A Lady Never Surrenders (19 page)

He shot her a surprised look. “You knew about that?”

“Of course. That’s why Oliver hired you—because his friend Lord Kirkwood praised your abilities to the skies.”

A mysterious smile played over his lips.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“I was just thinking it must have annoyed you tremendously to have me, of all people, be hired by your brother after I kicked you and your other brother’s friends out of Green Park.”

She chuckled. “I suppose it did at the time. But…”

“But…”

Her hands tightened on the reins. “Shall I make another confession?”

“Please do,” he drawled. “I’m taking note of every one in case I ever have to blackmail you.”

“Very funny. But the truth is … that shooting match in Green Park really was ill-advised. I knew it at the time, but I let myself be carried away by the moment—and the insistence of several young gentlemen. You were right to put a stop to it.”

“Of course I was right.”

“Jackson!”

He laughed. “Well, I was, and you know it.” Sobering, he leveled her with a steady glance. “You have good sense when you choose. I noticed just now that your practice target was set into a hill to prevent injury to anyone who might stray into the area. The only way you would have hit me when I rode up was if you chose to. You’re not generally stupid with guns, by any means. Nor reckless.”

She sniffed. “That’s not what you said the other night when you lectured me about my pistol.”

“Only because you weren’t prepared to follow through.” His gaze narrowed on her. “Don’t pull a gun on a man unless you mean to shoot it.”

“I’ve already had the lecture, remember?”

He broke into a smile. “Sorry. My uncle used to say I was born trying to tell people what to do.” He grew pensive. “And that
he
was born trying to tell them where to go.”

The sudden grief that washed over his face made her heart twist for him. “He was a magistrate, too, wasn’t he?”

“One of the best.”

She eyed him closely. “I suppose you miss him awfully.”

After a moment, he nodded. “He was the closest thing I ever had to a father.”

“Was he your mother’s brother?”

“No. My aunt is my mother’s sister.”

That surprised her. “Then it was very kind of him to take the two of you in after … I mean…” Oh, Lord, she probably shouldn’t have brought that up.

He shot her a veiled glance. “After my mother so spectacularly ruined her life?”

“Well … yes. It couldn’t have been easy for a magistrate to take in his … unwedded sister-in-law and her—”

“Bastard,” he clipped out.

“I was going to say ‘child,’” she murmured.

His rigid demeanor made her wonder how many times he’d been called that word in his youth. Children could be cruel. She knew that better than anyone, thanks to the unrelenting gossip about her parents’ scandalous deaths.

“You forget,” she went on, “I now have a nephew who was born out of wedlock. George is a dear. It’s not his fault that his mother bore him on the wrong side of the blanket. It’s hardly even
her
fault, given the circumstances. She truly expected to marry her fiancé once he returned from the war. If he hadn’t died—”

“Well, if my mother suffered from such a delusion, she didn’t suffer for long.” He fixed his gaze on the road ahead. “My father was apparently quite the dashing young fellow, but he was a spoiled lord, and after he convinced her to run away with him and took her innocence, he refused to marry her. He said he needed a rich wife. He loved her, but not enough to lower his expectations for the future.”

“Oh, Jackson,” she whispered, her heart in her throat.

But he didn’t seem to hear. “Instead he found his rich wife somewhere near Liverpool and established Mother as his mistress there, then abandoned her when I began to consume too much of her attention. Apparently he didn’t like competing with a child’s affections.”

“You keep saying ‘apparently.’ Didn’t you know him at all?”

He shook his head no. “I was two when he left us to fend for ourselves. And Mother would never reveal his name or even his title.”

No wonder he hated the nobility. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like not to know who her father was, to go from day to day wondering if some man she worked for or met in society was the man who’d sired her.

It must have been very hard for him. “How did you live after he left?”

“Not badly at first. Mother did piecework for a seamstress, but when the machines came along, there was less of that. We moved to a poorer part of town, and she began working in the mill. Then she grew ill.” His voice tightened. “I was ten. She’d already begun talking about seeking out her family when something happened to press her into doing so.”

When he didn’t go on, she said, “Oh?”

“I spent my days at a local charity school, and got into an altercation with a boy who called her a whore. I … um … called him a few choice words myself, and he grabbed me by the throat and started to choke me. He crushed my larynx. He would have killed me if the headmistress hadn’t ripped him off of me.” He shot her a sidelong glance. “That’s why my voice sounds so rough. And that was when she went to her sister for help.”

“Why didn’t she go before then?

He gave her a hard stare. “For the very reason you mentioned—she feared that her presence in their house would ruin her brother-in-law’s prospects. I later learned that they’d had no idea she was living so meanly. She’d lived with them after her parents died, but once she ran off to be with her lover she didn’t keep in touch with them, out of shame or resentment. My aunt has always said that they would have taken her in at once if they’d known she was raising me alone.”

A lump caught in Celia’s throat. “Your aunt must be a very good person. And your uncle, too, of course.”

His expression softened. “They’re the finest I’ve ever known. They tried to save Mother, but she was too ill by then to be saved. After she died…” He broke off, his eyes misty. When he could go on, he said, “After that, Uncle William took me under his wing as an apprentice. I went with him every day to Bow Street.” A faraway smile lifted his lips. “I learned the business from top to bottom. I’ll always be grateful to him for that.”

She was silent a long moment, taking it all in. What an incredible man Jackson was, to have suffered so much and still have come so far. “It must have been difficult for you, starting so young in a place like Bow Street. You must have worked very hard to have risen so high in such a short time.”

“In my world, working hard is a requirement for everyone who wants to eat, my lady.”

His taut tone, combined with his formal speech and his clear condescension, made her testy. “You forget, Jackson, that my family has always had one foot in your world. I know only too well that everything I eat and drink and wear comes to me because of the sweat and toil of my grandparents at their brewery. It certainly doesn’t come from my father’s people, who spent all their funds on wild living and left the estate practically bankrupt.”

She twisted the reins in her hand, her voice turning acid. “Indeed, that’s why Gran feels she has the right to lay down rules for our future. Because she’s been paying for our past for a long time.” Shooting him a resentful look, she added, “And that’s why you think she has the right, too. Admit it.”

His manner softened as he gazed over at her, a sudden spark of sympathy in his eyes. “Not anymore. I’ll admit I agreed with her aims at the beginning, but…” He shook his head. “I can’t approve of her methods, sweeting.”

Sweeting?

Her eyes met his, and he flushed, then jerked his gaze away. “We’ll reach High Wycombe before we know it,” he said, his voice noticeably harder, “so we should probably discuss what I’m going to ask Mrs. Duffett.”

She sighed. Every time she thought she was on the verge of figuring him out, he said something to confuse her.

One thing she
did
know—he was an even finer man than she’d realized. The kind of man she would be happy to marry. But only if he truly wanted to marry her.

She might have been willing to accept a marriage of convenience to the duke, since she cared for His Grace only as a friend. With Jackson, however, she needed more, because she
cared
far more. She could never endure living with him day after day, pining for him, enjoying his kisses, if his desire for her was all just part of his ambition.

So before she let her heart be fully engaged, she had to make sure that he wanted her for herself. Nothing less would do.

H
IGH
W
YCOMBE WAS
a quaint little market town northwest of London. They had no trouble finding a livery to feed and water their horses while they were in town, but they had a bit more trouble finding Mrs. Duffett. The directions John had given Jackson weren’t easy to follow, so it was well past ten before they found the country road on the outskirts of the village.

As they walked toward the farmhouse, he risked a glance at Celia. He was worried about her. She’d grown more subdued the closer they’d come to finding their quarry. She would be very disappointed if she discovered that her dream really was just a dream. And he hated that she might doubt herself and her memories.

He still couldn’t believe all she’d said to him on the road. Or the many things he’d confessed to
her,
about his mother and his childhood. He’d thought she would be appalled to hear the sordid details. The fact that she wasn’t…

Damn it, there he went again, hoping for more. But how could he not? Whenever he looked at her, he wanted—

“Well? Shall we knock?” she asked.

He blinked. He hadn’t even noticed that they’d reached the doorway. “Of course.” He rapped twice on the door. When that brought no one, he rapped again.

“Coming, coming!” cried a muffled voice from inside.

The woman who opened the door was far too young to be Celia’s former nursemaid. Plump and harried-looking, she tucked a lock of greasy blond hair up into her mob cap. “Yes?”

“My name is Jackson Pinter, and this is my sister, Miss Cordelia Pinter.” Cordelia had been his mother’s name. “I work for Lord Stoneville. We were hoping to speak to Mrs. Duffett on his behalf. We understood from those who used to be in service with her at Halstead Hall that she now lives here.”

The woman blinked. “Oh. Yes. Come in.” She stood aside, casting surreptitious glances at his well-brushed beaver hat and Celia’s fine cloak. “I’m Anne Wyler, her granddaughter. I live with me mum and dad up the road, but I look in on Granny once or twice a day to be sure she don’t need anything. She don’t see all that well, you know.”

She lowered her voice with a glance back down the hall. “She and me dad don’t really get along, so she prefers to stay here alone. But I’m sure she’d be happy to talk with you. She speaks fondly of her days working at Halstead Hall and at Mrs. Plumtree’s town house in London. She tells stories about the family all the time. I’ll go get her right away.”

Guiding them to a small parlor, she bid them sit, then hurried off down the hall. “Granny!” she cried as she went. “You’ve got visitors, you do! They come all the way from Halstead Hall!”

“Jackson,” Celia murmured as they took seats next to each other on the settee. “Look at that!”

He followed her gaze to the mantel, which held a motley assortment of baby shoes, notes with childish illustrations, tiny dresses, and lace caps—all proudly displayed beneath a framed print of Halstead Hall.

Celia’s eyes filled with tears. “I remember that cap, the sweet one with the scalloped edges. It was my favorite when I was eight. Gran must have given it to her when I outgrew it.”

She started to rise from the settee, but he placed a hand on her arm. “You’re not Celia right now, remember? You don’t know this woman.”

A shuddering breath escaped her. “Of course.”

Her gaze dropped to his hand, and he jerked it away.

“Perhaps you should give me your notebook and a pencil,” she went on. “Since I’m supposed to be taking notes.”

“Right.”

He’d just passed it over when Anne appeared in the doorway to usher in a portly lady of about seventy, dressed all in gray, except for her snowy mob cap, her net tucker, and her white lace cuffs. He bit back a smile. His aunt, though quite a bit younger than this woman, kept just such a pair of fancy cuffs that attached under her sleeves for “company.”

As he and Celia rose and Anne made introductions, Mrs. Duffett peered at them with a smile. “How delightful to make your acquaintance, sir! And you, too, Miss Pinter, of course. How is his lordship? I heard that he has finally married, along with two of his brothers and one of his sisters. I was so glad to hear of it. He was always a good boy.”

“And he has become a fine man, too,” Jackson said, conscious of Celia’s gaze on him.

As they all sat down, he slid a glance at Celia, wondering if she could contain her reactions to a woman who must have been like a mother to her. Though Celia wore a carefully bland expression that gave nothing away, he noticed that her hands trembled in her lap.

Best get right to it, before she betrayed herself. “Mrs. Duffett,” Jackson said, “his lordship has asked me to gather information for the family about the day of their parents’ deaths. New evidence has come to light that what we believed happened that day might not be entirely correct.”

“My, my,” she said, touching one gray-gloved hand to her throat. “Do you think it wasn’t suicide after all?”

His eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”

“It just seemed so odd. Her ladyship wasn’t the sort to shoot herself. Drown herself, perhaps, but never shoot herself.” She smoothed out her skirts. “She was always elegant, very aware of her appearance. Shooting is just so … messy, don’t you think?”

“Quite,” he said dryly. “Let’s start with the events of that day in the nursery. I’d like a clearer picture of where his lordship and ladyship—and the children—were at every moment of the day.”

“The children?”

“Yes. It would help with my mapping out the scene, you see.”

“Oh.” That seemed to confuse her momentarily, but then she said, “Well, I can tell you where the children were, but I’m not sure I remember the whereabouts of his lordship and ladyship at every moment.”