That Despicable Rogue (8 page)

Chapter Eight

H
annah felt guilty as she tidied up her brother’s grave. Up until now she had not even seen it. Word of his death had arrived in Yorkshire only after his funeral. Their solicitor had informed her that Jameson, in an unexpected show of decency, had allowed her brother to rest with the family and his remains had been buried quickly. Since her return to Barchester Hall she had not been able to bring herself to come and see him. There were too many bad memories. She could not even bring herself to forgive him for sending her away.

‘I am sorry I have not come sooner,’ she said aloud, ‘But you must understand, George, that I am beyond angry at you.’

She tugged at a stubborn dandelion and sighed.

‘What were you thinking? You lost everything George.
Everything
. How could you gamble away our home on a game of cards? Although I suppose I should not have been surprised after you had gambled away everything else first.’

She felt tears prickle her eyes and let them fall. There was nobody here to see her and she was truly miserable.

‘Do you know what was worse?’ She spoke directly to the gravestone. ‘You kept the truth from me. I had no idea how dire the situation was until after I had learned that you were dead—and by then it was far too late for me to be able to do anything. The house was gone. There was nothing left in the bank. How could you
do
that to me?’

She did not expect an answer and sat back on her heels to survey the graves of her parents. They were in an even worse state, and had obviously been neglected since George had banished her to the North.

‘I shall have to come back with proper tools to get rid of those brambles,’ she muttered as she swiped at her eyes with her sleeve. Crying was not going to make things right. It would not bring back her reputation or her chance of marriage and children. ‘At least Father saved some money. I have the five thousand he kept in trust for my dowry to buy back Barchester Hall—although I should not have to do it, and I doubt I will be able to forgive you for that either.’

The hall represented the very last vestige of what she had once been—before she had been jilted, publically shamed and exiled. If she lost that, then she was truly left with nothing. All that would lie ahead of her were more empty years in Yorkshire, living with two old and timid maiden aunts, her future as bleak as the landscape on the moors in the winter.

That prospect terrified her more than anything. If she had learned one thing in the last seven years it was that she simply had to be in control of her own destiny. She had had enough of banishment and isolation and obeying another’s commands. When she got the hall back things were going to change for the better.

‘Perhaps I will feel differently when I find something on Jameson,’ she continued, forcing optimism into her voice. ‘That is proving particularly difficult as well—but I am determined. So far I have found nothing untoward. Of all the people to lose the house to, you had to choose
him
. He is far too clever. Any evidence of his wrongdoing is well hidden. Obviously I shall be persistent, and I am sure that I will find something, but I think it is going to take far longer than I had originally hoped. At least I am home...’

Hannah glanced back towards the house wistfully.

‘The truth is, Jameson does appear to have some decent qualities. He is kind to Reggie and the servants, and quite generous with his money. The house will look as good as new after we have finished. Aside from his loose morals and libertine lifestyle, I cannot help but admire him—he was born with nothing and has worked tirelessly to amass his great fortune—which makes this predicament all the more difficult. He appears to be very personable and is very easy to work for.

‘He even asks for my opinion. Imagine that. I can never remember either you or Father asking me what I thought about anything.
Ever
. I was always expected to adhere to your edicts without question. And he listens to my advice. Genuinely listens. He has this way of looking at me intently when I speak, as if he actually wants to know what I am going to say—which is surprisingly flattering. He has even let me pick the colours for the morning room and the hallway, and he trusts me to simply get on with things. Which is nice... More than nice, actually. It makes me feel special in a strange sort of way—like I belong here.

‘It’s quite an odd feeling, not to be considered a burden or an obligation for once. He is quite charming, really. And handsome, in a rough sort of way. Well, not so rough, now that I come to think about it. He has lovely green eyes that sparkle when he smiles. Under different circumstances, and if I did not know better, he would probably turn my head. I only hope that I find something nefarious about him soon, George, because I find myself in danger of
liking
the scoundrel. He can be rather...intoxicating at times.’

Hannah still could not stop thinking about the kiss. Even here, at her brother’s grave, she had to concentrate hard to avoid revisiting the way it had made her feel.

After carefully standing, she tipped all the weeds over the wall out onto the meadow. As an afterthought she wandered back to her parents’ graves and stood for a moment contemplating them. It seemed to be the respectable thing to do, although she had very little memory of her mother. She had died while Hannah was very young.

Her father had passed away when she was twelve. She recalled him as an aloof and self-indulgent man. Like George, he had set great store in his own comforts and pleasures, and had paid little attention to his only daughter. After her mother’s death he’d hardly spent any time at Barchester Hall, preferring the entertainments of town, so with George away at school, and then later at university, Hannah had grown up virtually alone. Alone save for Cook, who had been the one constant in a sea of ever-changing servants and governesses.

It was no wonder she had been so bowled over by the first man who had courted her—right up until the moment he had cruelly cast her aside in that ballroom.

Hannah felt fresh tears threaten and turned back towards the grave again. ‘What I don’t understand, George, is why you never sent for me. When I was bundled off to the middle of nowhere you promised me that it was only temporary. You promised me that you would sort it all out and restore my reputation. Why would you not let me come home? I wrote to you time and time again, begging you to let me, and you never replied. Did you actually
believe
all the lies he told you? Did you think that I
deserved
to be jilted?’

* * *

Ross could not work out exactly what she was doing, but found the image of her tending the Runcorn family graves to be a little odd. He watched her from a distance for a little while, until curiosity got the better of him and he bounded over to the little plot.

‘Hello, Prim,’ he said, and watched her jump out of her skin.

‘Hello, Mr Jameson,’ she replied, a little too wide-eyed for his liking. ‘It is a fine evening for a walk.’

‘Yes, it is,’ he responded cheerfully. ‘What are you doing?’

She blinked, and licked her pretty pink lips nervously before answering. ‘I saw that this little graveyard was in dire need of some care and decided to tidy it up. I think that it is important to be respectful of the dead. Don’t you?’

Ross glanced at the headstones and then back at her face, so that he could gauge her reaction. ‘This must be the Runcorn family plot.’

‘Is that the family who lived here before?’ she asked, with just the right amount of uninterest, so that he was almost convinced that she was unaware of that fact.

‘Yes, it is.’ He pointed to the newest stone. ‘I won this house from the last Earl of Runcorn in a card game.’

She did not look surprised by this statement, but her face was just a little too blank. Such information should at least cause her to raise an eyebrow.

Instead she stared at him levelly. ‘I read about that in the newspapers. He died shortly afterwards, did he not?’

‘Come now, Prim. If you read about it in the newspapers then you already know that he blew his own brains out.’

He detected the smallest of winces at that, but she covered it quickly.

‘Perhaps he felt he had no other choice,’ she said after a beat of silence. ‘He must have been quite desperate to do such a thing.’

‘I think he was actually being quite selfish. He had just gambled away his house. His fortune was already long gone. Suicide gave him a way of not having to explain all that to his family. He should have avoided being so reckless with the only thing he had left.’

Hannah could not argue with him because she felt much the same way about her brother’s actions herself. However, to agree felt disloyal—especially as George was lying beneath her very feet. Jameson had happily entered into a card game with her brother and had taken the house. That fact had led to George’s death. Jameson might not have held the gun that had killed him, but he had certainly provided the ammunition. That detail did not appear to give him a moment’s regret. However, that was not something that she could take him to task about yet.

‘Do you win many houses in card games?’ She felt it was a fair question.

He smiled ruefully. ‘This is the first. I once won a ship, though. And a tiara. I gave that to my sister, although she has never had any cause to wear it. I usually play cards for money.’

‘Does it not bother you that in doing so you might be causing the ruin of others?’ Hannah tried to make her tone inquisitive, rather than accusatory, but a hint of the latter sneaked in nevertheless. It made his expression harden slightly.

‘I suspect that question is loaded, Prim—especially as you obviously read the newspapers enthusiastically and know full well that they have accused me of the ruination of many good men. But, to answer your question, all I will say is that I did not ask any of them to sit down at the card table with me. Nor did I encourage them to risk their entire fortunes on the turn of a card. The simple truth is, a fool and his money are soon parted. Therefore if it had not been me who relieved them of their purses it would have been somebody else.’

Hannah had not considered that—but it still did not excuse his cavalier attitude. ‘But when they run out of money you allow them to be reckless and stake things of far greater value. The Earl of Runcorn, for instance. When he ran out of money why did you continue to play with him? Surely the decent thing to do in such a situation would be to decline?’

‘That idiot came to White’s with the deeds to this house in his pocket! Who
does
that? He had every intention of gambling it—if I had not relieved him of it then somebody else would have. He was an atrocious card player—the more he lost, the more transparent and sloppy he became. One way or another, Barchester Hall was doomed to have a new owner that night. It might as well have been me.’

Hannah felt the bile rise in her throat at the sheer reckless stupidity of her brother. He had purposely and wilfully taken the deeds to their home to the club! She had not known that pertinent detail before. It beggared belief.

His voice penetrated her thoughts. ‘Some men find the lure of Lady Luck too great to resist, Prim. Gambling becomes an addiction to them, and the more they lose the more they are prepared to risk.’

There was a slightly wistful expression on his handsome face as he looked at her brother’s grave.

‘It is a disease, and it makes them become desperate. Sometimes they do terrible, abhorrent things—which seem perfectly reasonable to them when they are in the grip of the addiction—and they do not even consider the dire consequences their actions might have for others. Poor old Runcorn did not only bring the deeds to White’s—he also brought a loaded pistol. Why would he do that? There are no footpads or murderers loose in White’s. I believe that he had every intention of ending his life if he lost again. It is sad, but he chose his own destiny.’

Hannah had the urge to stamp on her selfish brother’s grave. She had not realised that it was possible to be more angry with him—but she was. And as for Jameson...

‘But you benefited from his stupidity,’ she said quietly, willing herself to stare at her feet when she wanted to scratch and claw at him instead.

‘As did you, Prim.’

His words were like a dash of cold water and her head snapped up.

‘If he had not lost the house to me, then you would not be housekeeper. You would be working for somebody who does not see past your age or your lack of experience. I doubt there are many employers daft enough to keep on a servant who has fed them a complete pack of lies and who continues to disapprove of her benevolent employer quite so openly.’

Although he was still smiling, there was a challenge in his green eyes that made her nervous. She was alienating him at a time when she needed to build his trust—especially as she still had no tangible evidence to prove any wrongdoing on his part.

‘You are quite right, Mr Jameson. I doubt many other employers would entertain such a difficult servant and I am grateful that you do.’ She flashed him her best friendly but shy smile. ‘I need to keep my forthright opinions to myself. It has always been a character flaw. You are a decent man, Mr Jameson. Please do not take my impertinent questions as evidence of my disapproval. I am simply curious about the motives of the Earl of Runcorn. He must have been a very troubled man.’

Initially he stared at her warily, and then his mouth quirked up in acknowledgement of her apology.

‘Are you aware that you appear to have acquired a dog?’ she asked, as a means to change the subject.

‘We are merely walking in the same direction,’ he said dismissively. ‘If we ignore him he will go away. Shall we walk back to the house together, Miss Prim, or would you find the prospect of that too distasteful?’

Hannah forced another smile. She would rather walk over hot coals, but under the circumstances she had no other option. ‘That would be pleasant, sir. Thank you.’

She sailed through the gate he held open for her and he offered her his arm. Hannah stared at it in surprise.