Whisper of Magic (36 page)

Jamar and Erran waited in the entry hall. She allowed Erran
to escort her into the parlor. She held her breath as she clasped his arm. He
was so solid, so confident . . . She wanted to simply hand him
all her problems and rely on him forever.

For her own sake and that of her family and the people in
Jamaica depending on her, she could not. She must show that she had the
confidence and ability to direct her own life—and that of her siblings and an
entire plantation on the other side of the world.

All their futures rode on today’s outcome—
and she couldn’t speak
.

She’d spent days frantically looking for ways to work around
her lack of charm. If all else failed, she could do hysteria well. It wasn’t
the option she wanted.

A game table had been brought in to use as desk. Her
father’s solicitor, Mr. Herrington, stood and beamed genially at her. She had
manipulated him into agreement last time. He must agree with her now on
principle alone—not a simple task given England’s preference to treat women as
children or furniture.

Ashford’s elderly solicitor nodded as they were introduced.
Legally entangling her family with the Ives required an objective third
party—not Erran. She had to overcome this man’s objections with reason and by
projecting confidence the way the Ives men did.

She swallowed hard and resisted the urge to flee.

Lansdowne’s disapproving attorney, Mr. Luther, glared at her
from over his spectacles. His animosity she could safely ignore. The angrier he
became, the less anyone would listen, she hoped. Unable to use her persuasive
voice, she’d developed another plan for dealing with him. The important part
was that
she
dealt with him, not any
man. She needed to know she could handle her father’s affairs with the same
competence as her father once had.

She took a seat on the sofa between Trevor and Sylvia.

In a fashionable gray morning coat, striped trousers, and
red vest, Erran stood with hands behind his back on the far side of the parlor,
away from the negotiating table. While she’d convalesced, she had sent him
notes asking him to draw up the documents on the table now. He’d sent her notes
of protest and notes requesting that they speak, but in the end, he’d done as
she’d asked, to the dismay of her heart and the relief of her head. She needed
to think straight, and emotions had a tendency to muddle her concentration.

Erran had the ability to stir every emotion she possessed,
and some she hadn’t known existed. Was lust an emotion? Because he inspired
that too, and it was even less conducive to concentration than love. She
deliberately looked at the gouty old men across the table rather than the
handsomely aristocratic one making her heart race.

“Lord Rochester, Miss Rochester, Miss Sylvia,” Mr.
Herrington addressed them, once they were settled. “Lord Ashford and Mr. Brown,
Ashford’s solicitor, have consulted and decided as head of your maternal
family, the marquess is in the best position to conduct your affairs until such
time as the baron reaches his majority.”

Trevor scowled, but nodded to what he’d known was coming.

“Miss Rochester, being of age, will have her share of the
estate, understanding that other than her dowry, the rest will be as income
from the Jamaican property. The property shall be maintained by the marquess of
Ashford and his representatives until such time as the baron is of age.”

Lansdowne’s man rose to object. “He cannot usurp the rights
of the father’s family! The earl already has his men in place, as is his
right—”

Celeste glanced to Erran. Her notes had told him what needed
to be done. He’d agreed. As a confident man of the law, he could easily step in
now and handle it for her, but she’d made it plain that she wanted to do it
herself, to make these men understand that
she
was captain of her own fate now. Grimacing reluctant agreement, Erran waited
for her to make her stand. He understood her need to establish her
independence. For that alone, she could love him.

Once this was over, they needed to talk—about
them
. About his proposal. She had to
block that from her mind. She could only take one enormous step at a time.

Drawing a deep breath for courage, Celeste gestured to
indicate that Luther take his seat. Luther glowered and resisted. She had to
save her voice for more important matters, and the lawyer wasn’t important in
the greater scheme of things. She found the document she sought on the table
and held it out to Erran to read aloud.

He did so in a gloating tone despite the list being no more
than a boring sum of the earl’s rather extensive debts. Celeste took the list
when he was done and produced a small pouch of coin she’d had Erran draw on her
father’s account now that the court had freed her funds. She picked up a pen,
circled the debt owed to Luther’s firm, and counted out the sum in coin. She
shoved it toward the earl’s solicitor.

“The lady is offering to pay your firm what it is owed for
your oversight of her father’s affairs these past months,” Erran translated for
her.

Luther looked wary. “In return for what?”

“In return for resigning Lansdowne’s claim to the estate,”
Ashford’s elderly attorney stated sonorously, at her behest. “Lansdowne cannot
pay you, even if he wished to do so. The Jamaican estate is a mere drop in the
bucket of his debts. A suit will expose the details, making it obvious he is not
the careful caretaker the court would approve. Such a revelation will almost
certainly drive his creditors to demand bankruptcy. We have a judge’s signature
confirming the marquess’s responsibility toward the family and their estate. We
do not wish to drain the young baron’s coffers with an expensive, protracted
lawsuit—for which you will not be paid whether you win or lose. Sign the
release and your hard work shall be recompensed despite your efforts to deplete
the Rochesters’ assets.”

The list was a threat Celeste would have loved to deliver
herself. The earl had attempted to steal everything they owned, but she wasn’t
facing the earl, just one of his lackeys. Her gesture would suffice in light of
the more important task she still had to accomplish.

Once Luther’s vociferous arguments had been defeated, and he
had agreed to her payment, his involvement was moot. She’d done it! With
Erran’s aid and her suggestions, she’d defeated Lansdowne’s
representative—without need of her voice. She might have a backbone after all.

Triumph wasn’t hers yet. She had thought long and hard about
her future in deciding this next step—there were so many people counting on
her! But she had found a solution that suited her and made as many people happy
as possible.

Except possibly Erran. She hadn’t told him. This was her
decision and hers alone.

She now had to stand up to the men who sought to protect
her—a much harder task than defeating a lackey. After the lawyers finished
bickering over the details of the earl’s resignation, Celeste gestured for
Trevor to hand over the papers in his pockets.

Erran raised his eyebrows in surprise when she rolled out
documents he hadn’t prepared. She’d hated relying on him up until now, but for
her family, she understood the necessity. For them, she would take no risks.

For herself—and the child she might be carrying—she must
learn the confidence to act on her own. This was her declaration of
independence.

“I would like the release of my dowry,” she whispered as
clearly as her voice allowed. She set the purchase agreement in front of
Ashford’s daunting solicitor. “To buy a house of my own. I will also need the
return of my family’s rents from the marquess, as my siblings will be moving in
with me.”

Sylvia and Trevor had been along when she’d visited the
charming cottage Lady Aster had told her about. Both her siblings had agreed
that if they were to stay in England, they couldn’t continue sharing with the
marquess. The cottage wouldn’t be a grand London townhouse, but it would be
theirs
.

Celeste prayed Erran understood. Men liked to make big
decisions, but if they expected a woman to make a decision as important as who
she meant to spend her life with, then she should be able to decide on buying a
home for her family.

She hadn’t dared look at Erran to see how he was taking the
news that she meant to stay in England, if only until she saw Sylvia and Trevor
established on their own. Her heart had resolved the dispute between place and
people. She didn’t know if Erran would grasp what she was doing. She didn’t
know where his heart was.

“A young unmarried lady cannot set up her own
establishment!” Mr. Brown said in horror, not even acknowledging that she
wouldn’t be returning to Jamaica. “It is not done.”

“It is up to your husband to choose how your dowry will be
spent,” Mr. Herrington said nervously, polishing his glasses. “One cannot
expect a young lady to manage her funds successfully in supporting her own
household.”

Celeste refused to back down. “The money is mine,” she
whispered as defiantly as she could. “I am independent in the eyes of the law.
I have no husband to speak for me, so I speak for myself. I wish to establish
my own household. I have an elderly companion who cannot make the return
journey to her home, and she deserves a proper one here.”

While the solicitors hemmed and hawed over costs and the
wisdom of allowing a young lady such profligate use of funds destined for a
husband, Erran stepped up to slap his hand on the document and call for
silence. “The lady is of an age and intelligence to chart her own course
without our guidance. Grant her request or I shall bring in Ashford so you
might explain your objections to him.”

After nearly fainting in relief that he agreed, Celeste
laughed at the promptness with which the lawyers approved her request. Erran
hadn’t even used his compulsion. Just the possibility of Ashford’s furious
interference had cowed them.

She ought to be upset that she’d still needed him to help
her, but the look he gave her was heated, and she quit thinking again. He
understood. And her heart beat so quickly, she feared she might actually give
into the vapors.

Erran properly rapped Ashford’s front knocker. A footman
in gleaming linen and black coat opened the door and bowed to gesture him in.

So much formality would be off-putting if Erran hadn’t been
focused on one goal. He would not be deterred in his mission. “Is Miss
Rochester at home?” He offered his card.

It seemed the height of idiocy to ask after weeks of coming
and going through the kitchen and finding her when he liked, but after all his
impropriety, he had to show her the respect she deserved. He smoothed his glove
over his new morning coat and pleated shirt—to replace the one that had been
ruined by the Thames. Celeste had seen him at his worst, but today, he’d
dressed for her.

“I shall see, my lord. The marquess has requested that you
make yourself known to him when you arrive. I will find you in his study, shall
I?”

Torn, Erran glanced up the stairs, but there was no sign of
Celeste. He prayed she hadn’t moved out yet. With a grimace, he followed the
footman to Dunc’s study. Inside, he found Jamar reading a letter aloud in a
sonorous voice that would have suited a judge’s chamber.

Dunc looked up at his entrance. If nothing else, his brother
had learned to listen. Jamar set down the letter when Dunc spoke.

“We need to send representatives back to Jamaica with Jamar
to throw out Lansdowne’s louts and bring the locals back into line,” Dunc said
angrily. “I want someone there who can monitor the slavery situation. It seems
they’re on the brink of revolt in surrounding plantations. We need to keep
communications open and let Trevor’s workers know we are on their side, working
to eliminate slavery. Jamar can tell them, but we need to put a landowner’s
face on it.”

“I trust you are not asking me,” Erran said. “I will only go
if Celeste wishes to go, and she’s made it plain she is staying here with her
siblings.”

“And Nana Delphinia,” Jamar said gravely. “She does not wish
to make the return journey. We can send her daughters here, where she need not
worry about them.”

“I’m asking which of our misbegotten relations would be best
for the task.” Duncan tapped his desk with his pen as if he actually meant to
use it. “There are enough idlers about who ought to be willing to go
adventuring.”

A few months ago after his first courtroom debacle, Erran
would have happily volunteered. These days, he had new goals he was eager to
pursue, including testing his voice only for good purpose—like fighting for the
bill to end slave ownership. Celeste would help keep him from straying down
Cousin Sylvester’s path—if she would only have him. Which was why he was here,
confound it.

He cast his mind over a list of relations as disaffected as
he had been earlier in the summer. “Cousin Athan comes
to mind. Now that Uncle Timothy has passed most of the estate responsibilities
to his eldest, Athan is at loose ends.”

“Loose ends,” Dunc snorted. “Is that what one calls piracy
these days?”

“Not piracy. Just smuggling. It’s either that or the mines
in Cornwall. He does not seem to have developed an aptitude for anything except
leadership of thieves,” Erran said with a shrug, listening for Celeste in the
hall and not too concerned with the conversation. Dunc would do what Dunc
wanted to do, regardless of all advice.

“A leader of thieves might be the best choice for this
venture,” Jamar said in amusement.

A footman scratched at the open door. “Miss Rochester is
available in the parlor, my lord.”

Nervously, Erran clutched his gloves and hurried after the
servant.

She was wearing a celestial blue-and-gold striped gown that
brought out the brilliance of her azure eyes. She cocked her head with interest
as he entered, and he almost stumbled over his own damned feet. Only Celeste
could make him aware of the man he was beneath the clothes he wore to impress.
She saw right through them and stripped him naked. It was a daunting experience
for a man who preferred his privacy.