That Perfect Someone (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-two

D
INNER WAS LONG OVER
. Charles and Mathew had retired directly afterward, since they were leaving early in the morning. Milton had taken Abel to his study for some brandy, but he was hard-pressed for an excuse to detain the man much longer.

Milton had ordered Olaf to start searching for Richard at the three inns closest to Willow Woods, then work his way toward London. Manchester was too far in the other direction, so at least they didn’t need to search there. If Richard had come north to see his brother, he might even be planning to journey east with Charles to Rotherham tomorrow, to extend that visit a little, so he could still be close by. But if not, the direct route back to London had to be canvassed. He’d given Olaf and the search party he’d been told to gather access to the best horses in his stable, including his own stallion. He wanted the search done quickly and without error, so they couldn’t split up, since only Olaf would recognize Richard if they encountered him.

Suddenly the door burst open and Olaf and the old gardener’s strapping son dragged a man into the room. Abel shot to his feet, startled at the intrusion. So did Milton. Could it be, finally? He moved quickly around his desk to make sure. The man was unconscious to go by the look of his hanging head and the long hair covering his face. Milton lifted the hair aside and drew in his breath. Richard.

Such triumph filled Milton he could barely contain it. Anger helped in that regard. Olaf was such an idiot! Charles could have been in the study, and that would definitely hamper how Milton could deal with Richard. But at last the rebellious whelp was back under his control!

He gave a moment’s thought to sending for Julia Miller to force the marriage immediately, but decided against it. That was too big a risk. The pastor who lived on Milton’s estate would of course comply, but the girl might cry foul if Richard was shouting that he wouldn’t have her. And with that damn competent legal team in her employ that had thwarted him before when he tried to get guardianship of her, he didn’t dare take that chance.

The two men dropped Richard on the floor at their feet. Richard’s hands were tied behind his back. He’d grown. A lot. A tall, strapping man was lying there, not a boy. His feet should have been tied, too. Milton didn’t want to take any chances on losing him again.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Abel demanded of the two servants.

“It would appear my recalcitrant son has wandered close enough to home to be found,” Milton replied, staring down in disgust at the appalling length of Richard’s hair.

“Richard?” Abel said in surprise.

“Indeed, Richard. And look at this.” Milton bent down to yank the signet ring off Richard’s finger and put it back where it belonged, on his. “I’m amazed he still has this ring he stole from me. Not that I wasn’t forced to have it replaced, but this one was special, handed down through the centuries from the first Earl of Manford, and he knew that. Obviously he didn’t take it to sell, but as another means of flouting my authority and insulting me because he knew how much I valued it.”

“I can lock him up for that alone. You’ve just shown me the proof of it.”

Milton was gratified to hear Cantel reacting just as he’d hoped, but he was sure a spell in a local jail wasn’t going to convince Richard of anything. But before he discussed what would, he dismissed the gardener’s son.

Olaf started to leave with him, forcing Milton to snap, “Not you.
You
make sure the boy doesn’t bolt out of here the moment he wakes.” Milton then turned to the magistrate to remind the man, “My own son nearly paupered me with his gambling debts. Did I ever mention that? Twelve thousand bloody pounds! And enough witnesses to prove it!”

Abel nodded with some slight embarrassment. “One night when we’d had a bit too much to drink, I believe you did.”

“If the Duke of Chelter hadn’t bailed me out, I would be in debtors’ prison m’self right now. And I’m not even close to paying the man back.” Then, as if the thought had only just occurred to him, Milton asked, “Isn’t your brother a guard on one of the ships that transport convicts to the new penal colonies in Australia?”

Abel frowned. “He’s the captain, actually, but that’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

“It’s a moot point if Richard has come home to do his duty. If he has, then all can and will be forgiven. But if he hasn’t, well, I wasn’t suggesting he be transported to such a place indefinitely. A few months and he’ll be ready to meet his obligations, don’t you think?”

“It takes more’n a few months just to get there, and some of the convicts don’t even survive the trip. If they do, the harsh conditions there usually break a man in the first few weeks. Are you sure you want to send your son there?”

Milton wasn’t going to let Richard slip through his fingers again. If the boy couldn’t be made to see reason, by God, he
was
going to take steps to make sure he would. Nine years of penury the boy had to make up for. Nine years of impotent frustration because Milton could no longer afford the few things in life that gave him pleasure.

So he reminded Abel, “Men get sent there for lesser crimes, don’t they?”

Abel shrugged. “Our prisons are overflowing, and convict labor is free labor, after all. Australia needs a lot of workers if we’re going to turn it into a promising new colony for the crown. There’s still nothing there except penal colonies, and no way to escape from them. The only ships that arrive are more convict ships. A man really has no hope if he’s sent there.”

Milton smiled to himself. “Yes, rather harsh, but probably the only thing that will reform this rebel—as long as Richard’s release can be arranged as soon as he’s ready to meet his obligations.
Can
that be arranged?”

“Anything can be arranged,” Abel said a bit uncomfortably.

Milton frowned at the man’s apparent unease. Was he being a bit too cold and uncaring even for a commoner like Cantel? Was it not obvious that Richard deserved it? Cantel only had to look around him at the appalling condition of Willow Woods to see the damage Richard had done to his own family.

“Let’s see what he has to say for himself first. If he’s ready to conform and help this family instead of hurting it, then he can be forgiven. Wake him up,” Milton told Olaf.

Olaf’s interpretation of that was a hard kick to Richard’s side. Abel turned away. Milton glared at the big oaf.

“Some water or smelling salts, you fool.”

“Don’t see any,” Olaf said.

“Not—necessary,” Richard groaned, then added, “What the hell?” when he realized he had to struggle to get up, that his arms were bound behind him.

He’d known this could be the outcome when Olaf had kicked his door in—the dumb giant hadn’t even checked to see that it wasn’t locked. Richard had been alone in the room eating the dinner that Ohr had sent up along with a message that he was going to be detained—by the barmaid in the tavern next door.

Richard had recognized Olaf instantly, one of the three strong-arms Milton had hired when Richard had got too big for the switch. The last memory he had of Willow Woods had been of his father demanding he cut his hair, which had barely reached his shoulders. He’d refused, of course, even knowing he’d be punished for it. But he and his father were at a complete war of wills by then. So Milton had ordered his brutes to cut Richard’s hair for him, and they’d dragged him out of his bed from a sound sleep, tied him to a chair, and practically scalped him. God, the impotent rage he’d felt. He’d left for London that very night and never looked back.

Richard was actually fiercely glad to see Olaf standing there over the broken door, didn’t even wonder yet what the brute was doing there. Revenge was all Richard could think of.

Olaf was still much bigger, a damned giant, but he was stupid, and Richard wasn’t a boy anymore. But he didn’t even have a few moments to savor the thought of beating the hell out of Olaf before five other men crowded in around him, and all six of them charged Richard and wrestled him to the floor. He was overpowered by sheer numbers. They didn’t need to knock him out as well, but one of them did.

Now, in his father’s study, Richard finally managed to get to his feet. Straining to free his hands proved futile, and so was the glare he gave his father. How did this happen? He’d been so sure no one in the area had recognized him, but obviously someone had and had run straightaway to the earl with news of the sighting.

He and Ohr shouldn’t even have been there for this to happen! The cautious plan would have been to leave and find an inn closer to London for the night, a long distance from Willow Woods. But he’d been toying with the idea of trying to catch Charles on the road in the morning, so he could meet his nephew before he left England once and for all.

Milton hadn’t changed much at all. His hair was maybe a little lighter shade of brown, his blue eyes were just as cold, and only a little sagging to his jowls marked the passing of the years. But Milton hadn’t even looked him in the eye yet. He was staring in disgust at the long hair that fell over Richard’s shoulders.

“My God, it’s even longer than I thought. You look like a bloody beggar who can’t afford a haircut,” Milton said, then ordered his brute, “Get rid of that.”

Richard turned to the bigger man and calmly told him, “Try it and I’ll kill you this time.”

Olaf merely laughed, but Milton shook his head and said, “Never mind. It’s obvious he’s going to be just as defiant as he ever was.”

“What did you expect?” Richard turned to snarl at his father. “You, old man, have no say anymore over the way I look or what I do. I’ve outgrown your control.”

“You think so? You haven’t outgrown the law, though, and you broke a few of those before you ran away.”

“What laws? Yours?”

Milton fingered the signet ring that was now on his finger again. “You stole this before you left. Did you forget about that crime?”

Richard scoffed, “That ring goes to my brother when you die, and he wouldn’t have minded my borrowing it—and why the hell don’t you die and put us out of our misery?”

Milton sighed and told the other men in the room, “You see what I’ve had to deal with? He’s the most unnatural son a man could have.”

Richard frowned over the show of parental disappointment, obviously contrived for the other men. If Milton had ever once shown any real disappointment in him, or even just a little concern or a speck of caring, their relationship might have developed into a more natural one. A child’s instinct was to please his parent, after all—until the child figured out that nothing ever would.

“Who are you?” Richard asked the third man.

“Abel Cantel is an old friend of mine,” Milton answered for him.

But Abel felt obliged to add, “I’m also the local magistrate, Lord Richard.”

Was that a deliberate warning? Richard stiffened. Only untitled gentry or a commoner would use Richard’s minor title, and a man of either rank would defer to an earl’s wishes. But then he’d always known that his father might try to use those old misdeeds of his against him if they ever came face-to-face again. He’d wanted to be disowned. He’d been too young to realize he might be giving his father another tool to use in twisting his arm to comply with the marriage contract.

But he wasn’t really worried yet. It could just be a coincidence that the “law” was represented in that room. And he wasn’t planning on sticking around, nor was he alone this time. Charles was in the house somewhere, had said he wasn’t leaving until morning for a visit to Mathew’s maternal grandfather. His brother had never had the courage to intervene before, but he was his own man now. And Ohr would look at Willow Woods first when he returned from his dalliance with the barmaid to find Richard gone—and the damage left behind in their room was evidence that he hadn’t willingly left.

What was the most Milton would—could—do? Have him beaten again? Nothing new in that. Contain him in a room with threats of real imprisonment? For borrowing a ring from his own family, a case that would be laughed out of the courts? Besides, he’d have help escaping long before any threat became more than a threat. That very night, he was sure.

He was more worried about Julia’s prophecy, that he could stand there and shout no and yet still be pronounced her husband. Milton did support at least one pastor on his estate who was beholden to him for his livelihood. But Julia was on her way back to London. It would take a day or two to get her back here, and he was sure she’d delay her return even longer if she was told why her presence was required. He didn’t expect to be there that long.

“You know, Father, you could have asked for this meeting, instead of forcing it down my throat as usual.”

“We both know what your answer would have been,” Milton said stiffly.

“Well, I know, but do you, really? What if I was coming home to ask for your forgiveness?”

That gave Milton pause. “Were you?”

Richard couldn’t bring himself to say yes, even if it might get him released. “No, but you should have made an effort to find that out before sending your loutish lackeys after me, because if I
was
returning to the fold, this welcome would definitely have changed my mind. But when all you’ve ever done, Father, is administer beatings or pay someone—”