Sweet Surrender (11 page)

As for Beatrice, her part of the deal was to take Percival off Susan’s hands, to finish rearing him for Susan.  Susan would be free to enjoy the social whirl of London without the drag of her awkward son who generated so many rumors.

Beatrice liked London as much as the next person, but she’d gladly return to Milton Abbey—and stay there—with Percival if it meant her fiscal future was secured.     

"Jackson was just so…
angry
that day he left," Susan whined.

"It’s been ten years, Susan."

"I don’t believe he’s forgiven me."

"Then persuade him to forgive you."

"You act as if it will be simple."

"Jackson is a simple man with simple tastes.  Remind him of why he used to love you."

"What if I can’t?"

"You were married for a decade, Susan.  If you can’t entice Jackson, there’s no hope for you."

Susan glared, pondering an insolent reply, then she rose and stomped out in a snit.

DC

Percival loitered on the verandah, peeking in the windows, observing as his mother and grandmother argued. 

They were both so cruel to him, and he didn’t understand why.  He was always polite and considerate, and he always tried his best, but it was never good enough.

He hated that they’d sent him outside.  He liked to listen to them talking, because sometimes, they mentioned his father, and it made him happy. 

Percival and his mother had lived at Milton Abbey, and his father was rarely there, so Percival hadn’t known him very well.  On the odd occasions he’d visited, he’d been like a ray of sunshine, lighting up Percival’s world.  His father was kind to Percival and answered his questions without snapping and shouting.  His father never told him to be silent, never scolded or claimed he was a nuisance. 

Their fleeting encounters had been remarkable, and he missed his father, but couldn’t ever admit it.  If he raised the topic, his mother would pounce and say that his father was dead and Percival should get over it.  But Percival didn’t want to get over it.

His father had been wonderful, had been everything Percival wasn’t—brave and smart and funny—and Percival would never stop grieving.  He wouldn’t!  And he didn’t care what his mother said about it.

In the parlor, his grandmother had enraged his mother, and she stormed out.  Percival watched her leave, and for a moment, he worried that they’d been quarreling about
him
. 

He was the earl now, and his grandmother constantly nagged that he should behave as if he was important.  Yet he didn’t feel important, and he was only eight.  He had no desire to rule people or tell them what to do or set an example.

He simply wanted to read books and draw pictures.  He particularly liked to copy pictures of knights in their armor, and he used some pencils his father had given him.  They were his most prized possession, but he had to employ them in secret.  His grandmother had once caught him, and she’d slapped his hand and informed him that drawing was for girls and he wasn’t to continue.

Later, he’d attempted a small rebellion, had asked his tutor if they could study art, but the man had scoffed and insisted his grandmother would never approve.  So drawing was banned, and his sole other joy—reading—severely curtailed.

What was wrong with drawing or reading?

With his mother gone from the parlor, there was nothing interesting to see.

He went to the stairs at the rear of the verandah, plopped down, and stared out into the garden.  He started counting to himself, ticking off the minutes until he thought it would be safe to sneak back in.

CHAPTER SIX

"May I go to my room now?"

"No, you may not."

"You must be starving, and I’m happy to leave you to your supper."

Grace smiled a fake smile. 

Her wrist and Mr. Scott’s were still bound, so for the past several hours, she’d had to tolerate his overbearing company.  Mostly, they’d tarried in the library as he’d read a stack of paperwork.  Though she’d begged him to untie her, had promised not to race out the moment he wasn’t paying attention, he’d insisted the rope remain in place.

She’d dawdled beside him, yawning and pretending to be bored, but her indifference was feigned.  Despite the fact that she loathed him, she couldn’t help but be fascinated.  By his imposing personality, by his wealth and status, by his being Edward’s brother.

Apparently, they’d been estranged, with Mr. Scott having only recently returned to England to oversee the massive estates and fortune of his nephew Percival.

As he’d tended to his business, she’d peeked at the documents scattered across his desk.  There had been letters from attorneys, from bankers, from land agents, from merchants who were owed huge sums of money.  With Mr. Scott having been named Edward’s executor, and his being out of the country, it had been ages since anyone had made any decisions.  Problems had stacked up without resolution.

While she hated to acknowledge it, he was very bright and quickly able to delve to the heart of complex matters.  He’d flown through the pile, issuing edicts, signing contracts, authorizing expenditures.

She’d constantly had to bite her tongue so she didn’t interrupt to probe his reasoning.  She’d had to keep reminding herself that she
wasn’t
interested in his life or world, but she couldn’t tamp down her curiosity. 

He lived in Africa, had a home in Egypt, and she was dying to inquire about his situation.  She’d never gone anywhere, her trip to Milton Abbey being the first occasion she’d been more than five miles from her village in Cornwall.

She couldn’t imagine how a person picked up stakes and moved to a foreign locale.  How did you learn the language?  How did you communicate with others?  How did you shop or rent a house or dress or eat?

By the time he’d declared himself finished, she’d been awash with so many questions that she’d actually felt dizzy.

They’d left the library and headed upstairs.  They were in his suite, the earl’s warren of rooms, which he’d taken for his own. 

They were in the sitting room and the door to the hall was open.  Servants were entering and exiting, setting out an evening meal on a table over by the window, so there was nothing inappropriate about their being together.  But still, she wasn’t comfortable.

"I don’t want to stay in here with you," she complained.

"So?"

"I’m not hungry."

"Liar."  He studied her and grinned.  "You shouldn’t ever play cards.  Your every thought is plainly visible on your face.  You’re famished.  Admit it."

"No."

"I’ve ordered supper brought up, and the staff has gone to an enormous amount of trouble.  The least you can do is be courteous and eat what they’ve prepared."

As he voiced the comment, a footman walked by, having just poured them both a glass of wine.  He had to have heard Mr. Scott, and the cutting remark made her seem surly and ungrateful.

"I’m impressed by their efforts on my behalf," she hastily said.

He smirked and gestured to the table.  "If you sit down and mind your manners, I’ll untie you."

She glared at him, not trusting him for a second.

"Swear it," she demanded.

"I swear.  But—"

"How could I have guessed there would be a
but
?"

"If you annoy me with your pointless chatter, I’ll escort you into the other room and shackle you to the bedpost so I can dine in peace."

She snorted with aggravation.  "You are a menace."

"Not usually.  I’ve never acted like this before.   I’m only a brute around you."

"And why is that?"

"You bring out the worst in me."

"Aren’t I lucky?"

She wanted to continue bickering, but she didn’t have the energy.  She wasn’t normally querulous, and it was exhausting to maintain so much fury. 

The servants had delivered enough food for an army, and delicious aromas drifted in her direction.  Despite how she’d claimed otherwise, she was ravenous.  The past few weeks, as their finances dwindled, she’d been forced to skip meals.  She’d convinced herself that she didn’t need sustenance to function.

But with her ensconced at Milton Abbey, where nearly any delicacy could be produced with the snap of a finger, she’d lost her ability for self-denial.

He led her to the table and surprised her by holding out a chair.  The sudden demonstration of civility calmed the tension that had festered. 

"Thank you," she said as she eased down.

"You’re welcome."

  He glided over to the other chair and sat, too.  Without her having to ask, he untied her. 

"Thank you," she said again, rubbing her wrist.

"Don’t get used to it.  As soon as we’re finished, I’m putting the rope back on."

She could have argued, but why bother?

The sun had set, and very quickly, it would be dark.  Shortly, the rope would have to be discarded so she could proceed to her bedchamber.  She was weary, and even a blackguard like Jackson Scott would relent and let her go to bed.

They were quiet, busy loading up their plates.  He served her, inquiring as to what she liked, scooping the biggest dollop of potatoes, giving her the thickest slice of roast beef.  The food was scrumptious, and with the speed of a street urchin, she wolfed it down, while he dined leisurely and savored his repast.

She swallowed her last bite, and he offered her more, but the victuals had landed heavily in her belly.

"There’s more in the larder," he teasingly noted.  "You don’t have to eat like a banshee.  I promise we’ll always feed you while you’re here."

"I apologize."  She blushed with embarrassment.  "I was a tad hungrier than I realized."

He ignored her, keeping on with his own meal, but the moment grew awkward.

"This is where you fill the void with conversation," he said.  "That’s what people do at the table."

"I’m too tired to talk."

"Aren’t you fascinated by me?  Aren’t you dying to pepper me with questions?"

She laughed, and it had been so long since she had that she shocked herself.

"Have you ever been told that you’re extremely vain?"

"Yes, I’ve heard it my whole life."

"It’s true."

He flashed a smile that was so warm and inviting she had to glance away.  He appeared approachable and friendly, someone she’d love to know better, but she was determined not to like anything about him.

"You watched me all afternoon," he pointed out.

"There wasn’t much else to see."

"I mesmerize you."

"Honestly!  You’re so full of yourself."

"Haven’t I mentioned that your face is an open book?  I can practically read your mind.  What would you like to learn about me?  I’ll tell you."

Why not ask?
she mused.  He was giving her permission.

Still, she didn’t speak up, and he said, "You’ll be here for weeks.  We don’t have to be enemies.  We can figure out a way to be cordial."

"All right, let’s be cordial.  Where do you live in Egypt?  What is your home like?"

"It’s very grand.  I own a villa outside Alexandria.  The verandah overlooks the Nile.  The spot is quite spectacular."

"How do you occupy your time?"

"I export grain to Europe.  It keeps me very busy."

"You’re a merchant?"

"Yes, and I confess to many other endeavors, too.  Have I surprised you?"

"Yes.  I assumed you were lazy and indolent.  I can’t picture you working."

"Neither can I.  I come from a long line of aristocratic sloths, so it was stunning to discover I had worthwhile skills."

"I bet it was."  She couldn’t help smiling, too.  He seemed so…
charming
.  "What sorts of amusements are available in such an exotic place?"

"In the cooler months, I search the pyramids for antiquities."

"Seriously?  You’ve explored the pyramids?"

"Yes—and so many other remarkable sights.  I can’t begin to describe it all."

"I’m so jealous."

She was possessed of her own wanderlust, and if circumstances had been different—if she’d been born male—she might have engaged in her own adventures. 

At the lending library in her village, her favorite books had been those written by botanists and others who’d detailed their journeys.  But a woman couldn’t simply pack up and travel, and Grace had always been broke, had had to struggle to pay the bills.  There’d never been money for frivolity.

"Where is Michael?" she asked, noticing that she’d grown very lethargic.  The food was making her drowsy.  "I haven’t seen him all day."

"He’s fine.  There are several lads his age at the estate.  He’s been playing and rough-housing.  Tomorrow, he’ll start riding lessons with the stable master."