Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

“ N o? ” Barbara echoed, her mouth and eyes widening in shock. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean I refuse your proposal,” Ambrose replied dryly, steepling his fingers before him. “It is not that I am not amenable to settling your father’s debt. That is, I am afraid, a necessity. But you may not disappear. I expect you to keep my secret, wholly, but you must remain in Helena’s life. In truth, you are the older sister she never had and often needed. She looks up to you, loves you, and if I banish you, she will never talk to me again. That I cannot abide.”

Barbara’s shoulders slumped in her ridiculous jacket. It truly did nothing to hide her lithe figure. How anyone could have been fooled by such a thing was beyond him. Then, the moment he’d seen those forest-green eyes, the shape of her neck—though she’d tried ridiculously to mask it with artful shading—he had been absolutely sure of who “Asland” was.

Her plan was clever, and he could not deny the relief he felt that no other gentlemen at his hell had been able to spot the woman among the throng of men, but he had. And he could not let her continue like this. Not for her father’s debt to him or anyone else.

“Your father owes me three thousand pounds.”

Ambrose said the words quietly because he knew the brevity of them needed no volume. The sum was a small fortune. It had not started out as much, but with the high interest rate the gambling hell charged for loans, it had quickly grown to a horrid amount.

He felt his chest tighten uncomfortably as he saw Barbara’s green eyes grow glassy and red-rimmed while her mouth, normally a lovely cupid’s bow of the softest rosy pink, narrowed into a thin line. The color, what little she had, drained from her face, and though Ambrose never knew Barbara to be a fainting sort of woman, he glanced toward the sofa, wondering if he should take her there.

“We do not have three thousand pounds,” she replied breathlessly, unblinking. “I can—I can perhaps move some things around, sell some things, and get you two to three hundred pounds a month.”

“No,” Ambrose repeated in his flat, demanding tone. “Barbara, you have to stop this,” he said, confused as to why he was growing so exasperated. “Not just the settling of your father’s debt to me, but all of them. This is your father’s responsibility, not yours!”

“You know better than anyone the price that must be paid to care for someone you love,” she snapped back at him angrily, her recent bout of shock clearly gone.

Her words nearly made him wince— nearly. Instead, he bared his teeth at her in a snarl as she did at him, like two predators circling one another before battle.

“We are not going to have that argument again,” he stated calmly, knowing that if he’d let her, she would continue to bring that very point up every time he asked her a question. “You need a more permanent solution,” he argued, starting to walk slowly around her. “Something that will take care of your father’s debt and get you out of his restraints.”

“My father does not restrain me,” Barbara barked back defensively. “I am a woman with freedom, a lady with a father who is satisfied that she has chosen to take no husband. I am blessed to have him.”

“Your father does not bother to push you to marry because you take care of everything he would need to,” Ambrose retorted, his tone more pragmatic than condescending. “You are a puppet on strings for him, nothing more.”

“How dare yo?—”

“Tell him no, one time,” Ambrose cut her off, unflustered by the vitriol in her tone. “What do you think would happen? If you can tell me truthfully right now that your father would lovingly accept your denial of a task, I will erase his debt.”

Barbara’s narrowed eyes suddenly widened with a spark of hope, but as quickly as they did, they softened again, and her shoulders sagged in defeat. No. She could not say such a thing would be true, could she? He pictured the pathetic way Josiah had kept Barbara under his thumb.

Violence would not work on her. If Josiah would so much as raise a hand to her, Ambrose did not doubt that Barbara would retaliate with a stick—or a torch—for a return beating. No, the man would get to her through empathy. Pity. He’d play on every natural feminine urge his daughter possessed to coddle and nurture, and will it to his needs. The very thought disgusted Ambrose, and he could not stop the sneer on his face. The man was weak.

“Will you accept my payment plan or not?” Barbara asked, crossing her arms haughtily.

“I will not,” Ambrose replied swiftly. “I will not be a part of this game. I do not care if he is your father, Barbara. I must get what I am owed.”

“And if we do not have the payment?” she asked. “What will you do then?”

Guilt bristled through him like barbs erupting through his veins. She was asking what alternative payment he would take. His faithful team of men had already done the research, and there were only two things the earl had left of worth: his house in London and his daughter. And Ambrose would not be forcing Barbara into anything.

Realization flashed in Barbara’s eyes, and Ambrose could tell fear had gripped her again. For a moment he went to her, taking the smallest step, but then he stopped himself. Instead, he adjusted one cuff, cleared his throat, and clasped his hands behind his back.

“You will take our house,” Barbara whispered in disbelief. “You will kick us out on the streets, we shall be scorned and homeless!”

“You would be neither,” Ambrose snapped defensively, offended that she would even think he would be capable of such a thing.

“The Crown has certain limitations on seizing property, and seeing as we are not an establishment of the Crown, we will not do so in such a public manner. I would put a rent on your home, owed to me by your father directly, and servants under my employ that would report to me if your father begins to fail.”

“No.”

This time, it was Barbara who said the word, her tone as definite and commanding as his own had been.

“What do you mean, no?” he scoffed, shaking his head. “It is not ideal for you, I know, but it is the only opportunity.”

“It is not,” Barbara stated, her hands dropping to her sides and balling into fists. “I may be under my father’s thumb, but what difference will it be if I am just moved under yours?”

Her face crumpled then as if she were having some great internal struggle, and she drew in a hissing breath.

“I choose my own option, Ambrose. And I choose me . I shall marry.”

Ambrose’s answering laugh had Barbara’s palms itching to reach up and slap him across his stupidly handsome face. The arrogance! She growled angrily as the man doubled over, putting his hands on his knees, and laughed harder.

“Sweet heavens, Barbara, I thought you were taking this seriously?” Ambrose asked through the laughter still shuddering through his shoulders.

“Stop laughing at me this instant,” Barbara hissed.

Unable to help herself, she closed the space between them and shoved at his shoulder. It only served to make him laugh harder, so she rolled her eyes at his immaturity and poured herself a finger of whiskey while he collected himself.

“It is not as if I have not had offers,” she sniffed indignantly, bringing the glass to her lips. “I have even had a gentleman or two offer to void the dowry.”

This made Ambrose stop laughing abruptly, and he joined her at the drink cart.

“You mean your father has not squandered your dowry?” he asked, plucking the glass from her fingers just as she was about to sip it.

“I cashed it out of the account and hid it somewhere safe some time ago,” Barbara explained, giving him a dirty look for stealing her drink. “For a true emergency.”

“Young ladies should not drink whiskey,” Ambrose chastised, but he poured her a finger in a clean glass anyway. “And why don’t you just use your dowry to pay me then? If you truly do not want to marry, why not just surpass marriage?”

“Because while my dowry is decent, it will not cover your debt,” Barbara admitted begrudgingly. “However, if I choose a suitable husband, my debt will become his, he can pay the remaining sum, and I am done with it. I will also be done taking care of my father, which, as you have said, would be good for me.”

The amusement slid off Ambrose’s face as some other form of emotion took over. It was not his usual annoyance or confident smirk. In fact, there was nothing cold in his gaze. Instead, it was warmth. Contemplation. And curiosity?

“You really believe that you could enjoy being married?” he mused, taking a step back. “Someone you require is not going to be an easy match for you to find, surely.”

“You know nothing of what I require,” Barbara retorted, her eyebrow cocked as she looked at him.

Ambrose smiled back in amusement at her renewed attitude, and she ignored the flutter it suddenly gave her as he began to walk in slow circles around her. His smile had never made her feel any sort of way before, and why it did now, she was not sure. What she did know was that it annoyed her greatly. She needed to get out there, and soon. Too much time had passed, and she needed to get home—needed to make sure Lydia got home.

“You are a woman who craves literature and stimulating conversation, but only when the mood strikes,” Ambrose prattled on like he was reading from notes.

“When you are not in the mood, you are like a black cat ready to gouge out anyone or anything’s eyes if you are disturbed. You want someone who will respect your space when you need it, someone who can—now, tell me if I do not remember this correctly—somehow know when you are ready for attention.”

Barbara’s jaw dropped before she drew it back up in a crinkled look of anger and swatted at him with all her might.

“You listen to our conversations?!” she demanded to know, swatting at him with every word.

“It is not my fault you talk so loudly.” He chuckled as he batted her hands away.

“You are an absolute weasel, you know that?” she retorted, with a sting in her voice. “Everyone thinks that you are the pristine, golden duke, the dutifully protective older brother, but I wish they knew who you really are. How condescending and demeaning you actually are. Maybe I should tell the ton about this place so others can see that you are not so perfect, after all.”

The amusement on Ambrose’s face vanished the moment the threat left Barbara’s lips, and before she could do anything about it, he was directly in front of her, a hand on each shoulder to firmly hold her in place. A golden cast formed around the outside of his irises as if the intensity of his anger illuminated it.

“If you truly are serious about this offer, then I suggest you use that wicked tongue for husband-catching and not slandering, Barbara,” he stated, his tone low, almost sensually so.

Barbara felt herself shiver at the way his voice caressed her, not liking how her body responded to it. Disgust—either at him or herself—welled up within her, and she pressed her palms flat to his chest. She shoved him away with a hiss, and he only chuckled as he smoothly took a step back, releasing her shoulders.

“Do we have a deal or not?” she asked, growing weary of the conversation.

Ambrose smirked at her, shaking his head. Then he rolled his eyes and sighed, placing his hands in his pockets.

Devil. The word flashed through Barbara’s mind as she took in his relaxed stance. Handsome devil.

“I shall give you a month,” Ambrose announced. “If you have a serious prospect by the Twilight Festival Ball, I shall accept your deal. But remember, Barbara. Your dowry will only cover some of your father’s debt. You will have to find a man not only willing to marry you but take on your father’s deficit.”

“I am aware,” she snapped, feeling the brevity of her recent choice starting to sink in.

“Colter is right outside the door,” Ambrose said, ignoring her snippy retort. “He will lead you out the back entrance.”

Barbara turned to leave, her hand on the doorknob, when Ambrose called her name one more time. She didn’t turn to look at him but stilled as her hand held the already turned knob.

“If you set foot back in this hell again, or if I find out that you are putting yourself in danger by parading around in that ridiculous outfit anywhere else, our deal is off. I will take over your house. And you will live under me.”

Rage shot through her like never before, the sensation of being trapped making her want to start flinging objects and curses. She bit her bottom lip instead, drawing a bead of blood, and opened the door. Without another word, she met Colter in the hallway and let him lead her out the back.

“Barbara? Is that you, my dove?”

Barbara heard the slur in her father’s voice, the mushiness of his words, and grimaced. It was late, much later than she had planned on getting home, and the carriage ride home full of Lydia’s heated questions had given her a pounding headache.

She had not mentioned the deal she had made with Ambrose, or that it was Ambrose whom she had discovered. Lydia had wanted more detail other than “we came to a deal,” but Barbara could not bear to tell the truth. Not yet at least, not while she herself had not accepted it yet.

Taking a quick glance down at herself, Barbara did a quick check of her person in the hall mirror to make sure all bits of her costume had been cleared away. She had left a change of clothes by the library door, and had donned her nightgown and robe, let down her long, dark brown hair, and used a wet rag to thoroughly wash off any powders and creams that disguised her femininity. While her father knew that she had taken to settle his debts, he did not question the manner in which she had been able to do so.

Satisfied that she looked thoroughly like a woman again, Barbara drew in a deep breath and walked in through the open door of her father’s study.

“Good evening, Papa,” she said warmly, then her thin smile nearly vanished as she saw another familiar face in the room. “Uncle Reuben. How good to see you again.”

Although Josiah stayed seated, no doubt too deep in his cups to stand on his own, Reuben rose from the armchair he rested in and went to Barbara with open arms. She stiffened as she felt his large arms encapsulate her, and she bid herself to be nice as he kissed first her right cheek and then her left. Though he had always been… kind to her and her father, Reuben was never too shy to express his disappointment in her spinsterhood.

“Were we expecting your visit?” Barbara managed to ask politely.

As soon as she was free of his hug, she darted to her father’s side on the sofa. He smiled at her through watery eyes, and she caught the strong scent of whiskey wafting from his very pores. Worry and discontent took over her as she placed a hand on his arm to check for tremors. When he did not drink enough anymore, it made him shake terribly. Since he was not shaking, she knew that he was absolutely, regrettably foxed.

“I had to handle some accounts for Mauntell that came up last minute,” Reuben explained, resuming his seat in the armchair. “I thought instead of taking a day or two to organize a trip, I would just have my carriage drive up this evening and spend the night here.”

“How lovely,” Barbara replied, a bit too dryly.

Reuben caught it and gave her a disappointed look, then added, “I was hoping that the news of your marital status had changed since I last paid a visit, but your father has only just told me moments ago that you still have yet to accept this duty of yours.”

“It is no duty,” Josiah slurred, his brow furrowing as he pushed his back off the sofa with effort. “It is a disgrace! There is nothing dutiful about tearing little girls from their fathers!”

Every time Josiah spoke, the letter s came out as a shh sound, and when he exploded at the end of his sentence, tears pricked his red-rimmed eyes. Though Barbara was thankful for her father’s defense, she could not deny the sliver of embarrassment she felt whenever he spoke like this. So adamant, so passionate, but slurred and devoid of all meaning.

“She may have been a little girl once, Josiah, but she is a woman now,” Reuben stated, leaning over Barbara as if she were not even there to hear him. “She is a noblewoman at that, and yes, it is her duty to find a husband! She needs a life! One that involves more than taking care of you.”

“How is being married going to change my life, Uncle?” she asked, unable to stop the bite in her tone. “Would I simply not be transferring my care from my father to my husband?”

She could tell him the truth, that whether she liked it or not, she would be a spinster no more. But that would make him too pompous, and Barbara could not handle that right now. She also could not handle what the news would do to her father.

“You would be continuing our family line and running your own household,” Reuben remarked, matching her tone.

“Family line? I am her family line!” Josiah snorted, waving his hand through the air.

“You truly do not want her to marry, brother?” Reuben asked with an exhausted sigh. “Not even for a true love match?”

Barbara bit back a retort and turned her full attention to her father. She and her uncle did not agree on much, but on this matter, their curiosities aligned. Despite his flaws, Barbara loved her father very much, and one of those reasons was that he had never pushed her for an arranged marriage of any sort. And the marriage she would no doubt enter in a month—to whomever that may be—would no doubt be an arrangement, but she was still curious. Would her father give his blessing if love was involved?

“I-I would never get in the way of love,” Josiah stated, fumbling for his words. “But love is so rare, brother. Even you know that. It is not that Barbara does not deserve it. She does. It is just that is not meant to exist for all. And, if she has your luck or mine, then she is woefully at a disadvantage.”

Reuben made no remark to this, and Barbara stayed silent as well. Though he was now a drunkard and a gambling addict, Josiah Hatcher could still deliver words of wisdom at the strangest of times.

Love, sadness, and begrudging acceptance of her father’s statement took hold of her, and she hugged him tightly.

“I love you, Papa,” she said, affection lacing her words.

Emotional pain washed through her with surprising strength, threatening to choke her. Not just at her father’s truthful if not harsh words, but because she knew at that moment that she could not go back on her deal with Ambrose. She would do anything to save her father. Anything.

“Uncle, would you please be so kind as to give my father and me a moment of privacy before I retire?” she asked after pulling away from her father’s hug. He had meant to return the gesture warmly, but he was far too drunk and had slumped most of his weight onto her.

“It is late, and I have an engagement with the Bank of London early,” Reuben replied, rising to his feet. “I believe I shall simply retire for the evening.”

“Has it been settled?” Josiah asked as soon as the door to his study was closed.

Barbara looked toward the door, wanting to wait a few more moments to ensure that her uncle could not hear.

“I have reached an agreement with the owner,” she replied when she felt sure they were not being heard. “I will have it all taken care of.”

A sob escaped Josiah’s throat, and he leaned into his daughter’s lithe frame again, nearly crushing her.

“Oh, my darling, my beautiful, perfect girl,” he sobbed freely, too drunk to handle his emotions. “Thank you. Thank you. This will be the last time. I promise you.”

That annoying burning sensation returned to her throat as she thought of how true that was actually going to be. She would indeed not be able to clean up his messes anymore. In a month, maybe less, she would be cleaning up someone else’s messes.

“Papa, please, you must listen to me,” Barbara insisted, doing her best to pull him away. The best she could do was allow him to lean his body weight into her hands on his shoulders, as he was still trying to lean forward. “You cannot go back into that gambling hell ever again. Or any other, for that matter. This place is different from others, Papa.”

“I know, I know,” he sobbed.

She let him cry for a moment, but then when he spoke again, she felt her gut clench with anxiety.

“What, um,” he struggled to say between sobs. “What is the allowance for this coming week?”

Barbara hated that she recognized how pathetic her father was when he was like this. Hated that instead of being a daughter to a father, she was a mother to a son magically older than her. It reminded her of some of the twisted fairytales she and Alice used to read when they were young. Only then, she did not realize how miserable such a relationship could be.

“We have enough to buy food and to pay the gardener,” she replied in a tight voice.

Her father scowled. “What do we need to pay the gardener for?” he huffed like a disappointed child.

Barbara could have told him it was so that the vegetable plants hidden among the colorful flowers could be properly tended to. She could have told him that since growing their produce, they have been able to buy better cuts of meat and save money, even with the gardener still employed. But she knew it would not matter. It would not matter because her father wanted the money for something else.

“I have struck an accord with a Lieutenant Barley,” Barbara announced.

This time, she pushed at her father’s weight with a grunt and got him back onto the sofa so she could stand.

“Why do we care about a Lieutenant Barley?” Josiah muttered in discontent.

“ Because, ” Barbara replied, going to the line of cabinets on the opposite wall, “he allowed me to barter one my French imported dresses for this.”

With a flourish, she opened the cabinet door and showed off what was inside. Josiah’s eyes grew large as his mouth widened into a smile, and though he was terribly drunk, he got himself off the couch on swaying feet to step toward the cabinet. Inside was a rather large wooden crate with twenty-four bottles of amber-hued liquid nestled safely inside.

The trade had occurred when “Asland” overheard the Lieutenant speaking of buying his betrothed a fine dress. Barbara had quickly jumped on the opportunity, stating that Asland’s “sister” was just ready to return a new dress to France because of incorrect measurements. The next day when she had brought the dress to him, the Lieutenant had quickly taken the deal she had offered him and given her the crate.

It was not whiskey—her father’s spirit of choice—but fine Bahamian rum that would do the job just as well. The case would not last a month, Barbara knew, but it would stop her from having to scrounge up coins every evening for a little while.

She had tried, a year ago, to remove spirits from her father’s life, and she would not try to do it again. She had thought foolishly that if it were not there for him to drink, he would get better. But Barbara had not realized just how awful her father’s condition had worsened. Upon becoming sober, Josiah’s body had been wracked with nausea, dizziness, body aches, and pains that had him screaming and pleading for the drink. It was not until she had finally given in that her father’s pain stopped.

The physician who came to aid him had explained that Josiah had been alcohol-dependent for so long that now his body needed it to survive. It was an awful cycle, one she loathed herself deeply for being involved in. But there was little choice—keep her father drunk until his organs gave out, or kill him through withdrawal.

“You are truly the most wonderful blessing,” Josiah half-sighed, half-sobbed as he reached for the crate.

Barbara thought to stop him but was too weary to work her way through the argument that would ensue. He’d drunk so much already. He did not need more. But when his fingers curled around the neck of the first bottle, she simply looked away.

“I must get to bed, Papa,” she stated as he attempted and failed repeatedly to pop the cork of the new bottle. “Can I help you to yours?”

“Hmmm? No, no,” Josiah muttered, his sole focus on the bottle in his hands. He was still failing miserably at opening it. “I will retire in a little while. It is too early for me yet.”

Barbara nodded absently and kissed her father on the cheek before leaving him to wrestle with the bottle. Upstairs in her quarters, she crawled into bed, clawing under the covers despite the summer air being so warm, and she settled there.

Everything, everything about her life was about to change. She had avoided marriage because of such a reality, wanting to retain her freedom as long as possible. Though she knew she loved her father, Barbara hated him in that moment. Hated him for forcing her to become exactly who she had been trying so hard not to be: a woman simpering for a husband.