Chapter 18

CHAPTER

a

18

T heo was sitting in the front parlor at Thornhill Manor. Jackson was out in the stables, helping some of the men clean out the stalls. He'd purchased some work horses, and since the animals would have plenty of hauling and pulling to accomplish, he wanted the space to be more comfortable for them.

She was chatting, as usual, with his father, Cedric. He was charming, but very lazy, and he would never bestir himself to pitch in. She and Jackson never chastised him for his indolence, for they both realized it would be a waste of breath. He was an interesting character who'd traveled extensively and was a lively conversationalist. They were newly acquainted, but it felt as if they were old chums.

It was cloudy and it smelled like rain. She'd been toiling away out in the flowerbeds, and when sprinkles had wet her shoulders, she'd come inside.

In the future, once Jackson's finances were in better shape, they'd have servants to do the ordinary chores. They'd hire gardeners, groomsmen, and gamekeepers, but for the moment, it was just herself, her husband, and a handful of aging, wounded veterans he'd employed in the city.

She'd had him hunt down some of her London servants too, those whom he'd fired after he'd arrested Georgina and Arthur and had shuttered the residence. She'd only brought out those whom she'd liked and had trusted. Those who'd been loyal to Georgina had been left to their own devices.

Even though the town house had actually belonged to Theo and Charlotte, she'd never thought of it as hers. It had seemed to be Georgina's, and the minute she'd had the chance, she'd had Jackson put it up for sale. Very soon, she'd have no connection to it at all.

He frequently had important meetings in London, so they wouldn't sell his house that was located across the street, but for the most part, they'd retired to the country. They were restoring the dilapidated mansion to its prior glory. It had been vacant for years, so when it had been given to Jackson by the King, it had been delivered with many burdens attached, mostly fiscal ones.

He'd only ever been a soldier, with wastrel Cedric as his parent, so he didn't have the funds to repair it. He simply had his wits and drive. She had wits and drive too, and she was tidying the front entrance, so the approach would appear more respectable when they had visitors.

Neighbors had begun calling on them, and people were glad that the property was finally occupied, that it would stop being an abandoned eyesore. And as gossip circulated about the identity of the new owner—that being the notorious earl, Jackson Bennett—everyone was keen to get a good look at him. He was amiable, handsome, and dynamic, so they never went away disappointed.

"I'm bored," she said to Cedric. "I was planning to spend the afternoon, sprucing up my flowers."

"You're becoming a true gardener."

"Not really. I'm faking it to the best of my ability."

"If you're faking it, you're very adept at pretending. You're toiling away much harder than I ever would."

She smirked with amusement. "Every person in the British Empire toils away harder than you would. It's not just me. Were you always a laggard? Or have you gradually adopted slothful habits?"

"I was always a laggard. I could never see a reason to rouse myself unless it was absolutely necessary. Jackson finds it to be an annoying trait."

"He's such a dedicated, determined fellow. Where did he come by so much ambition? Obviously, he didn't inherit it from you."

"It had to have been from his mother's family. There must have been some hearty men buried in her bloodline."

She chuckled. "If you would help me with my weeding, I'd complete the job much faster."

"You're doing fine without any of my dubious assistance."

She chuckled again, humored by him, but aggravated too. She didn't understand how he could enjoy being so idle.

She, herself, had always been busy, and even though she'd grown up in a fancy home full of servants, she'd never been a lady of leisure. She'd passed the time with chores and hobbies. Since they'd moved to Thornhill, she had more tasks to fill her hours than she could possibly name, but she wasn't complaining.

From the instant she'd first viewed the manor—long before she was Mrs. Jackson Bennett—she'd fallen in love with it, and she was proud to be engaged in the worthwhile effort of refurbishing it.

She stood and wandered over to the window to check if the clouds had cleared. They hadn't, but as she stared out to the road, a woman was walking toward the house. She was carrying a satchel and trudging dejectedly, as if she'd travelled a thousand difficult miles. She was a sad, pathetic sight. Her shoulders were drooped, and her gait slow, as if she was on her last leg.

Initially, she was too far away for Theo to assess her features, but as she neared, Theo's breath hitched in her chest.

"Oh, my goodness," she murmured. "Oh, oh, oh, my goodness!"

She started out and Cedric said, "What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's Charlotte! This very moment, she's strolling up the lane."

"Well, I'll be. How do you suppose she found us?"

"I have no idea, but can you send someone to fetch Jackson?"

"I will."

That was all she could manage. She ran out the front door and rushed into the drizzly weather. She was laughing, crying, and she started to wave and shout, "Charlotte! Charlotte! It's me, Theo! You're at the right place!"

She sounded hysterical, but she didn't care. She raced down the driveway, eager to grab her sister, drag her inside, and never let her go.

v

"I can't believe you're here."

"I can't believe it either."

Charlotte smiled at Theo, and though it was strange, it seemed as if they hadn't ever been separated. Their previous quarrels had vanished like leaves in the wind.

Jackson Bennett was like a knight in an ancient fable. He was kind and generous, brave and loyal. He'd swept Theo off her feet, had rescued her from danger and tragedy, and he was fixing what was wrecked in Theo's world. It was Charlotte's world too, so her situation was suddenly being swiftly repaired.

After she'd spoken to Arthur at the prison, she'd been bewildered. She couldn't accept that Theo had married a nobleman; the tale had been too implausible to be true. She'd wanted to ask someone about it, and ultimately, she'd visited Georgina's twin sister, Gertrude.

Gertrude was so incensed by how Jackson was tormenting Georgina that she'd refused to talk to Charlotte and had slammed the door in her face. Charlotte had dawdled on the street outside Gertrude's home and she'd been at her lowest ebb. Her purse had been almost empty, and if she'd flown up into the sky and blown away to the moon, who would have noticed?

She'd returned to the coaching inn and had inquired about Thornhill. With the last of her money, she'd purchased a ticket on the public coach and, on a wing and a prayer, she'd traipsed off to the country. She hadn't been certain of what to expect, hadn't pondered what she'd do if Theo wasn't at Thornhill. She'd been too beaten down to devise a backup plan.

When she'd staggered up the lane, when Theo had dashed out to greet her, she'd never been more relieved. She'd been brought in and treated like a princess. Theo had mentioned how they'd been searching for her, how they'd been frantic with worry, and at hearing the comforting news, Charlotte had kept bursting into tears. It was wonderful to realize she hadn't been forsaken or forgotten.

Theo was the only person who'd ever mattered in Charlotte's life, and she thought—if Jackson would agree that she could stay—she'd never depart Thornhill. The kingdom wasn't safe for a female. She yearned to tarry with her sister and let Theo's marvelous husband watch over them both.

Theo's maids had opened a bedchamber for her, so she'd been bathed and fed, and she'd been able to change into some of Theo's clothes, so they weren't faded and worn. There was a toasty fire burning in the grate and she and Theo were seated on chairs in front of it. It wasn't yet evening, but Charlotte was exhausted, and she'd probably head to bed shortly.

In the morning, she'd rise in a saner condition. She'd be a better guest. She'd be a calmer sibling and more attentive sister-in-law. She'd listen to stories, coherently answer questions, and act like a human being. At the moment, normal behavior was beyond her.

"Where did you go after the school closed?" Theo said. "You haven't exactly explained yourself."

"I'll fill you in on the particulars tomorrow. For now, if I merely state that I've endured many tribulations, could that suffice? Besides losing my job, my income, and my lodging, I fell for a scoundrel. Will that information tide you over?"

"No. You have to at least provide me with some brief details."

"I had a student whose kin didn't come to fetch her when we were shutting down the facility, so I escorted her to her relatives. I met him there when we arrived. I spent a bit of time with him, but the sojourn ended badly." She started to cry and couldn't stop. "Could we not discuss him? I just really can't."

Theo frowned. "What's his name? Who is his family? Would I know them?"

"I suppose you'd have heard of them, but I doubt you were ever introduced to any of them. They were acquainted with us though, through Father." Charlotte braced, finding it painful to speak of him aloud. "He's Winston Wainwright."

"Wainwright?" Theo mused, working it out. "Isn't he the Earl of Dartmouth?"

"Yes, that's him."

Theo swallowed down a squeal of astonishment. "You engaged in an illicit amour with Winston Wainwright?"

Charlotte scoffed. "Trust me. It wasn't much of an amour and I escaped before I landed myself in a terrible jam."

As it was, she couldn't be sure she wasn't carrying his child. That would be her sort of ill luck. She didn't so much as hint about it to Theo, but her sister was no fool, and she instantly surmised the portion Charlotte hadn't revealed.

"How involved was your affair?" Theo asked. "Might you be in trouble? Should we be arranging a wedding? I could have Jackson talk to him for you."

"It's nothing like that," Charlotte hastily fibbed. "He simply broke my heart. I assumed he was in love with me, but he's betrothed to a rich debutante."

Theo was appropriately enraged on Charlotte's behalf. "What a scurrilous dog! I will hate him forever."

"Thank you. I hate him too."

They sighed and Theo said, "You've learned about Georgina and Arthur's embezzlement, about Father's Will and our inheritance, but there's one very big surprise none of us have shared with you."

"What is it? Please spit it out. It can't be worse than my confessing a failed dalliance with a cad."

"Well, this isn't worse. It's just incredibly bizarre, and when I tell you, you must promise you won't faint on me."

Charlotte straightened and said, "I promise, but I'm about to panic, so hurry up."

Theo reached over and clasped Charlotte's hand, as if she might need Theo's support. Then she announced, "Mother is alive, Charlotte."

"What? No!"

"Father divorced her, then had her prosecuted for adultery. For her punishment, he locked her in a convent in Scotland. She's been there for eighteen years."

"The lying bastard!" Charlotte crudely cursed. She cried even harder. "He told us she was dead, but we never believed him, remember? When we were little girls, we were certain she couldn't be."

"She's still at the convent, but guess what? She's being released in a few weeks. Jackson is taking me to Scotland to bring her home. Would you like to come with us?"

A wave of dizziness swept over Charlotte. She swayed one way, then the other, then she slid to the floor in a humiliating heap.

Theo leapt to her side and said, "You promised you wouldn't faint on me."

"I didn't mean it."

v

"I'm sorry, but I won't. I can't."

Polly sternly voiced her refusal, and it produced a groan of furious exasperation from the assembled company.

She was standing in Mr. Ludlow's den, in his London house. His vicar was there, along with his sister, Miss Ludlow, and his son, Charles, whom the Dowager had selected to be Polly's husband. Charles was sixteen, which was only four years older than she was, but he seemed decades older. There was a sly slant to his expression that she didn't like and it was possible he could be a brute.

To her great shock, her wedding was in progress. From the minute Miss Ludlow had explained the situation, Polly had been insisting she wouldn't proceed. She'd constantly asked to return to Dartmouth, so she could confer with the Earl or Miss Charlotte about how she'd been deceived, but she'd been ignored.

Her welcome by the Ludlows had been a cold one and she'd been given chores at their main shop in London. They claimed she had a duty to pitch in, and she was trying not to mind working there, but she deemed it to be beneath her dignity.

She had always assumed she had a very elevated father, and it made her overly vain, but she suspected her vanity would be detrimental. Mr. Ludlow wasn't the type who would tolerate disobedience or pride.

If she could figure out how, she'd leave them, but a large amount of money had been paid in order to shackle her, so she wasn't free to depart. She hadn't been consulted and would have no opportunity to state an opinion. Then again, she was twelve. Why would any of them heed her?

She recognized her lowly place in the world, and she struggled to be extra kind, extra amenable, so she wouldn't be a burden. She'd been safe at Mrs. Pemberton's Academy, but since it had closed, she'd suffered one calamity after the next.

She was anxious to tell Miss Charlotte where she was, but when she'd requested pen and paper to write her a letter, she'd been informed that she wouldn't be allowed to correspond with any of her prior acquaintances. It had been a cruel blow and she wondered if Miss Charlotte would ever worry about her. She would hate to have been so unimportant, but she was an afterthought to other people, and she was very forgettable.

When she'd risen that morning, she'd presumed she would be heading to the shop, but instead, Miss Ludlow had handed her a new gown and had apprised her that she would marry Charles at eleven o'clock. Polly had argued about it and her defiance had pushed Miss Ludlow to her limit.

Miss Ludlow had warned her to be careful about exhibiting so much insolence, that Mr. Ludlow would be angered by it. A maid had been sent up to help her dress for the event, and the girl had whispered that Polly should accept her fate as graciously as she could.

She'd told Polly that Mr. Ludlow could be violent when he was irked. He'd once beaten a maid nearly to death for stealing a ring from his wife—when there hadn't been any evidence that she was a thief. It was a terrifying story, and in all of Polly's ominous imaginings about what might become of her, the notion that she could be viciously whipped was too frightening to fathom.

"Don't listen to her," Mr. Ludlow said to the vicar about Polly's declining to participate. "She's of legal age and her guardian signed over custody to me. I have organized this for her. Keep going."

The vicar replied to Mr. Ludlow. "If she's opposed, I can't continue. You're putting me in an awful bind."

"She's twelve!" Mr. Ludlow snapped. "She has no idea of what's best for her, but I do. My huge donations to your church should smooth away any of your qualms."

The vicar gazed at Polly and asked, "Are you truly opposed, Polly? Mr. Ludlow is correct that he's in charge of you. You should heed him and make him happy."

"I have to talk to Miss Cronenworth," she firmly declared. "If she tells me to agree, then I will."

At her comment, Mr. Ludlow's temper flared, but he reined it in and said to his sister, "Take her to her room. We'll finish this without her. Come back down and you can speak the vows as her proxy."

Miss Ludlow grabbed Polly's arm and began leading her out. Polly peered over her shoulder at the vicar and said, "I'm still not willing. I was supposed to have been enrolled at a school in Manchester, so I don't understand how I wound up in London. I've been horribly tricked."

Her purported groom, Charles, glared at his father and said, "Must I wed her, Father? She's not interested and she's a child. I want a real bride and I want one who wants me . Why not just toss her out on the road?"

"I gave my word to the Dowager," Mr. Ludlow said, "and Polly will behave as is expected of her—or I'll know why." He leveled his irate glower at her and added, "The Dowager assured me that she is respectful and obedient. I refuse to believe she will persist with this recalcitrance."

He nodded to Miss Ludlow and she dragged Polly away.

"Look at the trouble you caused," Miss Ludlow scolded, after they were out of earshot. "You could have had a lovely wedding, but you deliberately wrecked it."

"I'm too young to marry," Polly insisted.

"Your guardians, both the prior one and the current one, have decided that you're plenty old enough."

Miss Ludlow marched her up the stairs and shoved her into her room. Then she pulled the door shut and spun the key in the lock. Polly was trapped—as her wedding proceeded without her down in the den.

She'd heard gossip that a wife had to perform certain secretive physical acts so shocking that a girl couldn't learn what they were in advance. A husband would force her to remove her clothes and engage in forbidden conduct that would hurt and would change her body forever.

She couldn't bear to find out if it would happen. After the ceremony concluded, would Charles rush to her bedchamber? Would he demand she disrobe and perform the deeds that were reported to be so scary?

She couldn't guess, but she wished she could curl into a ball and die.

v

Boggs lurked in the hall by the ostentatious dining room in the manor. Agatha was in there and having breakfast. Lord Dartmouth was still in London. Lady Jasmine was in residence, but she'd already eaten and left. Agatha was alone, but for the three servants hovering to tend her.

For the past few days, he'd been debating various courses of action. He viewed himself as being a loyal and devoted employee, and he'd rarely confronted Agatha about her tepid treatment of Polly, so she'd been able to furnish the minimum care and attention. Nor had he confessed the situation to the Earl. From the outset, he'd been complicit in Agatha's scheme.

Despite the frequent assistance he provided to Lord Dartmouth, he was Agatha's servant, so when the Earl's needs or requests were at odds with his mother's, Boggs followed her rather than him. Unfortunately, Boggs had been perpetually immersed in a skewed relationship with her, due to their previous dalliance.

He'd sided with her against the Earl—over Polly. Once he'd helped her conceal Polly's birth, it had immediately been too late to be candid. He'd realized—if he ever spoke up—his time at Dartmouth would be over. Agatha would fire him for tattling or the Earl would fire him for not tattling. He was fifty, which was a very great age to have to start over somewhere else.

He barely knew Polly and felt no heightened affection for her, but for the most part, he liked Lord Dartmouth. The man could be pompous and callous, but he could be amiable and generous too. He deserved to be apprised about Polly. Particularly now, with what a housemaid had revealed to Boggs about her fate.

Agatha constantly stunned him with her cruel machinations. He'd joined her in her madness with regard to Polly, but he'd exceeded the limit of what he could abide, of what he was willing to cover up for her.

When Polly had departed with Miss Ludlow, they'd been informed that she was heading to school. Yet a footman had told Miss Cronenworth that Polly was off to her wedding. Boggs hadn't believed the tale, and he'd been lazily eager to avoid any conflict with Agatha, so he hadn't investigated. But after the maid had whispered details to him, there could be no doubt: Polly had been sold into marriage.

Had any grandmother in all of history ever committed such a vile act?

Depending on what he could coerce Agatha into admitting, his employment with the Wainwright family was about to end. In case their discussion concluded as badly as he anticipated, he had a satchel resting at his feet and it contained his most important belongings. He'd filled two trunks too and they were out in the stables next to his cot. He would send for them after he reached whatever future destination tickled his fancy.

He took a deep breath, then stepped into the room. Agatha was focused on her plate and didn't notice him. He gestured to the three servants and his expression was so fierce that they skedaddled to the kitchen. Their hurried exit caused Agatha to glance up. She saw Boggs staring at her and her exasperation was evident.

"What is it, Boggs? It's clear from your dour countenance that you're in a snit about some issue or other, but I'm finishing my meal, and it's a beautiful morning. Please don't ruin it."

There was no reason to beat around the bush. "I'm here about Polly."

She bristled and gestured for him to shut the door, but he didn't. He was tired of her and didn't care who overheard their conversation.

He simply said, "You claimed you had arranged for her to go to school."

"Yes, and I just received a letter that she's arrived and has settled in."

"Liar," he fumed.

It was the most dangerous word he'd ever uttered in her presence, but she didn't explode, didn't warn him to be silent. Her gaze narrowed as she said, "You and I have a prior friendship that has spurred you to suppose you possess certain rights in your dealings with me. You assume you can chastise or sass me. I have allowed those liberties in the past, but I will not tolerate more of them from you. I suggest you tread cautiously."

"You're her grandmother and she's twelve."

"I am no one's grandmother, and yes, the girl is twelve. So ... ?"

"You contracted a marriage for her! What is wrong with you? Have you no heart?"

On his mentioning the marriage, her eyes widened a bit, supplying him with the proof he'd required that the tattling housemaid was correct.

"You're skating on very thin ice, Boggs," she snapped. "Watch your tongue."

"I won't. You let Lady Jasmine pay a dowry for her."

"I can't imagine what you mean," she coolly responded, maintaining the pretense.

"The two of you plotted against her. What if Lord Dartmouth never sires a child with Lady Jasmine? What if Polly is the only one he ever has? What if she's the only grandchild you ever have? Have you thought about that?"

"That's enough. You're excused."

She was sitting at the other end of the long table. It was covered with bouquets of flowers, with expensive china and glassware. All of it emphasized the distance that separated them, and he wondered why he'd ever been enamored of her. But during their ludicrous, brief amour, lust had driven him insane.

"I quit," he said.

"Quit what? Your job? Don't be ridiculous. I refuse to permit it."

"I'm leaving immediately. Goodbye."

He spun and marched out, and for once in his pathetic life, he'd shocked her. She mumbled an epithet and shouted, "Get back here!"

He halted and peered around. "I would appreciate it if you wouldn't cause a scene."

"Didn't you hear me?" she seethed across an expanse as vast as an ocean. "You're not quitting!"

"Didn't you hear me ?" he countered. "I've already packed my bags, but I'm owed some wages. After I figure out where I'll be, I'll write to the butler, so he can send them on."

"The girl is fine!" she said, finally admitting her perfidy. "I picked a wealthy merchant's family and they'll look after her appropriately. It's what you demanded for her, so this fit of pique is silly."

Boggs actually shouted too. "She's twelve! How could you?"

He whipped away and kept on, and though she called to him several times, she didn't chase after him. Praise be!

He made it down the hall and out the door without bumping into anyone, and he practically staggered out to the lane. He paused to study the mansion. It was a magnificent residence, a palace suitable for a king, but the people who lived in it were miserable and unhappy. He was ashamed that he'd wasted so much energy serving them.

He pulled himself away, and as he started down the road, he didn't glance back.