Chapter 5
“Oh, good, you have arrived.” Blackthorn’s mother, the Countess Blackthorn, whom he hadn’t seen in many years, stood up from the settee near the hearth in his study.
His initial reaction was shock and confusion, followed by acute annoyance. He gave her a sidelong glance of utter disbelief, and she frowned in return. His so-called mother had returned after nearly a decade of absence as if nothing had transpired within the family.
“Darling, is that how you greet your own mother?”
For the first time in his life, he was utterly speechless. He watched her stand and saunter over to him. Good God, she was swathed in gold and diamonds. Her dress alone could feed a household, and that diamond necklace could feed a country. Her husband had managed to empty nearly half of the family coffers, and his mother was depleting what was left of it.
She began, “I am aware I have been . . . absent—”
“Try for a decade.”
She held back a frown. “Now, son. I had a reason for being away so long, you know this,” she said matter-of-factly.
The reason being Blackthorn’s father and her dreaded husband, who was now dead. A man she chose to marry and then abandoned. And now that he was dead, she was free to return from Bath.
“Where is that manservant of yours?” Blackthorn wasn’t about to use her lover’s name. Her lover only remained with her because she lavished him with anything he desired. He could hardly believe his parents had once professed undying love for each other.
She waved her hand in the air as if it were nothing of consequence. “I desired him gone.”
“Just like that?”
She frowned. “Your father had three lovers that I know about. After I gave him two sons, I left. It was what he desired.”
Memories of the shouting and bickering all those years at Blackthorn Hall was enough to make Blackthorn pack up his things and leave the county. It had been rumored that he was a bastard child because of his black hair. No one in his family possessed black hair and blue eyes, but there was no solid proof to back up the rumor, and his parents had squabbled about it without end.
But no, he was here at the wish of his brother, who had wanted him to resolve their father’s debt, release the servants, and close down the house. He would honor that promise. His brother had cared about the honor of their family name. Richard didn’t. His brother had always been thoughtful and had written to him as much as he could while he was away at war. This was the least Richard could do for him. It pained him that he hadn’t been there when Max passed. Perhaps that was the reason for the nightmares, the guilt eating away at him. He’d come home as soon as he heard of his brother’s condition.
After Richard’s death, the earldom would be passed on to his cousin, or whoever was next in line, because he wanted nothing to do with the title. The title and the land were more trouble than they were worth. There was nothing here that he wanted. Nothing here that brought memories he cherished. For all he cared, his mother could go wherever she pleased as she had always done.
“Why are you really here?” he said. “Have already you managed to spend the thousands of pounds father gave you?”
“How dare you speak to me as such. I am still your mother.”
He held back a retort. He was tired and wanted to be done with this. As far as he was concerned, she has no right to speak to him about anything, period. The woman had left him while he was at Eton when he’d been eight. She came back twice, just twice, once when he was fifteen, and the last time when he’d been nearly twenty. She had stayed only a few hours each visit before returning to Bath. Max had been an emotional child, and it had been hard on him to watch his mother go. Richard, on the other hand, couldn’t wait for her to leave, as she only brought them grief.
“If you must know, I came home to see you.”
Another lie. “That is hard to believe.” She actually had the nerve to look pained by his remark. “I don’t plan to stay long and your presence here is not needed. I am going to bed.” He started to walk away, but stopped. “I prefer you remain at Blackthorn Hall, as this is my private residence.” He’d purchased this townhouse when he’d been spying for the Crown and worked for Home Office.
“What do you mean you don’t plan to stay long? What about the estate?”
“What about it?”
“You are the Earl Blackthorn now. You have responsibilities.”
Just then, there was a knock at the door. Who the hell was it now? “Come in.”
A woman in her mid-twenties, donning a gray dress, entered. “My lord.” She curtsied. “My lady, your bags have been delivered to your room. And the bath is ready. Is there anything else you require of me?”
“Bath at this hour?” he blurted out.
“I have been traveling all day.”
“Good night,” he said, and started to walk to the door.
“Just a moment,” his mother said to him, forcing him to wait as if she had a dire situation she needed to remedy. “Has my cook arrived? And what about my butler?”
The young maid, still standing there, said, “Yes, they arrived an hour ago, my lady.”
“How many servants did you bring with you?” Blackthorn asked.
“Just what I need.”
Bloody hell. “You will remove your staff from my house first thing in the morning to Blackthorn Hall.” He kept a minimal staff of three servants on purpose, and she’d brought a town with her.
“If you insist on it. But before I depart, I would like to inform you Elizabeth is in London.”
He hadn’t heard that name in years. She had made her choice when she ran off with that bloody goat. “And?”
“Elizabeth was saddened to heard about Max . . . and your father, too.”
“How good of her,” he said dryly. “How's the earl?”
His mother observed him most curiously before she spoke. "You haven't heard, have you?"
“Heard what?” There was an edge to his tone he didn’t like.
"Her husband . . . he passed nearly eleven months ago."
So, the old goat was dead and now she schemed to get her claws in him, was that it? When he wasn’t titled, she had wanted nothing to do with him. “If the countess's company brings you some measure of comfort, don't let me stop you.” His mother was naïve about the self-serving widow.
“My dear boy, it’s not my happiness I am concerned about.” She paused, perhaps waiting for him to respond. When he didn’t, she continued, “Indeed, it would make me happy if you thought about marriage.”
To that self-serving woman? “Let me remind you that you have no say in what I choose to do with my life.” When his mother looked as though she was about to argue his point, he said, “It’s late."
“I invited her to the ball,” she quickly said.
This just kept getting better and better. “The ball?”
“The Blackthorn Ball, of course.”
“I have told you, I don’t plan to stay long.” There would be no expense of a grand ball this Season; he didn’t give a damn what Society thought. He watched his mother’s expression. She had the audacity to look appalled at his response. His patience was growing very thin. “So that there is no misunderstanding between us, I am here for Max. It was his last wish to settle Father’s accounts, and once that is accomplished, I will be leaving London for good.”
She looked astounded. “What do you mean, ‘for good’?”
“I am closing down the estate, releasing the servants, and leaving.” He would sell Somersby Hall, and once he got an offer, he’d pay off the debt. His brother had purchased the property with building a family in mind, but with him gone, there was no need to keep it. Max had said Blackthorn Hall had too many dreadful memories.
“You cannot do this,” she said. “What will people think?” She meant who would take care of her and her extravagant lifestyle.
“We have a summer cottage in the country. You will have an allowance.” He didn’t bother to wait for a response. He snatched up the correspondence on his desk, locked up his ledger book in the drawer, and walked out of the study, leaving her standing there with her mouth open. For a mother who hadn’t shown up for her own son and husband’s funerals, it was what she deserved.
As he walked down the hall and up to his room, Blackthorn made a mental note to send the mystery woman a note in the morning, telling her where she could collect the reticule she had left behind in the carriage.
His thoughts turned to the blond woman with curiosity. He’d didn’t want to think what might have happened if he’d not been there to assist. Although she had the courage to defend herself, she had been in no way prepared for the gang of murderers and thugs that roamed the streets. Foolish woman.
One by one, he went through the stacks of missives and invitations to the upcoming balls and dinners that fell onto his desk like a waterfall. As he went through them, a letter from his solicitor caught his attention, and he dropped the rest of the stack on his desk. Good, perhaps he had some good news about Somersby Hall.
Quickly, he broke the seal and read the contents, letting out a long sigh of relief. He read the one-paragraph note carefully, then once again. A wide smile crept onto his face and the burden he’d been carrying seemed to slowly melt away—finally, an offer for Somersby Hall. The last potential buyer had changed his mind, leaving Blackthorn to doubt that anyone wanted it at all.
This would surely put his father's debt to rest. He read on . . .
The prospective buyer was Miss Amelia Knight. Familiarity slowly sank in. The pouch he’d found in the carriage had a calling card with the same name engraved on it.
Hmm. . . His interest was piqued. Was she the heiress? The richer the better because, in all truth, he needed a fortune.
Richard awoke while it was still dark, drenched in sweat and gripping his throat.
It took him a moment to figure out where he was. Same damn nightmares. They had started when he heard the news of his brother’s death. The damn guilt was eating at him even while he slept.
Pulling off the blanket, he put on a robe and opened his window, allowing the chilly breeze to cool him. The domestic life thus far was proving to be more difficult than he had originally thought. He felt this unnerving urge to run. He felt like he couldn’t find his footing and was sinking deeper and deeper into the unknown.
Closing the window, he pulled on his breeches, shirt, and thick outer coat. Not bothering with the cravat, he slipped an Indian Jambiya dagger inside his coat pocket and walked out of his room.
Soon, he stepped out into the streets of Mayfair.
His warm breath surrounded him. Pulling his collar up, he yanked the coat tightly around him against the chill and walked into the darkness.
He didn’t know where he was going.
And he didn’t care.
He just needed to leave, get away from this place.