Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Turn around the City

Loren

“Dear heart,” he called.

She was beside him in the carriage, her ludicrous hat on the seat opposite them, her head turned, eyes aimed out the window.

Her mood…unknown.

“Satrine,” he whispered when she didn’t respond.

“I didn’t know he…hurt her,” she told the window. “Either…her.”

Loren clenched his teeth at the thought and aimed his gaze out his own window.

He turned back when she lashed out, “Gods, I want him dead.” Her attention came to him. “Is that terrible? Does that make me like him?”

“No, sweeting. You’re angry. You heard some very ugly things today, and it hasn’t been long after you endured other very ugly things.”

“You know, we were always okay without him. It didn’t matter we had to scrimp and save and make do. But the minute he showed his face, oh noooooooo.” She dragged that last out. “It all went to hell in a handbasket.”

Hell in a handbasket?

This language she created with her mother in their seclusion was, unsurprisingly, as amusing and clever as she and her mother were.

“Every incarnation of him is evil,” she spat. “Pure evil.”

“Satrine—”

“He hurt my sister and beat my mother!” she shouted.

Loren watched the bluster wilt, her face started to collapse, she tried to turn away, but instead found herself pulled into his arms.

Her body bucked as she attempted to hold back a sob.

“If you release it,” he murmured his advice, “you’ll feel better.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“Your mother?”

“Yes, but also Maxine.”

He smiled. “Of course, darling, she looks exactly like you.”

She pulled away and locked eyes with him.

“She will never meet a handsome man, be backed into a desk and kissed stupid.”

As lovely as her words were (even the “kissed stupid” part, as they were strange, but obviously a compliment), they nevertheless swept the smile clean from his face.

“She will never dance at a ball, and she’ll never drive a carriage and she’ll never, I don’t know…there’s so much she’ll never do, because of him, I can’t even say it all.”

“Satrine—”

“I know exactly what happened. He decided what she could do…at six…and she was going to do it, no matter the consequences.”

Loren grew quiet not only because there was no reply to be made, she was correct, and she was correct to be horrified by it, but also because she needed to get this out.

“Do you know how much it hurts when someone hits you in the face?” she asked.

He felt his mouth tighten, for he did, but it infuriated him that she did as well.

“It hurts, Loren, a lot. And I can take it. But he did that to my mom.”

“He can’t harm any of you again.”

She sat facing front and crossed her arms on her chest, declaring, “I’m going buy so many gods damn gowns and hats and ribbons and slippers and boots and…and…whatever the hell else I can think of…so if he cuts us off, we’ll have outfits for years we haven’t even worn. I don’t care if we’re living in a shack.”

“However, you won’t be living in a shack,” he reminded her. “You’ll be living in a townhome or a country manor or a chateau or a castle, depending on where we are in the Northlands.”

She looked to him. “I didn’t forget, honey. But don’t cut into my drama.”

Honey.

Mm.

He liked that.

And she was now jesting.

It was a tossup, but he might like that better.

“How many properties do you own?” she asked.

“Many,” he answered.

“Ballpark me.”

“Sorry?”

“Give me a hint.”

He again deliberated briefly on the odd language she and her mother devised after years of having only each other for company before he did a mental count.

He then said, “Six. Sorry, no. Eight.”

She stared.

He grinned.

“Well, one could say that’s a step up from a three-room cottage miles outside of Aisles,” she quipped.

He kept grinning, because for the first time in his entire life, the vastness of his wealth and privilege had meaning.

“One can indeed say that, my dearest.”

She turned more fully to him.

“So, here’s the thing, my handsome, noble fiancé, I’m done with all of that. It’s now your turn.”

He was confused.

“Pardon? My turn?”

“My drama. Good-bye. It is officially no longer all about me. It’s time to get to know you.”

Loren felt his neck get tight.

“So, we have a few minutes before we’re back home, tell me something I have to know about Loren Copeland, the handsome Marquess of Remington,” she pressed.

“Right now, as is my state almost constantly when I’m around you, I wish to kiss you.”

Her sweet tongue came out to wet her lower lip, he turned more fully to her as well, but she said, “Not that. Something else.”

Right.

Something else.

How about the fact you’ve asked, and I feel unable to answer, which makes me wonder if my father is correct, and I have some addiction to danger, living for years eradicating King Baldur’s final followers in the way my then prince, now king, instructed me to do, which is not for a gentlewoman’s ears.

As such, much of what I did after is also not for your ears, as I was either seeking adventure, balls-deep in woman, righting wrongs in often brutal ways or participating in fights that either simply came about because of the company I was keeping, or I caused. I have vast experience both hitting men in the face or getting hit in my own. Thus, I know precisely how that feels to give and to receive, as you witnessed me doing the same to your father, and then some.

At the end of it all, the last twelve years I used might for right, creating death and destruction, and now…there’s you and I have no bloody clue what to do with you.

“Loren?”

“Often, my father would take me out of school for the holidays a day, or two, or even a week early, because he would have some great adventure planned for the two of us, and we would need to give it the proper time. Traveling to Bellebryn so I could pilot a galleon around the bay. Going to Paisall to attend their tournament, which is the best in all the lands. Even sailing to Lunwyn to ski, or down to Benies, simply because Fleuridian warmed chocolate is delicious, even better than you can find in Lunwyn, though that is hotly contested between my father and me.”

“Which side are you on?” she asked softly.

“Benies. Father took me there solely so I could compare. It vexes him that I came to what he erroneously considers the wrong conclusion. Though, what I did not share with him was that I liked Benies on the whole better than anywhere else at the time, because I was fifteen years of age. And thus, I was thinking with only one part of my anatomy, and Beniesienne women have no issue exposing a grand expanse of décolletage.”

She smiled a small smile at him.

He took her hand, drew her nearer, and watched his gloved fingers fiddle with her own.

“We are all we had. Father made it so we made the most of it.”

“I know something about that,” she whispered.

Good gods.

She did.

He lifted his gaze to her.

“You can kiss me now, my lord,” she said.

Thank the gods.

He did.

He was drowning in her by the time the carriage stopped, and as he lifted his head, he saw she was the same.

She was desirable always.

Dazed by the desire he wrought on her, it was nearly impossible to resist.

“I think we should tell our driver to take a turn around the city,” she suggested.

“I think I do not wish to have you for the first time on a bench seat in a carriage with the curtains closed so it will not only be uncomfortable, but it will also be hard to see you,” he returned.

She frowned.

He touched his mouth to hers.

Her footman opened the door.

She was out, forgetting her hat, so it was he who carried it inside.

She was grinning at him, turned to look over her shoulder as she walked through the vestibule, hands lifted to the sides of her head and twirling, all while she teased, “I envision feathers and bows and streams and streams of tule flowing from my wedding hat.”

As a reply, Loren tossed the one he carried into the sitting room.

She laughed.

“Satrine, baby! Is that you?” her mother’s voice came from down the hall, and it struck Loren, never in his life had he heard a lady shout.

There was something… particular about that.

These women—both of them—were glorious and graceful, and yet artless.

It was astonishingly refreshing.

“Yes, Mom,” she called back.

“Come here, will you?”

She reached out a hand to Loren, he took it, and they walked to where the voice came from.

Her father’s study.

They stopped just inside, in unison, because they both, at the same time, were hit with all they were seeing.

Loren’s father stood at her back, just to the side, while Corliss sat at the desk, neck deep in ledgers.

Maxine was curled into a couch at one side of the room, watching the proceedings, a finger twisting in her hair, though not with nerves. Her mother was near, therefore she seemed quite content.

And what appeared to be the entire household staff (sans a groom and footman) stood at attention in a line across the other side of the room.

Corliss lifted her head when they entered and asked, “How did it go?”

“It went.”

Loren reported more fully, and he did this to his father. “Multiple charges. Abduction. Abuse. Extortion. Coercion. The magistrate is ruminating on bail, but the inspector says, considering Tor’s recent rulings on this kind of behavior for his nobles, it’s doubtful he’ll see light before his trial, and definitely not for some time after it.”

“Marvelous,” Ansley replied.

“Moving on!” Corliss declared, her gaze still on her daughter. She then stated, “Honey, did you know we’re rich?”

“Mom—”

“Like, filthy, stinking rich. Ansley says so.”

There seemed a curious warning note to Satrine’s next, “Mom.”

“So obviously, until he can get word to the bank to close his accounts to me, things need to be sorted. Ansley sent someone to check, and Edgar hasn’t had a chance to do anything yet. We’re still good. I’m withdrawing a chunk of change. Ansley says he has a safe and can keep the cash there for us. So no matter what, we’ll have that.”

Her hand still in his, Satrine took a step forward and tried yet again.

“Mom.”

But she’d lost Corliss’s attention.

“Carling,” she called.

Carling stepped forward and snapped his spine so straight, Loren felt a twinge in his own.

“Right here, my lady,” he stated the obvious.

“His grace has gone over the books with me, and he shares you’re woefully underpaid,” Corliss announced.

There was a twittering among the staff, but at a hiss from Carling, they quieted.

“Milady,” was all Carling said to Corliss.

“That will not do.” She looked down at the ledgers, then back to Carling. “I’m giving you all a one-hundred-pound bonus for your loyalty.”

No hiss was going to stop the twittering that caused.

“And the duke counsels me that you’re all paid at least fifteen percent less than the going rate for your positions. Each of you will be brought to the upper grade for your salaries. And I’ll be adding an extra ten percent to that.”

There was shuffling, gasps, and a few muted cheers.

Loren watched his father’s lips quirk.

“Carling, I bid you take your staff and discuss this with them, see if this is amenable,” Corliss continued.

Carling sounded choked, as he would, since it was indubitably amenable, when he pushed out, “Will do, milady.”

She swept an arm over the ledgers and stated, “You and I will go over these books and we’ll see every member of my staff is compensated appropriately.”

“That would be appreciated, milady.”

“And please, allow two extra days paid leave per annum to each staff member, and an extra afternoon free every week as well. Ansley added the suggestion that we might be understaffed, which means you are all not only underpaid, but required to go above and beyond to see to the running of this house. Therefore, you and I will speak about whether we need to hire someone else to cover for those times when staff is at their leisure or add so you can adjust the workloads of your charges to more appropriate levels.”

Carling coughed, sniffed, muttered, “My apologies,” then in his normal voice said, “It will be done as you wish, madam.”

She stood and smiled. “I’m delighted. Can you do that presently, but also, send for the modiste?”

“Right away, Countess Derryman,” Carling said smartly.

“None of that, I’m Lady Corliss only, my daughters are Lady Maxine and Lady Satrine.” Corliss pierced Carling with her gaze. “We are family here now, Carling. At long last.”

There were some sniffles amongst the crowd and Carling’s voice was thick when he said, “Indeed, Lady Corliss.”

She drew breath in through her nose and addressed them all.

“Thank you for your time, and all of your hard work. Please, now, enjoy a cup of tea and have your discussions with Carling.”

Loren pulled Satrine out of the way so they could file out.

The last to go was Carling, and he closed the door.

Satrineand he turned back to Corliss when she spoke.

“Ansley told me that the household will run as if Edgar were here, regardless if we are, also regardless of what might happen to him. It had to be done because it had to be done, but there was no time to waste. The books will be adjusted before I’m cast out, and the household will be managed as the books are set at that time, especially if Edgar has no idea I’ve meddled. So all will be well with the staff.”

“You rock, Mom,” Satrine said strangely.

“I know, honey,” Corliss replied.

They started giggling.

Maxine giggled with them.

Loren looked to his sire, who was gazing indulgently down at Corliss.

Yes.

He had no idea what to do with any of these women.

Women who had been held down, abused, neglected, exploited, and ended that taking pains to see to people they did not know and giggling.

And for the first time in a very long time, Loren had reservations about his own decision.

Because Satrine Dawes was grit and gumption, and he was blood and death.

And Loren was thinking she deserved better.