Chapter 12

CHAPTER

e

12

Y ou've been out all day. Where were you?"

Jackson peered over at Lola and said, "Why are you asking? Were you worried about me?"

"No, but you left me alone, so I was stuck with Arthur and the other idiots he brought to his party. There was nothing to do but watch them gamble and I hate that."

"It's how I feed and clothe you. Maybe you should exhibit a bit more interest."

She scoffed with derision. "As if I need to see Arthur lose his shirt a few more times. I swear, if you don't hurry and collect what he owes you, there won't be any assets for you to seize."

"I'm meeting with him in London on Tuesday. He and I will figure it out. You shouldn't fret about it."

"Are you sure he knows you have an appointment? I heard him talking to Nell and he's planning to still be in the country."

"If he doesn't arrive, I'll catch up with him later."

He was at Owl's Nest and it was awfully quiet. He and Lola were upstairs in their bedchamber, but they appeared to be the only two people on the premises.

"Where is everyone?" he asked.

"They went to the last night of the fair."

"Why didn't you go with them?"

"I was waiting for you. Would you take me? I'd like to join them."

"I'm too tired, but you can go on your own."

She tsked with annoyance. "I want you to come with me."

"You could locate Nell and the other ladies. I'm certain you'd enjoy yourself there with them much more than here with me."

"Why are you so tired? I notice you haven't told me where you were all afternoon. It makes me think you were engaged in mischief I won't like."

He frowned. "Are you interrogating me?"

"Yes, but with you being so furtive, you deserve to be interrogated."

He was over by the window, staring out at the untended garden. She was over in the doorway, having accosted him the minute he'd returned. He was weary from his excursion to Thornhill, but she was vexed by his lengthy absence, and she seemed determined to quarrel.

The room was dreary, the furniture dilapidated, the paint peeling, the bed uncomfortable. Arthur had begged him to attend the gathering, having been anxious to recoup some of his losses, but why had Jackson tarried? He wasn't usually such a pushover. He should have ignored Arthur and he was simply glad the ludicrous visit was about to end.

His trip to Thornhill had him befuddled and bewildered. On the journey back, with Theo dozing in his arms, he'd had to acknowledge yet again that he liked her much more than was wise. It had goaded him to accept her invitation to supper when he shouldn't have. He should have headed to the city without a goodbye, but he was so enamored of her that he couldn't imagine sneaking away.

He'd confided about Arthur and he'd even encouraged her to cry off from her betrothal. If she followed his advice, and she suffered difficulties in the future, wouldn't it be his fault?

It had been reckless and selfish to show her Thornhill, but he wouldn't chastise himself. The experience had been spectacular and riveting, but he was puzzled by his behavior. He was being pummeled by such absurd yearnings that he was having trouble focusing on Lola. He almost felt as if she was a stranger or perhaps as if he'd walked far down a distant road that didn't include her.

"Where were you?" she sharply inquired. "Why won't you tell me?"

She'd yanked him out of his miserable reverie, and he drew away from the window and eased down on the only chair. He and Theo had explored every room in the manor and they hadn't been in any rush. He was paying for it, with his leg protesting his negligence.

Lola was glaring, her fit of pique aggravating to witness. The truth would send her into a frenzy of fury and recrimination, but when she was fixated on a topic, she could be like a dog at a bone. She wouldn't relent until his patience was frayed beyond repair.

"If you must know," he said, "I traveled to Thornhill."

There was a fraught silence, then her temper exploded. "You bastard! You went without me! What is wrong with you? I've been so eager to see it."

He shrugged. "I didn't want you there."

"Why not? Are you ashamed of me all of a sudden? I was good enough to waltz about on your arm when you were simply Sgt. Bennett. Now, you're the grand and glorious Lord Thornhill. Are you too posh?"

He wouldn't admit that she was skirting very close to the reality of their dilemma, and when she was angry, it was pointless to argue with her. He calmly said, "Could we not bicker? My leg is killing me and I'm very fatigued."

"I don't give two figs about your stupid leg."

"I realize you don't, but it's killing me anyway."

"I'm sorry that you're too run down to squabble, but it appears a huge fight is in order. I suppose, since you've become so magnificent, you'll pick some insipid little bride and she'll be your countess instead of me. Is that your plan?"

"I have no plan except to crawl into bed as soon as you quit badgering me."

She was undeterred. "If you toss me over for a na?ve, fresh-faced debutante, I'll murder you in your sleep."

"How often have you threatened me? Is that the hundredth time? Or the thousandth?"

"You presume I'm joking, but I'm not. I've stuck by you through thick and thin, and you don't get to part from me merely because you've grown fancy. You'd never be happy with a silly girl."

"I heartily concur and I have no intention of marrying."

"Exactly—unless it's to me. You promised we'd wed someday and I'm ready for someday to arrive."

He tsked with disgust. "I've never proposed to you. Stop rewriting our history."

"If you cast me out, what would happen to me?" she demanded. "I have no money and I've burned the bridges with my family. What would I do? Would you have your debutante, but keep me on the side? Is that your ploy? I'd never agree to it."

"I repeat: I'm not about to wed anyone, especially not an innocent maiden. I'm drained and you've exacerbated my weariness with your nagging."

He slid over to the bed and stretched out on the mattress, groaning as he tried to find a comfortable spot, but there was none to be had. He stared at the ceiling as she caustically studied him. She was about to hurl invectives, but he couldn't listen.

He'd allowed her to glom onto him when he shouldn't have. She was totally dependent on him and, as with his father and the veterans he employed, he'd assumed a burden he couldn't shake. She was correct that she had no options, so how could he cut her loose? Generally, he was kind and fair, and he wouldn't treat a dog that way.

Matters were moving toward a precipice and his situation was shifting off in a new direction, but at the moment, he was too exhausted to figure out the best path with regard to her. He shut his eyes and dozed off, and when he awakened, it was very dark. She was gone, the house still very quiet.

He thought about Theo and if she might be lying awake and thinking of him too.

v

"Rough night?"

"Very rough."

As Theo asked her question, Arthur's reply came out as a croak. He wished he was in an improved condition, but in light of how he'd over-imbibed the previous evening, it wasn't possible to pretend he was fine. His head was throbbing so viciously that his teeth ached.

It was early afternoon, and he'd returned to Peachtree—on two hours sleep—to wash and change clothes. He had no desire to chat. She was eager to discuss many topics that didn't interest him in the least.

She'd caught him in the master suite, in the sitting room, which he always used when he was at Peachtree. The manor wasn't his, but he acted as if it was, so when he visited, he commandeered the nicest quarters. Why shouldn't he? He was the patriarch of his branch of the Cronenworth family tree.

He was preparing to depart again and he was keen to drag Lord Thornhill to the gambling table. The prior day, Thornhill and Theo had flitted off on their carriage ride, so no wagering had been attempted.

It was odd for Theo to be socializing with Thornhill, but Arthur wouldn't dwell on it. Thornhill was a prickly character, whom Arthur couldn't charm, and if Theo had better luck, Arthur would be delighted. He was already scheming as to how he could utilize her budding friendship with Thornhill to bolster his own cause.

If he continued to lose, Theo could play on Thornhill's sympathies and convince him to ignore some of Arthur's debt. She was his betrothed and they were marching to their wedding. If he ordered her to pitch in, she'd have to obey him.

"Could I talk to you?" she said.

"Must it be now? I'm just going out."

"This will only take a minute."

She waved to the chairs over by the hearth, and he thought about pushing by her and leaving, but he never liked to bicker with her. Obviously, she had a bee in her bonnet, and he would placate her, then be on his way.

He trudged over and sat down and she eased onto the other chair. She scrutinized him, her focus deep and penetrating in a manner it had never been in the past. He received the distinct impression that she was truly seeing him for the first time.

"What did you need?" he said. "It's clear you have an important subject to address, but I'm in bad shape. You'll have to pardon me if I seem distracted."

She snorted quite rudely. "I'm curious about how often you carouse with your male companions. It's recently occurred to me that I should learn more about your hobbies. What do you do when you're out and about until dawn?"

Her assessment grew even more acute, and it felt as if she was administering a test and he ought to tread cautiously.

"Oh, it's the usual nonsense," he said. "I attend the theater and I have drinks at my club. Things like that. It's manly antics that would be too boring to describe."

"Are you gambling?"

The query startled him and his initial response was panic. He was aware, on a very superficial level, that he was being very reckless, but he'd devised a hundred excuses to justify his conduct.

"I indulge occasionally, for fun and pennies. It's a gentleman's prerogative." He shrugged and chuckled. "Everyone does it. Why would you ask?"

"Why did you really sell Peachtree Haven? Was it collateral in a wager?"

He spat out a shocked breath. "Theodora Cronenworth! What an accusation! What's come over you this afternoon?"

"A rumor is circulating about you that frightened me."

"What rumor? Who's been spreading lies?"

It had to be Thornhill. The bastard! When Arthur had discovered that Theo was fraternizing with him, he'd never imagined that Thornhill might mention their card games. The prospect made Arthur's blood boil. Wasn't it enough that Thornhill constantly won, to the point where he probably cheated? Did he have to tattle to Arthur's fiancée too? Why be such a pest?

"It doesn't matter where I heard it," she said.

"I beg to differ. It matters to me very much. I can't have people disseminating false stories. Nor can I have you upset by such offensive folderol."

"So you're not gambling?"

She peered intently and he could barely keep from squirming.

"As I just confessed, when I play, it's for small stakes." He huffed with affront, hoping he looked aggrieved and insulted. "It's harmless amusement and you needn't fret about it."

"I requested this favor the other day, and you were opposed, so I didn't press, but I'm pressing now. May I review the account ledgers at HH Imports?"

He blew out a heavy sigh. "Are we back to that? Why are you being such a nuisance about it?"

"I've never delved into how we produce our income, but it was my father's company. Why shouldn't I have some idea of how it's faring?"

"You'd never understand the numbers."

"Then I'll hire an accountant. I have some savings from the pin money you give me. I'll pay for it."

"The money is for you to purchase fripperies. Why would you save it?" He laughed, as if she was being absurd. "If you're hoarding it, am I being too generous? Maybe I should cut the amount."

He'd voiced the comment in jest, but there was an edge to it too, so it sounded like a warning. He certainly expected her to recognize it as one. He wouldn't tolerate her nagging!

He'd always pictured her as a silly, ridiculous girl. A female had no power, no authority, and few options, yet she carried on as if she was special and unique, and thus, deserving of deference. Normally, he ignored her or, when she required pacifying, he humored her. This appeared to be one of those times.

"If it means that much to you," he told her, "I don't have any problem with you digging into our finances. If you want to waste your allowance on such a frivolous endeavor, who am I to argue?"

"Thank you. I'll arrange an audit once I'm back in town."

He would never permit her to conduct an audit, but he'd let her believe it was possible, and it occurred to him that they ought to rush the wedding. They'd settled on September, but there was no law to prevent them from holding it immediately. His mother had been wise to worry about binding Theo through matrimony. There were too many issues that were none of her business and she shouldn't be quite so nosy.

"Is that everything?" he asked her. "Or are there other topics you'd like to discuss?"

"That will be all. For now."

She uttered the last part, for now, like a threat and his bowels clenched. Why on earth was she suddenly being so meddlesome? It had to be Thornhill's fault, and when Arthur saw the exasperating nobleman again, they would have to have a very difficult conversation. Arthur loved to gamble. It was a hobby vital to his happiness and the losses he incurred weren't any of Theo's concern. Thornhill had had some gall to stir this hornet's nest.

"I have plans," he said, "so you'll have to excuse me."

"What plans? Where will you be?"

"I have friends who came for the fair, remember? With it winding down, they're wrapping up their visit and returning to town in the morning."

"Will you return with them?"

"Yes, I suppose I will."

Arthur spoke the remark nonchalantly, but it was a bald-faced lie. He was scheduled to meet with Thornhill in London on Tuesday to confer about his debt, but the cocky aristocrat would simply have to wait until Arthur felt like obliging him.

Theo would assume he was in London and his mother would assume he was still in the country. Thornhill would assume he was about to arrive for their chat. But Arthur would be locked away at Owl's Nest with Nell. He'd rented it for another whole week, and he would philander with her in the isolated residence, where there was no one to bother them as he wallowed in his decadent amour.

"Will you be home for supper tonight?" she asked.

"No." He gestured to the corner, where his luggage was packed and stacked. "I'll spend the evening with my chums, then I'll ride into the city with them tomorrow. Will you remain at Peachtree by yourself?"

"Yes. I like it here and I'm not ready to depart."

"Well…good."

She was in an odd mood, and it almost seemed as if she'd become a different person, that she'd developed a steely character when he hadn't been looking.

He flashed a wobbly smile, then he stood and motioned to the door. "I'll have my bags loaded, then I'll be off. I'll see you in London very soon."

"Yes, I'll be there."

He walked out, but with each stride, her sharp gaze sliced into his back like a dagger.

v

Charlotte Cronenworth dawdled in her tiny bedchamber, located in the girl's dormitory where she'd been a teacher. It was a sparse room, like a monk's cell, with just a narrow cot, dresser, and chair. At least there was a stove. Many of the rooms didn't have a stove and they were icy and barely habitable in the winter.

She read the letter from Theo, then she tossed it in the fire and watched it burn to ash.

Theo was at Peachtree Haven, and she'd begged Charlotte to join her there for the Midsummer Festival, but Charlotte wouldn't consider it. Theo was an optimist who could convince herself to be content, despite how horrid the circumstances. Charlotte was a realist and she peered out at the world with clear eyes.

Theo was perfectly willing to flit off to Peachtree for a holiday, where she could act as if they still owned it, but Charlotte wouldn't pretend about any of the calamities that had destroyed them. She didn't forgive or forget, and someday in the far distant future, she would avenge the wrongs that had been committed against them.

She was a female, with no money or prospects, so it was a bizarre fantasy to think she could fix the situation, but she refused to blithely capitulate as Theo had done.

It had driven a wedge between them, and Theo constantly tried to mend their rift, but Charlotte didn't want it mended. Not yet anyway. For the moment, she simply wanted Theo to leave her alone.

She and Theo had endured plenty of trouble in their short lives. Their mother had started their downward spiral by running away, and since then, nothing had been the same. Their father had been a cruel brute who'd never recovered from the shame of their mother's folly. He'd looked at them and had seen her features, and he'd needed to punish them for the crime of being her children.

He'd compounded his malice by marrying Georgina and moving her in without apprising them first. She'd brought Arthur with her, so they'd instantly had an unlikable and very stupid brother who'd garnered all the attention and who'd ruined whatever he touched.

They'd been abandoned by their father to Georgina's machinations. He'd rarely come home, had never inquired as to how they were faring. He'd forbidden them to ask about their mother, so they'd never obtained any details about her: where she'd been, what she'd been doing, how she'd passed away.

At her death, she hadn't been that old, so what had laid her low? It was a mystery that would never be solved.

That sort of history left a definite mark, and it had imbued them with peculiar traits that were difficult to navigate. Theo dealt with them by accepting her fate of being Georgina's stepdaughter. She groveled and struggled to get along. Charlotte, on the other hand, was a fighter who'd like to light the Earth on fire over what had happened to them.

Where had their father's fortune gone? Where had Peachtree gone? How had a bungler like Arthur wound up in charge of HH Imports? How had Georgina become their guardian?

Her father had died when she was fourteen, and according to Georgina, no dowries or bequests had been arranged, but Charlotte didn't believe a word that dripped out of Georgina's lying mouth. She was sure Georgina had stolen their inheritances. Charlotte couldn't guess how she'd finagled it, and she'd never be able to prove it, but Georgina was so greedy. She'd have pilfered every farthing.

Charlotte hadn't received any recent gossip about HH Imports and whether it was thriving, but she was certain Arthur would wreck it. If he hadn't bankrupted it yet, he would eventually. If Theo was wed to him by then, what would she do?

Well, Charlotte had warned her sister, but Theo's method for maneuvering through obstacles was to deny their existence. Charlotte's method was to flee the scene of the catastrophe. Which one of them would be in the better spot at the end?

Out in the hall, footsteps echoed. A fellow teacher peeked in and said, "Are you ready? They're about to lock the doors and they sent me to fetch you."

"Yes, I'm ready."

She grabbed her portmanteau, then stomped out and down the stairs.

To everyone's surprise, the school had suddenly closed. One minute, they'd been holding classes, and the next, they'd been shut down. Apparently, the headmistress had been a poor manager and they'd run out of money. The bank had called in her mortgages and the property had been sold. The new owners planned to use it as a mental asylum, an enterprise that was desperately needed in the rural area.

The headmistress had known what was approaching, but she'd been too embarrassed to inform any of them. Or perhaps she'd been praying for a miracle. If Charlotte had learned one blunt truth over the past two decades, it was that miracles never occurred and there were no champions waiting in the wings.

Three days prior, they'd been notified of the foreclosure, and ever since, there had been frantic hours of contacting parents, packing, and parting. It was all very sad.

Guards had been posted to stand watch as possession was handed over. They were a rough bunch and they had no sympathy for the hangers-on who were being slow to depart. As she walked through the front vestibule, they were loitering, impatient for the final stragglers to exit.

She didn't glance at any of them, but continued out to the driveway. Then she spun to stare up at the shabby building. It was decrepit and crumbling, but it had been her home for years. She'd grown so complacent about her job that she'd imagined it would last forever, but that had been deranged thinking.

A woman was never safe, and nothing in her life had ever unfolded as she'd expected.

She tarried in the dreary grey afternoon and a light drizzle wet her shoulders. The gloomy weather matched her gloomy mood. She wondered what type of conclusion the universe had in store for her. No matter what, she wouldn't return to reside with Georgina. She wouldn't celebrate as Theo marched to the altar with Arthur. She wouldn't wear blinders and ignore what had transpired.

She'd starve in a ditch first.

v

Sybil Cronenworth stood in the common bedroom at the convent. Previously, she'd had a private cell. It had been very small, but at least she'd had her own space. Now, she was sharing with twenty other women. They were an odd collection of females, of all ages and backgrounds.

Some had been locked away by their husbands—as had happened to her. Others by their cruel fathers. Some were widows or other imperiled sorts who couldn't function in the real world. The convent was a very secure place. It offered food, shelter, and work to occupy the mind and body. The walls were high, the few doors thick and barred, and visitors never allowed.

The facility was located in Scotland and operated by the Sisters of Mercy. Sybil had been trapped in it for eighteen years. She'd never been a prisoner, but she hadn't been free to leave. For a disgraced trollop such as herself, convicted as an adulteress and fornicator, death was usually the only path to release.

Relatives paid to be shed of troublesome females, and since most men weren't eager to commit murder, permanent confinement was the next best option.

Her husband, Harold, had chosen that route rather than a more drastic measure. With how angry he'd been after she was caught in Paris, she'd always been amazed that he hadn't killed her. He could have slain her and no court in the land would have held him accountable. It was pointless to contemplate the past though, so she rarely reflected, but she was definitely reflecting now.

As a wife and mother, she'd been so miserably unhappy. She'd never yearned to be either one, and she'd begged her parents to let her lead a different kind of life, but they'd refused to listen and she'd been shackled at fifteen. She'd blindly lurched into marriage and motherhood, for which she'd been uninterested and totally unprepared. Could anyone truly be surprised that it had been a disaster?

She'd tried very hard, but she'd had too many dreams roiling her. She'd wanted to be a bohemian artist. She'd wanted to move to Paris and earn an income by painting watercolors of the rainy, cobbled streets. She'd wanted to have lovers and live in French hovels, as she drank red wine and debated the issues of the day with other artists.

When she'd met Cedric Bennett, a shameless rogue who'd been too handsome for words, she hadn't been able to resist him. She'd mentioned running away to him and he'd encouraged her. He'd been a gambler and wastrel, with no burdens or attachments, no job or prospects, and he'd declined to be tied down by responsibilities.

During that awful period, she'd been drowning in despair, and he'd seemed to be an exciting raft that she could ride to safety. Occasionally, when she felt like mentally flogging herself, she'd struggle to recall why she'd assumed he'd be her savior. He'd never concealed any of his worthless traits and she'd ignored them. Instead, she'd pretended they were thrilling attributes.

She'd been just twenty-two, and she'd rationalized her negligence by recollecting that she'd been very young. And very foolish. She'd believed she could shuck off her obligations and find contentment elsewhere. No one had ever told her that contentment began on the inside. A change of surroundings didn't alter anything.

Cedric, despite being a liar and scapegrace, had actually escorted her to Paris as he'd promised he would. They'd had three delicious months to revel, but it had been a lark for him. She'd presumed they were involved in an ardent romance, but about the time he'd been gazing out the window and wondering if he dared abandon her, Harold's men had found them.

They'd had legal papers from England that had declared her to be a criminal adulteress, and they'd seized her on behalf of her husband. She'd been transported directly to Scotland, where she'd had one very dangerous conversation with Harold. He'd beaten her within an inch of her life, then he'd shoved her into the convent. The heavy gate had banged shut behind her. And that was that.

She'd always been curious about Cedric's fate. Had Harold's men slit his throat in Paris? Had his anonymous corpse been observed floating in the Seine?

She was curious about her daughters too. They were adults, probably wed with children of their own. What was their opinion of her mad antic? Were their marriages good or bad? If their father had picked fiends to be their husbands, might they understand why she'd vanished? Might they have forgiven her?

They'd been so little when she'd fled. Did they even remember her? What had Harold told them about her? Did they hate her? That question was too disturbing to answer.

She walked over and sat on the narrow cot that was her bed. Underneath it, she had a tiny box of personal possessions. When she'd been brought to the convent, she'd arrived with just the clothes on her back. The trivial pile of belongings in the box was what she'd accumulated since then. It was embarrassing to accept that she'd traveled such a short distance in forty difficult years.

She'd just returned from having a grim discussion with the Mother Superior. The prior Mother had recently died. She'd been kind and compassionate and she'd offered valuable solace and guidance. The nun who'd taken her place was much more pious and a stickler for the rules. In a spot that never changed, there were suddenly changes occurring right and left, as the bitter woman implemented her routines.

Sybil had never expected to be released. Harold was such a ruthless villain and she'd humiliated him. He was the type who never calmed down, never relented, never forgot an insult or slight. But to her great surprise, he hadn't sent the annual fee required to keep her locked away. There was no information as to why and Sybil could only suppose that the old monster had finally dropped dead.

Apparently, whoever was in charge of the family hadn't been inclined to continue forking over the money. Or perhaps there was a new crop of managers at HH Imports and they weren't aware of who she was or why she was generating costs.

The Mother had explained that the convent wasn't a charity. Women who were confined by their kin had to pay what was owed or they had to depart. Sybil was about to be freed! After eighteen years!

It was a monumental event, one that she'd never pondered, and she was terrified. She would be shoved out, with just the clothes on her back, which was precisely how she'd arrived. She would be given coach fare to Edinburgh if that was her chosen destination, but that was it. She'd be cast out in the foreign country, with an empty purse, no relatives or friends, and no idea of what to do.

If that was to be her ending, it was hard to suffer much elation, but she was a survivor, and she'd figure out how to survive yet again. She'd out-lived Harold, hadn't she? It was a gift from the gods that she would always cherish.

The previous summer, a letter had been smuggled into her from an unknown lawyer with the odd name of Boswell Coswell. It was the sole correspondence she'd ever received, and he'd inquired about Harold and his estate, but he hadn't clarified his purpose.

She'd deemed the communication to be ridiculous. She hadn't seen Harold in nearly two decades. What facts could she have provided about him? She hadn't replied, but with Mr. Coswell being her lone contact with the outside world, she viewed him as a possible ally.

No doubt it was fanciful thinking, but she'd write to him and ask his advice. He might have some valid suggestions. If not, or if he never responded, she'd be no worse off than she was.

She had two months to pack and plan, then she'd escape her jail. And with each step she took, she'd curse Harold Cronenworth for every petty cruelty he'd ever inflicted.