Chapter 11

CHAPTER

a

11

T his looks like a perfect spot. What do you think?"

Theo glanced over at Jackson to check his opinion. After the delightful hours they'd passed in his carriage, then at his new estate, it was silly to view him as Lord Thornhill. From now on, he'd always be Jackson.

In answer to her query, he nodded his agreement, so she unfolded the blanket she'd brought and laid it on the ground. He was carrying the picnic basket and she took it from him and set it down. Then she gestured for him to plop down on the blanket. He obeyed, but with his leg aching, she had to assist him.

They were in the rear garden behind Thornhill Manor. Most of it was overgrown and untended, but she'd located an area under a shade tree where they could eat their meal as they gazed at the mansion. They'd explored every inch and she was in love with the place. He wasn't all that fond, but she had a very vivid imagination, and she would pretend it was hers to cherish and repair.

She was surprised to discover it was a genuine mansion. He'd worked very hard to lower her expectations, and he'd been so negative in describing the property that she'd allowed him to convince her it would be a hovel. The ludicrous man had developed a strange notion about it, or perhaps deep down, he was afraid to sound as if he was bragging.

The house was magnificent, large and spacious, with dozens of parlors and bedchambers. The rooms had high ceilings and big windows to let in plenty of light. The staircases, hearths, rugs, and floors were in good condition. It mostly needed a thorough dusting and scrubbing. A coat of paint wouldn't hurt either. Other than that, it was spectacular and she was so happy for him. She'd nag at him until he pictured it as the precious gift it was.

She opened the basket and dished up their food. They were so comfortable together, like an old married couple, as if they'd enjoyed hundreds of picnics in the past. She'd had the cook at Peachtree pack leftovers from supper the prior evening: cold chicken, a meat pie, breaded rolls, and some early summer fruit drenched in sweet cream. She hadn't considered a beverage, but the butler had retrieved a bottle of French wine for them.

Theo would never have suggested such a fancy option, but after she'd mentioned that she would be accompanying Lord Thornhill on a sightseeing adventure, the whole staff had been atwitter with excitement. So…French wine it would be.

She had no idea if Arthur would be irked by her plans for the day, but he hadn't returned from the dance, so she hadn't had to explain herself to him. She couldn't guess where he'd spent the night instead, probably at Owl's Nest, and at the moment, she couldn't force herself to worry about him. She was simply flattered that Jackson had invited her to Thornhill and she didn't regret her decision to tag along.

Her conduct was scandalous, but she was an adult female who could make her own choices and pick her own friends. If she went on a scenic excursion with an affable aristocrat, who was there to tell her she shouldn't?

Well, Georgina might have told her, but she was in town, so Theo was feeling free and unencumbered.

He'd arrived exactly at eight and their two-hour ride to Thornhill had been marvelous. They'd chatted constantly and he'd regaled her with tales of his military service in India. Most of the experience had been fascinating and exotic, but some of it had been harrowing, and he'd supplied breathtaking accounts of his valor.

She'd been able to pepper him with questions about his childhood, his schooling, his army career, and his father. His escapades with the lazy, notorious man had furnished tons of laughs. Cedric Bennett was so different from her own father, Harold, who'd been stern, stuffy, and moralistically inclined.

When Theo thought back, she couldn't remember Harold ever smiling. He'd been a severe curmudgeon who'd never had a kind word to say. In fact, on those rare occasions when he'd joined them for supper, he'd seemed stunned to have a pair of young daughters. Theo had never had any doubt that he'd wished for sons rather than two useless girls.

Jackson and Cedric were very fond and it appeared that Jackson had always supported his father. He didn't begrudge Cedric his slothful habits or eccentric personality. He accepted the situation without complaint and she respected him for it very much.

He was the most enthralling rogue she'd ever met—or would ever meet—and she couldn't fathom how she would ever part from him. In London, they couldn't be cordial. He was like an angel up in Heaven and, with his elevation, he was so far above her that she was amazed he could see her where she was lurking down below.

He poured them both a glass of wine and they clinked the rims.

"To us," he said.

"Is there an us ?" she asked. "Dare we drink to our budding relationship? Won't we jinx it by talking about it?"

"We can't possibly jinx it. The universe was determined to toss you into my path and I can't ignore that sort of sign."

"Is it a sign? Of what?"

"I haven't figured it out, but when I do, I'll let you know."

"I'm glad to hear it. Our connection is so peculiar and I can't understand it."

He frowned. "Why is peculiar the term you selected?"

"It's so odd for us to like each other so much. We have very little in common, so I can't deduce what's stirring our bond."

"I'm a very shallow fellow, so on my end, it's not complicated. You're very fetching, and where women are concerned, I don't delve any deeper into what's driving me."

She chuckled. "You are horrid and I don't believe for one second that you're shallow. You'll have to devise a better clarification for what's occurring."

They began to eat, and after a bit, he said, "What is your opinion of Thornhill? And provide a valid assessment. Don't sugarcoat it."

"It's wonderful." He was startled by her comment and she added, "I'm irritated that you spent the entire carriage journey warning me of its decrepit condition."

"It is very decrepit."

"Yes, but the problems are small and cosmetic. You could bring some of your footmen, roll up your sleeves, and polish it to a shine. It's a grand old house. You're lucky to have received it and you should be cherishing it."

"I suppose," he grumbled.

He glanced away, but she managed to glimpse his expression. Her remark had pleased him enormously. As she'd suspected, he was basically very modest about his ownership and he couldn't bear to sound boastful.

"You have the caretaker and his wife on the premises," she said. They were an elderly couple who'd served the prior family and who'd never left. "They've kept things from completely deteriorating. Why not send some footmen to stay with them? You have plenty of retired soldiers working for you in town. Why not have them work at Thornhill instead? With some tiny alterations, it would be almost habitable."

"Would it really be that easy?"

"It's worth a try. You can't simply pretend the place doesn't belong to you."

"If I restored it, then I'd feel duty-bound to tarry in the country. So far, I've cited its dilapidated state as my motive to avoid it."

"What a ridiculous attitude to have! Why are you so averse to having a beautiful home in the country? You are the most fortunate man in the British Empire and you ought to be more grateful. If the King had given me a huge property, with an ostentatious manor in the middle of it, I would be doing cartwheels down the road to celebrate."

When he replied, he looked very somber. "If you knew how desperately I had to be wounded in order to have it bestowed on me, you'd comprehend my reservations. I was critically injured, to the point where I nearly died over and over, and as my reward, Thornhill is mine, but it doesn't seem like a fair exchange."

His cheeks heated, as if he'd confessed a secret he was wishing he hadn't shared. She clasped his hand and gently squeezed it.

"You're viewing it the wrong way," she said. "After all your tribulations, the notion of a bucolic existence shouldn't be so abhorrent. You should welcome the chance to settle down in the peace and quiet."

"If I renovated Thornhill, and I fled London to reside here, it would drive me mad. I'd have too much time to reflect on the past and I'm afraid to dither over my previous choices."

"Jackson Bennett! You're a national hero. It was printed right in the newspapers. You're not afraid of anything and I won't listen to you claiming that you are."

"Could you picture me as a gentleman farmer? Would I ever get the hang of it?"

She clucked her tongue with exasperation. "You are a confident, wily character who will succeed at whatever conclusion you pick."

He sighed with contentment. "I forget my troubles when I'm with you."

"How could you have any troubles? I recognize that your leg pains you, and that you're not as hale as you used to be, but you were raised up very high. Have I mentioned you're like a prince in a fairytale?"

"Yes, you've mentioned it."

"You have a father who dotes on you, which is a boon I never had, and you were singled out by the King for being an especially courageous subject. How many people ever have that happen? Due to that situation alone, you should be proud forever."

"You're correct and I like having you remind me about it. Don't stop repeating how lucky I've been. I don't feel that I deserved my title or this estate. When I saved that royal cousin, I was simply doing my duty, and most of the men in my regiment were as brave and devoted as I ever was. Yet I was lifted up and they weren't."

"You're denigrating yourself again and you're starting to annoy me. Could you try to be glad about what occurred? Just for me?"

"Yes, I'll try."

"If Thornhill were mine, I'd already have thought of a dozen projects I would commence before breakfast. I wouldn't slow down until it was perfect."

"On the trip back to Peachtree, I'll have you list them all. Maybe I'll begin implementing the simplest repairs."

"That, my dear Lord Thornhill, would make me very, very happy."

"I like it better when you call me Jackson."

He tugged her to him and kissed her. It was the first one he'd initiated all day, and she'd been on pins and needles, waiting for him to proceed. He hadn't though, and she'd convinced herself to be relieved. But she was so physically attracted to him and it created a deranged predicament. She wasn't a doxy in the demimonde who was free to misbehave and she was betrothed to Arthur! Why couldn't she remember that?

She was a very loyal person. She didn't lie or cheat, didn't promise, then renege. She wasn't about to cry off from her engagement. Was she? She wasn't like her mother who would speak vows, then break them for a handsome cad. Jackson Bennett was an enticing scoundrel, and when she was with him, she was terribly greedy, like a child who was eager to gobble up a tasty candy. He was irresistible and she couldn't deny herself.

Since that was the case, why would she wed Arthur? Each minute she spent with Jackson was a betrayal, but she was so enamored that she didn't care if she was deceiving Arthur. She yearned to loaf and flirt with Jackson, and it seemed as if their pathetic liaison was the sole event that would ever matter in her life.

She'd never have such a glorious opportunity in the future, so she participated in the kiss with unbridled enthusiasm. She and Arthur were brother and sister, and once she was his bride, she didn't imagine there would be much passion in their marriage. In fact, she couldn't picture him holding or desiring her.

The prospect was too odd to envision, but Jackson Bennett was another story entirely. He emitted a signal that only she could detect and she was anxious to give him whatever he requested. She'd like to revel in conduct that was dangerous and not allowed to her. Was she brave enough? Yes. With Jackson as her partner, she was certain she would be delighted to race to ruin.

For some reason, she was about to burst into tears. He made her hunger for things she'd never had, and he ignited longings that could rapidly burn out of control. A wave of despair swept over her and, her face buried at his nape, the words erupted out of her: "I don't want to marry Arthur!"

"Good. You shouldn't marry him."

"Yet if I don't, what will happen to me? I'm so afraid about it."

"You don't have to be afraid. If you don't wed him, the world won't end. You'll merely carry on without him as your husband. In my book, that would be a huge blessing."

She slid away to look him in the eye. "Why don't you like him? You have a very negative opinion, but you've never told me how you developed it."

"It's easy to explain. He flaunts himself as if he's a king, and he deems himself to be brilliant and astounding, but in reality, he's a stupid dunce. He's very fake, very false, and he prances about with a fast crowd that renders him even more obnoxious."

"He enjoys his reputation as a dandy."

"Yes, and I don't like how he pretends to be someone he's not. He doesn't have the wealth or grace to pull it off with any aplomb. People snicker at him behind his back."

"I'm sorry to hear it. Even when he was a boy, he tried so hard to be popular. I think he wishes we were an aristocratic family, so he could have a title and be grander than he actually is."

"Believe me. A title wouldn't help him. He's a scurrilous dog with no stellar attributes and no true friends."

She frowned. "If you detest him so much, why socialize with him so often?"

"He and I aren't socializing. I recognize it's what you assume, but it isn't."

The comment confused her, and she supposed she'd sound like a clueless idiot, but she said, "If you're not friends, what are you?"

For an eternity, he debated his reply, and the longer he pondered, the more nervous she became. Apparently, he knew details about Arthur that she didn't know, but there were some secrets that shouldn't be revealed.

Finally, he said, "I've been dithering over whether I should discuss him with you or not. You and I are essentially strangers and I have no right to interfere in your betrothal."

"What information could you possibly furnish that would be an interference?"

"When Arthur carouses at night, are you aware of what he's really doing?"

"I presume he's engaged in typical male hobbies: attending the theater, drinking at his club, watching the horses race at the track. Things like that."

Pity filled his gaze. "No, he's engaged in the most typical hobby of all. He's gambling—constantly and for large stakes."

At the disclosure, it was as if a bright light had been shined on her. Of course Arthur was gambling! How could she not have guessed? His greatest flaw was his need to fit in and be accepted. If he didn't participate, he would be treated as an oddball and ostracized.

Wagering began as an amusing diversion, but it quickly grew into an addiction. It was the scourge of the nation, with families devastated, marriages wrecked, properties relinquished, and fortunes squandered. As she considered the consequences to her own family, her pulse pounded under her ribs.

"You've described his nocturnal activities to me," she said, "so it's clear you gamble with him."

"I do; I won't deny it."

"Have you won money from him?"

"Yes, and it's been huge amounts too, but it's not just me. He bets with everyone and he always loses."

"How reckless has he been?" she inquired. "Might I be in danger?"

"He's very reckless, and yes, you could be in danger."

She sucked in a sharp breath and peered down at her lap as she frantically assessed what he'd divulged. What did it mean for her? For Georgina? For HH Imports that supplied their income?

She'd have to confer about the dilemma with Arthur and with Georgina. No doubt Arthur would insist there was no problem, and Georgina—in protecting her son—was like a vicious mama-bear. She would never admit that he had any faults and she would continue to declare it all the way to the poorhouse.

"If I asked," Theo said, "would you stop playing with him?"

"I am stopping, but only because the debt he owes me is so big, and I'm worried he'll never be able to pay me."

"If he's lousy at it, and you've figured out that he is, you've been taking advantage of him. It's not right."

Jackson scoffed with disgust. "Arthur is thirty years old and I'm not his nanny. I have no duty to save him from himself. Even if I tried, I don't have the power to make him quit. He's that determined to destroy himself."

"You're scaring me."

"You should be scared," he said.

She peered down at her lap again, contemplating past incidents that had seemed ordinary when they were transpiring, but now had to be viewed as sinister. Jackson was silent, letting her stew, and she was rattled by a terrifying thought.

"Arthur sold Peachtree Haven without apprising us," she said. "He claimed it was because he had to live in the city, so he was near the docks and warehouses. Was that true? Or might he have lost it with a turn of the cards?"

Jackson shrugged. "It's possible he lost it."

She moaned with dismay and tears surged to her eyes. If she wasn't careful, she'd break down and weep like a widow, and she was fairly sure such an overt show of emotion would ruin the picnic.

"What should I do?" she ultimately asked him.

"I can't be the person to advise you."

"You're my friend though, aren't you? As my friend, what would you suggest?"

"I would suggest you not wed him, but beyond that, I have nothing to add. Women have so few options. What about you? You don't have many choices—other than an awful marriage arranged by your stepmother."

She snorted with exasperation. "I never wanted to proceed, but she nagged until I relented."

"Have you ever wondered why she was so adamant?"

"No, but you've forced me to realize that I should be questioning every facet of my pathetic existence."

He grinned to lighten the mood. "Your existence is very pathetic. I won't attempt to cheer you by pretending it's splendid."

She was shaking and she grabbed the wine and filled her cup to the rim. Then she downed the contents in a brisk swallow.

As she finished the last drop, he said, "Feeling better?"

"No. I'm quite wretched."

"This is why I haven't talked about Arthur. I was aware of how much it would distress you."

"You have no idea," she murmured. "It's obvious I have to have several very difficult conversations with my relatives."

"If it's any consolation, I'm sorry to have put you in such an awkward position."

"It's no consolation at all, and while I'm glad to have learned the truth, there's a large part of me that's wishing you'd have minded your own business."

"I've tried to keep this from you, but I decided I had to be blunt. It's a bad habit of mine. You should have the thorny facts out in the open, so you can deal with them directly. Otherwise, they can sneak up on you with detrimental effect."

"Yes, this is definitely that kind of predicament."

His words had been pounded into her, as if she'd been pummeled with clubs. The discussion had been very painful, but she had only herself to blame. She'd asked him to explain his loathing for Arthur, so she could hardly protest that he'd been too candid.

After a fraught interval, he said, "The afternoon is waning, so we should probably head out. The summer sun is setting very late, but we shouldn't be caught out in the dark. Can you leave now? Or should we delay a tad longer?"

"I'm fine. Well, I'm not fine, but I'm not a porcelain doll that will shatter into a thousand pieces. We can go."

She stood, clasped his wrists, and lifted him to his feet—without it seeming that he'd needed her help. They packed the picnic basket and folded the blanket, then he pulled her close and hugged her tight.

"I hate that I frightened you," he whispered. "I should have remained silent."

"I'm not frightened. I'm angry and I'm relieved that you confided in me."

They drew away and he kissed her. It was a tender, poignant embrace, as if he cherished her and yearned to protect her from harm. He couldn't shield her from any pending consequences though, but she was thrilled to suppose he viewed himself as her champion.

They returned to the manor and prepared to depart. He spoke with the caretakers and apprised them that he'd be sending servants to work on the house. The prospect made her happy.

His carriage was harnessed and they climbed in and left. She leaned out the window, watching as the manor grew smaller, then disappeared altogether. She'd never see it again, and she was anxious to catalogue every detail, so she'd never forget.

They were snuggled on the seat, and the temperature had dropped, so it was chillier than it had been. He retrieved the blanket from the picnic basket and draped it over their laps. Then he laid an arm over her shoulder and cradled her to his chest. Her ear was over his heart, so she could hear its steady beating.

Their grim chat had fatigued her and the rocking of the vehicle was comforting. Much to her surprise, she fell asleep, and when she roused, they were slowing down. She sat up and peeked out, realizing they were back at Peachtree. She'd dozed the entire way!

"Are you awake?" he said as she stirred.

"Yes, and I apologize for being such a boring travel companion. You didn't have anyone to talk to the whole trip."

"It's all right. I liked holding you." As he voiced the comment, his cheeks heated, as if he was mortified to admit it. "With it being so quiet, I had plenty of opportunity to mull the conditions at Thornhill. I'll do what I can to mend the place—just because you nagged so prettily."

She delivered a quick hug, then she slid onto the opposite seat so there was space between them as the carriage rattled to a halt. His outriders leapt down to set the step, and suddenly, she was bereft at the thought of his leaving. It was dangerous to be so attached, and only sorrow would result, but she'd never regret meeting him.

"Tonight is the final night of the fair," she said. "I'm too weary to go myself, but will you attend?"

"I'm weary too. I had too much fun gadding about with you."

"It was perfect, wasn't it?"

"I agree," he said. "It was absolutely perfect."

"Thank you for showing me Thornhill. I'm flattered to have been included."

"I'm glad you convinced me to like it."

They smiled as an outrider whipped the door open. She should have exited, but she couldn't force herself to move.

"Tomorrow is Sunday," she said. "Would you come to supper? Could I persuade you? There's no one here but Arthur and I can't guess where he'll be. I'll be very lonely without a guest to entertain me."

He chuckled. "Am I entertainment?"

She chuckled too. "Definitely."

He debated, then nodded. "I'll come. What time should I arrive?"

"I'll have the cook feed us at eight, so you can pick when you'd like to join me. How many minutes can you bear to tarry in my delightful presence?" She wished he'd spend the entire day with her, but she didn't suggest it.

"How about seven?' he said.

"Seven it is."

They hovered, gazing fondly, and they probably looked like besotted fools. She sensed that he might have kissed her, but with his servant staring, he didn't dare.

"This was a lovely adventure," she said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"I can't wait."

The outrider helped her down and she drew away from the vehicle. He jumped aboard, the driver called to the horses, and they pulled away. She had a fleeting glimpse of Jackson, then he was down the lane and out of sight. He vanished so rapidly that she forgot to grab the basket and blanket, but he could bring them the next evening.

When she was back in London, she fully intended to sever their odd relationship, and it occurred to her to ask him for a memento. She wanted to have a special item to remember him by. Even if it was a mere kerchief, it would be precious to her.

She entered the house and Arthur bounded down the stairs. Reality slammed into her like a battering ram and she was vividly reminded of all the ways her life was a torment.

"Theo! There you are!" he gaily said, his mood high, his spirits elevated. "The servants inform me that you traipsed off with Thornhill. He's a dull dog, isn't he? Was it worth the trip? Or was it wasted hours?"

"It was very pleasant. I had a marvelous excursion."

She wondered if Arthur, her dearest betrothed, would question her about her lengthy absence. After all, she was an unwed maiden and she'd trekked off with a handsome bachelor. But he rarely noticed her and he certainly never tried to command her or choose her friends. In fact, he wasn't curious in the least about her jaunt. She was used to being an afterthought to him, but for once, his lack of regard was startling.

"I won't be here for supper," he said, "and I'll be out late."

Then he walked out.

She dawdled in the foyer, letting the dust settle from his departure, then she went up to her room. There was the strangest, most pressing perception of doom in the air. Drastic changes were approaching; she could feel it in her bones.

Would it be good change or bad? Time would tell, she supposed, and she couldn't exactly claim that she'd be distressed to move in a different direction. The only problem would be the difficult steps she'd have to take before she reached the new bend in her road.