CHAPTER SIX
“Aunt Catherine needs you. Right away.”
“Is something wrong?”
“We don’t know. She just sent us to fetch you.”
Abigail Henley Wallace was in her bedchamber at her husband’s home of Wallace Downs. Her twin nieces, Mary and Millie, had dashed in, catching her in her robe.
Her wedding gown had just been removed, the final fitting over. She’d never been a woman to fuss over her attire, and the past few years—with her income and status greatly reduced by circumstance—she hadn’t had the money to buy expensive clothes.
She’d learned to stagger through with ready-made garments and castoffs, and she’d stitched alterations on her own.
The fittings seemed very pretentious, but she wouldn’t complain. Her situation had changed so remarkably that she was now in a spot where Parisian designs and London modistes were the norm, and she was glad of it.
She’d married her husband, Alex, on the spur of the moment with a Special License. At the time, he’d promised she could have a fancy church wedding later on. She’d held him to that promise, and the big date was quickly approaching.
He was very rich, and he spoiled her outrageously. He’d told her to purchase the prettiest wedding gown ever created, and while she wasn’t usually so frivolous, she’d chosen one that was shockingly extravagant, with yards of lace cascading down the skirt and back.
It was taking forever to get it to hang correctly, which was an enormous bother, but she intended to be the most beautiful bride who had ever walked down the aisle in any church. Ever.
She’d once been an earl’s daughter, her parents the Earl and Countess of Middlebury. By having a lavish wedding, an ostentatious wedding, she was honoring them and her ancestors, acting like the elevated daughter she’d been raised to be. She was reminding the world of who she’d been, who her parents had been, who her brother, Hayden, had been.
Most of all, she was thumbing her nose at her cousins, Jasper and Desdemona. She was particularly determined that Desdemona be green with envy over the sumptuous celebration.
A decade earlier, her parents and Hayden had died on their way home from Italy, and Jasper had inherited the earldom. He and Desdemona—mainly Desdemona—had been horrid to Abigail and her sisters, Catherine and Sarah.
They’d insisted her father had been a spendthrift, that their dowries were squandered and there were no funds to support them. Abigail and her sisters had been cast out, had been degraded, humiliated, and forced to work for a living.
They’d even been pressured into hiding their identities, using their mother’s maiden name of Barrington so people wouldn’t realize who they were. It was a galling bit of their history that she would never forgive.
Jasper and Desdemona were incredibly impressed with themselves, were snooty and pretentious, and they’d been despicable custodians of the Middlebury estate. They drank and gambled and never paid their bills. Their reputations for scandal and philandering were shameful, and it was mortifying to admit she was related to them.
Jasper had never been inordinately cruel, but he was henpecked by his wife, and when she’d pushed him to cut Abigail and her sisters loose from the family coffers, he’d agreed without argument. Desdemona reveled in their misfortune and preened over their reversal of stations, and the fact that Abigail was marrying such a wealthy man would constantly incense Desdemona.
Abigail smiled whenever she thought about it.
As the dressmaker and her assistants gathered up their things, she gazed over at the twins.
“Where is Catherine?”
“She’s down in the front parlor,” Mary said. “The butler delivered the mail.”
“The London newspaper is here too,” Millie added. “Aunt Catherine claims you absolutely must see it.”
Abigail wondered what could be so important. She supposed—and hoped—it might be news about her sister, Sarah, who’d run off in the middle of the night with Nicholas Swift-Stone. Abigail had a sneaking suspicion that they’d eloped to Scotland, but no one was sure. They’d all been on pins and needles waiting to hear.
“Give me a minute to tug on my clothes,” Abigail said. “Go down and inform her I’ll be there shortly.”
“Will you let us sit in on your conversation?” Millie asked. “Please? We always miss the best parts.”
“That’s because it’s adult business and not suitable for you.”
“Might it be about Aunt Sarah?” Mary inquired. “The stable boys are laying bets over whether she’s married Mr. Swift or not. If they can wager over it, why can’t we listen in? She’s our aunt.”
“First off”—Abigail’s tone was scolding—“you shouldn’t be loafing with the stable boys.”
“We don’t loaf with them!” Millie declared. “When we have our riding lessons, and they’re chatting with each other, we can’t exactly cover our ears to block out the sound of their voices.”
“And second of all,” Abigail continued, “it’s not appropriate for any of us to be wagering about Sarah—or anyone else for that matter. Wagering is wrong and a sin.”
“Should we tell the stable boys you said so?”
“No, just don’t dawdle out in the stables!”
Abigail shot them an exasperated look, then shooed them out. She motioned to her maid, and they hurried to her dressing room where she would don her most functional clothes. After she dealt with Catherine’s crisis, she had many chores to complete.
Alex’s manor house was huge with dozens of servants, and she was consumed with managing it. It was the precise role she’d been trained to assume, and she was anxious to prove that her deceased mother had taught her the necessary skills.
Rumors could never spread that she was unprepared to be Alex’s wife. Gossip could never slither to Desdemona that Abigail couldn’t handle her position. She’d never give Desdemona the chance to gloat.
Her maid had her ready in a trice, and she went downstairs, following after the twins. They were her brother Hayden’s daughters, sired in an appalling affair with Alex’s first wife, Eugenia.
Abigail had initially traveled to Wallace Downs to be their governess, and she hadn’t known about the affair, hadn’t known Hayden had twin daughters, hadn’t known that Alex Wallace was raising them. Although he wasn’t their father, they’d been conceived during his marriage to Eugenia, so the Church and the courts deemed him to be their parent, which had created a horrendous situation for all concerned.
Alex had divorced Eugenia, and in the beginning, she’d had custody of them, but she was flighty and out of control and couldn’t tend them herself. When they were six, Alex had taken them from her and brought them to Wallace Down, but he hadn’t been very interested in their welfare.
After Abigail arrived, their condition improved dramatically. She’d unraveled their paternity and her connection to them. She’d fallen in love with Alex. She’d soothed many of the demons that had been driving him to wicked behavior.
She and Alex were building a family with Mary and Millie, providing them with the type of stability they’d have had if Hayden had lived to rear them. They were the prettiest girls ever, blond and blue-eyed, like perfect little angels.
They were scamps though. At age nine, they’d spent too many years with no adult supervision. They were very independent, used to having no rules, and wandering off when they shouldn’t. They snooped and spied and eavesdropped to glean details they were desperate to learn.
And of course, with their being identical twins, they constantly had secrets, and they could carry on entire discussions in their minds without having to talk aloud. Abigail was twenty-five, and it was intriguing—and exhausting—to suddenly have become a parent and to have the children be such a fascinating, unusual pair.
She marched down the stairs to the front parlor. Catherine was there with her husband, Christopher. Alex was there too. The men were seated over by the window and furtively peeking at Catherine who was about to explode.
The twins were lurking in the corner, trying to be inconspicuous so they wouldn’t be shooed out.
“What is it?” Abigail asked Catherine. “Please tell me it’s nothing too awful. With the wedding so close, I can’t have a catastrophe arise.”
Alex responded to her comment. “You’d better sit down.”
“Is it that terrible?”
He shrugged. “It just is. It’s too late to call it good or bad.”
She turned to Catherine. “Well?”
“Look at this.”
Catherine shoved the London newspaper under her nose and pointed to an announcement.
“She married him!” Catherine was fuming. “She trotted off and married him—right after we begged her not to and she swore she wouldn’t.”
Abigail scanned the words, disheartened to discover that Sarah had definitely wed Nicholas Swift-Stone.
He was the most shameless, immoral roué in the kingdom. Catherine had witnessed many of his antics in London when she’d still been working there before she’d wed Christopher. She and Abigail had implored Sarah not to proceed. They’d pressured her and scolded her, and Sarah had acted as if she accepted the logic in their arguments.
Then she’d sneaked off with him—despite her claims that she wouldn’t.
He was a handsome devil who’d recently found his very rich mother, Mildred Farnsworth. Three decades earlier, Mildred had been a young maiden, seduced, impregnated, and abandoned by a scoundrel named Robert Stone. Her father had tamped down her scandal by deviously paying a servant to steal away with Nicholas immediately after he was born. Mildred never knew what happened to him and had been searching for him all her life.
Although Robert Stone had fled and left Mildred to face the consequences alone, she was still fond of him, and Mr. Swift had taken his father’s surname as his own.
He was now Nicholas Swift-Stone, as well as Mildred’s heir, so he was in line to inherit a great fortune. Why wouldn’t Sarah be enthralled? Any girl would be. When there was such money in the balance, a female could ignore many sins in a man.
“We figured they had eloped, Catherine,” Abigail said. “This is hardly a shocking revelation.”
“I’m simply depressed. You and I are so happy with our choice of husbands. I wanted the same for her.”
Christopher piped up with, “Nicholas might surprise you.”
“He hasn’t so far,” Catherine caustically retorted.
Alex seemed amused. “It appears he’s a member of the family. The deed is done, so it’s futile to complain.”
“We can complain,” Abigail told him. “She’s our sister. We don’t have to like it.”
“Yes, but if you nag at her,” Alex said, “you’ll stir a big fight right before the wedding, and it would upset you to bicker with her when we should be celebrating.”
“True.”
“At least he married her without hesitation or threat.” Alex flashed a menacing glare at Christopher. “I didn’t have to deliver a sound thrashing in order to convince him to head to the altar.”
“Hey!” Christopher protested. “I was willing to marry Catherine. You didn’t have to beat me to a pulp to ensure I did. You just enjoyed blackening my eye. You did it for sport.”
“Maybe,” Alex admitted, and he smirked.
Millie spoke up, drawing attention to the fact that they were still in the room and listening when they probably shouldn’t be. “Is Mr. Swift a cad and a bounder?”
“No!” Abigail insisted as Catherine insisted, “Yes, absolutely.”
Mary asked, “Will he eventually leave her in the lurch? Isn’t that how cads behave? Will he desert her just when she needs him the most?”
“No!” Abigail cast a withering glower at her sister, warning her to be more circumspect. “Mr. Swift-Stone is very nice, and we shouldn’t forget that he’s Mildred’s son.” Mildred had become a sort of grandmother to the twins. “How could any child of Mildred’s be horrid?”
“You’re correct, Aunt Abigail,” Millie loyally stated. “If he’s Mildred’s son, then I shall always love him.”
“The twins told me we received a letter,” Abigail said.
She spun to Catherine, and Catherine handed it over.
“It’s from Sarah,” Catherine said. “After I saw the announcement in the paper, I couldn’t force myself to read it. Will you read it for me?”
Abigail flicked at the seal and perused the words, then she glanced around, including all of them. “Sarah says she is very sorry she couldn’t do as we demanded, but she’s simply too fond of Nicholas and couldn’t refuse him. She knows we’re disappointed, and she hopes we can forgive her someday.”
“Of course we can,” Mary said.
“I’ve forgiven her already,” Millie said. “Actually, I was never angry with her in the first place.”
Abigail didn’t reply to the comment, but kept on. “They had a fast trip to Scotland. The weather was good, the roads dry. They’re back in England, and they’re staying at Mildred’s house outside London.”
Catherine staggered over to a nearby sofa and plopped down. She was very glum, and Abigail smiled at her.
“It’s over, Catherine.”
“Yes, it is,” she morosely concurred.
“We have to be happy for Sarah, and we have to figure out how to like Mr. Swift-Stone.”
“Deep down, he’s a decent fellow,” Christopher claimed. They’d been friends at school when they were boys.
“You would say that,” Catherine grumbled.
“And we have to learn how to like him very quickly,” Abigail advised all of them.
“Why?”
“They’d like to visit Wallace Downs. I can’t think of a reason we’d decline to invite them—unless we intend to quarrel with her about it.”
“I don’t want to quarrel,” Catherine hastily said.
“Neither do I,” Abigail agreed.
Alex was still smirking. “I guess I have a new brother-in-law.”
“Should you ask them to be in the wedding with you?” Millie said.
Catherine and Christopher had married in a hurry too, and they were repeating their vows during the ceremony with Abigail and Alex. On hearing Millie’s question, Catherine looked as if she might faint.
“Ask them to be in the wedding?”
“Yes.” Millie cheerfully pushed the idea. “If you’re having a double wedding, why not a triple one?”
Alex bit down a snort of mirth. “She’s got you there, Abigail. Why not a triple wedding?”
Abigail reeled over and eased down next to Catherine. The twins were excited, the two husbands mischievous and annoying, Catherine dejected.
What choice was there really?
Abigail was an optimist. When she’d met Alex, he’d been scandal-ridden, and she’d already improved him in a thousand ways. She would pray Sarah had the same effect on Mr. Swift-Stone, and they all had to remember that Mildred was his mother.
Mildred brooked no nonsense and didn’t suffer fools. If he ever misbehaved, she’d order him to shape up and act appropriately. Perhaps they didn’t need to worry about Sarah so much. She was rich and settled—and content with her decision. What could go wrong?
“I’ll write to her immediately,” Abigail said. “I’ll tell her to come and to bring Mr. Swift-Stone and Mildred with her.”
“Will you mention about her being in the wedding too?” Millie asked.
Abigail smiled wanly. “I’ll discuss it with her when she arrives.”
“She’ll say yes,” Mary replied. “Who wouldn’t want to be in a triple wedding?”
“Who indeed?”
Abigail went to her desk in the corner and pulled out a piece of paper.
Though she struggled to find the proper tone—she couldn’t sound too chirpy or Sarah would know she was lying—she managed to state that she was glad for her sister, that she was certain her marriage would turn out for the best, and that Sarah, Nicholas, and her mother-in-law, Mildred, should travel to Wallace Downs without delay.
* * * *
Jasper Henley, Earl of Middlebury, signed his name with a flourish. He didn’t bother to look at the amount recorded on the promissory note. It didn’t matter how much he owed. He would never pay it, and who could make him pay? The paltry owner of a gambling club could never collect against a peer of the realm.
He was an avid gambler. He’d be the first to admit it, but when he lost money, it was so much fun to see if he could win it back. Often, he felt almost sick with how fervidly he liked to wager. And a man had to play. If he didn’t, he’d be scorned and derided as a laughingstock.
It was probably time to depart, and he stood and headed for the door. There was no penalty for racking up enormous sums, but he wasn’t a rude person. He wouldn’t rub the proprietor’s nose in it. He’d go to the club down the street and try his luck there. Or he might proceed on to the theater. There was a new comedy opening, and several people had invited him to sit with them.
As he entered the lobby to retrieve his cloak and hat, the butler whispered in his ear that the owner needed a word before he left. Jasper couldn’t bear to chat with the boring dunce, but he’d run up a small fortune. It would be vulgar to snub him.
He was led down the hall to the man’s office, and the conversation only took a minute. He stormed out, and he was more livid than he’d ever been.
His membership temporarily suspended! His privileges temporarily revoked!
Apparently, there was a rule about how much debt could be accrued. Once the limit was reached, he was kicked to the curb.
Oh, the horror! Oh, the shame! There’d never been a commoner with such gall, and he wondered if he could have the place shut down. It would serve the cheeky man right.
He stomped out, vowing to never grace the pathetic establishment with his grand presence ever again.
He continued on to the theater. He’d had enough drama for one evening, and he could use the humor of a comedy to lighten his mood. He arrived and was climbing the stairs to the boxes when he rounded a corner and came face to face with his wife, Desdemona.
He hadn’t talked to her in weeks, having banished her to the country after his cousin, Sarah, had tattled about her antics in Bath. Though Desdemona had vehemently denied it, she’d been carrying on an affair with the notorious roué, Nicholas Swift.
Jasper had asked numerous acquaintances about it, and they’d all verified Sarah’s story.
Swift was a sneaky, cunning gambler, who cheated to win, and Jasper owed him more money than he owed to anyone. Swift was also handsome, sophisticated, and urbane in all the ways that Jasper was not. It was the very last straw for Des to have trifled with the infamous Romeo.
To his delight, she blanched when she observed him.
“Why are you in town, Des?” he fumed.
“Why are you at the theater?” she shot back. “You hate the theater.”
“So you thought you could slither in, and I wouldn’t find out?”
“No! I was eager to socialize with my friends. I haven’t seen them in ages.”
“You’re in London, Des. Did I—or did I not—order you to tarry in Scotland for a few months?”
“It’s too cold and rainy there.”
A group of drunken theater patrons lurched by. It was obvious he and Des were arguing, and the inebriated sots were snickering, peeking over their shoulders.
He clasped her arm and dragged her down the stairs, through the lobby, and out onto the street. He hustled her down the walk and into an alley where, hopefully, they’d have a bit of privacy.
He halted, and she yanked away and snapped, “You’re being a beast. As usual.”
“You’re lucky I’m not a man to beat a woman.”
“I’m not afraid of you, Jasper.”
“You should be,” he warned, but it was an idle threat. He might bellow and rage, but he’d never hit anyone in his life, and he wasn’t about to start—despite how she provoked him.
“I have no idea where you’re staying, Des,” he seethed, “but you will hurry there, pack your bags, and leave town immediately.”
“I want to go to Middlebury.”
“Absolutely not.”
“It’s my home as much as yours. You can’t keep me away from there.”
“Just watch me.”
It was a petty act, and she didn’t even like Middlebury. She was merely insistent about returning there because he’d specifically told her she couldn’t.
“Where am I to go then?” she asked.
“At the moment, I don’t care. You shouldn’t be anywhere in the vicinity of where I intend to be.”
He was being an ass, but he wasn’t concerned about it. He’d been married to her for twenty years, and he’d been a lenient husband. He’d let her run all over him without objection. Even when she was being a shrew. Even after she’d proved herself completely incompetent at any task.
He’d allowed her to enjoy her vices and her male hangers-on, and he never chastised or protested. Her excesses were worse than his, her spending out of control, and her passion for the opium pipe was a significant issue.
He’d tolerated every irksome habit, but her being enamored of Nicholas Swift was too much.
She’d been aware of how much he despised the man, and she’d flirted with him anyway. She’d done it blatantly, publically. He couldn’t blink without some oaf mentioning it. Everyone was anxious to be sure he knew. Yes, he bloody well knew, and until he calmed down, she should remain out of sight.
“Goodnight, Des,” he sharply said. “I shouldn’t cross paths with you again until I’ve decreed your banishment to be over.”
“Or what?”
“Or…you’ll discover what I’m capable of when I’m angry. You haven’t ever really seen me angry, but I’d love to show you how riled I can become.”
“Honestly, Jasper, how long will you punish me? I didn’t do anything!”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Have you read the newspaper today? Sarah married Nicholas Swift.”
He scowled. “She what?”
“She wed Nicholas! If I was having an affair with him, why would he marry her?”
Maybe because she’s beautiful and poised and gracious. Maybe because she couldn’t be a shrew if she had lessons for a year. Maybe because she was raised to greatness and had been taught how to behave in every type of situation…
He suffered a spurt of optimism. Perhaps with Sarah as Swift’s bride, she could convince him to cancel some of Jasper’s gambling debt. Perhaps it wasn’t a catastrophe.
Still though, he sulked. “She better not have married him.”
“What’s it to you one way or the other?”
“I’m head of the Henley family, and she didn’t ask for my blessing.”
Des scoffed. “She’d never let you have an opinion, Jasper. She and her sisters can’t abide you. Or me. When will that fact wedge itself into your thick brain?”
He wouldn’t debate his Henley cousins with her. They were pretty, sweet, and kind, and he and Des had been horrid to them. He didn’t feel particularly guilty about it though. After he’d ascended to the title, he would never have supported them.
As earl, the estate wealth was his wealth. Not theirs. Des had reminded him often enough. But he liked his cousins, and he was desperate to receive their approval, desperate for them to admit he deserved the station that had been bestowed. It was ridiculous to pine away and yearn for their esteem, but he couldn’t stop trying to impress them.
“I need some money,” Des whined.
“I don’t have any.”
“Well, sell something or trade something. I need funds. You demand I depart for Scotland, but how am I to pay for the trip?”
“How would I know?”
“Ooh, you ass, you spineless cur. I despise you.”
“The feeling is mutual, Des. Now get out of London.”
“To where? Tell me that—if you can!”
“Stay with your mother.”
“My mother! I loathe her!”
“I bought her a grand house. You pestered me until I broke down. Make use of it for once.”
“Fine, I’ll stay with my mother, but this fit of pique has to end.”
“I’ll send you a letter when it has.”
“Bastard,” she spat, and she huffed away.
He watched her slink off, then he followed until she climbed into a rented carriage and drove away.
She carried on exactly as she pleased, and he had so little power over her. She was flaunting his authority as her husband, and the notion was too galling to contemplate. He took several deep breaths to soothe his nerves, then he headed into the theater. The night was young, and he required amusement more than ever.
He entered the lobby and went up to the boxes, peeking through the curtains. He slipped into one, and there were a few hellos, but mostly he was ignored. He couldn’t count anyone as a genuine friend. To his chagrin, he was viewed as a usurper to his title, an interloper who shouldn’t have been permitted to up-jump into his role as earl, and he’d never been able to change many attitudes.
The play hadn’t commenced yet. There were jugglers and acrobats putting on a show, the theatrical presentation still coming.
He found an empty chair and slid into it, being thrilled when he looked over and noticed there was a gorgeous woman sitting next to him. She had auburn hair and big green eyes, and she was incredibly voluptuous in a way he relished. The neckline on her gown was cut very low, exposing a fascinating amount of bosom.
She smiled flirtatiously. “Aren’t you Lord Middlebury?”
At being recognized, he was startled. “Why, yes. Yes, I am.”
“We have many acquaintances, but we’ve never been introduced.”
“Yes, you seem very familiar. What’s your name?”
“Camilla Robertson.”
He tamped down his surprise. She had been mistress to the felonious criminal, Alex Wallace, but there had been gossip of a recent split.
Wallace was expecting to marry Jasper’s cousin, Abigail, but Jasper refused to allow the match. Wallace had once dueled with Abigail’s brother, Hayden, and almost killed him. It was preposterous for Wallace to imagine he could glom on to Hayden’s sister, and Jasper had sent his cousin, Catherine, to Wallace Downs to vehemently apprise him of that fact.
Was Abigail the reason Wallace and Miss Robertson had parted? Were they separated? With Jasper discovering how beautiful Miss Robertson was, he was curious about the answer to that question.
“I’ve heard so much about you,” he said.
“I hope all of it was good.”
“It was all very good.”
“Perfect,” she purred. “I have the feeling you and I are going to be great friends.”
“I’m sure of it,” he agreed.
“Rumor has it that your wife is out of town,” she slyly mentioned.
“Yes, I was weary of her, so I kicked her out of the city. She’ll be in the country for ages—until I can bear to have her in London again.”
“So…you don’t have to be home anytime soon? You don’t have a tedious spouse impatiently waiting for you to arrive?”
“No. I don’t have to ever go home if I don’t wish to.”
“I love a man whose time is his own.”
“Then you’ll love me,” he boasted.
“It’s awfully crowded in here.” Brazenly, she suggested, “How about if we find a spot that’s a tad more private?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Jasper clasped her hand and led her out of the box and out of the theater. At having such a stunning female hanging on his arm and titillated by his every word, he preened with satisfaction.
* * * *
Robert Stone was leaned against a palm tree, smoking a cheroot and lurking in the shadows. The moon wasn’t up yet, so it was dark, but there was enough light to see his oldest son, Will, walking on the beach with Becky Barnes.
They’d strolled off before he’d realized their scheme. If they’d sought his permission—which they hadn’t—he supposed he would have consented. They were both sixteen, and they weren’t in England where a girl had to be chaperoned every second. Considering his own history, he was hardly in a position to tell Will how to behave.
It was just that Miss Becky oozed trouble. She was shamelessly forward and obviously searching for a husband, but it would never be Will. He was much too young to wed, and when he was ready, he wouldn’t wind up shackled to a tart like Becky.
While Will’s mother had been a common woman, Robert’s ancestry was actually quite high, certainly higher than warranted his eldest boy marrying a lowly vicar’s daughter.
One of Robert’s cousins was a baron back in England, so his father had come from lofty circles. He’d been estranged from his relatives though, choosing instead to forge his own road as an explorer who’d journeyed across Africa and Arabia. Robert had been reared at his father’s side in the wild, desolate places they’d cherished.
His sole stint in England had begun when he was sixteen and had been sent there to attend university. He’d planned to complete his studies, then return to Africa, but his father had been killed there while he was away at school.
He’d been stranded in London, left penniless, with no connection to his kin, and no funds to travel back to Africa. He’d never even been to his father’s grave.
With his being alone and adrift, he’d grown cordial with a classmate and had spent his holidays with the boy’s family at their country property outside London. They’d been wealthy and settled, and they’d had a pretty daughter, Mildred, who’d tantalized him. He hadn’t been able to resist her.
Despite her already being betrothed—to a fellow her father had selected for her—they’d pursued a secret affair. Ultimately, they’d tried to elope to Scotland, but her father had caught up with them and dragged her home.
Robert had been arrested for kidnapping her and interfering with her engagement. While languishing in jail, her father’s lawyer had visited. He’d had a letter from Mildred, informing him she’d decided to obey her father. She’d wed her fiancé and was suddenly a bride. She’d apologized for the problems she’d caused, and she’d begged him to forget her, to be happy without her.
He snorted at the memory. Her hasty marriage had changed his attitude about women. He liked them, but he didn’t trust them. He viewed them as fickle and unpredictable, and the long-ago incident had been a boon in disguise.
The lawyer had dumped a purse of gold coins on the table and told him he could have the money if he departed England immediately and never contacted Mildred again. And what would have been the point of contact?
Her father had bested them. He’d stopped their elopement, and she’d been forcibly wed to another. There had been no means to alter that conclusion. Robert had glumly agreed, and the lawyer had had him released from jail. The next day, he’d sailed away on a merchant ship bound for the Orient, and he’d never looked back.
Well, that wasn’t necessarily true. He thought about Mildred frequently, wondered how her marriage had gone, wondered how she’d weathered the intervening decades. She’d been funny, vivacious, and spirited, and she’d deserved to have a manly man for her husband. Her betrothed had been a stuffy, dull clerk who’d toiled away in her father’s company.
Such a feisty sprite could never have been satisfied with a fool like that, but her father hadn’t realized it. He’d doomed her to a life of misery and regret.
Had she had children? Most likely. How many? Was she a grandmother? Was she a great grandmother? The path she’d picked was far removed from his. Was she content with her choice?
He’d been mostly content with his. He’d sailed the globe and had thrived in a dozen different ways, but it had been very difficult. His body was worn out, his hands swollen with rheumatism. His hips and ankles ached unbearably when he was on his feet too long.
He’d wallowed with sailors and whores in port towns and isolated camps on the edge of the Earth. Occasionally, he’d been lucky and had allied himself with amazing men like Hayden, but more often than not, it had been with dangerous brigands and criminals. He’d rampaged with pirates and skulked with smugglers.
He was ready to return to England, to the quiet safety he’d find there. Or at least he presumed he was. Perhaps he’d be bored to tears, but he wouldn’t know for sure until he tried. Most times, it sounded like a little slice of Heaven. Other times, it sounded like the most dreary, tedious existence he could possibly imagine.
He was very rich now. The last vessel where they’d served on the crew—the Nine Lives Hayden had claimed for his own—had been a pirate ship. The prior owners had died of a terrible plague that swept through their camp. Hayden and Robert were two of the only ones who’d survived.
They’d scooped up the gold and other items of value accumulated by their captain. They’d taken charge of the remaining sailors—with threats to leave them behind if they weren’t willing to work the sails—and they’d glided away.
After all their travails, adventures, and mishaps, it had been as simple as that. They were free of any indenture, bondage, or contracts, free to behave however they pleased. Hayden was anxious to assume his rightful place, and Robert was eagerly prepared to help him.
Robert had accrued an unanticipated fortune, and he had a close connection to Hayden Henley, so his situation was on an upward track. Once they arrived in England, Will could have his choice of girls. He didn’t have to settle for a flirt like Becky Barnes.
The amorous duo approached, and he tossed his cheroot on the ground and stepped out of the shadows to greet them.
“Hello, Father.” Will had eyes like a hawk and had noticed Robert.
But Miss Barnes was startled. “Mr. Stone! I didn’t see you there. You scared me.”
“How was your…walk?” He was more sarcastic than he should have been.
“It was lovely,” she said.
“Your sister is back from her ride with Nine Lives. She’s been searching for you. Why don’t you head to your tent?”
For a moment, she hesitated as if she might refuse to heed him. She was just that brash, and he had no power over her really. If she declined to oblige him, what could he do?
Her impudence was a sign of her low character and lack of supervision growing up. She didn’t respect male authority, but then, by all accounts, her father had been a wastrel. What kind of daughter would such a rogue create?
One like Becky Barnes, that was for certain, and Robert couldn’t figure out how she and Helen Barnes could possibly be related. Helen seemed decent and ethical and morally-inclined. Clearly, Becky shared none of those attributes.
“I will go to Helen,” she ultimately responded. “She’s such a worrier. She’s probably been fretting as to my whereabouts.”
She winked at Will, then she strolled off, her shapely behind swishing under her skirt. Will couldn’t stop watching her.
They stood together, dawdling as she vanished from sight.
Robert didn’t know his boys very well. He’d married their mother, Marguerite, after he’d been stranded on Tenerife for several months. He’d been sick and injured, and he’d paid her to nurse him.
She’d been beautiful and loose, and he’d accepted what she’d offered—that being the comfort of her voluptuous body. But he hadn’t been careful, and his seed had caught in her womb, so he’d had to break down and wed her. He hadn’t stayed for long, but whenever he’d been in her part of the world, he’d visited her, and he’d been reckless enough to sire a second child.
In light of his advancing age and the fact that he’d never put down any roots, he was glad to have them. When he’d learned of Marguerite’s death, he’d hurried to fetch them. They would travel to England with him, would become Brits and would enjoy the fruits of his many decades of hard labor.
They were shrewd, dutiful, and polite. They were good looking too, tall and thin, with his dark hair and blue eyes.
Marguerite had raised them with very little of his own dubious assistance, so he didn’t really know them, and Will especially was nearly an adult. Robert was quite sure Will would laugh at any lectures about amour and the sorts of traps a trollop could set for an unsuspecting man.
As Becky disappeared from view, Robert said, “She’s pretty.”
“Yes, she is,” Will agreed.
“And she’s smart and educated and interesting.”
“She’s those things too.”
“Yet she seems a tad flirtatious to me.” Robert tried not to sound judgmental.
“She’s very flirtatious.”
“With a girl like that, it would be easy for a fellow’s head to be turned in the wrong direction.”
Will stared at him and smirked. “Are we having a father/son chat about romance?”
“I think so.”
“Are you about to explain where babies come from?”
“Maybe.” Robert was relieved it was dark so his flaming cheeks weren’t visible.
Will chuckled. “You don’t have to enlighten me, Father.”
“Why not? You ought to hear the details about what happens in the bedchamber. It’ll keep you out of trouble.”
“Mother already told us all about it.”
Robert was shocked and aghast. Will was sixteen, but Tom was twelve.
“Both of you?”
“Yes. She wished she hadn’t been so loose with her favors. She wished she’d held out for someone more steadfast than you.”
“What do you know?” Robert mused, stunned by his son’s opinion of his marriage.
“She felt she was very far beneath you in status, and she thought it was unfair that you’d ended up with her, and she didn’t want us to ever be ensnared by a doxy—as you were.”
Robert nodded. “A wise woman, your mother.”
“So don’t concern yourself over Becky and me. She’s husband hunting.”
“I believe she is.”
“But I’m only sixteen. I’m too young to be a husband.”
“I’m glad you’re so sensible.”
“I’m excited to get to England so I can see how beautiful the girls are there. Aren’t they all fresh-faced and fetching?”
“Most of them are.”
“And you’ll expect me to wed very high, won’t you?”
“I’m hoping you will. We have our connection to Hayden, so there will be many avenues opening up. There’s no telling who we might meet in the future, and I have the money to arrange a stellar match for you.”
“I’d like that,” Will sagely apprised him. “You can arrange a grand marriage for me, but let’s consider it when I’m older.”
“You’re being very prudent.”
“In the meantime—if you don’t mind—I’ll trifle with tarts like Becky.”
“Be careful.”
“I always am.”
“Just have fun,” Robert advised. “Don’t be stupid over her.”
“Me? Be stupid?” Will scoffed. “I’m your son. Why would I ever behave stupidly?”
He sauntered off, a cocky swagger in his stride.