Page 30 of Runaway Countess (Those Wild Whitbys #2)

Chapter Thirty

T here were no longer any fine carriages standing outside Whitby Manor.

Nor would there be, Sebastian guessed, for some time to come. The spectre of poverty filled society with horror like no other. If his father had only committed murder, that would be a different matter, but as it stood, the Whitbys’ list of acquaintances had been dramatically reduced.

Only the truest friends remained.

“This is wonderful,” said Jenny, walking slowly down the long hallway which displayed portraits of the past generations of Whitbys. She paused in front of the image of Sebastian’s great grandfather. “I can trace your blue eyes back for two hundred years.” She reached his position, in front of the painting that depicted himself and his siblings as children. Her hand slipped into his. “Will they all have to be taken down when the manor is tenanted?”

“I don’t know,” said Sebastian. “Depends on the tenant, I suppose.” He frowned at his former self, a boy barely out of skirts, clad in scratchy breeches and wearing an angelic expression that must have been an invention of the artist. Jenny followed his gaze and cocked her head.

“You look as though someone promised you plum pudding if you sat still long enough.”

“I wouldn’t have got any,” said Sebastian. “If I remember correctly, I had a frog in my pocket, which I dropped into Georgie’s lap when I’d had enough of standing still.” He bent down and reached out his fingers towards the chubby-cheeked baby who had once been his sister. “How we’ve all grown.”

In a matter of weeks, that roly-poly little girl would be Countess of Beeston. He had still not had a chance to speak to her alone. Was she happy with her decision? Had she made it of her own accord?

A shrill whistle from the other end of the hallway called him from his contemplations. “Champagne’s here,” said Kendrick, holding up a bottle for emphasis. He had sent a footman over with a horse-cart to raid the cellars of Thistle Hall. A shameless attempt to curry favour with Mrs Whitby, and one which, of course, had worked like a charm. “Come along and raise a glass with us.” He folded his arms as they approached, dangling the champagne bottle from one hand, and shook his head in mock disapproval. “Dear me, Miss Cartwright. Shouldn’t you have a chaperone?”

Sebastian snatched the bottle from Kendrick’s idle fingers. “You are the last person who should be proselytising about chaperones, Kendrick, and if you have any sense at all you won’t press the matter. I am still not sure I’ve forgiven you for leading my sister astray.”

Kendrick placed a hand over his heart. He would have looked a great deal more contrite if he had not been grinning. “You know Cass well enough to guess who was leading who.”

As they crossed the landing, Sebastian caught Jenny’s eye. He gave her a nod and lifted her hand from his arm, passing it across to Kendrick. “I’ll catch up with you,” he said, and dipped through the doorway that led to the east wing, and the guest chambers.

Beeston was at his writing desk. Horace Whitby had offered the services of his own valet now that Plum had been dismissed, but apparently Beeston had either frightened him off or was yet to make use of him, for he was in shirtsleeves with his cravat loose about his neck.

His eyes flicked up as Sebastian entered, and he pushed a letter across the desk. “I suppose you thought you were terribly clever,” he said. “What is this? The price of a leg? Or the price of a bride?”

Sebastian needed no more than a glance to recognise the handwriting. The letter was from Rupert Pearson, the naval agent he and Beeston both employed, who no doubt had written to tell Beeston that he was now in possession of Sebastian’s full share of the prize money. “I am not sure I’m pleased with myself, to be honest. It seems a dirty trick to play on Mr Smythe. All my worldly goods… Jenny would be worth any sum of money, but since I have none, that’s all I can give him.”

“But you cannot have known that he would demand financial compensation in so crude a manner.”

Sebastian gave a half-smile. “I did not. Even your tutelage has not given me any talent for forward planning. It was a happy coincidence, that’s all.”

Beeston’s gaze hardened. “Then why did you give me this?”

“You know,” said Sebastian, taking a seat in the armchair and setting his thumb against the cork in the champagne bottle, “there are some men who would simply say thank you .” He popped the cork. The fizzing of champagne was loud in the ensuing silence. “I shall hear soon of my next commission. I’ve reason to believe I will command the Fortitude on her next voyage to Malta.”

Beeston’s face was expressionless. “That’s a very fine posting. You should do well out there.”

“But we both know you would have done better.” Sebastian leaned across, took the empty glass from Beeston’s desk, and filled it with champagne. He fixed his gaze on the bubbles as they fizzed up in the glass, giving Beeston the chance to master his expression in peace. “There will be no such opportunity for you, though. No chance for you to make your fortune the way you should have done. That bullet took your future, but as for the past… My success so far is owed in no small part to you. That money is your share of it.”

Beeston stared at the champagne as though he thought it might be poisoned. “There was no nobility behind what I did the day I was wounded. It was nothing more than instinct. I didn’t set out to protect you, and I certainly never intended you to be in my debt.” He raised his head and fixed Sebastian with a hard stare, memories of agony shadowing his eyes. “If I could turn back time, I would not do the same again. I’ve wished many times I let it strike you instead.”

“Yes. I know.” Sebastian set the glass on the desk beside Beeston’s unmoving hand. “Why are you marrying my sister?”

“That’s between me and Georgiana.”

Sebastian rose and went to the drinks cabinet to fetch himself a glass, filling it as he made his way back across the room. “If you are doing it to spite me…”

A small smile played across Beeston’s lips. “You do have a tendency to assume the whole world revolves around you, Whitby. No. I am not marrying your sister out of spite.”

“Good.” Sebastian perched on the edge of the desk, willing the tension in his jaw to ease. “I want you to know that the money has nothing to do with Jenny. I would have sent it anyway, once I realised my father could never pay off his debt.” He took a deep breath. “You have always looked out for me. Let me do the same for you.”

Beeston frowned up at him. It was partially irritation at Sebastian’s impudent mode of sitting, but there was a little concern in there, too. “Ordinarily, I would return it at once. I place no obligation on you to repay your father’s debt. The terms of the loan were extortionate, as you said. I should have made an effort to understand the man I was dealing with. He was desperate. It’s obvious now. But…” He glanced down and flexed out the hand he had been using to write. “Georgiana will require a dowry. It has occurred to me that, should I die before I have restored the Beeston estate to prosperity, she will be left in a difficult financial position.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “I cannot speak to Georgiana’s opinion, but I would prefer it if you tried not to die an early death.”

Beeston laughed without smiling and rapped his knuckles on the solid form of the wooden leg inside his trousers. “I have good reason to feel my mortality of late.” He raised his head again, tone business-like. “I propose that I return half to you. You must have something to live on through the first years of your marriage. The second half shall be put in trust for your sister. I will repay it with interest when the estate makes a steady profit.”

Sebastian let out a breath. “That is all very well, but I would prefer you to take the whole sum and write off a little of my father’s debt.”

Beeston smiled in a way that Sebastian could not begin to understand. “The terms of repayment will be altered upon my marriage to Georgiana.”

“Altered how?”

“Again, that is between your father, myself… and Georgiana.”

Sebastian’s fingers tightened around the stem of the glass.

Georgie was young, but she was far from foolish. She had a shrewdness about her that his parents lacked.

He did not necessarily trust his father’s judgement when it came to settling a marriage agreement… but could he trust Georgie’s?

What other choice did he have?

He raised his glass. “A toast, then.”

Beeston raised his glass in response, but his expression was sardonic. “To what, exactly?”

“Well, to your pending nuptials, I suppose, since I doubt you will wish to toast mine.” Sebastian knocked his glass against Beeston’s hurriedly and took a deep swallow. “I am sorry. About Jenny. I truly did not mean to hurt you.”

Beeston kept his glass aloft. “She’s a thoroughly mad girl,” he said thoughtfully. “Perfectly suited to you. Come, Sebastian. I cannot pretend to be jealous. Nor do I blame you, I suppose.” He raised the glass with an ironic grin. “Love. A bullet that could have struck either one of us.”

Had it struck Beeston, indeed? Sebastian could not help but wonder as he knocked his glass against his friend’s again, this time without embarrassment, and they both drank.

Part of him would accept nothing less for his sister than the same peace and contentment he knew with Jenny. The other part was still conflicted, too accustomed to Beeston and his calculating nature, his temper, his rigid authority. A useful friend, perhaps, but not the sort of man anyone would choose for their sister.

Was love under such circumstances even a possibility for Georgie? Or had she willingly made the sacrifice which her other siblings could not, and given up her hopes of a love match for the family’s sake?

The gong sounded downstairs, summoning them for dinner. Sebastian selected a formal topcoat from the wardrobe while Beeston tied his cravat.

“Don’t worry about making conversation at dinner,” he said, manoeuvring the sleeves about for Beeston to shrug on while sat in his chair. “Kendrick has been rehearsing the part of charming son-in-law his entire life. He will say all the right things to my parents, and all you need to do is repeat them.”

“You don’t trust me to be charming?”

“No. I’ve known you too long, you see.” Sebastian grinned and offered his arm. Beeston made to shoo him away, but hesitated a moment, then set his hand in the crook of Sebastian’s elbow and leaned against him as he rose from his chair.

“Those remarks I mentioned yesterday,” he said, as they made their way down together. “The ones I attributed to your father.” His voice was stiff, and he did not look at Sebastian as he spoke. “You should know that he did not really say those things. I spoke in anger. I should not have tried to hurt you simply because I was upset.”

Sebastian paused at the top of the stairs. “I do not doubt that there was a degree of truth in it.” He straightened his shoulders. “It does not matter. If I disappointed him in the past, I suppose that evens the score now that he has disappointed me. All we can do is move forward. Make the future better than what came before.” He glanced across at Beeston. “Georgiana’s future included.”

Beeston gave a rare grin and let go of Sebastian’s arm, using the banister and the cane to make quick work of his way down the stairs. “I should think my task in that regard is easier than the challenge that awaits you and Miss Cartwright.”

Sebastian shook his head, refusing to let Beeston see his smile, and followed him downstairs.