The Earl's Bargain (Historical Regency Romance) (7 page)

"I'll not beat around the bush, Twining. I
want Wycliff House back, and I'm ready to negotiate with the proper
owner."

The smile of Mr. Twining's face faded. "I
will, of course, convey your wishes to the owner."

"And who would that be?" Harry asked.

Mr. Twining coughed. A more false cough
Harry had never heard.

"I must exercise a solicitor-client
privilege in not communicating that information to you, my
lord."

"Come, Twining, every man has his price.
What's yours? How much do I have to pay you to get the address of
the owner of my former home?"

He withdrew a bag of gold coins and set it
on the solicitor's desk.

Mr. Twining looked from the coins to Harry,
his eyes glassy. Sweat beaded on his brow. Then he shook his head.
"I'm an honorable man. I shall not disclose such privileged
information."

Harry wasn't used to being turned down.
Everyone had a price, but he knew this man would not bend. Not
because he was honorable.

Because he was scared. The last time Harry
had seen such fear on a man's face was when he'd been prepared to
run a sword through the man.

The return journey to Grosvenor Square was
solemn. Mrs. Phillips had obviously been as disappointed as he.
Oddly, her sorrow disturbed Harry more than his own. Even if he
never regained Wycliff House, his comfortable life would continue
much the same. When Louisa Phillips left Wycliff House, a bleak
future was all she could expect. Where would she live? What would
she do for money?

For Harry knew the contemptible scoundrel
who had been Louisa Phillips's husband had left her nothing. How
could a man be so dishonorable?

Louisa's estrangement from her family, he
had learned, was irrevocable. Her parent was as loathsome as her
husband had been. How could they have played her so cruelly? What
was a woman of gentle birth to do when thrust into London with
neither money nor the protection of a husband? Other women in the
same deplorable circumstance -- especially a woman as beautiful at
the widow Phillips -- would seek to marry, but not Louisa Phillips.
She was not like other women.

She hated men.

Harry spent the better part of the coach
ride trying to determine how he could help the unfortunate widow.
The problem was that she was too bloody proud. She would never
accept his charity. He must think of a way to help her
anonymously.

He flicked a glance to her. And his heart
could have bled for the somber desperation he saw on her troubled
face. It was all he could do not to gather her into his arms and
comfort her.

God, but he wanted to!

When he left her at the door to Wycliff
House, he merely said, "We must think of some way to extricate you
from this situation." His knuckle nudged under her chin as he
lifted her face to meet his gaze. "Don't despair."

* * *

As foolish as it seemed, Lord Wycliff's
words gave her hope. She felt less forlorn as she mounted the
stairs to Godwin's chamber.

Though it was late afternoon, his bedchamber
was as dark as a cave. Louisa shivered as she entered it. The cold
was only partly responsible for her shivers. She told herself the
room was cold because there had been no fires in the room since
he'd died. A chill slid along her spine as she crossed the room and
opened the heavy red draperies. She disliked this room ever so
much. As she had disliked the man who had inhabited it.

Instead of experiencing exultation from her
liberation, she cowered in fear, half expecting Godwin's corpulent
presence to show itself.

She had never remembered the room smelling
so foul. It was a stale odor that reminded her of death. He had
died here.

Now that the room was flooded with daylight,
she could expunge Godwin from her memory. The eight years with him
had been but a bad dream. She would never again have to lie beneath
him. He was dead. And she was free.

She began to walk about his room, looking
for things of value. There was his silver penknife. She took it up
and placed it on the bed. Then she came across his ivory snuff box.
It, too, went into the pile on the bed. She slid a gold band from
her own finger and tossed it on the heap.

When she finished gathering everything of
value she could find, she pulled the bell rope, and when Williams
answered, she gave him her instructions. She first pointed to the
meager pile on the bed. "I desire that you undertake a mission for
me," she said.

"Anything you say, Mrs. Phillips."

"I wish for you to sell my husband's things
I've collected on the bed."

He glanced at the bed.

"Also, I would like for you to take all of
Mr. Phillips's clothing and leather goods to a second-hand clothier
and obtain for them as much money as you can. It appears your
former master has left this earth with no settlements for you or
for me, Williams."

His lips folded. "A pity, ma'am. I'll do all
I can to get a fair price for Mr. Phillips's goods. Ye can count on
me."

She smiled. "Thank you, Williams."

* * *

The following morning, while Ellie was still
asleep, Louisa left the house with Williams as her escort. They
went to a jewelers on Conduit Street. A very reputable jeweler from
whom Godwin had purchased many of her jewels.

Williams stayed outside as Louisa strolled
confidently into the store and deposited a bag overflowing with
jeweled necklaces and matching bracelets and earrings. She
proceeded to dump the contents of the bag on the jeweler's
counter.

The jewelers' eyes rounded.

"I wish to inquire as to the worth of my
jewels," Louisa said confidently.

Without a reply, the jeweler popped a
magnification device onto his left eye, then picked up the sapphire
necklace. A moment later, he put it down. "I'm afraid, madam, that
while these look quite lovely, they are comprised of very inferior
stones. The sapphires I can give you no more than twenty pounds
for."

She snatched them from him and began to put
all the jewels back into the bag. "I shall go to another jeweler
for another opinion," she said.

"I regret that they will give no more than
I," he said. Now a shadow of some emotion -- was it sympathy? --
passed over his face. "Perhaps I could raise the amount to thirty
pounds, Mrs. Phillips."

She froze. "How did you know my name?" She
had never been there before.

"I remember your jewels, madam. And your
husband." Another, less sympathetic, shadow crossed his face. "Your
husband desired that I make a dazzling necklace from fake jewels. I
refused. Then he asked that I make one of flawed jewels. He was
adamant about wanting a necklace that gave the appearance of great
wealth -- which he no doubt did not possess."

She softened toward the jeweler, who was old
enough to be her father. He wasn't trying to cheat her, after all.
She knew the man was telling the truth. He knew Godwin well. "Your
assumption was correct, sir. I am learning that my husband's wealth
was all a sham. Now that he is dead I find myself quite
penniless."

He nodded sympathetically, putting the glass
once again to his eye and examining the remainder of the jewels.
When he finished, he removed the glass and looked at her with
sadness in his eyes. "I will give you one-hundred pounds for all of
them. I assure you no one else will do better. I know this because
I am willing to give you exactly what they cost your late
husband."

She knew he was being more than generous. "I
accept your offer."

* * *

Later that afternoon, as Louisa sat sewing
in the upstairs study, Williams entered the chamber. Assured that
he and Louisa were alone, he gave her a fistful of coins. "This is
all I could get for the master's things," he told her as he counted
out a little less than seventy-two pounds.

She took the money and put it into her
sewing bag. "I'm very grateful to you, Williams."

"It's grateful to you I am, Mrs. Phillips,
for not puttin' me out on the street."

She smiled at him, hoping she could continue
to put a roof over his head. If only she could find a nice little
cottage that didn't cost so very much. Then perhaps she wouldn't
have to dismiss Cook and Williams. Like her, they had nowhere to
go.

After he left the room, Louisa put away her
sewing and took up her pen. She had best concentrate on her
writing. Every shilling counted, and it looked as if she was going
to have to earn her keep -- and Ellie's and Cook's and Williams' --
through her writing.

But no sooner had she dipped her quill than
Ellie moved into the room with a length of sarcenet. "I do believe
I'll begin a new dress. Mr. Coke is sure to think I possess but two
dresses."

Louisa looked up at her lovely sister. "And
what Mr. Coke thinks matters to you?"

Ellie giggled. "Despite that he's a man, and
you hate men, Mr. Coke is all that is amiable. Can you not agree?"
She fixed her sister with a smile.

"I know nothing bad about
him," Louisa said, "though I must say I don't think of him
as
a man
. He seems
rather boyish to me."

"He's
four and twenty
." Ellie said this as
if she were saying he was a hundred.

My own
age
, Louisa thought, realizing that she was
not so very old after all. Actually, she would not be that age
until her next birthday.

Compared to his elder cousin, Edward Coke
seemed neither manly nor mature. Thinking of Lord Wycliff, she
imagined she heard his voice. A moment later, Williams confirmed
that he and his cousin were downstairs.

Ellie's hand flew to her hair. "I cannot go
downstairs until I make myself more presentable."

Louisa smiled as she rose and spoke to her
sister. "I'll tell them you will be down in five minutes."

"Five minutes! That's not nearly enough
time," Ellie protested.

Louisa attempted to sound
firm. "That will be enough time, my pet." Then she strolled from
the room and told herself that if that wretched Lord Wycliff were
standing at the bottom of the stairs gazing admirably up at her
again, she would completely ignore him.
I
will not let the man's attention rattle me
.

Fortunately, he was in the morning room, not
at the bottom of the stairs. Unfortunately, he stood when she
entered the room, and as always his eyes lingered admiringly over
her from the top of her head to the tip of her satin hoes.

She tried to ignore him. This she did by
addressing his cousin first. "Mr. Coke, how good it is to see you
and your cousin." An almost imperceptive nod was directed at Lord
Wycliff.

Not to be ignored, Lord Wycliff stepped
forward, swept into a bow, then took Louisa's hand and pressed his
lips to it. For a bit longer than necessary.

Curse
him
! She chose to address Mr. Coke again.
"My sister will be down in moment."

"Capital!" he said. "'Tis a lovely day. I
thought to persuade her to do me the honor of accompanying me on
another walk in the square."

"Which is an excellent plan," Lord Wycliff
added, looking at Louisa, "for I have business of a very personal
nature to discuss with you, Mrs. Phillips."

Good lord! He's looking at
me again with those dangerously dark eyes
.
The way he said 'personal' brought color to her cheeks. Now she was
acting more the schoolgirl than Ellie.

Soon Ellie was in the room, and then she
wasn't. And no one was there except for Lord Wycliff and his
wretched eyes. Louisa got up and walked to the window and watched
her sister, who was dressed in light blue, as Ellie put their key
into the lock on the gate to the park in the center of Grosvenor
Square.

Louisa turned back and faced Lord Wycliff.
"What is it you wish to discuss with me, my lord?"

"First," he said, "I wish to discuss the
most brilliant piece of writing -- of philosophy -- I've ever
read."

"Pray, of what author do you speak?" she
asked as she moved toward him, her brows lifted.

"Jeremy Bentham. I've just read his
Classification of Offenses. You had told me about it, but this was
the first time I had actually read it."

Now her eyes alighted as she went to sit on
the settee. "He presents it all so logically and with such ease,
one is instantly baffled as to why no one ever proposed so simple a
solution to imprisonment before." Lord Wycliff suddenly saw the
light.

He smiled as he came to sit on the settee
across from her. "My feelings exactly. Classifications have been
commonplace since the days of Plato's dialogues. That it has taken
us hundreds of years to apply classification to punishable acts is
incomprehensible.”

"I agree completely!" she shrieked. "It
should have been as obvious to us as the noses on our faces."

"If Mr. Bentham never wrote another word,
his Classification of Offenses would have been enough to secure his
position as one of the world's greatest thinkers."

Louisa beamed at Lord Wycliff. "I am so very
happy you understand."

"And I am so thankful to you."

She faced him, her brow
hitching. Had he not said he wished to speak to her of
something
personal
?
"You said
first
you
wished to discuss Mr. Bentham. Pray, what else did you wish to
discuss?"

"My lack of success with your solicitor
yesterday."

She sank back into the settee. "Then you
were unable to coerce him into giving you the information you
desired?"

"The man was impervious to my money."

"How novel, my lord."

"Come and sit beside me, Mrs. Phillips. I
dislike shouting across the room."