Duke of Thorns (Heiress Games 1) (27 page)

“Thank you for attending to us, Miss Briarley,” Lucretia said stiffly.

Callie started to respond, but she was interrupted by Octavia, who laughed a little without turning away from the window. “Still so formal, Lucy?”

“Miss Briarley hasn’t given me leave to call her by her Christian name,” Lucretia said. “One of us must observe proprieties if the rest of you won’t.”

“When has propriety ever served you?” Octavia asked.

“When has scandal ever served you?” Lucretia shot back.

There was a vast gulf of hatred between them that Callie didn’t understand and couldn’t navigate. She sat, rather gingerly, next to Lady Maidenstone. “Are they always like this?” she whispered.

Lady Maidenstone smiled grimly as she poured Callie’s tea and offered her a cake. “No. Usually they don’t speak to each other at all.”

Octavia came over to Callie and offered her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, cousin,” she said, with a smile that very nearly seemed genuine. “I am sorry I wasn’t more attentive when we met in the hall last night, but I was preoccupied with thoughts of murder.”

Callie grinned as she shook Octavia’s hand. “
Briarley contra mundum
, cousin. I’ve thought of murdering Lucretia myself.”

Octavia’s smile grew. “Then we shall get along famously. At least until we must turn our wrath on each other. But until then, you must call me Ava.”

Ava was a softer name than Octavia. If they had always been Ava, Lucy, and Callie, rather than names meant for empresses and goddesses, would they have been softer women?

It didn’t matter. They still would have been Briarleys. And Briarleys weren’t made for soft, simple lives.

“Then until we destroy each other, you must call me Callie,” she said.

“There,” Octavia said, turning to Lucretia. “I can call her Callie. If you ask nicely, perhaps she’ll let you call her that as well.”

Lucretia looked entirely chagrined by how quickly Octavia and Callie had aligned with each other. “I’m sure that’s not necessary.”

But there was something about her voice that sounded unhappy rather than officious. She’d drawn away from them slightly, as though this was a scene she’d played before — and played with a result that hadn’t brought her any happiness.

“I don’t see why we shouldn’t be informal with each other,” Callie said carefully. “We are the last of the Briarleys, after all. And I should like to know you better.”

Lucretia sniffed. “You are remarkably forward.”

Octavia dropped into a chair. “Live dangerously, Lucy.”

Lucretia shot her a look brimming with hate.

Callie tried to redirect the conversation. “Please, call me Callie. And if I may ask, was there something you invited us here to discuss? We may do so more comfortably if we focus on the task at hand rather than whatever happened in the past.”

It wasn’t the most elegant attempt at peacemaking. But Lucretia sighed. “Call me Lucy,” she said, sounding more surly than such an offer should have warranted. “And I didn’t invite you. That was our grandmother’s doing.”

Lady Maidenstone snorted as she handed Octavia a cup of tea. “I thank you for the insult, Lucy.”

“Step-grandmother,” Octavia clarified cheerfully.

Callie turned to Lady Maidenstone. “Then shall I ask you what you meant by the invitation, my lady?”

“All of you Briarleys are the same,” she said, sounding philosophical as she poured Lucretia’s tea. “So determined to follow through with your plans, however dark and convoluted, that you can’t see the easier path ahead of you.”

Lucretia frowned. “What are you going on about, Emma?”

“Maidenstone Abbey is big enough to house an army of Briarleys,” Lady Maidenstone said. “Particularly now that there’s no one left to fight over the title.”

If Lady Maidenstone had given Lord Maidenstone a son, he would have inherited it all, down to the final shilling and the last blade of grass. Instead, she’d failed to produce and had been left with the merest pittance. But her countenance was entirely serene as she poured her tea and contemplated the fate of an estate she might have won for her own bloodline.

Octavia leaned forward as though she’d heard the most delicious bit of gossip. “Emma, are you suggesting that we
share
?”

Lady Maidenstone nodded. “I know that word isn’t in the Briarley vocabulary. But it’s a thought, isn’t it?”

Lucretia set aside her tea without taking a single sip. “Out of the question. Grandfather clearly intended for one of us to be the sole inheritor.”

“Your grandfather was many things. Some of them were even wonderful. But he was not the sanest man in Devon, was he?”

Lady Maidenstone sounded cheerful as she said this. More cheerful than Callie would have been if she’d been seventeen when she was sold into marriage to an octogenarian. But Lucretia stared at her as though she’d committed the basest blasphemy. “Maidenstone has always gone to the strongest Briarley of the generation. It has never been shared.”

Octavia was looking at Lucretia, not Lady Maidenstone. “You should consider it, Lucy. This competition is a farce. And you’re not likely to win it.”

“Because you think I’m incapable of finding a match?” Lucretia’s voice rose on the words, and Callie heard pain caused by the prodding of an old, badly-healed wound. “This isn’t our debut season, you know. And I have proven competent at managing houses and hosting parties.”

“From what I’ve heard of Ferguson, he’s too eccentric to give Maidenstone to the least eccentric of the three of us. Competence doesn’t interest him. You were bound to lose before the party even started.”

It was a frank assessment, bordering on unkind. Lucretia flushed. “The contest hasn’t been decided yet, Ava. And if you convince anyone other than the basest villain to marry you after you ruined yourself, I’ll expire from shock.”

Silence reigned. Octavia looked down into her teacup. Lucretia’s flush deepened. Lady Maidenstone fidgeted, crumbling her cake into dust.

Finally, Callie couldn’t tolerate the silence any longer. “I would be willing to share if you were,” she said.

She knew enough of business to know she shouldn’t have offered such a large concession at the beginning of a negotiation. It put her at an immediate disadvantage — an unusual position for her, since she was accustomed to seeking every bit of advantage over her foes.

But she suddenly found it sad that
Briarley contra mundum
still applied to them, generations after the first Briarley had killed another for his own gain. It should have been Briarley against the world — but it was every Briarley against all the others, destroying each other over the centuries.

And Lady Maidenstone was right — there was enough of Maidenstone Abbey to sustain all three of them, if they agreed to share it.

Lucretia and Octavia, though, had been raised by fathers who never escaped Maidenstone’s poisonous air. They shook their heads at the same time.

“I will never share a house with Lucretia again,” Octavia said.

“I would rather die than see Octavia inherit,” Lucretia said.

Callie frowned. “But both your chances of winning are one in three. Shouldn’t you take the security of inheriting a third of the estate?”

Lucretia shook her head. “Neither of you deserve it. As I said, I would rather die than spend my life watching either of you destroy this place.”

“I wouldn’t destroy Maidenstone if I won it,” Callie said.

It was a small lie, since Callie had already redone the entire house in her head to better fit the modern conveniences. But Lucretia was concerned about more than just the kitchens. “You’ve no interest at all in the concerns of a landowner. And you don’t know the first thing about hosting the local gentry. The first time a harvest fails and you’re expected to do something about it, you’ll run away just like Uncle Tiberius did.”

Callie frowned. “I can learn how to host. And I know how to run businesses to make a profit. Maidenstone might benefit more from my stewardship than it would from yours.”

“And how do your businesses make those profits?” Lucretia asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

Lady Maidenstone leaned over and nudged Lucretia’s cup toward her. “Calm yourself, Lucy,” she said gently. “It isn’t your business what Callie does.”

The woman was younger than the rest of them, barely twenty, and completely out of place with her blonde hair and wistful blue eyes. But Lucretia took a breath as though she was used to Lady Maidenstone giving her guidance. “It is, though. No one else seems to care at all about our legacy. Ava destroyed as much of it as she could. And Callista is entirely too American. She’s almost a traitor, in my mind.”

If they were men, Callie would have called her out for that. She flushed as something unpleasant unfurled in her stomach. “I’m not a traitor. I’m a merchant.”

“A merchant making the best profit no matter which side you are supporting?” Lucretia snorted. “Briarleys have always stood for something. If you had stayed in America to support their ill-conceived cause, I would have understood. Or if you had come here to throw your ships behind the British, so much the better. But you came here seeking profit, didn’t you?”

Octavia had stayed mostly silent — she hadn’t even taken exception to Lucretia’s comment that she’d destroyed Maidenstone’s legacy, whatever that meant. But here, she interrupted. “Lucy, you’d be better served trying to win for yourself than convincing either of us to abandon the hunt. After you intercepted all of my invitations, did you really think I would give up once I learned of it?”

That explained why Octavia had been so angry the night before. Lucretia shrugged. “I’ll do what I have to to save this place. Emma, thank you for the tea, but sharing Maidenstone is an impossibility.”

Lucretia stood. It was a clear signal that the conversation was over, particularly since it was her sitting room. But Lady Maidenstone didn’t stand — she sighed instead. “Lucy, dear, I only wanted to help. We’ve tried your ways already — perhaps it’s time to try mine.”

Lucretia’s mouth twisted. “It’s too late. Ava said it already — I can’t win, can I? Unless my cousins remove themselves from the competition. And it wouldn’t be too hard to ruin either of them.”

That
was a turn Callie didn’t expect. She had managed not to think of Thorington for at least five minutes. But the word
ruin
reminded her, immediately, intimately, of what they had done.

She didn’t feel ruined.

She felt glorious. Confused, hurt, heartbroken — but glorious.

Still, had a servant found evidence of their presence? Had they somehow guessed who had made illicit, comprehensive use of the State Bedchamber? And would Lucretia be bold enough to announce it?

“What are you planning?” she asked Lucretia, trying to sound as innocent as possible.

Lucretia walked over to her writing desk and picked up a broadsheet. “The papers are all screaming for American blood. It seems several Baltimore shipping companies have turned into pirates. It wouldn’t be too difficult to whisper a few words about your investments, would it? No one would care whether it was true — the story would be too good for anyone to ignore.”

She tossed the paper onto Callie’s lap. It was the
Gazette
from Saturday, delivered that morning. Callie hadn’t seen it yet. But the front page included a headline that she couldn’t miss.

AMERICAN PRIVATEERS MUST BE DESTROYED, SAYS ADMIRALTY.

It was such a relief to switch from her private scandal to the activities of the privateers that she very nearly didn’t read the rest of the paper. She knew what invective the paper would fling at the Americans, and she didn’t need to read more of it. But as her mind slowly abandoned Thorington to think of her shipping company, she grew curious. She scanned the following paragraphs — the usual mix of inflammatory anti-American sentiment, with cries for justice from ship owners whose cargos had been taken by privateers. Baltimore was mentioned several times as a city that must be punished for its contribution to Britain’s woes. She’d read it all before…

Until she saw mention of
Nero
.

The newspaper had somehow gotten more information of Captain Jacobs’ antics than Callie had — rumor traveled faster than writing, and it was possible that any communications from her captain had been lost. It listed at least sixteen ships he had taken or sunk in his latest cruise. They had even published a bitter, petulant letter from Captain Hallett, the man who had lost
Adamant
to them and was now based at the harbor in Dartmouth. He had responded to their earlier story about his disgrace, giving more details about Captain Jacobs and the cruise that had destroyed Hallett’s career.

The
Gazette
called Jacobs the Scourge of the Caribbean — a name that would please Jacobs so greatly that he would probably engrave it on his calling cards if he survived the war.

She might have been thrilled to hear it. But the ships also listed their owners.

And the three richest ships he’d taken, including
Crescendo
, belonged to a company that was owned by the Duke of Thorington.

A laugh bubbled up before she could stop it. She dropped the paper, trying to pretend that it was all a grand jest — that she laughed with humor, not with an onslaught of sudden panic. “Come after me with a sword if you must,” she said to Lucretia. “But I thought Briarleys fought direct battles, not with rumor and innuendo like cowards in the shadows.”

Octavia grinned. “She has you there, Lucy. Will you act dishonorably to preserve our honor?”

Lucretia looked at all of them as though she hated them. “I’ve nothing further to say to either of you. If you will excuse me, I must consult with the housekeeper about the plans for tonight’s ball.”

She left as soon as she finished her speech, not waiting to escort them out. Was she going to start the rumor about Callie’s ships immediately? Or could she simply no longer bear to be in their company?

Emma sighed as she left. “Briarleys,” she muttered. “It’s a wonder you all survived this long.”

Callie stayed another few minutes, finishing her tea, attempting to look calm and unaffected by Lucretia’s threats. But inside, her heart raced.