Julia London 4 Book Bundle (4 page)

Fortunately the chaise curtains were open, so Mr. Pearle could see Lord Albright was alone inside, reading a newspaper. Clearing his throat, he tapped lightly on the window. “Good afternoon, my lord!” he called cheerfully. Lord Albright glanced at him and nodded—at least it
seemed
like a nod—then turned back to his paper. A bit of heat crept under Mr. Pearle’s collar, and he cleared his throat again. “I trust you have come from Kealing Park?” he asked loudly. “Rather unfortunate turn of events, I must say.”

Lord Albright turned his head slowly and considered him with a cool nonchalance that reminded Mr. Pearle just how chilly the day was turning. After a moment of casual perusal, the earl reached for the door and flicked it open. “Good afternoon, Mr. Pearle. Would you care to join me inside while I wait?” he asked smoothly.

Indeed he would! Mr. Pearle eagerly clambered inside, rocking the coach with his clumsy entry. Settling himself against the velvet squabs, he nervously straightened his neckcloth. “I had heard you were at Kealing Park, of course. And as your lord father was by early this morning, I rather imagine you have learned the regretful news by now.” Instantly, he recognized how forward that sounded, and in an attempt to explain blurted out, “Naturally, Lord Kealing entrusted me to review the documents.”

“Naturally,” Lord Albright drawled.

Heat seeped into Mr. Pearle’s face. “Terrible pity that you weren’t able to resolve your differences. But I suppose if something like this
had
to happen, it is fortunate that you are quite able to fend for yourself, what with your title and the Longbridge estate. And, of course, the entail that will one day come with your father’s title. I suppose if one was to look on the positive
side, one could hardly ignore the fact that young Benedict’s finances will be secure. It is not very often the younger son has such security, you may trust me.”

Lord Albright nodded and settled further into the squabs with such an unconcerned expression that Mr. Pearle had to wonder if he did indeed know what his father had done. “Well,” he said in a nervous croak, “behind every cloud there lies a silver lining! It is important for a young man to have security if he intends to marry well, and Lord Benedict is quite enamored of Miss Dashell—Lilliana, that is, not Caroline, as one might expect.” At that, Lord Albright cocked his head to one side; his hazel eyes pierced Mr. Pearle’s until he felt the heat spread to the top of his scalp. He swallowed. “What I mean to say is that since
you
do not stand to suffer, not
really
, then one might be pleased that Lord Benedict’s offer will seem, ah, more palatable to Baron Dashell. That would be your silver lining, you see.”

“An offer? I am afraid I have not heard of this … 
fortunate
 … turn of events, sir,” Lord Albright admitted casually.

Mr. Pearle squirmed uncomfortably. “Haven’t you? I should think Lord Benedict might have mentioned it.”

“Ah. But as he did not, perhaps you would be so kind as to enlighten me?”

“Yes, well, I know of it only because Lord Kealing called upon me in an effort to gain some … ah, information … about Lord Dashell,” Mr. Pearle said cautiously. “He hasn’t exactly been careful with his funds, you see.”

Lord Albright glanced at his paper and asked, “Gambling debts?”

“Oh no!” Mr. Pearle said, shaking his head vigorously. “Well, not
entirely.
Lord Dashell had a particularly bad crop three years past, and it was hardly improved the following year. And what with the taxes … well, I rather think he meant to make it up at the gaming table, but he was not very successful. And now there is the matter of keeping Blackfield Grange afloat.”

“I see. And I gather Benedict proposes to help him, so that Dashell will look favorably upon his suit,” the earl remarked as he casually studied a cuticle.

Mr. Pearle relaxed a bit, warming to the topic about which he was so well informed. “In a manner of speaking, yes. Miss Dashell does not have a dowry to speak of, so Lord Kealing thought to offer a betrothal gift of her father’s debts in exchange for her hand.”

Lord Albright looked up, smiling thinly. “It seems a bit extreme for my father to pay Dashell’s debts, doesn’t it? I should think a waiver of the dowry would be sufficient to earn the young lady’s favor.”

Recalling almost every word he had recorded in his journal about it, Mr. Pearle was quite proud of knowing the answer. “One would think so, yes. But Lord Dashell’s creditors have grown quite insistent, I’m afraid. Lord Kealing intends to pay his debts in exchange for the gel’s hand
and
a controlling interest in Blackfield Grange. Very clever, your father,” he said with a nod.

Odd, but Lord Albright’s smile seemed almost a sneer. “Yes, isn’t he? But I wonder why he should want a controlling interest in an estate that is not producing,” he mused, and arched an inquisitive brow.

“Oh! That’s quite simple! Blackfield Grange sits on some of the richest soil in the parish. But Lord Dashell could not manage to withdraw his kerchief from his pocket efficiently, if you take my meaning. He does not have a head for things agricultural in nature.”

“I see.” Lord Albright nodded thoughtfully. “Then I must agree with your assessment, sir. It appears my brother has gained himself the silver lining.”

Mr. Pearle beamed with pleasure that the earl had recognized his keen powers of deductive reasoning. He was still beaming when the door opened and the earl’s man stuck his head inside. “Beggin’ your pardon, milord, we are ready now,” he announced.

Lord Albright graciously inclined his head to Mr.
Pearle. “Thank you for the visit, sir. It has been my pleasure.”

Mr. Pearle saw that his time was up, and inched his way to the door. “Thank
you
, my lord. I am glad I had the opportunity to say good-bye and to give you perhaps a more cheerful interpretation of events. I suppose you will go to Longbridge now? Or perhaps London?” he asked as he carefully extended his legs through the small doorway.

“Good day, Mr. Pearle,” the earl said.

The solicitor made his way onto terra firma and glanced back; Lord Albright had resumed reading his paper. He tipped his hat at the earl’s man and, straightening his neckcloth, turned around and marched to the bakery.

So, Benedict was to marry, Adrian thought bitterly as he watched Pearle waddle away. And Archie was going to hold a man’s estate as ransom for the privilege. As if the man needed Blackfield Grange—but with Archie, the conquest was just as enticing as the spoils.

As the chaise started forward, Adrian clamped his jaw tightly shut against an indignation that was beginning to soar in him. He could hardly bring himself to admit it, but the loss of Kealing Park had wounded him deeply. Somehow he had foolishly convinced himself he could hold Archie at bay until his death. He’d been stupid enough to think so even after he had killed Phillip.

A familiar stab of pain jabbed at him, and Adrian closed his eyes. He should have known Benedict would have the Park in the end. Benedict, who had never lifted a finger in all his life to earn a blasted thing, would benefit from Adrian’s misfortune just as he always did. Benedict the Coward would have everything that rightfully belonged to
him
, the heir.

A budding anger took firm root and began to feed on years of suppressed emotion. Suddenly, Adrian could not allow Archie and Benedict to have their way in this. He had lost his father’s esteem long ago, and now, his rightful inheritance. He would never have them back—at the
moment, he didn’t
want
them back—but neither did he want Benedict to have them. He suddenly lunged toward the ceiling vent and jerked it open. “Ark!” he bellowed. “Stop the coach!” As the conveyance shuddered to a halt, Adrian slowly leaned against the squabs, turning a nugget of an idea over and over in his mind, looking for holes, for pitfalls, anything that might persuade him to continue on to Longbridge as he fully intended, having lost the will to return to London just yet.

The groom’s face appeared in the narrow doorway. “Have Wyatt turn the coach around and drive to the village inn,” Adrian said curtly. Arlo’s eyes widened, but he nodded directly and closed the door. As the coach began to move again, Adrian glanced out the window, his mind churning. He could find no obvious flaws in his thinking. His idea, much to his great surprise, suddenly made a great deal of sense to him.

Archie had chosen well. Reined to a stop on top of a hill, Adrian surveyed the valley below him where Blackfield Grange sat. A little ragged around the edges, it was nonetheless a fine estate of Georgian design, with two modern wings sweeping out from either side of the main hall. The fields beyond the house were dotted with haystacks, feed supply left for the winter. A spread of gardens graced the east wing, a bowling lawn was off the west terrace, and two riders raced headlong into a wooded area that bordered the west side of the estate.

Adrian only vaguely remembered the owners, Lord and Lady Dashell, and had racked his brain for a memory of the children, but to no avail. He seemed to recall that Lady Dashell had visited his mother with her brood in tow on occasion, but his lack of any other memory had forced him to call on the odious Mr. Pearle to find out exactly how many children, and of what age and gender. Pearle had eagerly ticked off Master Tom Dashell, the heir, his younger sister, Lilliana, and the youngest of them all, Caroline, the family beauty. Both
girls were of marrying age and, as Pearle so delicately put it, Lilliana was even a smidgen past a suitable age at two and twenty.

The fat little solicitor had also added that the girls were healthy feminine specimens, and in his words, “built to produce an abundance of heirs.” Adrian had certainly not inquired as to that, but was glad that Pearle had volunteered it all the same. The debate warring inside him argued that he was doing this, in part, because he needed an heir. Phillip’s death had rudely awakened him to the reality of his own mortality, and he would not allow one foot of Longbridge or any of his other holdings to pass to Benedict.

He needed an heir.

It was the rationalization he clung to, but he was not so obtuse that he didn’t recognize that this was also revenge, plain and simple. He simply could not allow Benedict and Archie to have Blackfield Grange in addition to everything else they had taken. Apparently he was in luck—another interesting piece of news Pearle had passed along was that a final agreement between the Spence and Dashell families had not been reached. And to Pearle’s knowledge, Miss Dashell was not aware of the particulars of the offer.

Adrian adjusted the brim of his hat with a wry smile. Miss Dashell would be aware of
his
offer, just as soon as he had his audience with Lord Dashell. It would no doubt seem like a godsend to Dashell. It was so simple, really. He would pay the man’s debts, just as Archie had offered to do. But instead of taking a controlling interest of Blackfield Grange, Adrian would offer to give the baron twenty-five thousand pounds over and above the twenty-five thousand he needed to settle his affairs. In exchange for that extraordinary sum of money, Adrian would request only that the marriage occur as quickly as possible—and he had taken the liberty of obtaining a special license to ensure that it did. As for the matter of never having met Miss Dashell, well, he would finesse
that when the time came. He was banking on the fact that Dashell would realize there would never be a chance like this again in his lifetime.

The smile slowly faded from his lips as he asked himself again why he should care if Benedict married the Dashell girl or if Archie got a piece of Blackfield Grange. He didn’t really know the answer, and he certainly didn’t care to analyze it. The only thing he knew was that he wanted revenge. Revenge for a lifetime of Archie’s abuse, for the many times he had tried to please his father. Revenge for his mother and the loss of Kealing Park. He wanted revenge, and the longer he sat here, the longer he would have to wait for it.

He spurred his horse forward. Jason, a groom at Blackfield Grange, could see Lilliana crashing through the trees just ahead, starting to put distance between them. He gave his horse his head and crashed after her, but she was an expert rider. When he caught up with her, she veered sharply to the right. Jason managed to keep pace parallel to her, catching glimpses of her blue riding habit through the copse of trees through which they recklessly rode. As they neared a meadow stretching beyond the woods, they broke through the trees at the same time, both bent over the necks of their mounts. Jason saw the mound of brush and rocks looming directly in front of Lilliana and caught a nervous breath in his throat. But she led her horse to leap agilely over the brush, never losing speed.

They tore down the length of the west meadow and around the lone oak at the far end, neck and neck. As they raced down the return stretch, Jason gained a nose on her. Lilliana suddenly pulled up short, her cry fading swiftly as Jason shot past. Panic assaulted him—immediately he yanked on the reins and jerked the roan around, just as Lilliana flew past.

“Damnation!”
he shouted, and yanked the roan around again. But it was too late and too well done on
Lilliana’s part. He saw her disappear into the woods ahead of him, and when he emerged on the other side a few minutes later, Lilliana was at the finish line. Laughing.

“You
cheated!
” he cried angrily.

“I certainly did!” she readily agreed, and laughed gleefully.

Jason couldn’t help himself—he smiled broadly. “That was hardly sporting, Miss Lilliana! I wonder what your lady mother would say to your racing
and
cheating!”

“She would flay me alive, I assure you,” Lilliana responded cheerfully.

Jason’s gaze flicked to her gown, spattered with mud and bunched around the tops of her boots. She rode astride—terribly improper, but effective. “She may flay you alive yet. Your gown is ruined,” he remarked, and motioned to her hem.

Lilliana’s smile faded as she leaned to one side to have a look. “Oh, wo,” she moaned, then sighed wearily. “Well. There you have it. I am to be flayed alive.” She glanced up, a devilish grin on her face. “Therefore, I should take full advantage of the opportunity. Come on then, I am simply
dying
to see Mrs. Oakley’s baby boy!”