A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle (91 page)

Cousin Henrietta laughed when he
relaxed to the point of slipping from her lap to the carriage
floor. “Why little fellow, you’re quite easy to please, aren’t you?
I believe I might fall in love with you, Mr. Cuddlesworth, if you
aren’t careful.”

Once on the floor, the cat spiraled
between her legs, rubbing himself all over his newfound friend and
trying to climb up the inside of her skirt. He left a trail of
orange and white fur everywhere he touched, which stood out against
the aubergine fabric of the dowager’s traveling gown.

“
He should return to his
usual self once we arrive. At least I hope he does. Oh dear, what
if he is still ill once we get to Town?” Speaking the thought out
loud almost seemed to confirm Jane’s fear. “I can’t stand to see
him so sick and not be able to fix it for him.”

“
There, there dear.” The
dowager reached across the coach to pat her on the knee. “I believe
this is all just a bit of a change for him. He’ll be perfectly fine
once we’re home. And if he isn’t, he’ll have more nursemaids at his
side than he knows what to do with, all waiting to see to his every
wish or desire. I imagine even Cook will fall head over ears in
love with him and try to sneak him some cod on
occasion.”

The dowager was probably right. There
wasn’t any reason to worry. Jane tried to relax again. Over the
three day journey, the two had become quite close. Jane even found
she could speak openly with Cousin Henrietta about any number of
topics she’d normally avoid at all costs with her
mother.

As the daughter of a vicar,
Jane must always conform to Mother’s expectations of her behavior,
and not discuss politics or the wars, or anything
interesting
. She must sit
politely and act the part of a lady, which she rather felt anything
but.

Even more surprising than the ease she
felt in discourse with her traveling companion, she was in awe over
the woman’s outlook on life. Cousin Henrietta wanted all of her
children to marry—not because it was what society expected—but
because she wanted them to be happy. What a refreshing thought! If
only her own mother shared such a sentiment.

Jane wondered how Cousin Henrietta
would react to one of her offspring choosing to remain unmarried in
order to preserve his or her own happiness, instead of following
the path she would choose for them. She imagined it would be quite
different from her own parents’ reactions, even though she clearly
wanted her children to find that perfect match.

It seemed their happiness was more
important to her than their marital state.

“
He’s a sweet cat, Jane.
Obviously you know how to share your love.”

Looking across at the two, she
realized Mr. Cuddlesworth had fallen asleep with his chin draped
across Henrietta’s knee. She smiled at the sweet picture they made.
If she had ever become proficient with paints or drawing, like her
mother had wanted, she would love to paint them as they sat. “Yes.
He’s well loved.”

“
We’re nearing London. We
should be at Hardwicke House within the hour. My girls will be
especially pleased, I’m sure. They can’t resist the idea of another
female in our midst, even though my sons might think there are
already more than necessary. I think Mr. Cuddlesworth might enjoy
Peter’s children. Though, I do hope they aren’t too rough on him.
Little Sarah is only four, almost five. She may not understand that
pulling his tail or grabbing his ears would be
unwelcome.”

“
He can handle children. He
never seemed to mind me as a child. Of course, I wasn’t quite as
young as they are, but he loved me from the start. I daresay Mr.
Cuddlesworth will feel at home anywhere, as long as I’m with
him.”

In all honesty, the cat had always
accepted anything anyone wanted to do to him with no complaints.
Not all cats in her acquaintance would be so calm and patient while
having its eyes poked by curious fingers.

The true question was
whether
Jane
would
feel at home in London with the dowager’s family.

But she would learn soon enough. The
grand homes of Mayfair slipped into her view through the dusty
windows of the well-traveled carriage. She could spare no more time
worrying about Mr. Cuddlesworth. She had herself to worry about
now.

~ * ~

Mama had left five days ago. Each
passing day brought more rain.

Peter couldn’t be certain when she
would return, alongside his newest charge, and still he’d been
unable to settle the accounts for his Welsh estate.

Clearly, something was amiss. The
problem continued to elude him. Debits and credits were all logged,
and the balances seemed to be properly calculated and forwarded.
But somehow, more money had been going out than was coming in, and
he had yet to discover the cause.

His workers and tenants all reported
ample healthy crops, according to the account Turnpenny had
forwarded to Yeats. The steward’s documentation relayed that the
crops had received fair prices at market. His employees were paid a
more-than-adequate wage for their services, but not more than the
estate should be able to afford.

So where had the money
gone?

He had hoped to solve the mystery
before Mama returned and his home filled past overflowing with
females flittering about, but his time for such pursuits was
quickly running out. Once she returned reconciling these ledgers
would become even less likely to take place, particularly if he
kept his bargain with her. There would be few evenings, if any,
that he could keep his own company.

Not only that, but she’d surely insist
he pay social calls each afternoon.

Peter hadn’t called on a lady in the
afternoon since before Mary. The mere thought had him quaking in
his Hessians. Heaven forbid if one of them should think he might
actually be paying her court...that he intended to make her an
offer.

Mornings would be his only refuge, his
only time to accomplish anything of value and fulfill his
duties.

He prayed that would be
enough.

Peter rechecked the figures for the
umpteenth time, wishing he would find the error glaring at him in
the numbers but knowing he wouldn’t. A throb formed in his temples,
and he tried to will it away.

Then the trilling laughter of his
sisters echoed through the hallway. The laughs grew closer. Blast
it, they were going to interrupt him yet again. Why couldn’t they
leave him be?

Since Mama had left, his sisters had
barged in on him at least two or three times a day. It was as
though, without their mother present, they were unable to think for
themselves or decide how to spend their days. Some days it was
enough to make him wish they were still in the schoolroom and he
could just send them back to their governess, Miss
Bentley.

He ought to have kept the woman in his
employ—hired her to act as Sophie’s companion or something, since
clearly Sophie had no intention of marrying any time
soon.

But then again, Miss Bentley knew his
sisters entirely too well, since she’d spent years in the Hardwicke
home instructing them on how to be a lady and teaching them to
enjoy feminine pursuits. Which, he might add, it could be argued
she’d failed abjectly. At least Miss Bentley, herself, tended to
behave appropriately on most occasions. If only she could have
effected such a change on his sisters. However, having her around
as a companion now might only serve to encourage Sophie to remain a
singleton instead of seriously considering a gentleman’s
offer.

The female voices had virtually
descended upon him. He tried to put his papers in order before they
swooped in and wreaked havoc on his business affairs, building neat
stacks and placing things just so.

Maybe Forrester would return soon and
they could discuss important matters. Masculine pursuits. Anything
to run the girls off. He loved them, but they would soon drive him
to distraction. Just before they arrived, he debated slipping into
the antechamber beside his library. None of the girls even knew it
existed. He could hide there and they’d be none the
wiser.

But he waited too long.

His footman pushed open the doors and
led the two Hardwicke sisters and their
former-governess-turned-companion into Peter’s private library.
“Your Grace, the Ladies Sophia and Charlotte.” The man bowed and
darted out the door so fast one might have thought someone held a
pistol to his head. Indeed, he escaped before Peter could issue him
a proper ducal glare for his act of cowardice.

His sisters, tall and lean, and
sporting the hallmark Hardwicke red hair and slightly freckled fair
skin, flounced in and took over his space. Sophie, the eldest
sister, sat in an armchair across the desk from him. Charlotte,
however, shoved his ledgers out of her way and seated herself
directly on the corner of his desk. He could not avoid her if he
tried. Their soft, feminine fabrics stood out against the rich
woods and warm leathers adorning his library.

Peter almost wished that if he must be
interrupted, at least he could have some male companionship
involved.

Alas, his brother Richard was an
officer in the army. He’d been home for a brief visit a couple of
months ago, but Wellington was not appeased that Napoleon would
stay put. As such, Richard and the rest of the army were still on
the continent. His next brother, Alex, was now a married father,
living contentedly in Somerton and pretending that life in London
was nonexistent.

That left only Neil to save him from
the feminine fluttering currently accosting him. But, being the
youngest brother, Neil was content to spend most of his waking
hours during those times when the rest of the natural world was
asleep doing God only knew what. Certainly drinking, possibly
whoring, and maybe gambling. None of which Peter could entirely
hold against the lad. In fact, were he not in possession of the
title and the inherent obligations attached to it, he might
possibly follow the same path. As long as Neil stayed out of
trouble, Peter resigned himself to let the sod do as he would.
Sowing a few wild oats would not harm him in the grand scheme of
things.

Still, that left Peter completely
alone to face the women.

Charlotte, from her position atop his
papers, sighed loudly. “When will Mama come home with
Jane?”

“
Miss Matthews, Char,”
Sophie admonished.

“
Fine. Miss Matthews.” She
glared at Sophie before continuing. “She has been gone absolutely
forever, and I am simply desperate to meet our cousin. Oh, I do
wonder what she’ll be like.”

Char’s exuberance typically charmed
Peter, but today it rankled. “They’ll be here when they arrive and
not a moment sooner. Can you cease asking me this same question? I
haven’t been able to answer you to your satisfaction any of the
other eight times you’ve asked in the last several days. With all
the rain the whole of England has experienced over the last
sennight, it’s no wonder their travel has been delayed.” His
headache intensified. Blood pulsed through the veins in his head
until it was a wonder they didn’t burst.

Her exaggerated sigh set his jaw to
grinding. “The rain has been absolutely dreadful, Peter. We’ve been
stuck inside the house without anyone at all for company except
ourselves. Mama at least would have arranged for us to make some
social calls. Why, even Josh and Sarah are practically bursting at
the seams to play outside.”

“
Why can’t you two arrange
your own social calendars with your mother gone?” he asked with a
pointed look in Sophie’s direction. She’d been out in society quite
long enough to know how to move about within it, by God. “I imagine
the Marlborough sisters are quite as bored with the weather as the
two of you. And let Mrs. Pratt know she’s welcome to take Josh and
Sarah outdoors, so long as she is prepared to nurse them back to
health after they catch the inevitable chill.”

If they all left, maybe he could
concentrate again. And maybe—just maybe—his blasted headache would
ease.

“
Why must we visit the
Marlboroughs, Peter?” asked Sophie. “I should far prefer to spend
some time with Lady Golding and her sister if we are to only pay
one call.”

“
And why should you be the
one to decide who we visit?” Char cut in. “I simply
must
see Theodora
Marlborough this afternoon, or I’ll perish.” As if to further
enhance her declaration, the youngest Hardwicke placed her hand
against her forehead and fell backward until she lay across his
desk, pushing the last of his record books to the floor in a
single, loud thump. “We have so much to discuss, with our come-outs
so close.”

Somehow in the midst of his sisters’
whining, Peter had missed the new sounds outside his library. The
doors opened and Mrs. Pratt bustled in, pulling his two young
children in tow.

The nurse spoke before his footman had
a chance. “Your Grace, I simply do not know what to do with these
two anymore. Lady Sarah has thrown four temper tantrums thus far
today, and Lord Grovesend insists on exasperating the matter by
taking her dolls away from her and taunting her with them. Much as
you used to do to your sisters, I might add.” She harrumphed for
emphasis and nodded so hard that her usually tidy gray knot fell
loose about her shoulders.