A Taste for Scandal (29 page)

“I doubt the good doctor would be pleased to see you up and about so soon.”

The marquis snorted, folding up his paper and tossing it on the table beside him in disgust. “That man would have me live the rest of my life in that blasted bed. I’d rather die than waste away in that stifling room one more minute.”

“Careful,” Richard said, lifting a single eyebrow. “If Mother hears you say that, you may get your wish.”

Rubbing his eyes wearily, Father let out a sigh. “A man can only handle so much coddling before drastic measures must be taken.”

Richard eyed him, dismayed to see how pallid his skin looked in the harsh light of the bright London morning. He had half a mind to force his father back to bed himself, coddling be damned. “If you push yourself too much, you’ll end up in the exact same place. Not that I mind. I was
this
close to getting my hands on your title.”

Father chuckled at the quip, waving a hand toward the empty chair beside him. “Yes, I know how very anxious you are to take over.”

“I’ll have you know, I have been doing a fine job of covering your responsibilities as you laze about all day. I’ve been sitting in your chair, partaking of your finest whiskey—you know, the usual.” He said the words with his standard ironic wit, but it was the God’s honest truth. For the first time in his life, he was throwing himself into the running of the estates, fielding all the correspondences and handling the various meetings that required the marquis’s attention. He’d forsaken all his old haunts, and all thoughts of ever teaching boxing went straight out the window—a dream dead before it was ever even fully formed. In this, he had found that what Jane had said was true. One never truly knows what one is capable of until one has no other choice but to succeed.

He sighed. He hated that he hadn’t been able to visit her, to feel his arms around her and to inhale her sweet, comforting scent. Hopefully in a week or two things would settle down a bit and he could stop by and see her.

“Ah, so you’ve figured out the secret to it all. Sit at the desk and make all appearances of being busy.”

Richard smiled as he settled into the chair. Hearing his father’s teasing words lightened a part of Richard that had been dark since the moment he learned of the illness. If only the older man’s body would heal as quickly as his humor. Up until that awful moment, Father had been one of the most robust, healthy men Richard knew. He couldn’t even think of the man without conjuring images of him sitting tall and strong atop one of their magnificent horses, galloping across the countryside.

A rather stark comparison to the wilted man before him, who sat with a blanket across his knees, his eyes underlined by purple smudges and his skin the color of bread dough. Richard blinked. Now, there was a thought he would never have had before he met Jane.

“If only you had let me in on that little tidbit years ago. I would have been much more enthusiastic about this whole inheritance business had I known.”

“A well-kept secret over the ages. One doesn’t want to think one’s heir is anxious to have them done for.”

It felt damn good to share a quiet laugh. “Have no fear. I’d much rather be attending operas and balls than business meetings and parliament.” He leaned forward and fiddled with the floral arrangement on the sofa table. “In all seriousness, I do want you to know that things are well in hand. You don’t have to worry about anything save for the business of getting well.”

“I know, son. And I have every faith that you will handle matters of the estate with aplomb.” But his face didn’t reflect any of the relief that Richard would have expected. Instead, Father regarded him with increasing seriousness, all traces of humor falling away. “But that is not the matter that I wished to discuss when I requested you join me.”

“Oh?”

“When you came to see me the night I fell ill, you made a promise to me.”

Richard nodded. “Not that you even had to ask it of me. You should know that I will always see to the well-being of my mother and sisters. They are my first priority.”

“Are they?”

Those two words knocked the wind from Richard’s lungs more effectively than a punch to the ribs. “Of course—how can you even question such a thing?”

“I know you think they are, but tell me this. Where were you that night? I know that it took hours to find you, while your mother and sisters were besides themselves with fear and worry.”

Jane’s sweet kisses and burning touch flashed through Richard’s mind. He refused to feel guilty for being with her that night. “That is hardly fair, Father. I cannot be expected to be by their sides at all hours of the day. The very second I learned of your illness, I dropped everything and came home.”

Father shook his head. “But that moment of discovery was well delayed, was it not? It is one thing to not be by their sides, as you say, but it is another thing entirely when you lie about your whereabouts like a wayward boy.”

Richard gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to argue with his father, not here, and not while he looked so weak. The doctor’s words of caution echoed in Richard’s mind like a mantra.
Calmness of mind and emotion is vital for recovery.
Swallowing the need to defend himself, he nodded and said, “I will strive to be above reproach in the future.”

But the words seemed to float right past his father’s ears, having no effect at all on his stern features. The expression was one he used on wayward servants and unbroken horses, not on his only son. “Enough is enough, Richard. Now more than ever I need to know that I can depend upon you.”

Aggravated, Richard ran a hand through his hair. Had he not already just told his father that he had nothing to worry about? “As I said, I am doing everything I can to fulfill the duties of the title.”

“You are seeing to the
business
side of things. That’s well and good, but all of that won’t matter a whit if something happens to you. Even if I live to be ninety, what good will it do if I don’t have a grandson to assure the line?”

He knew this was coming, and had even tried to prepare for it, but it didn’t stop him from reacting. “Christ, a bit morbid, don’t you think?”

Father leveled stony eyes on him. “I’d say I’ve damned well earned the right to be morbid after what has happened. Life is fragile, Richard. We never know what the next moment holds for us. All we can do is prepare as best we can for the future so our families are well taken care of. The truth of it is, I won’t be able to rest easy until I have a grandson.”

Richard drew in a breath, trying to breathe around the invisible fist squeezing his throat. He had promised himself he would do absolutely everything in his power to take the burdens from his father’s shoulders. Still, marrying now seemed more distasteful than ever. He had only just found his sweet little baker; he wasn’t ready to give her up yet. “I do hate to hear that. Even if I marry tomorrow, it could be months and more likely years before I had an heir.”

“Exactly. All the more reason to stop procrastinating. After what’s happened to me this week, I’ve learned the true value of seizing the day. I can’t wait any longer to know that things are settled. You promised that you would take care of your mother and sisters, and I am calling you on it.”

Richard shifted restlessly, trying to dislodge the weight pressing down on his shoulders. “I will, Father, I have already told you that.”

“No, Richard, I don’t mean for you to choose a wife eventually. I mean now—by the end of the Season. We are in the midst of the London Season, for God’s sake. There are dozens of perfectly lovely young ladies to choose from. In two months when Evie hosts the ball in Beatrice’s honor, I plan to be well enough to attend. By the end of that night, I want there to be a betrothal announcement.”

Two months? Richard stared at his father, the shock of the ultimatum pinning him to the chair. The marquis somehow looked strong and weak all at once. His eyes were steely, his resolve firm, but at the same time his chest rose and fell with shallow, unsteady breaths.

Richard wanted to laugh, to shake his head and tell his father he was mad if he expected Richard to abide by such a high-handed command. After all, there was certainly nothing his father could do to force him. He could choose a wife when he was damn well ready.

But that wasn’t true.

Not anymore. Not with the marquis’s fragile health staring Richard in the face. And not after he had promised to do everything he could to keep his father at ease. He thought of Jane, of her changeable green-brown eyes and her smooth-as-silk skin. She had let him into her life, even with all her reasons to disdain everything the son of a marquis stood for in her mind. He swallowed and nodded. “And what if the lady I choose is from a different set altogether?”

Silence spanned between them as Father leaned back and rested his hands in his lap. The tall clock against the wall ticked on relentlessly as he pursed his lips and tilted his head. “Do we speak of a certain dark-haired young woman?”

“Perhaps.”

After another moment of silence, the marquis sat forward, leaning against the chair arm. “Putting aside the obvious issue of not attaching scandal to your family’s name—especially your younger sisters—consider what being the wife of a peer really means. The life of a marchioness is not an easy one. She must endure the scrutiny of an entire class of people uneasy with being beneath her. Anything perceived as weakness will be attacked relentlessly, with the vehemence born of true jealously and scorn. A marchioness is expected to know the correct way to act in all settings, the appropriate things to say in all moments, and the proper way to address her peers.

“Your own mother was schooled in these from birth, and even she finds the role difficult at times. So I think the answer to your question is a question itself: Would you be willing to subject an outsider to a life among the vipers of the
ton
?”

Bloody, bloody hell. Richard raked a hand through his hair, for the first time in his entire life cursing his station.

“A very good question indeed.”

Chapter Twenty-five

Mrs. Brown must have been an absolute master of torture.

It had been three days since she had walked out, and those three days had been absolutely miserable for Jane, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But during those days, she never once doubted that
something
would happen.

Which was why Jane was unsurprised when Weston, his face drawn and worried, finally came into the kitchen to announce that someone wanted to see her. Steeling herself for what was to come, Jane removed her apron, straightened her spine, and ascended the stairs to the shop. There two men, wearing identical hats and drab, well-fitted greatcoats, stood stiffly just inside the shop with their backs to her.

With her blood running cold in her veins, she said, “Can I help you, gentlemen?”

When the men turned, she knew her dread was not unfounded. “Mr. Byrd, I see you are returned from your tour. Please, have a seat.” She gestured to the small table, her motions awkward and stilted. Knowing what was coming did not make it any easier.

Though her landlord removed his hat, his long, thin face showed no respect or regard. “No, thank you, Miss Bunting. I am here to inform you that the terms of your contract have been breached, and you are hereby given one week to remove yourself and your belongings from the premises. If—”

“No, that can’t be,” she exclaimed, the words bursting forth before she could stop them. Knowing this moment was coming and accepting it were two very different things. “I have in no way breached any of the terms of our contract, sir, I give you my word.”

“Your word is not good enough, Miss Bunting. It has come to my attention that you have been utilizing the premises for activities other than those outlined in our original agreement.”

The blood drained from her face, leaving her light-headed. Putting a hand out blindly, Jane braced herself on the counter. There had to be something she could say, something she could do to make Mr. Byrd see reason. Everything in her whole life seemed to hinge on her ability to make her landlord listen to her. “Mr. Byrd, there has been some mistake. Nothing illegal or immoral has occurred on these premises. I’ll be happy to tell you—”

He held up a hand. “I have heard more than enough, I’m afraid.”

Fury began to crowd out the shock. Yes, she just bet he had. Blast Mrs. Brown and her meddling, gossiping, spiteful ways. “I am sure Mrs. Brown had plenty to say about me, but I assure you it is completely unfounded. I mean no disrespect to your sister-in-law, as I know her to be of upstanding and moral character”—she fairly choked on the words—“but she did not see what she seems to think she did.”

“Though I might be willing to hear you out if the complaint was from my wife’s sister alone, Mr. Finton’s word is completely above reproach. It is my duty to uphold the integrity of the buildings I own, and I cannot allow my investment to become devalued because of the unacceptable activities of one of my tenants.”

“Sir, we have been tenants for almost fifteen years. In all these years, we have never once been late with our rent, not by one day, not short even a single shilling. I have conducted my business with complete professionalism, and I have upheld my end of our agreement. Lord Raleigh and his sister have visited on occasion, but only as friends of the family. Perfectly legal, perfectly moral, and completely within the bounds of the lease. To say otherwise is to cast doubt upon not only my reputation, but the reputation of the Earl of Raleigh as well.”

The last thing she wanted to do was bring Richard into this fight, but she couldn’t just lie down and allow them to take everything from her.

Mr. Byrd’s impassive expression vanished as his lip curled up in a sneer. “I have no doubt he has an interest, but there is nothing
innocent
about it.”

“Nothing happened!”
As the words echoed around the small shop, Jane clapped a hand over her mouth, horrified. How could she have actually yelled at the man?

Her landlord stared at her a moment, a line appearing between his bushy gray brows. In his expression, she saw her bakery, her reputation, and her future crumbling like a stale biscuit. So many years of hard work, all the early mornings, the burns, the triumphant recipes and the ones that fell flat, the love she poured into each batch, the worries of staying afloat. Her whole career, brought down by one night of passion and two intrusive neighbors.