0062412949 (R) (21 page)

“Let us not provoke the earl.” Eli Limpett chuckled. “Remember we owe him our most sincere gratitude.”

“You owe me nothing,” Trevor said.

“But we’ve heard all about Piety’s new neighbors and the great pains they have taken to look after her. She requires a lot of care, I’m afraid.”

“Based on what I know of Miss Grey, she is largely self-sufficient.”

“Ha! We can barely let her out of our sight.”

“What my stepson means,” said Piety’s mother, shoving the letter at the nearest brother, “is that we’ve been worried sick since she set out. And then to learn she’s sailed all the way to England on her own? We came after her as fast as we could. Of course, we had absolutely no idea what to expect. How could we
dream
that she’d sunk her inheritance into this decrepit pile of a house? And then to undertake the restoration alone? Surely you can imagine our worry and shock.” She paused, studying him.

Trevor stared silently back.

She tried again, “Her recklessness knows no bounds. I would be remiss if I did not mention that she seems to have grown quite familiar with you, my lord.”

“Take heart, madam,” Trevor said, “I barely know your daughter.”

“So you say,” replied Mrs. Limpett. “Regardless, Eli and I intend to take Piety firmly in hand. I’ve a mind to put her on a return ship for New York before the end of this week.

“My God, what could she be thinking?” she continued, placing a weary hand to her brow. “To lead us all the way to London only to learn we must continue into the wilds of
Berkshire
?”

Eli Limpett smiled at Trevor. “What provincial colonials you must think us, Lord Falcondale. Misplacing our dear Piety. But you needn’t worry. Things are now well in hand.”

Trevor blinked at that statement and turned away.

This is not your problem
, he told himself, breathing hard, opening and closing a fist.
Not. Your. Problem.
He stared at the worn divots in the stone countertop, thinking it again and again.

Eli Limpett continued, sounding inspired. “She isn’t a bad girl, really. She simply needs to learn some deference and obedience. God only knows what her father was thinking by encouraging such independence. He did me no favor in spoiling her.”

“Did
you
no favor?” Trevor asked.

“Oh, yes. Did she not tell you? We are betrothed—or nearly so. I have but to enact a formal proposal to her to make it official. It’s a detail I intend to solve just as soon as I catch up to her, the wily minx. After that, wifely obedience should commence. Breaking her won’t be easy,” he said, looking at him conspiratorially, “but very much worth my time, I’m sure.”

“
Get out
.” The words were out of Trevor’s mouth before he could stop them.

“I beg your pardon,” Eli said, and Trevor saw a flash of violence in his eyes.

Oh, I dare you, mate,
he thought, but he said, “Beg all you like. But if you do not wish to speak with the constable about the attack on my manservant and the maid, then I suggest you take your leave. Now.”

“I’ll have you know, sir—” began Piety’s mother, but Trevor cut her off.

“You have two minutes,” he said in deadly calm. He took up the sledgehammer from the counter and propped it on his shoulder.

It had been some time since he’d fought five men at once, but by no means would it be the first time. He’d need Joseph, and he shouted for him to send Marissa away, but then Spencer Burr—all six-and-a-half feet and twenty stone of him—shoved off the wall.

“Right,” the carpenter said. “The earl has said good-bye. Out you go, gentlemen, madam.”

“Ah, good man. If you would be so kind, Mr. Burr.”

“Pleasure, m’lord.” The carpenter clamped one bear-paw hand on Mrs. Limpett’s waist and the other on her elbow. “You’ll remember the way you came in, madam. Sirs.” He swept the woman to the stairs.

The men grumbled, and Mrs. Limpett could be heard saying, “Surely
that man
cannot mean to remain inside, if we cann—” before Mr. Burr hustled her up the steps.

Eli Limpett lingered, casting an assessing look around the kitchen and garden beyond. He glanced at Trevor, looking between the hammer and his face and back again.

Trevor raised his eyebrows.

Finally, the man nodded curtly and disappeared after his brothers.

When the stairs were empty and the floorboards above him silent, Trevor walked to the window and looked out. Marissa and Joseph were nose-to-nose on a stone bench.

He turned and looked at the empty kitchen.

He looked down at the hammer, his hands tight around the handle.

This is not your problem
, he repeated in his head. As soon as the words were conjured, they dissolved.

Instead, he thought of Piety. Optimistic, determined. He thought of the courage it had taken for her to leave New York, to come here, to lie in wait for them and then to hunker down and fight.

They are no match for her spirit
, he thought.
Buffoons
.
Pompous and vain and stupid with greed.

Still, they would descend on Berkshire with no other goal than to bully her and bleed her.

What had Eli Limpett said?

Breaking her won’t be easy . . .

Trevor’s hand burned, and he looked at the hammer. He tried to release it, but his hands would not let go.

“My lord?” Spencer Burr thudded down the stairs. “They’ve gone, and I’ve locked the door behind them. We’ll take care to keep it bolted in future.”

Trevor nodded. “Good man, Spencer. It’s not your fault, of course. They are . . . ” He exhaled an angry breath. “Unconscionable.” He held out the hammer. “I believe this is yours.”

“Nearly went to good use, did it?” Spencer chuckled, taking it up.

Trevor let out another tired breath and looked at the ceiling. In his mind’s eye, he saw the Americans making their way to Piety.

Before he could stop himself, he asked, “Do you think they’ll really go to Berkshire?”

Spencer looked thoughtful and shrugged. “Aye, my lord. I reckon they will.”

Trevor nodded and walked in a slow circle. He stopped and looked at the carpenter. “I predict the same. Miss Grey left you the direction of the marchioness’s estate, I presume?”

“Aye, my lord.”

“Fetch it, will you? I feel the sudden need to visit the bloody country.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

T
he woman on Garnettgate’s front stoop wasted no time with pleasantries. “Is this the home of one Frances Stroud, Marchioness Frinfrock?”

Jocelyn happened to be passing through the entryway, and the question froze her in place. The accent. Loud and foreign and demanding. It was unmistakable.

Oh, God
.
They’ve come.

Cradling her needlework to her chest, Jocelyn ducked behind a giant urn and listened. The butler Godfrey, whose great size alone would prevent him from ever being a truly discreet servant, did not help matters by blocking her view.

“The house is Garnettgate, madam,” he told the woman. “Home of Marchioness Frinfrock. Who should I tell the marchioness is inquiring?”

“My identity has no bearing on you or your mistress,” said the woman. “I am merely in search of a young woman who, I’m told, is in residence here. A guest—Miss Piety Grey?” Godfrey tried to answer, but she spoke over him. “If we have the correct house, please tell her to convene, with all of her belongings and her Negro maid, in the front drive. Immediately.”

The normally unflappable Godfrey was nonplussed. “Beg your pardon?”

“Retrieve Miss Piety Grey, sir.
Now
.”

Jocelyn winced, hesitated, and then, in a burst of courage, stepped forward, lightly clearing her throat. “Excuse me, Godfrey.”

The large butler was slow to move, and she was forced to shoulder her way to the door, affording the woman on the stoop ample time to study her. Her gaze whipped across Jocelyn’s hair, her dress, her face, and the needlework in her arms like a cold wind.

“Forgive me,” Jocelyn began, “I could not help but overhear your inquiry. I should tell you that the young lady you seek, Miss Piety Grey, is indeed in residence here at Garnettgate. At the moment, she is in the garden, looking after the roses in company of the marchioness. Please, may I invite you inside while I inform them of your arrival?”

“As I told this one, that won’t be necessary,” the woman said. Her resemblance to Piety was uncanny. She looked like Piety, if Piety had starved herself for a week and aged fifty years.

Jocelyn sighed. “I beg your pardon, madam. May I be so bold as to presume that you are Miss Grey’s family? Are you Mrs. Limpett?”

The woman squinted at her. After a long, assessing moment, she said, “I am Mrs. Grey-Limpett. Who, may I ask, are you?”

Jocelyn smiled. “I am Jocelyn Breedlowe, Miss Grey’s chaperone.” She nodded her head to the woman. “How do you do?”

“Chaperone!” said Mrs. Limpett. “Why in God’s name would she require a chaperone?” Then she shook her head. “It makes no difference. I am her mother. Not only do I supersede your authority here, my very presence makes whatever services you may provide unnecessary. Now, if you please. I’ve come a very great distance to collect my daughter.”

Jocelyn blinked at her. Did she really intend to extract Piety without introducing herself? Without even coming inside?

Before she could reply, the door to the hired carriage in the drive snapped open and a man emerged. He made nimble progress in their direction, despite his excessive clothing: a long coat for the warm day, billowy cuffs, a bright cravat with copious folds. While he came, he stared. Sharp, critical eyes darting in every direction.

“How do you do,” he said, coming upon them. He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. They were hard, his eyes—cold and flat and missing nothing. A shark’s eyes, she thought, too small for his broad, shiny face.

Oh, Piety.
Jocelyn ached for her friend. She had spoken of the brothers from time to time, describing how each was intolerable in his own awful way. From what Jocelyn could discern, the one she feared the most—the most threatening and the cruelest—had been a middle brother called Eli. Could this be him? Eli Limpett? Two feet away?

“How do you do.” She bobbed her head again.

“Our mother is not being rude, I hope?”

Mrs. Limpett rolled her eyes. “We needn’t play their silly games, Eli.”

It
was
him.

“By no means.” Jocelyn forced a smiled. “I was just inviting Mrs. Limpett and, indeed, your entire party, sir, inside. The marchioness is in the garden this morning, but it won’t take a moment to announce your arrival.”

“Excellent,” said the man in the same moment Mrs. Limpett said, “Unnecessary.”

“And you are?” the man asked, sweeping Jocelyn’s body with his shark’s eye.

“She’s no one!” Mrs. Limpett exclaimed. “A servant. Claiming to be Piety’s chaperone.”

“Oh, excellent,” said the man, flashing another disingenuous smile. “I’m relieved to know she’s been looked after in our absence. I’m learning the hard way that she cannot be left alone, even a moment.”

He affected a quick bow. “Eli Limpett,” he informed her. “Soon-to-be fiancé of dear Miss Grey. You have met her mother, Mrs. Idelle Grey-Limpett. And my brothers are in the carriage. I hope you meant what you said about all of us. Meeting a”—he affected an air of breathlessness—“
marchioness
? You wouldn’t believe the journey we’ve had.”

Jocelyn led them all inside: the mother; the shark-eyed one; a fat one; a bald one; a tall one; and Edward, the smallest brother who had turned up in London the week before.

Jocelyn led them to the blue room, the only space beside the ballroom or the dining room that could comfortably contain a party so large. It was uncommonly cold in the blue room. At the moment, all the rugs had been removed to be aired on the line. Their collective footfalls on the bare marble raised quiet a clatter. She bade Godfrey to stoke the fires and convey refreshment. When they were settled, she bowed and first walked—then ran—for the garden.

Piety, she was frustrated to find, was covered in mud. Apparently the marchioness had taken issue with the way the gardener had cleared the weeds among the ivy. After several failed rounds of shouted instruction, Piety had shoved the beleaguered man aside and dropped to do it herself.

“So it begins,” said the marchioness when she heard. She raised her parasol for a shaded view of the house. “Very good. But you cannot receive them like this, Miss Grey. Take the rear stairs and change and wash. Do you prefer Tiny to assist or Miss Breedlowe?”

“We’d do well to keep Tiny hidden for the duration,” Piety said. “They are hateful to her. Truly awful.”

“I am not afraid,” said Tiny from beneath her parasol.

“Yes, but it unnerves me to hear the way they speak to you. Mother knows this, and she does it on purpose.”

“You will not be unnerved by this or any other manipulation they play,” said the marchioness. “You will be confident. You will be at ease. You will be self-possessed—just as we discussed. But you must not be”—she scowled at her—“caked in filth. Take yourself inside to change. I will receive them in the . . . Where did you put them, Miss Breedlowe?”

“They are waiting in the blue room.”

“Douglas?” Lady Frinfrock turned to the gardener. “What is the time?”

“Half-past ten, my lady.”

“Excellent. We will convene luncheon at twelve o’clock noon. Miss Breedlowe, inform Godfrey and the kitchen. Miss Baker, what do you wish? Will you see them with me or wait until the meal?”

“I’d just as soon help Miss Piety.”

“As you will, then. Come along, Miss Breedlowe. Let us tame the beasts.”

J
ocelyn was the last to trail behind them into the blue room, and she was relieved to see that Godfrey had rallied since the encounter on the stoop.

“Her ladyship, the Marchioness Frinfrock,” he announced, his spine pitchfork-straight, his eyes alert, fixed on the far wall.