Tis the Season to Be Sinful (4 page)
“A fine bargain,” Mr. Fowler interjected enthusiastically. “I can have the papers ready to sign by this evening.”
Juliet’s brow creased. Almost as if sensing her weakening, Mr. Harper softened his expression.
“I will raise the price another two thousand pounds, Mrs. Wentworth, but that is absolutely my final offer. Do we have a deal?” he asked, extending his hand.
The offer was more than generous and they both knew it. The last vestiges of Juliet’s indecision faded. Mr. Harper was right. It would be far better to gift her son with a tidy sum of money rather than a debt-ridden property when he reached his majority. And the funds would not only provide for Edward’s future, but support her and the children now, when their need was greatest.
“The dowager house and ten acres,” she bargained recklessly.
“Done!”
His voice reverberated through her like a shot. Stunned, Juliet blinked down at the carpet. Had she really just agreed to sell the estate? To a Colonial businessman?
She gazed at the wisps of masculine hair on the back of Mr. Harper’s outstretched hand. Hesitating only a moment, she grasped it firmly and shook. “We do indeed have a deal, Mr. Harper.”
Richard smiled and looked down at the woman who held his hand with surprising force, uncertain which of them was more surprised. After learning the estate was part of an inheritance, he thought it was going to be hellishly difficult to strike a bargain, especially with a female. In his experience, they understood little of worldly realities and even less about business.
Yet apparently beneath the pretty face and statuesque figure—which was curved delightfully in exactly the right places—Mrs. Wentworth was a sensible woman. Even if she did say the most outrageous things.
Her initial hostile greeting could be explained, given the circumstances. She’d been unaware of their arrival and had suspected the worst. Richard wondered idly if she carried a weapon upon her person, thankful if she did, it was not a pistol. If she had, he and Barclay would have been in grave peril, for she certainly appeared to be the type who would shoot first and ask questions later.
“I think a toast is in order,” Mr. Fowler proclaimed jovially. “Mr. Harper?”
Richard reluctantly released Mrs. Wentworth’s hand. Odd, it had felt damn good resting in his. “Will you join us, Mrs. Wentworth?”
She smiled. “Why not? I rarely drink in the middle of the day, but given the circumstances, I think it appropriate.”
Mr. Fowler did the honors, refilling the men’s glasses and fetching a fresh one for Mrs. Wentworth. Glasses in hand, they all turned expectantly toward Mrs. Wentworth. She flushed momentarily under the scrutiny, clearly at a loss. Richard opened his mouth to save her further embarrassment, but she quickly rallied, hoisting her glass in salute.
“To Mr. Harper. Congratulations and welcome to the neighborhood. I wish you every happiness in your new home.”
“To Mr. Harper,” the land agent echoed before draining his whiskey glass in one long swallow.
Barclay unwisely attempted to imitate Mr. Fowler. Tossing back his whiskey with a dramatic flair, the secretary’s eyes widened in shock as a fit of deepchested coughing overcame him. Mrs. Wentworth rushed to his side, her face contorted with concern.
“Goodness me,” she proclaimed, thumping the younger man between his shoulder blades. “Are you all right?”
Barclay’s face reddened. Lacking any breath to answer, he nodded his head vigorously, yet his coughing continued unabated.
Damn, he really was going to have to rethink Barclay’s employment, Richard decided. The man was missing the sense to get out of his own way.
“Barclay!” The secretary froze like a deer in a hunter’s sights. Richard slammed his still-full glass on the table. He took one step toward the pair, and then stopped as Mrs. Wentworth turned to him.
“He is fine, just fine. No need to help.”
A twinge of guilt washed over him. Her expression clearly indicated she thought his interference detrimental to Barclay’s recovery. Far worse was realizing she was probably right.
Richard retrieved his whiskey glass and took a sip, wondering idly if Mrs. Wentworth would rush to his side if he began choking.
Hell, where did that come from?
Was it something in the country air that gave a person such outrageous thoughts?
Was it something in the country air that gave a person such outrageous thoughts?
Leaving his still coughing secretary to the tender ministrations of Mrs. Wentworth, Richard sought out Mr. Fowler. He rapidly dictated several requisites of the upcoming sale. The land agent agreed readily to all his demands, making Richard realize he had most likely paid too much for the property.
No matter. He could well afford it. Besides, in the end it was Mrs. Wentworth who would profit.
“My sincerest apologizes, sir,” Barclay said as he slunk to Richard’s side. Pale-cheeked and red-eyed, the secretary pulled a fresh sheet of parchment from his leather-bound folder. “What specific clauses do you wish included in the bill of sale?”
Richard sniffed. Barclay might be a young pup lacking any sophistication, but he knew well his employer’s methods. “I have already spoken with Mr. Fowler about several of them, but there are a few more.”
Richard rattled off the items, noting that Mrs. Wentworth was likewise consulting with Mr. Fowler, though neither of them was making any notes.
As she conversed with the land agent, Richard took another long look at his new neighbor and realized his first impression that she was attractive fell far short of the truth. There was not one specific feature that could be deemed exceptional, well, except her fair, creamy complexion. Add to that a wide mouth with full luscious lips a shade of coral pink, high cheekbones, a pert nose, and an exotic tilt of dark, expressive eyes, and the result was captivating.
Oh, yes, she was undeniably appealing.
She looked over at him, and the sparkle in the depths of her deep brown eyes immediately caught his attention. His pulse did an odd jump.
What in the blazes was wrong with him? Was it the thrill of successfully purchasing the estate? Besting a business rival was an event that never failed to give him a rush of euphoria. Or was it something else?
Richard continued to gaze into her eyes, oddly reluctant to turn away. Desire, he decided. An understandable reaction really of a normal, healthy male celibate for far too long. Since moving to England he had worked long hours in an almost exclusively male environment, having almost no social contact with women.
Though he rarely gave a second thought about buying anything he desired, the notion of paying a woman for sexual favors was inherently repugnant to Richard. That left wooing a female into an affair, a near impossibility given his lack of female social interaction.
Richard grimaced. The desire now pooling heavy in his groin made him wonder if it was past time to rethink the idea of an affair. With Mrs. Wentworth?
Richard shifted uncomfortably. He knew women of all classes indulged in the joys of the flesh, but placing Mrs. Wentworth among them seemed wrong. He knew instinctively she was not the sort of woman who obliged a man that way, not the kind with which one dallied. Oh, no, marriage was required to get her into his bed.
Blast and damn! Marry her?
From where had that idiotic thought sprung? The lust pounding in his cock, no doubt. And her comical reference to a union between them in order for him to secure the use of the estate. An idea his body had apparently taken far more seriously than his brain.
From where had that idiotic thought sprung? The lust pounding in his cock, no doubt. And her comical reference to a union between them in order for him to secure the use of the estate. An idea his body had apparently taken far more seriously than his brain.
Because it isn’t such a bad notion?
“I must take my leave of you, Mr. Harper, and return to my office to draw up all the necessary papers.” Mr. Fowler consulted his pocket watch, and then frowned. “The last train to London leaves in an hour. I’m afraid the documents won’t be ready in time for you to take them today.”
“No matter,” Richard replied. “I’ll stay the night. I assume there is an inn in the village where I can rent rooms for myself and Barclay?”
Richard heard his secretary’s sharp intake of breath. No wonder. When Barclay had timidly suggested earlier in the week that it might be wise to plan this journey as an overnight trip, Richard had adamantly refused, citing it as a waste of time.
“We have two inns in the village, as a matter of fact,” Mr. Fowler responded. “Both are clean, wellrun establishments, though I warn you they are not as fancy as those in London.”
“Either sound appropriate for our needs,” Richard replied, wondering how the agent would react if he knew the appalling housing conditions Richard had endured before securing his fortune.
“I believe the Bull and Finch will be better suited to Mr. Harper’s taste,” Mrs. Wentworth volunteered.
“Yes, yes,” Mr. Fowler concurred. “In addition to fine food, they boast an excellent wine cellar.”
“The Bull and Finch it will be,” Richard said decisively. “See to the rooms, will you, Barclay? The best in the house, if you please.”
“But, sir, you specifically said that you did not wish to stay overnight in the country, most especially at a country inn,” Barclay said, his voice quavering.
Richard glowered. “Are you trying to spoil my good mood by being contrary?”
Barclay paled, but recovered quickly. Richard nodded his approval. Perhaps there was hope for the lad. Dismissing his employee from his mind, Richard turned to Mrs. Wentworth. She gazed at him with pursed lips and ridiculously he found himself wanting to smile at her.
The usual impatience he often felt to be gone at the conclusion of a business deal was absent. In fact, he had the most absurd impulse to invite her to dinner, a forward gesture that was as inappropriate as it was intriguing.
Richard was puzzled by this odd sense of exhilaration he felt. What was it about this woman that charmed him so much? Was it the passion he sensed underlying the elegance and refinement of her manner? Or something else entirely?
He was not adept at making small talk—especially with society women—and the lack of skill suddenly irked him. Richard clasped his hands behind his back and cleared his throat as an uncomfortable silence descended upon them.
“Ready, Mr. Harper?” The land agent gazed at him expectantly from the carriage. “Or would you prefer to stay? I can have the coach return to bring you and Mr. Barclay into the village.”
Richard seized the idea. It was his chance to be alone with Mrs. Wentworth. He would send Barclay into the house to tackle a very time-consuming task and then ask the lovely widow to show him the gardens.
It was an excellent plan. That would have worked well. Except before he could put it into action, Mrs. Wentworth spoke.
“I must be on my way home,” she said briskly. “My children require my attention and will be concerned that I have been away for so long.”
“May we offer you a ride?” Richard asked.
“Thank you, but I enjoy walking. I bid you good afternoon, gentlemen.”
Richard inclined his head cordially, refusing to show any sign of disappointment at having his plans thwarted. His mood darkened as he watched her walk away, but it did not linger. Instead, he focused on the positive aspects of the afternoon.
He had successfully purchased the estate he wanted, and in the process acquired a most attractive, beguiling neighbor. A lovely woman who might neatly solve another pressing dilemma—his need for a society wife.
Chapter 3
Juliet found that she was trembling a little by the time she returned to the dowager house. The tremors were not caused by the slight drop in temperature, she reasoned, but rather from a sense of shock at what she had just done—struck an agreement to sell her son’s legacy. To a shrewd, handsome businessman, no less.
The delicious aroma of freshly baked meat pies filled Juliet’s nostrils as she slipped inside the kitchen door. The room was empty, however, and Juliet was glad, needing a bit more time to gather her thoughts before informing any of the servants about what she had done. Change was never easy to accept, and something as drastic as this was sure to rattle some of them.
Of course, she fully intended to keep her small household staff with her at the dowager house, even increasing its size by one or two new members, now that she could afford it.
I can afford it!
A shiver of relief ran through her. Finally, she would have the security she so desperately craved for herself and her children. The boys would be able to attend a proper school; a kind, accomplished governess could be hired to care for and educate Lizzy.
A shiver of relief ran through her. Finally, she would have the security she so desperately craved for herself and her children. The boys would be able to attend a proper school; a kind, accomplished governess could be hired to care for and educate Lizzy.
It would be heavenly to no longer be forced to count pennies so strictly, not to juggle paying the butcher one week and the grocer the next. To make clothes for the children that were not a size too big in order to ensure an extra year of wear, and buy shoes that were new and fitted properly on their feet.
Juliet entered the dining room. Her sons looked up from the pages they were laboring over, greeting her with eager smiles.
“Mrs. Wentworth!” The tutor swung around, giving her a decidedly quelling look. “Our lessons are not finished for today. We still have another hour, which could very easily become two, if James is unable to correctly answer his history questions.”
What a little prig! Juliet’s eyes moved from James’s downtrodden face to the tutor’s smug expression. He was a petty man, who clearly enjoyed making his students feel inadequate. Well, all that was about to change.
“Lessons are over for today, Mr. Bates,” Juliet declared sharply. “I need to speak with my sons. In
private
.”
private
.”
She emphasized the last word with a deliberately haughty chill. The tutor raised a brow in protest, but wisely chose not to argue. With an exaggerated bow, he left the room.
Juliet turned to her sons, giving them a wobbly smile. Now that the moment was at hand, she was worried about their reaction. Edward was a sensitive soul, taking his role as the “man of the house” very seriously. He was also inordinately proud of his position as the elder son, the heir apparent to his father’s legacy.
In contrast, James was eager to please and excited about everything. He would most likely take the news in stride, thinking it all a grand adventure.
“I have important news that I wanted to share with you.” Juliet sat on the nearest dining room chair and the boys gathered close. “As you are aware, I have been hoping for some time now to lease the manor house. The funds are needed to run our own household and to provide for our future.
“Until now, Mr. Fowler has been unable to locate a tenant; however, he did find a gentleman who was eager not to lease, but to purchase the house.” She took a deep breath. “There was much to discuss and negotiate, but in the end I knew it was best for all of us. So, I have agreed to it,” she concluded, doing her best to keep the nerves that were fluttering through her from entering her voice.
“You sold the estate?” Edward repeated, his voice pitched high in surprise.
Juliet nodded.
“Did you get gobs of money for it?” James asked hopefully.
“Yes,” Juliet responded, unable to keep the smile from her face. “But you should not ask people questions about money, James. ’Tis rude and ill mannered.”
“Highgrove Manor belongs to me,” Edward interrupted indignantly. “It was Papa’s house and as the oldest son it is now my house.”
Juliet’s face crumpled. “I know, dear, but honestly, there was nothing else to be done. We still have the dowager house, and when you are of age, that shall pass to you.”
“The dowager house is a place for an old lady to live,” Edward protested.
“Mama is not old,” James responded hotly.
Juliet reached out to block Edward’s fist from connecting with James’s shoulder. In general the boys got on well together, but she had noticed that lately disagreements between them were being resolved in a physical manner. Having raised four sons of her own, Mrs. Perkins assured Juliet that it was perfectly normal, but she still found it somewhat disturbing.
“I understand that you are disappointed, Edward. I am, too. But with Papa gone, we cannot afford to maintain the manor.” Juliet gazed at her elder son. The hurt and bewilderment on his face increased, and her heart sank further. Better to cut off her right arm than to see any of her children suffer.
Edward’s features grew pensive. “A proper gentleman must have a proper home,” he said quietly. “Where will I live when I am older?”
“You’ll have to marry an heiress to get a proper home,” James said philosophically. “That’s what Uncle Gerald told me I would need to do. But I think I’ll come and live with you instead, because I’m never going to get married. Girls are a real bother.”
“That’s just stupid,” Edward muttered with a dark look at his brother.
“Edward! Don’t say such things to your brother. And James . . .” Juliet’s eyes rounded with shock. Only seven years old and her son was talking about marrying for money. She knew that, since their father’s death, both of her sons had grown up faster than they should, but this was ridiculous.
“Sorry, Mama,” James apologized readily, his expression solemn.
As she expected, Edward wasn’t nearly as contrite as his younger brother, but his wound had been far more personal. She gazed hopefully at Edward, praying he would be able to accept this decision without too much heartache.
She caught a glimpse of tears welling in his eyes, but then Edward raised his head and stared unfocused toward the ceiling. “When I am older, I will find a way to buy Highgrove Manor back.”
“I hope that will happen, Edward, if that is what you truly want,” she answered.
“It is.” He shook his head and then his gaze met hers—blessedly devoid of criticism. “I’m glad that we can stay here, though. I like the house, even if it was meant for old ladies.”
“Old ladies.” James snickered.
Caught in their infectious merriment, Juliet smiled. Edward had taken the news rather well, all things considered. And his plan to once again own Highgrove someday was not completely out of the question. Perhaps she could make that a condition of the sale. If Mr. Harper ever decided to sell, Edward was to be given the opportunity to place the first, exclusive bid.
The thought eased her lingering guilt. She opened her arms wide and embraced both boys. James returned the embrace with his usual enthusiasm; Edward was a bit more reserved, but Juliet was pleased that he easily accepted her kiss. He was growing up so fast. How much longer would he let his mother kiss him and rub his hair? Years and years and years, she hoped.
After a moment, the boys pulled away. “I know I’m not supposed to talk about it, but now that we have lots of money, what are we going to do with it?” James asked with a sheepish smile.
“All sorts of marvelous things,” Juliet said mysteriously.
Edward raised his head. She could see him struggling to hold on to his disinterest, but curiosity won out. “Like what?”
“Well, we shall pay all our bills, which I grant you is not in the least exciting, but very necessary. And we shall hire a few more servants to help run the household, and purchase new clothes. Oh, I do think we can buy a special present for each of you.”
“Like a pony? You always said it cost too much to keep one, but things are different now.” James grinned from ear to ear with excitement.
“I believe we can manage a pony.” Juliet turned her attention to Edward. “And a telescope,” she added, knowing how much her young astronomer longed for a proper instrument to study the stars.
“Really?” Edward asked, his face brightening.
“Oh, yes.” Juliet’s heart swelled with delight at witnessing her sons’ understanding of their sudden changed circumstances. “However, there is something that needs doing immediately that I believe will please you both nearly as much as it will delight me.”
“What?” the boys asked in unison.
“Why, we need to dismiss Mr. Bates, of course.”
Juliet awoke the next morning in an optimistic mood, the last vestiges of misgivings over selling the manor gone. Mr. Fowler had brought the papers to her last evening directly after supper. She had read through them carefully, asking questions, requesting a few small changes, the most significant being Edward’s right of first refusal if the estate was to be offered for sale. Satisfied with the terms, she had signed the documents with a flourish.
She sanded and folded the papers, and then suddenly a single, intense shiver racked through her body as she acknowledged that her life had changed drastically in that moment. Yet this time it was a change of her own making, not a cruelty of fate thrust so unexpectedly upon her.
Anxiety over their future had become her constant companion these past few years. Though the cost had been high, being able to achieve financial stability had made her feel a deep sense of satisfaction.
And it was all thanks to Mr. Harper. Her knight errant. Juliet smiled, wondering how he would react to being given that label. Not very well, she suspected.
She believed he was a very different sort of man from any others she had known, and not only because he was an American. Maybe it was because he was in trade, but that label also seemed far too tame. According to Mr. Fowler, he was highly successful in a great number of business ventures both here and abroad.
Thoughts of Mr. Harper naturally conjured his image in her mind—a very fine image, indeed. Juliet let her memory take hold, remembering in detail the firmness of his jaw, the intensity of his blue eyes, the timbre of his voice. Something warm had unfurled in the region of her chest as she recalled being in his company.
A proper, virtuous woman would have silently scolded herself and pushed the images firmly away. Yet Juliet was honest enough to admit that four very lonely years devoid of any masculine comfort or affection had left her no longer a paragon of any sort.
The truth was, she had not settled well into widowhood. Henry’s death had been so unexpected; soaked to the skin in a chilling rain one evening, a raging fever the next day, his life gone by the following dawn. She had moved in a fog for months after, but when the shock wore off, the real pain began in earnest.
During the day the children kept her occupied, but at night, oh, at night the loneliness invaded her aching heart. Even now there were still times when she would turn over in her sleep, instinctively searching for his solid strength and warmth. Finding only a cold void in the bed beside her, she would awaken, the pain sharp and fresh.
Mrs. Perkins had told her the only way to alleviate it was to marry again, to allow another man into her life. It was something Juliet thought about more and more over the past two years before finally admitting she was not averse to the idea. Naturally, this man would never take Henry’s place. He was her first love, and even if she was lucky enough to find a second, Henry would never entirely leave her.
Mrs. Perkins had insisted that love and romance were not completely beyond her grasp—if she dared to let herself be receptive. And if she was somehow lucky enough to find a gentleman who was interested in her—and her children. He would need an abundance of patience, Juliet decided. And a dry sense of humor.
“The Earl of Hastings has come to call,” Mrs. Perkins said, entering the small drawing room where Juliet sat lost in reflective contemplation. “Are you receiving visitors?”
“Gerald?” A slithery feeling ran down Juliet’s spine at the mention of her brother-in-law’s name.
“Can you not follow even the most basic of instructions, woman? I told you not to announce me!” Gerald Wentworth, the Earl of Hastings, stalked into the drawing room, pushing the door open with such force the hinges rattled in the door frame.
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