Page 14 of Undoubtedly Reckless (Rebel by Night #2)

Digging Deeper

Aria leveled him a look stern enough to make a schoolteacher proud. His safe was open and the contents were laid out for his sister’s perusal.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m going through your private papers. You missed a fine dinner tonight. Pinkie made game pie,”

Aria returned to the papers. She was wearing their mother’s red jacket again. It hurt to see it, to see what he had left behind.

“Those papers are private. You have no right to read them,”

Roland started forward.

“You had no right to run away from your responsibilities as eldest son and Baron Darewood, yet here we are.”

Aria pointed at him with an inventory sheet. “You smell like the docks. You had best not be smuggling again. We are only just respectable again.”

“When will you forgive me, Aria?”

Roland ignored her comment. Cheapside was nowhere near the docks.

“Fine. Let us discuss this. Why did you leave?”

Aria asked. Roland stared at her, suddenly discombobulated. “Do you want me to guess?”

Aria went over to the sideboard and poured herself some brandy. “You were bored with being a baron’s heir. You were bored with Romney Marsh so you ran away from home and took up grandpapa’s smuggling name,”

Aria said. She held the glass of brandy up to the fire, letting it warm in her hand and admiring the color. “You were probably practicing being the smuggler Jack O’Dare before you even left Romney Marsh, is that right? That’s why Father was so upset.”

Roland stared at her, and abruptly, he was so tired.

“I couldn’t stay, Aria. I was suffocating,”

Roland said.

“What do you think my days are like, Roland?”

Aria shot back. “I pour your tea and speak to other decorative pieces while you ruin all my hard work. I am suffocating. You’re a man. You had the choice to leave.”

“And I took it. I admit that, I admit my mistake but what would have become of me had I stayed? I would have been Tristan.”

“Tristan was here. Tristan, for all his faults, stayed and did what he could,”

Aria said.

Roland looked at his baby sister, who looked so like their mother that it took his breath away, and had no earthly idea how to manage the situation, which had gotten wildly out of hand. This petite girl, wearing their dead mother’s red jacket and drinking brandy like it was ratafia, he could not manage her.

He opted for the truth out of a dearth of ideas.

“Yes, I took Grandfather’s name. At first, I did smuggle as Jack O’Dare but then I received letters of marque from the king,”

Roland said.

“So you were an itinerant criminal first and then you were legitimized, yet you were still imprisoned for numerous crimes,”

Aria scoffed.

“I didn’t have my letters when you found me. I couldn’t clear my name. No one would listen when I tried to explain that I was no criminal.”

“Well, I’m a murderer,”

Aria said. “The legalities of your actions are not what concerns me, but your intent.”

“What?”

Roland was thrown by the casual statement.

“I want to know why you did what you did.”

“Aria, you killed someone? Is this a joke?”

Roland demanded. His sister stared at him as if he had suddenly turned dim-witted.

“We were destitute after our parents died. After the creditors took everything, before Cress married Percy, I was alone at Darewood House. Men came, and tried to do as men do when they think a girl is alone and defenseless. Pinkie killed two, and I killed the third. That was the first and not the last time I had to kill in my defense,”

Aria said mechanically, as if reciting the alphabet.

“How old were you?”

“The first time, I was thirteen. They were strangers in town, who had heard of our misfortune and wished to reap the advantages of that misfortune,”

Aria said.

“Oh my God, Aria, I didn’t know,”

Roland said in shock.

“Of course you didn’t know. No one but Pinkie knows. Unlike you, I know how to hide my sins from the law,”

Aria said.

“You did what you had to do. You had no choice,”

Roland insisted.

“God’s tits, I’m not asking for your forgiveness nor your approval. I don’t think less of myself since becoming a murderer because, as you said, I had no choice. We are discussing you. Did you fly under French letters of marque or American?”

“No, I would never. Before I gained the letters, yes, I admit. I was a pirate. My deepest apologies that you must bear the burden of having a criminal for a brother,”

Roland said in exasperation.

“Obviously, that is my only concern. I’m only the stupid little sister you left behind. I know nothing of matters of king and country. I see no letters of marque. You were pirating.”

“I was privateering. I’ve told you, the letters of marque were on the ship.”

“I don’t believe you. No papers, no letters of marque. The letters remain on the ship you were thrown from when your crew mutinied against you. How convenient.”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“You keep saying that. Let me explain it in a way you may comprehend: I don’t care what you did. I hate that you left,”

Aria spat.

He was silent.

“You asked why Ransom is always here and why Sage is under our roof. I need people here, Roland, for when you and Tristan and Cressida leave. Because you do, you all always leave.”

Roland had no words, and no defense.

She was not wrong. He could not blame his little sister for protecting herself. He could not fool himself longer. He had made mistakes, huge mistakes. The guilt of his selfishness rolled over him in crushing waves.

“I left because I was bored. I wanted adventure. And I don’t regret it, Aria, I’m so sorry but I do not regret a minute of it. I do deeply regret hurting you with the result of my ignorance. I apologize to you, sister, for the damage I’ve done you, and I will do my utmost to atone,”

Roland said. He spoke quietly, but Aria heard every word because he saw the look on her face.

His sister may never forgive him. He still needed to try.

The quiet stretched long into silence.

“We procure rations from Mollings and Sons, not Glovers,”

Aria finally said, holding up an invoice. Roland let out a breath.

“Glovers offered the better contract,”

Roland said, happy with the change in subject.

“Because they offer substandard product. Their hardtack molds at the end of two weeks. You think we didn’t check with their previous clients?”

Aria said. She was not making this easy for him.

“I am trying to take this responsibility. I have returned, I will run our affairs. You needn’t worry yourself with these matters.”

Roland moved to take the documents from her and then paused. He saw not his sister, but a woman staring at him coldly. Roland was not a stupid man. He did not move.

“I worked at Percival Shipping for five years. Cress started the company and made the hard decisions but I made this enterprise run. Every ship lost was my loss. Every profit was made from my work. Now, I understand that I have no possessions of my own, no money in my name, but I will be damned to hell if I stand idly by and watch you run my company into the ground,”

Aria said. He saw her take a breath to steady herself.

“I did not know,”

Roland said quietly.

“You did not ask,”

Aria replied. “You do not have to do this alone, brother.”

“I owe you the comforts of your class, Princess. You are a baron’s daughter. I only wish to care for you.”

“I understand, and you have my appreciation,”

Aria acknowledged woodenly.

“But not your forgiveness,”

Roland surmised. Aria tipped her head back to give him a sidelong look. Roland felt her judgment on him and bore it stoically.

“That will take time,”

Aria said finally. “I may not be able to.”

Roland nodded slowly. He deserved that.

“I understand. And I will earn it, Aria,”

Roland said. “I have no wish to steal your hard-earned work.”

“Percival Shipping was never mine.”

Aria’s smile did not reach her eyes. “The company was our sister’s dream. If she couldn’t see all the corners of the world, she wanted to send ships there and back again. I knew from the beginning that my work would not be recognized or valued, but I could not let her fail, you see, just as I will not let you fail. Our business manager is very good but please let me advise you.”

“My intent had been to work with Tristan on the management of this business.”

“He will have none of it. Tristan never had interest in business.”

“That was before, when he expected to be a gentleman of leisure,”

Roland said, settling into a chair in front of his desk. Aria gave no indication of leaving her position as she continued to go through his papers.

“Do remember that he is the most stubborn member of our family. You cannot lead that horse to water and expect him to drink,”

Aria said, making notes.

“What is your suggestion?”

“I have none. I can only tell you that forcing him into a trade he has no wish to learn will only lead to grief. The same goes for you.”

“Me?”

Roland frowned.

“How does a pirate suddenly transform into a viscount?”

Aria asked, tilting her head at him. “He does not. You cannot be a perfect gentleman of the Ton, Roland. Don’t try. Don’t conform. It will only lead to grief and I believe our family had had more than our fill of that.”

Roland stared at his little sister for a long time. If they had been different people, he would have been frightened.

“When did you become so wise?” he asked.

She snorted. “That is a conversation for another night,”

Aria said, making notes in the margins of a contract he had meant to sign. Now he would have to send the blasted thing back for her edits. He was not even sure what the contract was about.

“Hmm, yes. As to that, I’ve invited your friends, the Villiers, to Schofield Manor,”

Roland said diffidently. He had no ulterior motives at all. Perhaps Aria would believe that.

“Indeed?”

Aria said flatly, her eyes sharp. No, he should have known better. Perhaps his sister was smarter than he was.

“Yes, I thought you might enjoy having your friends at hand during the holiday. London is so very dreary during Christmastime,”

Roland lied through his teeth. He knew Aria saw through his ruse but she could not know the reason why. He would not bear the teasing.

****

A week later, Roland stood up from his digging and winced as his back creaked. Winter in Kent was not as forbidding as in London but it was still cold and the wind was bitter.

They had been at Schofield Manor for all but a day and he had felt the intense need to burn off his ardor. He had brought Sabina here for her safety but he wanted to touch her, as he had on a roof in Cheapside.

Roland was rather disgusted at himself. He was a man grown, with titles and resources, and Sabina was a vulnerable woman. She had no family on which to depend, only her employment. She was under his protection at the moment, not for him to prey upon.

Yet she had chosen to kiss him, to open his trousers. She had seemed pleased with him, to revel in his pleasure.

Perhaps they should discuss their respective situations.

Perhaps they should fuck wildly and get the lustful urges out of their systems.

The ditch collapse had been a blessing. Roland had dragged all the able-bodied men for the task, in this case his brother and Ransom, who was once again under Roland’s roof. Ransom had his own parcel of land next to the Schofield holdings but he was staying with the Darewoods. Roland could not let their orphan neighbor be alone in the middle of winter and they could well support another stray.

Tristan broke from his labors and leaned on his shovel. The younger Darewood still managed to look dashing and imperious covered in dirt and sweat.

“Who are you trying to impress?”

Tristan huffed, wiping his face. “In addition, are we finished? I’m sweating, I’m sweating in winter like a common laborer. Should I be seen like this, brother, my reputation will be shredded. Shredded, I say.”

“It’s one drainage ditch, Tristan,”

Roland said. “If we don’t excavate the felled soil, the manor will flood with the next storm. In any case, physical labor will hardly kill you.”

“That is a lie,”

Tristan cried passionately. “Also, we’re not benching the soil correctly. And we should shore the sides with timber, not rocks.”

Roland and Ransom paused their digging and looked at each other. Then they turned to Tristan to stare.

“Yes? I have read a book in my life and I grew up here. But to continue my original point, a drainage ditch in December? There’s a woman, I know it,”

Tristan said. “It can’t be either of the Villiers sisters, they’re not your type.”

“I don’t have a type, brother,”

Roland lied as visions of pale hazel eyes laughed at him in his head. Tristan came up beside him and sheared off a shelf of soil, continuing down in a pattern.

“Dig more as I have and then we can set the stones on the shelves. It will hold until spring when normal people fix ditches and we can shore the sides correctly. You know, brother, there are other ways of doing this,”

Tristan pointed out.

“Do enlighten me,”

Roland said.

“We pay someone else to do it,”

Tristan said in all seriousness. Had Roland’s hands not been filthy, he would have covered his face and groaned.

“Better yet, have Sage hire someone to do it,”

Ransom added. The young baron was industriously finishing his side of the ditch. “She could probably finish it faster and better than we could.”

Roland mused that Sage was the one person in his household who did not make his life more difficult than it needed to be. She was at this moment cleaning and organizing the manor with the new servants she had procured.

He had ordered the estate opened for a visit and had not realized there was only a skeleton crew in residence. It had been horribly embarrassing on arrival to view the dust and disarray, for he had not been to the estate in months, even then but a few days to establish that yes, he now owned a manor.

The ladies, wonders that they were, had risen to the challenge and were on a single-minded campaign to vanquish all dust. With a scant nod of assent from Roland, Aria had declared that the ladies would redo the manor as they pleased, to the great delight of the twins. Roland guessed they were using his country seat as practice for when they had their own households.

He may have turned a blind eye to young ladies rolling down hills like hoydens. They were having such fun and this was meant to be a holiday for everyone. Roland refused to inflict parlor games on anyone, for he would be forced to join as host.

Roland was secretly relieved. He would rather, apparently, dig a ditch in December than run a household. This was a much better solution than ignoring the issue until they all shivered among a filthy household for the Christmas holiday.

And they had eaten marvelously from the start. Pinkie had been delighted to be back in his old haunt and the kitchen was filled with several people Roland recognized as former smugglers.

Roland held no issue with former criminals taking coffee and scones with his cook, who was a former pirate. He had given Pinkie a budget and free rein with the kitchen staff. Indeed, it amused him to no end seeing grizzled old sailors peeling potatoes and kneading bread. If Pinkie chose his old cronies to cook, that was no problem so long as they were all fed well and on time.

“I am perspiring,”

Tristan continued in aggrieved tones. “I didn’t even realize I could.”

“Do the splinters in your fingers offend you?”

Ransom teased. Bold words for a young man who had to be shown how to hold a shovel.

“Yes, I am not ashamed to admit it. I am offended that my hands have been worked raw because you have not the wherewithal to woo a woman competently. Flowers and poetry and chocolate and champagne, brother. I understand that you may be addled by French romances but heroic deeds or building empires have never won a woman faster than a compliment and undivided attention.”

“You are wrong. Chivalry is still valued,”

Roland disagreed.

“Then where is she? Why have we not seen your sable-haired lady-love this morn? Perhaps she is more intelligent than we and wished to enjoy the comforts of this home?”

Tristan offered.

“How many times must I tell you that this is our own good? We need this ditch fixed unless you want farmland to turn into swamps, and a bad harvest means less money in your allowance. Now, I will play with you no longer. There is work to be done,”

Roland insisted.

“The Viscount Schofield, playing,”

Tristan murmured. “Excuse me a moment while I battle my disbelief.”

“Hush up and learn, puppy. Dig.”