Lady Forsaken Box Set (Books 1 - 5), page 5
“You’ll never let it go that Harold and I excluded you from our adventures as children.”
“That is untrue. Winston, Cody, and I were very content to seek out our own adventures,” Rodney said.
There was truth in his cousin’s statement. Only a year older than Brock’s twin brothers, Rodney had kept himself entertained at their expense. When cook’s pies had gone missing or a full chamber pot had been launched over the railing from the second story, landing in the foyer and coating Mrs. Pearl St. Augustin in fecal matter, Rodney had been present but quick to blame the incident on the twins. His father had indulged the trio at every turn. His proclamation that ‘boys will be boys’ still rang in Brock’s mind.
“Do you plan to stay on at the estate? Harold and I could use another set of hands to finish this project before we set off at the end of the week.” He hadn’t seen Rodney since his return to England, and he found it suspect that his cousin should appear now. Brock had learned upon his return that Rodney hadn’t even seen fit to show his face at his uncle’s funeral.
Could he blame his cousin for not attending a funeral that he, himself hadn’t attended? Brock liked to tell himself that if he’d known his father had passed, he would have made the journey home, taken the time to see to all the details and to honor his father.
“I had planned to spend a few days restoring my constitution. The season can be quite draining, if you recall.” Rodney leaned against the door jamb, eyeing the room in which Brock stood.
His cousin hadn’t worked a day in his life, never needing to provide for himself or his family. Brock assumed he’d been upset to hear the heir to Haversham House had returned, alive and suitable to inherit.
Kneeling once again, Brock ripped a half-rotted board from the wall, tossing it over his shoulder, aiming for Rodney. “Be of some help, cousin, and fetch me the satchel of nails outside the door.”
“And taint my new Hessians? I think not.”
“I’ll retrieve them,” Harold said, leaving Brock alone with his cousin.
“That’s a good little boy,” Rodney taunted.
Brock leapt from his crouched position and fairly flew across the small room. He itched to wrap his hands around Rodney’s perfect, pale-colored neck. “Cousin! I will warn you only this once. Do not disrespect guests in my home. Do you understand me?”
“Do you not mean our home, dear cousin?” The ignorant man held his ground and dared challenge Brock.
“You may have been allowed to live here by my father, the Lord rest his soul, but I am not the compassionate man he was.” Brock took a step closer, forcing Rodney to retreat. “This stable, the Hall, and everything else entailed to the Haversham title belongs to me and me alone. You are permitted here and at my other residences because I see fit to allow you entrance.”
Rodney took another step back, his foot catching on a length of wood, and he tumbled haphazardly to the ground.
Brock continued forward to tower over his cousin, driving his point home. “Until the unfortunate time that I pass, deprived of an heir, you will not be known as anything more than Mr. Rodney Swiftenberg.” He found bullying in any form distasteful, but his cousin needed to learn his place now, before Brock allowed him too much leeway. At that point, it would prove difficult to rein the man back in.
“I apologize for giving you the impression that I take for granted all your father has done for me since my own mother and father died,” Rodney backpedaled. “I do not mean any disrespect.”
A bit of his anger fled at Rodney’s words. Rodney had seen many hardships in his life as well, losing his own father at a young age and then his two best friends and cousins.
He had not been the only one to suffer with Brock’s brothers’ passing.
Brock offered his hand and his cousin grasped it. His clammy hand almost slipped from Brock’s. With a small tug, Rodney lurched to his feet and brushed his palms down his trousers to remove the straw that clung to the material.
“If you do not plan on assisting Harold and me, you can return to the main house. We will meet you for supper,” Brock said.
“Yes, I could use a bit of time to freshen—”
“Will we be needing all of these?” Harold lugged a brown satchel full of nails into the room. “I can feel the blisters now.”
“What are your plans here, anyway?” Rodney looked between the pair.
“Brock is readying the stables for the foals arriving soon,” Harold answered before Brock could stop him.
“Foals? When do they arrive?” Rodney inquired.
“They are not arriving. Harold and I will leave in a few days’ time to collect them and bring them here.” Brock wanted Rodney out of his hair—the sooner, the better. If that meant he and Harold would have to leave the estate as well, then so be it.
“Brock, but I thought you said—”
Brock silenced Harold with a glare. “There has been a change of plans, I thought I told you at the noontime meal? Something has come up, and we must travel back to Foldger’s Foals to collect the horses.”
“Foldger’s Foals in Hampshire? I haven’t had the pleasure of visiting a horse ranch in many years. I do believe I will tag along.”
Brock’s worst nightmare looked to be coming true. “You do realize the journey is over five hours on horseback?” he asked in hopes of discouraging him. “The trip may require us to stay a few days. The inns in that part of the country are quite primitive.”
“I have no obligations until the ball at the Duke of Essex’s townhouse a fortnight hence.” Rodney cast a sly smile in Brock’s direction, clearly enjoying the discomfort he caused his cousin. “I do believe a jaunt to the country will be a bracing way to pass the days.”
Chapter 5
Vi entered the foyer and made her way to the grand staircase, her half boots leaving a trail of mud on the freshly scrubbed floor. Exhausted, her body craved a warm bath and a nap before supper was served. The muscles in her neck clenched as her foot hit the first step. Her calves strained to lift her heavy boot up to the next.
“Miss,” her maid, Sarah, called from behind her.
“Sarah.” Vi sighed. “Just the person I hoped to see. Please have my bath drawn and inform Cook I’ll be a bit later than is the norm for my meal.” She turned her attention back to the task at hand, traversing the stairs and somehow making it down the never-ending corridor to her room.
“Yur pa requests yer immediate attendance in his study,” Sarah continued.
“My father? What is he doing here? The season is not yet over.” It had never been favorable to Viola when her father arrived unannounced at their country estate. Most years, he’d come in hopes of convincing her to accompany him back to London. Each year, he’d left disappointed to finish the season’s festivities without her.
“He don’t be explaining hisself to the likes o’ me, Miss.”
“It was a rhetorical question.” Viola sighed again. She might as well get this over with, find out what he wanted and help him on his way back to town. “Thank you. I will attend to him posthaste.”
Sarah curtseyed and scurried in the direction of the kitchen.
Vi had only managed to scale two stairs, but the trip back down was even more painful, if that were possible. The newest bunch of foals were a feisty, unmanageable lot. With Connor away from the stables more and more—seeking out new clients—the training and care of the horses fell to her. They’d had to let several stable hands go over the last few months.
Thankfully, her father’s study lay only a few paces down the hall. She shuffled her feet across the floor, moving at an unbearably slow but steady pace.
As she drew close to the partially opened study door, voices drifted out to greet her. The situation was worse than she’d expected. The Dowager Duchess of Darlingiver had accompanied her father, Lord Liperton. The couple had been linked for over fifteen years, but rarely traveled together.
Vi halted outside the door to listen. While eavesdropping was an unbecoming trait in a young lady of the ton, she’d left that life long ago—which had only caused her talent to rust a bit.
“. . . but John, my dear. This is verily too much to ask of me,” the Dowager Duchess groaned. “Do you not see that I have my hands full with my own wayward son? I think the boy spends his allowance before his solicitor has even drawn him a cheque.”
What could her father, a man who had everything, ask of this woman?
“While I’ve agreed with you for many years, the time has come. Her situation will not change unless she confronts it and makes them change their mind.” Her father’s voice rang with determination. “Besides, the current Lord Darlingiver is a fine young man, a little spirited, but that spirit will even out with time.”
This could not, would not, be good. Her father was obviously set on his course of action here at Foldger’s Hall.
“It is my reputation on the line, my lord.”
“That I understand. It has weighed heavily on my mind, but Viola has changed,” her father continued.
“If you do say so,” the older matron replied.
What did the Dowager Duchess know about how she’d changed? The woman had sponsored her coming out during her introductory season, and at the first hint of scandal had distanced herself from Vi and her father. In fact, Vi didn’t remember seeing the woman for close to five years after she’d left London for Foldger’s Hall. How dare the duchess speak ill of her without even knowing her?
Vi concentrated on calming herself. It wouldn’t do to see her father after all these months with a scowl on her face. Looking down, her sturdy work dress was stained with mud, hay stuck to it in spots. There was naught she could do about it now. Her father requested her presence and she didn’t seek to anger him further by making him await her arrival.
Plastering a serene smile on her face, she pushed her way into the room. “Father, how lovely to see you! And Lady Darlingiver, it has been too long.” Vi first hugged her father where he stood in front of the massive fireplace, then turned to curtsey to the dowager, who sat upon a small settee.
Her neck tweaked at the pose and her feet trembled, but she didn’t give in to the protests of her overworked body or let her socially acceptable smile falter.
“My dear Lady Viola,” the older woman gushed. “You look lovely as ever, although a bit unkempt.” The dowager’s hand rose to cover her nose.
“I sincerely apologize for my attire. I only just returned from the stables and I fear I am in need of a long soak,” Vi ground out between clenched teeth. Again, her smile never wavered. If there was anything she’d learned in her short time in London it had been how to ‘grin and abide,’ as her father said.
“My dear daughter! Look at you,” Lord Liperton said as he moved from his place across the room.
“Father—”
“You are fairly as dark as a Frenchman! This will not do in the least.”
What? Viola brought her hand up. It was true, her skin had gained a sun-kissed glow. But dark as a Frenchman? Of all the absurd things her father could have said this was one she hadn’t expected.
“How do you expect to find a suitable husband when you appear to have just returned from the continent?” he asked.
Vi looked between her father and Lady Darlingiver, unable to form a response.
“Most unbecoming. See, John. Nothing has changed,” the older woman huffed.
Viola found her voice. “I suppose it is advantageous that I am not, nor plan to be, in the market for a husband.” It appeared they were jumping into the heart of the matter that had drawn her father to his country estate before the end of the season and away from his duties in Parliament.
“Do not be silly, my girl.” Her father stood between Vi and the dowager, as if he needed to intervene in an attack between the women. Which was preposterous, since Vi measured a whole six inches shorter than her portly father, and the dowager towered over the duke, his head only reaching her well-toned shoulder.
“Listen to your father for once, Lady Viola.”
Listen to her father? The woman had no clue if and when Vi had listened to her father over the years. “I do well to always hold my father’s words in the highest esteem, my lady.”
“Have a seat,” her father said, motioning to the settee next to the dowager.
Viola opted for a leather-covered desk chair close to the study door. If she needed a quick escape, it would be convenient.
“Viola,” her father continued, taking the seat Viola had declined. “I’ve been thinking—”
“Obviously.”
“Do not interrupt your father, young lady,” the dowager again cut in.
“Viola . . .” her father started over.
“I told you, the girl hasn’t a refined bone in her body. She has been laid to fallow out here in the country and is not fit for town life,” the woman wailed. “I suspect even my son would be hard pressed to introduce the girl around.”
Her father took the old lady’s hand in his own, rubbing it in comfort. “Give her a chance, Evie.”
Evie? Never had her father addressed the woman so informally. Their relationship had most assuredly progressed since Vi last spoke with her father. She almost felt as though she’d intruded on a private moment between the pair.
She wondered what the dowager’s son, Hampton, had to do with her return to town.
“May I be excused to freshen up? We may continue this discussion over dinner, mayhaps.”
“I think not.” Her father’s voice rose in anger.
“Go on, John,” the dowager prodded.
This was too much! They acted as if Vi had exiled herself to Foldger’s Hall. “Father, please say what you wish to say.”
“As you well know, I’ve long held that you need to acquire a husband—”
“And against my wishes, your father has enlisted my support,” Lady Darlingiver interrupted once again.
“Evie, your support and understanding over the years has kept hope alive.”
Viola wanted to throw something at the pair, if only to get her father to spit out what he wanted to say. How many times must they go through this? They would argue and then he would return to London, not to be seen for several months before he saw fit to try yet again to convince her of her need for a husband.
Her father adjusted his place on the settee, sidling closer to Lady Darlingiver, if that were possible. “I think it is past time you return to society and find a husband. It will not do to continue playing with horses here.”
“You think I play with horses?” Vi sputtered. “I’ve run a very successful foal ranch for going on eight years. I do not merely ‘play with horses.’”
She needed to calm down. She counted to ten before continuing. “Besides, if memory serves, it was you, Lady Darlingiver, who convinced me to leave London in the first place.”
“At the time, your father and I thought it best—”
“Why should I return now? I have built a life for myself here. I have people who depend on me.”
Her father raised his hands before him, palms up, as though pleading for her attention. “I’m not a young man, Viola. You must marry and secure your future. I will not be able to indulge you forever.”
“Indulge me? Father, Foldger’s Foals is completely self-supporting.”
“Yes, but if something were to happen to me the estate will go to my cousin, Gerald.”
“But not Foldger’s Foals. That property is not entailed to the dukedom,” Vi countered.
“Be that as it may, your secret would spread and your livelihood would be gone,” he continued.
Blast. Her father had a point. She needed a different angle. “Do you think I do not see the gossip rags?” she said. “I’m not so far removed from the ton or their idle gossip.”
“It is true, your name still graces the pages of many papers. But your return will cease the gossipmongers. You are a different person now.”
Lady Darlingiver stiffened beside her father. Obviously, the woman didn’t hold the same opinion. Maybe Vi could find an ally in her.
She refocused her attention. “Lady Darlingiver, in your esteemed opinion, do you feel that I can successfully reenter society?”
The woman darted a glance at Vi’s father before speaking. “That will depend solely on your behavior, my dear.”
That was a safe answer; clearly, the woman wasn’t willing to take the fall for Viola again. Not that Vi could blame her. The dowager had gained entrance to the finest homes in London during Vi’s disastrous season. She’d been introduced to the most eligible and worthy bachelors, and Viola had made a mockery of her.
“I appreciate your honesty, Lady Darlingiver, and I do not seek to impose on you. It would be a great undertaking to reintroduce me to society.” Viola hoped to impress upon the woman’s need to maintain her stellar reputation before the ton.
“Evie does not mind the challenge.” Lord Liperton turned to his partner. “Do you?”
“My lord, Lady Viola makes a very good point.”
So they were back to formalities. This boded well for her cause.
Lady Darlingiver continued. “It will indeed be a great undertaking. And while I’m not opposed to the challenge, I am unsure how successful it will be.”
Her father leapt from the settee and stood before Viola.
She craned her neck to look him in the eye from her seated position, her muscles fighting the angle.
“Let me make myself very clear, Viola. You will marry and marry soon! Heaven help me, I don’t care if you marry Connor, but marry you will!”
Viola wondered why images of Lord Haversham popped into her mind at that very moment.
Chapter 6
Lord Haversham had avoided his cousin’s threatening stare for the last several hours. Unfortunately, this also meant not making eye contact with Harold, who rode on the far side of Rodney.
“Must you set such a fast pace, cousin?” Rodney held the pommel as his legs flopped against the horse’s flank, his feet having lost their purchase in the stirrups long ago.
