that his lordship had found a lovely plump pigeon who was so green she’d probably start blooming before spring.”
“That’s a goodly dose of humiliation,” Jason said. “Are you talking about William Sloane?”
“No, William Sloane gambled away nearly all the money before he conveniently died, and his brother, Elgin Sloane, became Lord Renfrew.”
“But didn’t your uncle meet him? Make certain he wasn’t marrying you for your money or-”
“Yes, he did. It was William who had the bad reputation, not Elgin. After all, Elgin Sloane had only been on the London scene for seven months before he met me. No one knew the real state of his finances.”
“So only the tradesmen knew the truth about him.”
“Evidently so.”
“At least you found this out before you married.”
“If I’d found out after the wedding, I would have shot him.”
“That’s an American thing to say.” But he laughed. “You would have been hung here. It was then you decided you wanted to own a stud?”
“Yes. I will become independent, and never marry.”
“As I’ve said, Miss Carrick, there are probably many properties for sale as well as many men out there who aren’t rotters like Elgin Sloane.”
She waved away his words. “Or, I suppose, I could become a nun.”
“I can’t imagine any mother superior worth her salt taking you on. I strongly doubt you are docile enough to take orders.”
She shrugged. “Regardless, I will never marry, not unless I lose my wits entirely and pour my money into another bounder’s hands. I believe I’ll hire someone to watch me. If I am in danger of falling into that wretched trap again, that person will simply shove me into the herring barrel.”
“Like I said, not all men are bounders, Miss Carrick.”
She shrugged again, not looking at him.
He felt her pain and hated that he felt it. She turned to go back up the stairs when he called out, “Like you, Miss Carrick, I have also determined that I will never marry. I am fortunate that it isn’t my responsibility to provide an heir for the Sherbrooke line, so it won’t matter.”
She said nothing, but he knew her attention was focused on him. Still, he wasn’t about to say anything more, and was horrified at himself for saying this much. Never would he speak of it, never-“It happened to me nearly five years ago.” He shut his mouth. He was a fool, an idiot. None of this was her business, anyone’s business.
“You were going to marry a girl who wanted you only for your money?”
He laughed, this time a low, vicious laugh from deep inside him, and the words tumbled out. “Oh no, I far exceeded your paltry betrayal, Miss Carrick. I picked a girl who would have killed my father if Corrie hadn’t shot and killed her.” He couldn’t stand himself. He’d poured all that out just to make this outrageous girl feel better. Thank God there was nothing else to burst out of his damned mouth. A pity one couldn’t retrieve hasty words and stuff them back down one’s throat. He turned on his heel and left the town house.
Hallie Carrick stood on the stairs for a very long time. She’d heard all sorts of gossip about why Jason Sherbrooke had abruptly left England and gone to live with the Wyndhams, but nothing close to this. He was right. She was hurt and humiliated because one dishonorable man had tried to get his hands on her money. What had happened to her was common, but what had happened to him-the way he’d been used, it would rot the soul. He had run away to America; he’d tried to run away from himself. She didn’t think he’d succeeded. She turned to go up to her bedchamber. He would never trust another woman. She would wager her substantial dowry on that. She couldn’t blame him.
CHAPTER 11
At lunch the following day, Douglas said, “I’m very sorry, Miss Carrick, but Mr. Chartley is selling Lyon ’s Gate to Jason for the sum he himself paid for it.”
“And a paltry amount it was. Yes, it is what I imagined would happen,” Hallie said. “Isn’t it interesting that after all of this, you, Mr. Sherbrooke, have gained what you wanted and paid only a pittance for it?” She rose slowly. “I would like to thank you for your hospitality, my lord, my lady. I’ll be leaving in the morning for Ravensworth. I must pack now.”
She nodded to each of the Sherbrookes in turn, and walked out of the drawing room to see Willicombe standing at the foot of the stairs, clearly blocking her.
“Yes, Willicombe?”
“I just wanted to tell you, Miss Carrick, if you’ll forgive my impertinence, that I have a cousin who worked for Lord Renfrew. My cousin said his lordship was a smarmy, mean-spirited man, the kind who would seduce a parlor maid and pat himself on the back for his virility. Never said a thank-you to any of his servants. It was my cousin Quincy who told Lord Renfrew’s tailor, Mr. Huff, that his chances for gaining money owed him were not good. Quincy had no idea, of course, that Mr. Huff would come to you with his hand out. Still, it turned out for the best, didn’t it?”
“Yes, indeed it did. What a very small world it is.” Willicombe gave her a small bow and she walked up the stairs, only to stop again halfway up. “Do you know what happened to Lord Renfrew, Willicombe?”
“His lordship married a Miss Ann Brainerd of York. Her father owns many canals criss-crossing the north country, and made his fortune carrying goods up and down those canals. Now trains are making the canals obsolete because goods are transported much more cheaply and quickly that way. It’s rumored Lord Renfrew hasn’t gained as much from the marriage as he’d expected. Evidently, his wife’s father realized quickly enough that Lord Renfrew wasn’t a man of sterling character.”
“Well, that’s some justice, isn’t it?”
“Except for her poor ladyship.”
“There must always be someone who loses, Willicombe.”
“Yes, miss, isn’t that the truth?”
“Your cousin, what did he do for Lord Renfrew?”
“He was his lordship’s lead coachman both here in London and at his estate in the country.”
“What is your cousin doing now, Willicombe?”
“He is a junior coachman for Lady Pauley, Miss Carrick, over on Bigger Lane. She is quite fat, is Lady Pauley, fair to makes the horses groan when two foot-men shove her up into the coach, Quincy says. It’s a pity.”
“Is Quincy a strong fellow?”
“Nearly as strong as Remie, my nephew.”
“Thank you, Willicombe. I must think about this.” She left Willicombe looking up after her. The young lady had lost, right and proper, proving what she’d said-someone always had to lose. It was the way of the world. He wondered what would happen to her now. He wondered why she was interested in Quincy.
At dinner that evening, Douglas eyed a silent Hallie a moment, then said, “Let me tell you more about Mr. Chartley. As we suspected, there is a Miss Chartley. We met her when we visited Mr. Chartley at Twenty-five Park Lane, a lovely corner mansion that Lady Bellingham’s heirs rented to him for the season.
“Miss Chartley has just turned eighteen. She is, ah, not terribly toothsome, rather she’s on the plump side and her teeth are a bit long and forward, and her laugh, well, it made my nerves jump.”
Jason looked at Hallie, whose head had been bent over her plate until his father had begun to speak. He saw her jaw drop. He burst into laughter. To her surprise, Hallie joined him, the first sounds out of either of them since the family had sat down to an excellent dinner of braised beef and onion-dunked potatoes, two of Cook’s specialties.
The earl nodded at them, pleased. “Now, the truth of the matter is that Miss Chartley is quite lovely. She has been raised well, has lovely manners, and will do well now that I will allow her into society.”
Alex said to her sons, “Your father hasn’t had a chance to be charmingly ruthless for a good while now. Everyone is in awe of him; some actually quake in their boots, and it has become too easy for him to get his own way outside the portals of Northcliffe. Inside those portals, however, it is a vastly different matter.”
