Page 34 of When the Marquess Needed Me (The Rake Chronicles #4)

Chapter Thirty-Two

“N ot now, Malcolm!” Beatrice lamented, irritated with her brother for his intrusion. “I do not wish to be bothered at present.”

Malcolm sidled up to them, a vexed smile on his face. “My sister and I spent most of our childhood apart. And yet you would never know it for how easily she casts me as the irritating younger brother.”

Beatrice let out a huff of frustration. She had wanted to finish her conversation with Leith. She knew she had not succeeded in making him understand her perspective.

“If you have specific questions about my relationship with Lord Leith that you would like answered, brother, I am happy to do so. But you may not like what you learn.”

Leith looked at her with alarm.

She shook her head.

“He knows, Thomas. There is no use trying to convince him otherwise.”

“I know everything that happens at Parkhorne,” Malcolm said. “I make it my personal business. And so if you mistreat my sister in any way, Lord Leith, please know that all of your title and rank will not save you from the punishment I will rain down on your head.”

“I have no intention of harming your sister,” Leith said. “I have only the most honorable intentions where she is concerned.”

Malcolm gave a short laugh. “Oh, yes, I am very sure of that indeed.”

“I will marry her, if she would have me,” Leith said.

Beatrice inhaled sharply. He sounded so earnest, so genuine. She had no desire to marry—or, at least, she had never had such a desire before—but, still, there was an unmistakable prettiness to him standing in her mother’s garden and saying the words.

The only problem was that they were uttered to her brother, not her, and that she knew they were false. She had commanded him to pretend to these honorable intentions and so he was merely filling the part she had asked him to play.

“And my sister will be a marchioness? Somehow, I think society may have an objection or two to a man of your station marrying a woman with no money and only a rocky piece of property in a rural county to her family’s name.”

“I speak the truth,” Leith said. He really did look, Beatrice concluded, like a prince, especially when he made marriage proposals that he didn’t mean. “But she has rejected me.”

“Then perhaps you should listen to her. Bea, is this man troubling you?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head.

Malcolm eyed them with his deep green eyes, which must have been his mother’s, because no one else in her family had them. His blond hair and fair coloring, however, were all their father’s. Malcolm had inherited the good looks that had once allowed her father to ensnare her mother—and all the other women he had led to their ruin.

“I do not understand it. But that is not what I came out here to discuss. Lord Leith, I must speak with my sister—will you leave us?”

Leith looked down at her. She wasn’t sure what Malcolm wanted, but Beatrice did not think it reasonable to deny her brother an audience.

“Let me speak with him,” she said. “I will come and find you once we are done.”

“Very well,” he said. “Good day, Mr. Brown.”

She watched as Leith’s straight, proud back headed towards the house.

And then she turned on her brother.

“What is it that you want?”

Malcolm laughed. “Did you really turn down a marquess, Bea?”

Beatrice brought her hands to her temples. “It is complex.”

“I will leave you to figure out that mess. Only let me know if he does anything to upset you. I have never seen a man drawn and quartered, but I am not opposed to it in principle.”

“That will not be necessary. I have it all in hand.”

“Yes, as you always do. You always insist that you need no help at all. But I am your younger by only two years, Beatrice, and I do as much for Parkhorne as you do. I am entitled to know what your plan is regarding Mr. Gordstone. I want to help, if I can.”

“Do you have ten thousand pounds?”

Malcolm blanched. “Because I do not have ten thousand pounds, like your lord, then I am not entitled to any say in the matter?”

“No,” Beatrice sighed. “That is not what I mean. But ten thousand pounds is the crux of the problem.”

“So your solution is to marry Lord Leith? Do you even love him, Bea?”

“No, I am not marrying him,” Beatrice said, annoyed by her brother afresh. She didn’t know how to tell him the truth, however, about her and Thomas. “I am going to offer more money to Mr. Gordstone. Towards the debt. Hopefully, that will provide us with more time to secure the rest.”

“And how will you do that? Return to London and track down more nonexistent men to whom our father lent money?”

“What do you mean?”

Malcolm was difficult to enact any subterfuge against, but she had hoped he had come to believe her about their father’s debts.

“It seemed suspicious from that start. But then, after you left, I realized how absurd it was. Father would have never lent money to anyone. A few days after you left, I checked his study. There is no record of such loans. When you first told us of these loans, I didn’t think you would lie. I didn’t see any reason why you would. I thought, perhaps, as a younger man, Father had been more generous. Of course, that was all ridiculous. You planned some other way of getting the money. Sally must know what it is. And I want you to tell me.”

Beatrice had hoped her brother would not push her in this one regard. She said nothing, not sure what she wanted to tell him—she was not sure if he could be trusted with the truth.

“Please, Malcolm, let me handle it on my own.”

“No. I deserve to know. You left me to fill your place. How can I not know what you are really doing in London?”

She was standing with her arms crossed now. She knew Malcolm was a different sort of man than her father, but she still feared his reaction to what she had planned—what she had done in London.

And her brother needed to respect her authority. She had kept Parkhorne Hall going all of these years. He needed to listen to her. Yes, she had effectively left him in charge when she went to London, but that didn’t mean he could order her around now.

“You are not entitled to know everything that I do. That is not your place.”

“Why? Because I am a bastard?”

“No. Because you are two years my junior. And because it is my responsibility to keep the estate going. For all of us.”

“Beatrice, you think you have everything in hand, that you know everything—but you don’t.”

“I have been gone not two weeks, Malcolm. What could have happened that I don’t know about?”

“I reference a happening that has been unfolding long before you left for London.”

“Well, then, out with it. What have I so neglected?”

She knew all of Parkhorne. Her brother could not possibly know more than she did about anything to do with it.

“Your mother,” he said. “And Mrs. Westmore.”

“What of them?”

Malcolm laughed. “You really don’t know. For a long time, I merely thought you were being discreet.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Malcolm let out an exasperated sigh. “They are together . Your mother is in love with Mrs. Westmore and Mrs. Westmore with her.”

Beatrice froze. She wanted to say that Malcolm was mistaken…but she did not have that confidence.

“How do you—why do you say that?”

“I saw them kissing. Three years ago. In the barn on Mrs. Westmore’s property. They looked like they had done it before. Many times.” Malcolm shrugged. “Good for them, as far as I am concerned.”

Beatrice studied her brother’s face. He held no malice or ill intent towards her mother. She was sure of it.

If he was right, she had missed her mother’s relationship with Mrs. Westmore. She had missed the reason for her greater happiness in the last few years. She had not been able to know everything that happened at Parkhorne Hall.

“So, you see, Beatrice, I see things that you don’t. And so I am worth letting into your schemes.”

Beatrice studied her brother’s face. A handsome one it was, although very like her father’s. He was so rigid in his principles, so firm in his convictions. She never quite knew how he would react to anything.

But she supposed, of all the people in the world, he was one of the ones that she trusted the most.

She sighed. “You’re right. Of course, the loans never existed.”

“How did you plan to get the money?”

“I planned to make the money as a courtesan.”

Malcolm went a bit white. But his voice was gentle when he spoke. “Thank you for telling me. And Lord Leith, he is…?”

“My protector. At present.”

He smiled. “But it seems the man is looking for an elevation. To husband.”

Beatrice shook her head. “I only told him to say that. I hoped to convince you into thinking he was some kind of suitor.”

Her brother blinked at her. “No, Bea. Here we have another thing that I can see, but you can’t. That man loves you.”

“He says he does. But marriage—that is an altogether different thing.”

“No, Bea. He wants to marry you. I am not saying you should do it. But I am telling you what I see.”

She had no idea how Malcolm could know such a thing. He was much too confident in his abilities, as usual.

“It is no matter. At least not when it comes to Mr. Gordstone. I will offer him the money and hopefully he will leave.”

“But he’ll keep coming back.”

“Yes, he will. But it is all we can do for now.”

He nodded. She and her brother had reached the house once more. Beatrice felt grateful for him, even though she had been so vexed with him only mere minutes ago.

“I will see you at dinner,” he said, moving towards the farm.

“Malcolm,” she called and he turned around. “Thank you.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgment and continued walking.

And she headed into the house, determined to find Leith once more.

But as she walked by her father’s old study— her study, now—a shadow loomed over the hall.

“Miss Salisbury,” said a cold voice, “I would like a private audience.”

She turned, knowing who it would be.

Yes, she realized, looking into his chilling blue eyes.

Mr. Gordstone had finally found her.

Beatrice supposed that she could not avoid the man forever.

“Of course, as you wish, Mr. Gordstone,” she said, sweeping by him into the study. She seated herself in the chair behind the desk, gesturing for him to sit across from her.

“Miss Salisbury, I had not anticipated your arrival,” he said, remaining standing, looming over her. “But it is actually quite convenient.”

“How so?”

“You know just as well as I do that I am not here on a social visit. Or, at least, my social visit has a purpose. But it is a delicate matter to put to Eleanora herself. I had just resolved that I would have to stoop to address that bastard brother of yours, Mr. Brown. To speak to the boy, George, would have done no good. However, your appearance simplifies things greatly.”

Beatrice stiffened at his proprietary tone, but she was not surprised. She had expected no less from him.

“Well, delay your declaration no more, Mr. Gordstone. What is your request?”

“Your mother. I want her to be my wife.”

“And she never will be. She has no wish to marry you.”

The light in the study was airy and crisp. The large window let in the bright spring light from outdoors. It gave their conversation a falsely cheery atmosphere.

“And yet I hold the future of her estate, and thus that of her children, in my hands. If you do not persuade her to marry me, then I will call in the bailiffs, Miss Salisbury. And I will see the estate sold or that lame little brother of yours, George, in debtors’ prison.”

Anger flared within Beatrice. But she had to keep her calm. He couldn’t see how he rankled her.

“I can pay you one thousand pounds, Mr. Gordstone, towards the debt. And the rest by the end of the year.”

Beatrice had no idea how she would get such a sum, but she sensed that Gordstone would not be put off by anything other than the full ten thousand pounds promised very soon.

“You are not listening, Miss Salisbury. I will be paid now, in full, or I will take Eleanora as my wife. If the latter occurs, I will forgive the debt. I am prepared to be generous.”

She worked to remain calm. One thing was first in her mind. Her mother could not know of this ultimatum. Beatrice feared that she would sacrifice herself—and she could not stand to imagine her gentle mother married to this grasping man.

“You have always wanted her, have you, sir?”

He flinched at the question. “Yes,” he said, his tone flinty. “Your father and I met her on the same day. In London. All those years ago. She was a little songbird in her father’s drawing room. I wanted to marry her. But he asked her first. And she said yes.”

“You asked her anyway,” Beatrice said, relaying what her mother had told her many years ago. “Even after she accepted my father. But she rejected you. She didn’t want you.”

“Well, she will have me now.”

“No, she won’t,” said a deep voice from the doorway. Beatrice turned and saw, of course, Leith, her Thomas, standing there. “Mrs. Salisbury will never be forced to accept your hand.”

“Ah, the heroic marquess,” Mr. Gordstone said, his lip curling. “Ten thousand pounds, unfortunately, is a rather large sum even for a man of your rank. Especially to help a woman who is only his doxy.”

Leith’s eyes flashed at that descriptor.

“I could mistake this arrangement for nothing else,” Mr. Gordstone continued. “Your father said you had a whore’s nature, but even I did not know you were this abandoned, Miss Salisbury.”

In an instant, Leith had him up against the wall. The man gagged, horribly, and Beatrice stood and ran around the desk.

“If you speak that way to the woman that I love again, I will rip out your throat.”

Mr. Gordstone’s eyes bulged. His face was turning a very alarming puce.

“I will make sure that you never draw another breath. I will take my chance being tried for murder in Lords—because I doubt my peers will convict me when they hear what a sniveling, blackmailing worm you were.”

“Leith, let him go!”

Leith dropped the man roughly on the floor. “I will wire my solicitor for your money. And I will pay you to leave this family alone forever. Until my money arrives, keep to your rooms. If you bother anyone, I will beat you within an inch of your life.”

“You devil,” Mr. Gordstone choked out.

Leith kicked him in the ribs. The man moaned.

“Out!”

The man crawled to the door, then got to his knees, and finally stood. He cast one resentful look back at them—and fled.

Beatrice did not know whether to scold Leith or kiss him. She was not at all sure that she liked his interference. In fact, it rankled her.

But she also felt exhausted. And she could not be angry with the man who had made Mr. Gordstone pay for his perfidy and cruel words.

He turned towards her, his port wine eyes flashing, and she could not help it. She put her arms around him. And then, to her great surprise, she began to sob.

The strain of the past few days released in a torrent.

Leith cradled her, shushing her, soothing her, and saying all manner of comforting nonsense.

That he loved her.

That she was his own love, the only one.

That everything would come to rights.

Her fingers found the soft nape of his neck and her face buried into his shoulder.

When she pulled back, he used his fingertips to brush away her tears.

In short, she clung to him.

And as she quieted, she came to a terrible realization.

This man, the one who had just inflicted violence for her, and then shown her such tenderness—she loved him, too.