Sweet Surrender (8 page)

He gave a mock shudder.  "There are entirely too many creditors searching for me there.  I’m happy to hide in the country."

"How big is your debt these days?"

"None of your business, but if you chose to lend an old friend a few pounds, your gesture wouldn’t be rebuffed."

"Ha!  As if I’d loan you a penny."

"I don’t want a loan.  I want a gift."

"In your dreams."

"Yes, in my very vivid, very thrilling dreams—as I picture you showering me with some of your fortune.  What are you saving it for anyway?  It’s not as if you’re keeping it for those sons you’ll never sire."

"I’d stack my money in a pile and light it on fire before I’d allow you to gamble it away."

"When did you grow so sanctimonious?"

"When I learned how to work for a living.  You should try it sometime.  It builds character."

"I have plenty of character," Duncan smirked.  "I don’t need to add any."

Jackson might have replied with a snide remark, but footsteps echoed in the hall.  The maid he’d sent to Miss Bennett’s room appeared in the doorway.

"Mr. Scott?"

"Is Miss Bennett all right?  She was quite rundown yesterday.  She’s not ill, is she?"

"She’s not there."

"What?"

"Her sister and the boy are gone, too."

It was the last news he’d expected.  Scowling, he huffed, "
Gone
?  Gone where?"

Duncan derisively interjected, "They’ve departed the premises."

"Shut up."

The maid stuck out her hand.  "She left you a note—tucked under her pillow."

Jackson took it from her, waiting until she walked out before unfolding it to read what Miss Bennett had penned.

Thank you for your hospitality.  We appreciate your many kindnesses.

There was no signature, but simply the initials
GB. 

He perused the scant, hollow words a dozen times, trying to decipher their actual meaning.  Was she being sincere in voicing her gratitude?  Was she being sarcastic? 

"What does she say?" Duncan asked.

"She says thanks."

"That’s it?"

"Yes." 

Duncan looked as confused as Jackson.

The prior afternoon, he and Miss Bennett had experienced a profound
moment
when they’d been together in the parlor.  He was drawn to her, connected in a way he’d never been with another.  He’d felt as if she was a kindred spirit, as if she knew and understood him. 

He’d demanded she stay, and she’d sworn she would.  She’d
promised.

The deceitful little shrew!  She’d lied to him.  She’d stared him in the face and lied!

What was wrong with her?  She had no money, no friends, and nowhere to go, yet she’d tromped off anyway.

Was the woman insane?

Yes,
was the resounding answer.

"She lied to me," he furiously sputtered.

"About what?"

"She agreed to remain until I could investigate her claim."

"Obviously, she wasn’t serious."

"But why leave?  She’s destitute; if nothing else, I’d have kept her warm and fed."

"I’m betting she wasn’t too keen on your lewd guests.  She’s rather uppity.  She wouldn’t want the boy exposed to your corrupting influences."

"I sent the girls to London just so she wouldn’t be offended!"

"Don’t forget that when you first met her, you tossed her out.  She probably didn’t care for your cavalier manner.  You really can be overbearing.  If you’d treated me that way, I’d have left, too."

"I do
not
understand women."

"No, you never have."

Jackson stood, pushing his chair back so rapidly that it tipped to the floor.  He threw his napkin on the table.

"Where are you going?" Duncan inquired.

"To find Miss Bennett."

"Why?"

"For the same reason I went after her before.  So she’s not running around the countryside, boasting paternity and causing a stir.  She is staying here until I decide that she’s not."

"You don’t know her as I do." 

"I consider myself lucky that I don’t."

"She’s very stubborn."

"As am I."

"I wouldn’t expect her to meekly obey."

"We’ll see about that," Jackson ominously threatened.

He stomped out, shouting orders to have a horse saddled, to have his coat brought down.  In minutes, he was flying down the road.

DC

When Grace heard the approaching horse, she didn’t have to ponder the identity of the rider.  She’d recognize the clop of that stallion’s hooves anywhere.

She sighed with resignation.

At dawn, when they’d tiptoed out—Michael and Eleanor grumbling with every step—she hadn’t thought anyone would notice or mind.  She’d slipped that paltry note under her pillow, but hadn’t imagined a servant would read it or show it to him.

Now, he was chasing them down.

Why would he care that they’d departed?

He didn’t want them at Milton Abbey, refused to accept that Michael was his nephew, and would vehemently deny any paternity. 
And
he was a scoundrel.

After witnessing his debauched character, she was happy to allow him his fantasy where Edward had never married Georgina and Michael didn’t exist.  Yes, she’d vowed to remain, but she’d only relented so he’d stop nagging. 

Her attempt to seek assistance from the Scott family had been foolish.  Mr. Porter had tried to warn her, but she’d forged ahead—when she should have exercised caution.

They were in the village, seated on a bench outside the blacksmith’s barn.  They were waiting for Mr. Porter so they could arrange a ride to London.  Grace hadn’t the slightest clue how they’d survive once they arrived in the city.  She was fumbling around, out of ideas, penniless, and terrified.

"I don’t know why we couldn’t have stayed at the Abbey," Michael complained.

"I don’t, either," Eleanor agreed.  "I’m starving.  You could at least have let us eat breakfast." 

"There were reasons we had to leave," Grace grudgingly admitted.

"What were they?" Michael asked.

She’d planned to shield them from reality, but didn’t they deserve an explanation?

"I’m sorry, Michael," she said, "but Mr. Scott didn’t believe that Edward is your father, so he didn’t feel bound to extend any hospitality."

"He didn’t
believe
us?"  Michael was gravely offended.  "I wish you’d have let me talk to him.  I don’t appreciate his denigrating my parents."

"I wasn’t too thrilled myself," Grace muttered as Mr. Scott thundered into the village square.

He reined in and urged his horse toward them.  They rose, morose and beaten down, like a trio facing the gallows.  With him mounted, he towered over them, appearing imperious and judgmental and in the right.

"Miss Bennett," he snapped, "you promised you would remain at the Abbey."

"I lied," she said.

"Yes, I see that you have.  I’ve typically found females to be ridiculous in their choices, and you’ve proved yourself to be the same as any other woman."

"That’s me, just one bad decision after the next."

"Come," he commanded.  "We’re heading to the Abbey, and I won’t listen to any argument."

"You don’t want us there, Mr. Scott, and I have no idea why you’re in a temper.  I’ve made things easy on you.  I’ve left without your having to force me away.  You should be celebrating."

"I’m
not
celebrating, Miss Bennett.  I’m furious, and as I’ve explained—but you don’t seem to grasp—I always get my way."

He spun to Michael.

"Good morning, Michael."

"Good morning, sir."

"You may call me Jackson."

"Thank you."

"Did you want to leave the Abbey?"

"No.  I had hoped for a long visit so I could explore the spot where my father was raised.  I feel sad that you have disparaged my parents.  I didn’t know my father, but my mother was wonderful.  You would have liked her very much."

"I’m sure I would have.  And I haven’t said a derogatory word about your parents.  Who claimed I had?  Was it Grace?"

Michael hesitated, not keen to tattle on Grace, but not eager to fib to his uncle.

"Ah…she told me you didn’t believe us, sir, and my mother would never lie.  Not about something this important."

Mr. Scott’s cheeks flushed, as if Michael’s calm certainty embarrassed him.  His haughty attention shifted from Michael to Grace to Eleanor, then back to Michael. 

Before Grace realized what he intended, he nudged his horse between her and Michael.  Then he leaned down and grabbed Michael by the arm.  In a swift move, he yanked Michael onto the saddle.

"We’ll be at the Abbey," Mr. Scott advised Grace.

"What?" Grace stammered.  "You can’t just…take him."

"Yes, I can.  Haven’t you figured it out by now?  I can act however I please."

He jerked the animal around, its large size causing Grace to leap away. 

"Stop it!" Grace firmly stated, but he ignored her and trotted off.

"If you’d like to retrieve the boy," he hurled over his shoulder, "you’ll have to return."

"You dog!  You swine!  You…you kidnapper!"

"At the Abbey, Miss Bennett.  I’ll see you in an hour or so."

"Goodbye, Grace," Michael called, waving.

"Michael!  Wrestle free!  Jump down!" she shouted, but to no avail.

They simply kept on, with Michael smiling at Mr. Scott as if he was a hero, as if he walked on water.  Grace dashed after them, but rapidly stumbled to a halt.  She could never catch up.

"Ooh, I hate that man," she fumed as they galloped out of sight.

Eleanor hurried over, and they peered down the empty road.

"Why would he behave like that?" Eleanor inquired, sounding stunned.

"Because he’s a fiend."

"What’s really happening, Grace?  You’ve been in a rage ever since we arrived.  Tell me why you’re so upset."

Grace stared at her sister, wanting to deny any trouble, but Eleanor was eighteen.  She’d grown up at a girl’s boarding school, so she’d had limited dealings with men and certainly no experience with scoundrels.  Wasn’t it best to enlighten her?

"When I went upstairs yesterday, I found Mr. Scott in a compromising situation."

"You spoke to him?  You claimed you didn’t."

"Yes…well…he was with some shocking women, and I can’t begin to describe his conduct."

"He was entertaining loose women?"

"It was ghastly.  I can’t let him have any contact with Michael.  He would be a horrid influence."

"But he’s Michael’s only family."

"Mr. Porter told me, and Mr. Scott has confirmed, that Edward wed someone else—an aristocrat’s daughter—shortly after he supposedly
died.
"

Eleanor gasped.  "How could he?  He was already married to Georgina."

"Precisely."

"What a bounder.  Why would he carry out such a deception?"

"I haven’t a clue, but he and his wife had a son—Percival—who is a few months younger than Michael.  He’s been installed as earl."

Eleanor considered for a moment, her sharp mind quickly grasping the intricacies.  "They’ll never accept Michael as Edward’s child."

"No, they never will."

"They’d have to disavow the other boy.  They never would."

"No, never."

"Could Michael be…in danger from them?"

"I don’t think so, but we shouldn’t linger here and find out."

Eleanor’s shoulders slumped with defeat.  "What now?"

"Now, we walk to the Abbey, locate Michael and—next time—do a better job of running away." 

CHAPTER FIVE

"I need to learn to ride and shoot and fight."

"That’s quite a list."

"A boy should be good at all those things, don’t you think?"

"I absolutely agree."

Jackson grinned at Michael.  They were in the library at Milton Abbey, enjoying some cake and conversation while waiting for Grace to stomp in like a mad hornet.

"My mother would never allow any fighting," Michael said.  "She felt a gentleman shouldn’t."

"But sometimes a fellow has to brawl."

"Exactly," Michael solemnly stated.  "I tried to explain it to her, but she was a girl.  She didn’t understand."

Jackson nodded in commiseration, disturbed to discover that he liked Michael very much.