disbelief. She had never been curtsied to in all her life. Had never even dreamed of it.

  And it had happened right here. In front of Anthony!

  “It is you. I am certain of it.” The lady clasped her silk-gloved hands together. “You absolutely must come with me at once. That is, at your earliest convenience. I shall pay extra. The situation, you see, is dire. I am having an absolute crisis with the downstairs maids, and my housekeeper has threatened to find other employment. I cannot possibly lose her! Mrs. Trimble has worked at Roundtree Manor longer than I’ve been alive.”

  Charlotte stared at her. A crisis with the downstairs maids? At Roundtree Manor?

  “Lady Roundtree.” Anthony sketched a quick bow. “Forgive me for not immediately recognizing you.”

  “Never mind niceties, young man. I am in positive jeopardy. A baronetcy may not compare to a duchy or an earldom, but it is my duty to see it run just as efficiently. Except the details have always been Mrs. Trimble’s responsibility. Heavens, I’ve never even spoken to the servants. I would be lost! My dear, you are my last hope. Mrs. Podmore said you sorted out her governess issues in a trice. Do say you’ll come to Roundtree Manor and sort out my housekeeper at once. You may name your price.”

  “Your predicament does sound appalling,” Anthony said with a glance at his pocket watch. “Unfortunately, Mrs. Fairfax is booked solid the rest of the morning.”

  Charlotte slanted a shocked stare in his direction.

  “But if you would like to send a coach for her at six o’clock this evening,” he continued easily, “I am certain my wife can spare a moment to speak with your staff before they begin to prepare the evening meal. Provided you recompense her handsomely, of course.”

  “Yes,” Lady Roundtree gushed. “This absolutely must be resolved before supper. It shall be as you say. A coach will be right on that corner, promptly at six. Thank you so very much.”

  When the door closed behind Lady Roundtree, Charlotte launched herself at Anthony. “That was the wealthy old biddy we needed. Why would you tell her I’m booked solid? What if she had shrugged and walked away?”

  “For one,” Anthony said as he swung her in celebratory circles, “proper ladies never shrug.”

  She pulled out of his embrace. “I’m serious. What if she had left? We need this money. You need this money.”

  “Not just this money—two thousand quid.” Anthony took her hand. “Trust me, darling. I live in this world. Never let them believe getting what they want will be easy. By appearing selective and exclusive, your price undoubtedly just tripled.” He grinned. “Whatever she offers to pay you, double it. And don’t blink an eye.”

  “Double it?” Charlotte choked. She had no idea how much Lady Roundtree believed speaking to a housekeeper was worth, but the sum was no doubt far more exorbitant than the task merited. “Why would she pay it?”

  He clasped his hands together and affected a pose of sweeping tragedy. “Because it is a crisis, darling. The lady is in positive jeopardy.”

  Charlotte burst out laughing at his dramatic rendition. But more than humor, he had given her a measure of hope. If Anthony could not amass enough money to stay out of prison, she would offer every penny she owned to buy them even a few more weeks together.

  He stroked the back of her hand. “Now that you have a day of freedom, how would you like to spend it?”

  There was only one answer. She bit her lip. “If you would grant me permission, I am desperate to see my mother. She is the only thing I ever loved in this city—the only one who ever loved me—and I have missed her dreadfully these past few weeks.”

  “Permission?” he repeated in surprise. “You don’t need my permission to see your family. I’d like your permission to accompany you. If you’ll have me, of course.”

  At first, she couldn’t make sense of his words. Surely she had mistaken his meaning. “Accompany me?”

  “Your mother,” he repeated, his gaze earnest. “I’d like to meet her.”

  Charlotte’s heart beat faster. Did he understand what he was asking? What it would mean for him to pay a social call on a courtesan? What it would mean to Charlotte for someone to treat her mother like a woman worthy of respect? How it would kill her if, despite his best efforts, high society distaste still shone through?

  “I don’t know,” she stammered. What would he think of her mother? What would her mother think of him? She didn’t want either to be hurt. She had done enough of that herself. The last time she’d spoken to her mother, they hadn’t parted company on the best of terms. “I swore I wouldn’t go back until I had changed my fortune. Until I could provide for her for a change. Until I could prove I was worth something.”

  Anthony tilted his head in surprise. “You are worth everything.” He lifted her fingers to his lips. “I may not be as eloquent as Lady Roundtree, but I value you very, very much. That’s why I’d like to meet your mother. So I can get to know you even better. And the woman who made you.”

  She gazed up at him doubtfully, then swallowed her objections. Before she could change her mind, she gave a short nod in acquiescence.

  A smile bloomed over his face.

  She gathered her courage and smiled back. Now that the plan was made, she couldn’t wait to be on her way.

  “Do you mind if we leave posthaste?” She glanced over her shoulder at the silent, empty townhouse. There was certainly nothing requiring their immediate attention here. Not until Lady Roundtree came back. “We should take care to return by six. I seem to recall some sort of critical
appointment on my agenda.”

  “Life and death,” he agreed. “I promise you’ll be home in time to fleece that goosecap out of scads of money.”

  Home. Pleasure spread through her at his choice of words. Not because she aspired to share a townhouse with his parents. But because he was right. Any place they were together felt like home.

  But what would he think of her childhood home? The area she’d grown up in? Would he judge her or her mother for the activities that took place beneath that roof in order to keep them both clothed and fed?

  She pushed her misgivings aside as he hailed a hackney cab. She continued to keep a brave face as she gave the direction to the jarvey, who raised his eyebrows at the address. Her neck heated. Either the driver recognized the neighborhood… or he’d made plenty of stops at Charlotte’s house.

  She did her best to remain placid as the hack pulled to a stop before her mother’s townhouse.

  “This the place?” the jarvey asked, giving them a speculative look.

  In silence, Charlotte gave him an extra coin.

  She stood on the edge of the cobbled road next to Anthony as the hack rolled away. The street looked the same. The houses. The people. Just coming this far made her feel as though she was slipping back into her old self. To the defiant little girl who loved her mother dearly but publicly denied any relation to the whore on the corner. To the despairing young woman who fled in search of a father who had never existed. To escape a world that had only brought shame. To bring home a better life.

  Apprehension made the air feel like molasses. She took Anthony’s hand and led him up the walk to the front door. She wasn’t certain if she gripped his fingers for strength—or to keep him from running away when he realized what he had done.