Sweet Surrender (29 page)

"Nowhere good I’m sure."

"He won’t always be around to protect you."  Susan grinned a malevolent grin.  "You’d better watch your back."

Then she kept on. 

Grace shut the door and spun the key in the lock.

DC

"That witch!  That shrew!"

"I warned you to stay away from her."

Percival loitered in the corner of the library, listening as his mother ranted, as his grandmother fumed.  Beatrice was seated at the desk and his mother paced in front of it.  As usual, they’d forgotten he was present.  

They were talking about Michael and Grace Bennett, and Percival was being very quiet so he could eavesdrop.

He hadn’t mentioned that he’d met Michael and knew he shouldn’t.  They wouldn’t like his opinion.  He thought Michael was magnificent, just as Percival’s father had been.  Michael was clever and tough and brave, and he
liked
Percival.  He said they would be best friends forever, that they could live together, go to school together, and share a room and everything.

Percival was so proud to have been singled out by Michael, so amazed at this sudden and splendid turn of events that he could barely eat or sleep.

"What am I supposed to do?" his mother complained about Miss Bennett.  "Should I remain silent and allow her to waltz away with all we own?  She’s no different than a thief in the night, carting off the silver."

"You can’t let her distress you.  Jackson and I will deal with her."

"As if I would trust Jackson to handle it."

"They won’t get a farthing," his grandmother insisted, "and they’ll never have a chance to spread their lies."

His mother was so angry, she was trembling.  "If you don’t realize the danger that woman poses, then you’re a fool."

"She’s not dangerous," his grandmother scoffed.  "She’s out for a few pounds."

"We will not give her a penny!" his mother exploded.  "I won’t agree to any settlement!"

"How else are we to be shed of them?  She’s a confidence artist and blackmailer.  Money will make her vanish."

"But you’ll be admitting her nonsense is true!  You’ll be admitting I was never married, that I was never a countess, that Percival was never an earl.  We’d be conceding that Percival is a bastard.  Are you mad?"

"We’ll admit nothing," Beatrice firmly stated.

"Even if you pay her, how can you be sure she’ll really go away?  How can you be sure she won’t throw that wretched…
boy
at us every blasted month into infinity?"

"Jackson is already drawing up the contract that will preclude any mischief by her.  She’ll sign it, and we’ll never see her—or the boy—ever again."

His grandmother’s comment yanked Percival out of his spot.  Michael was like a comet, like a shooting star that had crashed into Percival’s world, and now, everything was perfect.

"Grandmother."  He stepped over to her. 

"What?"

"I don’t want Michael to leave."

"Michael?"  His grandmother scowled as if she didn’t know to whom he referred.  "Who is Michael?"

"The boy you’re discussing.  I don’t want him to leave."

His mother gasped.  "You’ve met him?  You’ve spoken to him?"

Instantly, Percival recoiled.  His first instinct was self-preservation, and he nearly denied any acquaintance and slinked away, but the matter was too important to let them boss him.

"Yes, I’ve met him.  He’s very grand, and I don’t think you should—"

His mother shrieked with outrage.  "Do you hear him, Beatrice?  Do you hear?"

"Yes, I hear, Susan."

"I don’t need to be the earl," Percival quietly said, "and Michael would be so much better at it."

His mother bent down so she was directly in his face.

"What did you say?"

"I don’t mind if Michael is the earl.  In fact, I would like that to happen."

His mother slapped him as hard as she could.  She had in the past, not often, but occasionally when she was in a temper.  He stoically accepted the blow, showing no sign that he’d felt it.

"You will never repeat what you just said to me," she seethed.  "Are you listening, Percival?"

"Yes, I’m listening, Mother."

"You are never to behave so ridiculously.  Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand, and I apologize for upsetting you."

His grandmother leaned across the desk.  "You are not to talk to that boy, Percival."

"But I like him very much."

"I don’t care.  I’m ordering you to stay away."

Percival stared at his mother, at his grandmother.  They were so unhappy and so cruel, and they’d never liked him when he couldn’t figure out why.  He’d always tried to be good, to obey them, but he didn’t dare press them on the issue of Michael. 

They might send Percival to London or make Michael disappear.  He’d never see his brother again. 

He couldn’t let that occur.  He’d fight them or…he’d…run away to someplace better.  Michael would travel with him, to protect him and keep him safe.  It would be just the two of them, and no one who’d ever been awful to Percival could butt in or tag along.

He nodded to his grandmother and told the only lie he’d ever told in his entire life.

"As you wish, Grandmother.  I won’t speak to him anymore."  He peered up at his mother.  "May I be excused?"

"Yes, you may, but you’ll go straight to your room and remain there until I can bear to look at you again."

"All right."

Percival walked away, his head high, so they’d think he was meekly complying, but as soon as he was out of their sight, he raced for the rear door, dashed through the garden and into the woods.

Michael was in his fort, waiting for Percival, and there was nowhere in the world he would rather be.

DC

"Is she telling the truth?"

"Who cares if she is or not?  Her veracity means nothing to me, and it shouldn’t concern you, either."

"I was merely curious."

Beatrice was in her carriage, stopped on the road several miles from the estate. 

Mr. Rafferty sat across from her.

He was a violent ruffian, and over the years, she’d hired him to carry out any number of unpleasant tasks.

In her managing Edward’s business affairs, there had always been troublemakers who vexed her.  Shirkers, embezzlers, thieves, and other assorted fools tried to steal or take advantage.

She’d quickly found that—as a female—her options were limited.  Even though she was particularly fierce, men weren’t afraid of her.  When she turned to the law, legal remedies were unsatisfactory.

Rafferty had a suitable style for handling miscreants.  He could make people vanish, could make people be sorry or repent their transgressions.

He was smart as a whip, coolly dangerous, and able to deliver surprising results.  He was also incredibly devious, and he’d probably cheated her on occasion, but she’d never caught him at it.

He had an odd moral code.  If offered enough money, he would commit any foul deed, and he claimed loyalty to the person paying the bills.  Yet she suspected he’d betray her if someone agreed to pay him more.  

"Her name is Grace Bennett?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Where is she now?"

"She’s at the Abbey, but you can’t move against her at the moment."

"Why not?"

"My son, Jackson, is in residence, and he’s fond of her."

"How fond?"

"He’d be extremely upset if she was harmed."

"That could be problematic."

"He won’t be at Milton Abbey forever.  We’ll bide our time and hope he leaves in the not too distant future."

"Or we could manufacture an incident to draw him off."

Beatrice nodded.  "Yes, I imagine we could."

"And when he’s away, you want me to take her?"

"Yes, and you must deliver her somewhere permanent so she can’t ever return."

"How about the boy?"

"He most especially can’t ever return."

Beatrice supposed she should feel badly about the plan she was putting in motion, but she didn’t.

In her view, Edward had had a paltry romance with Georgina, but that didn’t make it a valid, aristocratic marriage.  It had been a fling, perpetrated by Georgina who had been common and poor.  To Beatrice, ancestry and bloodlines were everything.  The Scott family traced their linage to the Conqueror, and she wouldn’t permit their pedigree to be sullied. 

Every nobleman in the kingdom had bastard children running around, declaring paternity.  Edward’s by-blow had come begging, but Beatrice wasn’t about to fork over money or property or status. 

Grace Bennett could contend whatever facts she liked, but the two people who knew the truth—Georgina and Edward—were deceased.  Beatrice wasn’t about to upend the entire world simply because Miss Bennett was waving a few old documents. 

Beatrice was determined that Miss Bennett not darken her door again.  Miss Bennett might have captivated Jackson, might have convinced him to be gullible and generous, but Jackson would provide for her over Beatrice’s dead body. 

"Once I’m shed of her," Beatrice told Rafferty, "you’ll have to deal with Jackson.  Are you tough enough to go toe to toe with him?"

Rafferty snorted.  "Over what topic?"

"You and I will concoct a story about Miss Bennett.  We’ll tell him you investigated her and uncovered a blackmail scheme."

"I can do that."

"You’ll have to seem honest and believable."

"I will."

"Jackson is perceptive and shrewd.  If he thought he’d been deceived, I can’t predict how he might react."

"Don’t worry about me and your son.  I’ve spent my life rolling in the gutter with criminals.  I can handle a coddled, aristocratic nob."

"You haven’t met him.  Are you sure?"

"It will be a piece of cake, Lady Beatrice.  A bloody piece of cake."

"There’s no need for crude language, Mr. Rafferty."

"No, there isn’t."  He dipped his head.  "My apologies."

Beatrice studied him, scrutinizing his features, his countenance.  He was a stout, muscular fellow who could have been a criminal himself.  With his curly blond hair and bright green eyes, he was very handsome, but he exuded malice and menace.  The scar on his brow was positively frightening, and she wouldn’t ever want him as an enemy.

She sighed with aggravation.  How had she descended to such a low precipice?  Why was she forced to consort with such a disreputable rogue?  Her rank and station should have insulated her from such a seedy acquaintance, but she couldn’t reject his type of assistance.

"I’ll send for you when I’m ready," she said.  "Stay in the area so you can attend me at a moment’s notice." 

"As always, Lady Beatrice, I am at your service."

He tipped his hat and slipped away.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"Pssst!  Uncle Jack!"

Jackson halted and peered around as the whispered summons came again.

"Uncle Jack!"

After watching his mother and Grace spar over Michael, he’d needed to clear his head.  He’d taken a long ride and had just returned.  He was in the barn and leaving for the house to find Grace and speak with her.

"Michael, is that you?" he inquired.

"Yes, but please keep your voice down."

Michael popped up from behind a pile of hay, but to Jackson’s surprise, Percival popped up with him.

"What’s going on?" he asked them.

"Grandmother says we shouldn’t play together," Percival explained.

"So you’re flagrantly disobeying her?"

"Yes," they replied in unison.

Jackson grinned.  "Marvelous.  It’s about time Beatrice had a new generation to plague her."

They crawled through the straw and approached, and with them standing side by side, Jackson was struck by their dissimilarities.  They were the same height, but Michael was slender and fit while Percival was chubby and awkward.  Even though they were covered with grass and dirt, Michael looked regal and majestic, Percival grubby and miserable.

The differences rattled Jackson. 

During his ride, he’d arrived at a decision about them.  Grace wasn’t interested in the title.  She simply wanted financial assistance for Michael, but Beatrice and Susan were adamant that Michael be disavowed.

Jackson assumed he’d found an answer that would satisfy the three women.  He would support Michael as any family would do for a beloved bastard son.  A fine home.  A suitable allowance.  The best tutors, and later, a proper school and marriage.

It wasn’t fair to Michael, but it was a compromise Grace would accept.   

But on seeing the pair up close, he was vividly reminded of how remarkable Michael was.  He resembled Edward in every way while Percival resembled him not, at all, and Jackson was once again pitched into a quandary.