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Eleven

HART AND SUMMERS, SOLICITORS, LONDON - JUNE 16, 1816

XANDER

Sleep had proven a fantasy in recent days. Instead, I rose hours before the sun and padded down to my little makeshift painting room. Far from a landscape, my newest inspiration was… different.

In the candlelight, with wishful brushstrokes, I brought him back to me. Dark curls caressed his forehead, escaping the attempt he’d made to tame them. Thin lips pressed together in a pleased smirk—lips that had brushed my cheek. His teasing eyes, the ones haunting my dreams, peered back at me from behind matching silk. Something about them wasn’t quite right. I’d stared at them morning after morning and failed to capture the essence of him— Tom .

A sharp knock interrupted my evaluation, and I rushed to toss a bedsheet over my work—hoping it was dry enough for such efforts.

“Come in.”

One look at Godfrey’s expression was all I required.

“What has she done now?”

“A Mr. Ainsley for you, Your Grace.”

My head hinged back on a sigh. Sororicide was frowned upon. Even if she really, really deserved it… Was it not?

Less than half an hour later, I found myself flinching at the damned bell at Hart and Summers, Solicitors once again.

Will rose to greet me, another gentleman trailing him out of the office.

It took a moment to place Mr. Grayson. His face bore at least a night’s growth, his hands had destroyed any order he’d once tamed his hair into, and his cheeks bore the ruddy flush of liquor. More distracting, he wore only his shirtsleeves and waistcoat. The sleeves of his shirt had been rolled up to reveal masculine forearms with a dusting of auburn hair.

In short, he was so distractingly handsome that I quite forgot my intended purpose. When had the gangly lad learned to look like that?

Fortunately, Will reached me, pulling my distracted gaze from the beautiful, disheveled man before me.

At this point, greetings were unnecessary. “Is she in there with Mr. Summers?”

“And Wayland. I’m sure they’ll be out in a few moments,” Will replied.

“She was gaming at the club then?”

“So I’m given to understand. I believe she won, at least. Have a tart and a seat—catch your breath,” he added, gesturing to a side table ladened with tarts. Tarts and Mr. Grayson’s derrière where he leaned back against the table. He rose with two tarts in his hand and urged me toward the office.

He flopped into the chair by the window, leaving the other free for me. As I sat, Mr. Grayson wordlessly passed one of the tarts in his hand to me. I tore off a piece and savored the sharp bite of raspberry and the buttery softness of the pastry.

“So,” Mr. Grayson started. “I was wondering something.” There was a hopeful note in his voice. I knew precisely what the next words would be. I’d heard the tone more than once when Dav first entered society. Before she’d set down every gentleman to try to win her favor.

“You need her permission,” I replied simply.

“What?”

“You need Davina’s permission. To court her. The Lord himself could not force her into a courtship she did not wish. I’m certainly not going to attempt it.” I ripped free another bite of pastry and plopped it in my mouth to ease the sting of my brief moment of attraction.

After another bite with no response, I tipped my gaze up to his. There was something familiar in those blue-green depths, underneath the glaze of alcohol.

“I wasn’t going to ask to court your sister,” he said. There was a hint of incredulity in his tone, as though the thought were absurd.

“You weren’t?”

“No! I envy the men brave enough to court Hasket women. I’m not one of them.” His glance toward Will was significant and I had to bite back a grin.

“Well, what do you want then?” The question burst from me, the hand free of pastry dancing in front of me.

“I was just wondering where you decided to go for your trip.”

I snagged another bite of the tart. “My trip?”

“You were planning a trip the last time I saw you,” he said. His lower lip was trapped between his teeth and the image was giving me entirely indecent thoughts.

Shaking them away, I finished the last morsel of tart. “Oh, I’m for Scotland.”

“Scotland… Highlands? Lowlands? For how long?”

I was missing the tart now that the conversation had turned into an interrogation. “Near Edinburgh. I’m planning to make it my primary residence. Why do you have so many questions?”

His expression shifted into something I couldn’t name. “I… you… Nothing. Just making conversation.”

“Right, sorry. I’m a bit… distracted at the moment. What with my sister.” I tipped my thumb toward the wall shared with Mr. Summers’s office.

“Of course. When… uh, when do you leave?” he asked, picking a piece of fluff off his waistcoat—this one was less unfortunate, a simple dark grey with leaves of various lighter grays scattered across it.

“That depends on what Mr. Hart has managed to find out for me. Hopefully within the next few weeks.

“I suppose I should leave you two to it then,” he said, tipping his head toward the main area.

I turned to Will, who was watching us with a queer expression.

“I have answers for some of your questions,” he began. “Surprisingly enough, neither the Rycliffe residence nor Hasket House are entailed. Only the Yorkshire property. If you wanted to sell the Rycliffe residence after your departure, you could, and the money would be yours to do with as you see fit. It would be untouchable by any heirs. You could stay with your mother whenever you return to town.”

My heart leapt. “I can sell that house? You’re certain?”

“Yes. Your father treated it as though it were a part of the courtesy title. But it was only purchased by your grandfather for your father.”

“I don’t have to live there? Where he died?” My chest felt lighter than it had in nearly a decade. Until precisely this moment, I hadn’t realized it bothered me to live in that house. But now—with an alternative before me—I wasn’t certain I could abide another night.

“No. If you would rather, you could use the funds to purchase a different house in town. I did not realize you wished to give it up. I deeply regret that I did not look into that earlier.”

“No,” I said, brushing the apology away. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

He raised his hand to brush the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Yes, well. Lady Davina’s dowry, such as it stands, is untouchable, even if she remains unwed. I could set up anything additional you wish to add to it for her to have access to at an age you deem appropriate. Normally, I would suggest twenty-five. But…”

“Thirty? Do you suppose she will mature by thirty?”

“It’s possible. You can also have it released to her in installments rather than as a lump sum. You may wish to do the same with your mother.”

“Yes. I can dower Celine from those funds as well?”

A flush bloomed on his sharp cheeks. “Yes, if you wish.”

I couldn’t help myself when I asked, “And what do you wish?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I heard an interesting rumor last night. You are staying at Cadieux House?”

“I-I am…”

“Mr. Grayson claims not to possess the bravery necessary to court a Hasket lady. Do you?”

“Whether I possess the bravery is neither here nor there. I believe she has determined that I am to court her. I’ve simply chosen to accept my fate.”

He could not possibly have answered that question in a way that would satisfy me more. In a few sentences, Mr. Hart had made it clear that he understood Cee in a way few others ever did.

“Good man. Is she able to manage some of the funds?”

“Yes…”

“You do not sound certain.”

“As long as she remains unwed, she can manage the funds. If she were to take another husband, they would become his. We could write the contract so that it would terminate at that time. But that would leave you with the same problem you currently face. No one to manage your mother and sister.”

“Why is that the case?”

“When a woman is born, she exists under her father’s identity. When she weds, she and her husband become one in the eyes of the law, and that person is him. It is only if he precedes her in death that she becomes her own person, legally speaking. If she weds again, she accepts her new husband’s identity.”

“Well that is patently absurd,” I blurted without thought.

“I cannot disagree with you.”

“And there is no way around it?”

“A vote in parliament…” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug paired with a sympathetic press of his lips.

Damn. “Oh, well, there is no problem then.”

“You could still manage everything by post. There just may be some difficulties. What those might be, I have no way of knowing.”

I considered that for a moment. Would Cee even wish to wed again? A few weeks ago, my answer would have been a vehement no. But now, with Will’s flush…

“Right. Let me discuss selling the house with Celine. She should have a say as well. Do we need to have a purchase in place to draft the documents?

“No, I can get them started and we can determine what funds should be placed where before signing.”

The other office door creaked open and its three former occupants peered around the corner.

Wayland was the first to break the silence. “Rosehill, I trust you are well.” It was stilted in the way he always was with me. I was never able to discern if it was due to the business with Juliet ending our engagement. Or if he knew . Regardless, he was never cruel, simply uncomfortable.

“I am,” I replied.

“Good, that’s… good.” Seeking an end to the uncomfortable conversation, he glanced around. When his gaze found Mr. Grayson, he sighed. “Tom… off the furniture. How many times must we have this conversation?”

Mr. Grayson made no move to rise, instead asking, “Everything sorted?”

“It is. Let’s go home.”

The man rose in an ungainly pile of limbs and trailed after him. And then the clang of the damn bell announced their departure.

Dav stomped into the room and flopped into the chair beside me with an irritated huff.

“I assume you two need to have a discussion,” Will asked Mr. Summers.

“Only if you’re finished. It can wait.”

“I believe we’re sorted for now. Do you want to use my office?”

Mr. Summers settled into Will’s vacated seat before asking the other gentleman to stay.

“So, Lady Davina won some ￡3,000 off of Mr. Beaumont. Michael is determined to pay his debts. However, Michael is equally determined that he cannot have young ladies sneaking into the club dressed as young men.”

“It would serve you right, you know. If Mr. Wayland had you arrested for public indecency,” I snapped at my sister.

“He would never! He still feels badly for stealing Lady Juliet from you,” she spit back, entirely unrepentant.

“A person cannot be stolen. She made the choice that would make her the happiest and I am glad for them both. You are not to exploit any feelings he has on the subject. Do you understand?”

She crossed her arms in a familiar pout. At my unmoved countenance she finally added a quiet, “I understand.”

Mr. Summers continued. “We can set up an account for her personal use. It will be under your name, of course, if you agree.”

“Her own account? Is that necessary?”

“It might be good practice,” Will offered.

“She also won ￡575 from Mr. Wesley Parker and ￡250 from Lord Thurston Lucas,” Mr. Summers added.

The space behind my eyes throbbed in irritation. “Davina…”

“Why are you scolding me? I did well!”

“You could just as easily have done poorly. Did she bankrupt anyone else? I thought Parker was more fond of the tracks than the tables.”

“No, Beaumont was the most substantial gain,” Mr. Summers explained.

“All right, have the accounts drafted I suppose. I’ll call for the carriage.” Pointing to Davina, I added, “You stay right there.”

Just to be difficult, she stood and leaned against the desk in defiance.

The carriage took but a moment, and I marched Dav from the offices with a distracted wave straight into the carriage without so much as a glance up the street.

She settled across from me, arms crossed with a pout.

“Davina Rosamund Hasket, are you trying to get yourself killed? Because men have been killed for smaller sums.”

“Oh, they were hardly going to kill me. And if they’d called me out, I would have revealed my identity. No one would have actually shot me.”

Frustration racked through me anew. “Our brother was stabbed on the steps of his home. Over what was very likely gaming debts. Do not ask me to burn another dining table, Davina. I wouldn’t survive it.”

Across from me, she shifted, arms uncrossing. “You burned the table?”

“He died there. I could hardly break my fast there any longer.”

“Oh… I didn’t know that,” she said, quietly contemplative.

“Well, now you do. Davina, this nonsense has to stop. I thought we discussed that.”

“It’s just a bit of fun. It’s not nearly like whatever Gabriel was involved in.”

“Davina… You’re probably right. Given your status, you’re unlikely to be killed. But we just discussed your reputation.”

“I was thinking of yours ,” she insisted.

“I beg your pardon?”

“He was talking about you—Mr. Beaumont. So I goaded him a bit.”

“Davina…”

“He called you… Well, you know what he called you.”

A knot formed in my throat, and swallowing around it was nearly impossible. “I do. But, Dav, it’s not your responsibility to worry about that.”

“Ugh… Xander!”

“Yes, yes. Ugh me. I need to discuss something else with you.” Something about voicing my plans to Davina made them real in a way they hadn’t been when I discussed them with Will.

“No one was hurt. And the fire didn’t even have a chance to spread!” she blurted.

“What fire?” My hand flung nearly halfway across the carriage entirely of its own volition—fueled by exasperation with Davina.

Her spine straightened into that of the prim debutant she was capable of being on very brief, very rare occasions. “Oh, what was it you wanted to discuss?”

“No, no. Fire first,” I insisted.

“If you didn’t know about it, then clearly it wasn’t worth worrying about.”

As much as I loathed to admit it, she had a point. Some things I was better off not knowing. And all her limbs appeared to be intact. “Fine. I’ve been considering, for some time now, making a change.”

“A change?”

“The rumors are getting worse, have been for some time. Beaumont and others like him aren’t going to stop. The longer I’m here, attracting their attention… It will impact your prospects, Mother’s invitations...”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m leaving town.”

“You’re what?”

“There’s a property that Gabriel won before he passed. He gave it to me. I’m going to make it my permanent residence.”

“You’re leaving me?” The genuine hurt in her voice astonished me. I’d expected mischievous glee. Or distracted indifference as she plotted her next escapade.

“I’m leaving for you. For mother. And for me as well. I’m tired, Dav.”

“I’ll stop! I promise. I won’t go on any more adventures.”

As much as I’d wished for that very promise for years, I hated the desperation with which she threw it toward me. “I cannot believe I am about to say this. And I will deny it to my dying breath, but don’t stop. You wouldn’t be you without a cloud of chaos around you. Just like Mother wouldn’t be Mother without her histrionics.”

“But…”

“Maybe be more careful with the adventures you choose, though,” I added.

“Then why are you leaving?”

“Because I haven’t been me. Not since father passed. Not since Gabriel died. Maybe not ever.”

“And you can’t be you here? With me?” she asked.

“You know that I cannot.”

“But you can wherever the property is?”

“Scotland. And no, probably not, but I won’t have to hide so carefully either,” I explained.

“Who’s going to look after me?”

“I’m giving Cee some authority over the accounts. And Mr. Summers will continue to come to your rescue, he just won’t have to wait for my say-so. But I would very much like it if you went easy on them. At least until they accustom themselves to the responsibility.”

“I just don’t understand why you have to do this.”

Because I’m a superfluous liability whose one wrong move could ruin this family forever. “If you really wish me to stay, I will.”

She studied me in silence. Whatever she was searching for she must have found because she simply said, “Go. We’ll be all right.”