Authors: Kate Worth
“I’m confident your father’s retainer will make time for us. The Wallace name is as good as abracadabra for opening doors.”
Jane chuckled then looked down at her clothes. “I literally have nothing suitable to wear.”
“I saw John carrying an armload of black and gold striped boxes up to your room moments ago.”
Jane raised a questioning brow.
“Madame Fournier’s signature colors,” Finn explained.
A delighted smiled lit her face, sinking dimples deep into her cheeks.
Finn’s heart skipped a beat. “Promise me something.”
“Anything.” She blushed at the arrested look on his face.
“Anything?” he teased, rubbing his chin.
“Anything within reason,” she amended.
“Promise me you’ll burn that outfit.”
She smoothed her skirts and looked up at him with a flirtatious smile.
“I don’t know. This might have another ten or fifteen good years left. Besides, mud brown matches my eyes,” she said with self-deprecating humor.
Finn leaned down again, resting his palms on the arms of her chair, trapping her within the circle of his arms. His biceps strained against the sleeves of his waistcoat, bringing to mind the day he had rescued her. He was a strong man, capable of brute force, but capable of gentleness, too. The white linen of his cravat was in glorious contrast to his darkly tanned skin and black hair. She blinked up at him, her body humming with awareness. Every cell of her body went on alert as he drew closer. Her thoughts scattered like a flock of starlings.
It was too much. She lowered her lids to block out some of the sensation.
“Your eyes, dear wife, are spectacular.” He wrapped a loose strand of her hair around his finger then watched it uncoil. “A husband has certain rights, the least of which to see his wife at her best.”
She shivered. Was it her imagination, or did he say the word “wife” with a certain possessive undertone?
“Very well. It shall be burned forthwith.”
“Excellent. Do you remember the solicitor’s name?”
To Jane’s relief, he stood up and she was able to breathe again.
“George Hamlyn.”
“I’ll arrange a meeting while you change.”
JANE AND FINN ENTERED the wood-paneled offices of The Honorable George Hamlyn Esquire, to find the solicitor standing on the center medallion of a faded Persian carpet looking just as Jane remembered him eight years prior at the reading of her father’s will. He was clad in a black frockcoat and trousers with a starched white stock that gave the appearance of restricting his ability to swallow. His hairless scalp was partially hidden beneath a judicial periwig that bobbled slightly as he rushed forward on feet that looked too tiny to support him. Jane had the passing thought that Mr. Hamlyn looked a bit like Humpty Dumpty come to life.
“Lady Jane, it is a pleasure to see you again!” he said amiably. “I have wondered many times lo these eight years what had become of you. It’s a relief to see you looking so well. Delighted I was to receive your husband’s inquiry through Jones & Bradbury. Quite delighted. Quite.”
“You’re very kind, Mr. Hamlyn.” She turned to Finn with an amused sparkle in her eyes. “Allow me to introduce my husband, Lord Wallace.”
“Honored.” His pale blue eyes blinked behind steel-framed spectacles. “How may I be of service? Am I correct in assuming this has something to do with your inheritance? Rest assured, I’ll assist you in any way possible. I counted your father a friend as well a client.”
“He always spoke highly of you, Mr. Hamlyn,” Jane paused, unsure how to proceed. She opted for honesty. “Although we have delicate issues to discuss, frankness will serve us best.”
“I agree. Go on.”
“There is no love lost between the current earl and myself. It’s my hope you are under no professional obligation to him and our meeting does not present a conflict of interest.”
“None,” he assured her.
“Very good. We have come to determine the disposition of my assets. I’m of age and married. Control of my funds can be transferred to Lord Wallace and me, is that not so?”
“Yes. It is simply matter of verifying the marriage and signing the proper documents.”
“Does an inventory of my holdings exist?”
“I had these statements prepared in anticipation of our meeting.” Mr. Hamlyn handed a folder to Jane.
“Excellent!” She leaned closer to Finn so he could read the documents at the same time. His eyes flared when he saw the size of the figures.
“The first two sheets list deposit totals for various accounts as well as current stock valuations. If you flip to the third page, it lists all your properties by address, tenant, and rental rates. Only the London town house and The Willows are not currently under lease. You should be able to take up residency immediately.”
“Clovershire is no doubt using one or both houses. How much notice should we give him to vacate?”
“How does two weeks sound?”
“Reasonable.”
“I’ll prepare a letter asking Clovershire to vacate premises by the end of the month and, if I may be so bold…”
“Go on, Mr. Hamlyn.”
“I’ll inform him detailed inventories exist of household assets… china, silver, paintings, and the like. Your cousin has a reputation as a gambler and a poor one at that. He’s rumored to be deeply in debt. We wouldn’t want your possessions walking out the front door, would we?”
“Is that too harsh?” Jane asked Finn.
“After the way he has neglected you Jane, I would prefer to see him tossed into the street without notice and his belongings right after him. In fact, I would very much relish doing the tossing myself.”
“If I were twenty years younger, I would assist you, sir,” Mr. Hamlyn said. “Perhaps I could hold the door open?”
“As satisfying as that may sound, I’d rather avoid angering him,” Jane said to Finn. “It would be best for Mr. Hamlyn to act as go-between.”
Finn frowned, but nodded his head.
“I’ll see to it immediately,” Mr. Hamlyn agreed. “Now, back to your accounts. Other than withdrawals for your upkeep… bills for your gowns and other personal expenditures, the salaries of your governess and maid, wages for household staff at the London houses… Clovershire has not been able to access your holdings. It has not been for a lack of trying, however.”
“What do you mean… clothing, salary for my governess, and those other things? I left Clairmont when I was sixteen. I haven’t seen or spoken to Tom since.”
Mr. Hamlyn stared at Jane for several moments. “Clovershire has submitted monthly expenses since he became your guardian eight years ago. They add up to a significant sum. Your wardrobe expenditures alone have been daunting. They became so large at one point that the trustees balked and asked him to rein you in.”
Finn’s expression grew stormy. “The expenses were fraudulent, Mr. Hamlyn.”
“The blighter!” the solicitor exclaimed then looked at Jane apologetically. “Pardon my language.”
“Clovershire should be prosecuted. It would be an easy thing to prove that Jane did not reside with him while he was withdrawing funds from her accounts. To my mind he’s a common thief… no, far worse than that. A common thief steals from strangers. Clovershire defrauded a member of his own family.”
“Although what he did was wrong, I am of a mind to overlook it,” Jane said with a firm tone. Both men looked at her in disbelief.
“But Jane,” Finn fumed. “At a minimum he should be required to repay the money he stole from you.”
“No. I wish to let it pass. The money is nothing weighed against my peace of mind. He will be angry enough when we ask him to vacate his house.”
“
Your
house,” Finn corrected.
“My house. There’s no need to pull the tiger’s tail,” she said fretfully.
Finn searched her face with dawning understanding. “There was more to it than an unwanted marriage. You fear him.”
She said, “No,” but her unease betrayed the truth. “I merely wish to take the path of least resistance. As you can see from the papers Mr. Hamlyn gave us, I… we… will scarcely miss what has been taken. I don’t want to end up in court over this. It would cause a scandal, just the sort of thing we’ve been trying to avoid. The duchess would agree with me. It’s only money,” Jane said.
Finn looked like a thundercloud. “It’s not the money… it’s the principle. Jane. It doesn’t set well with me to let that scoundrel get away with treating you as he has.”
“It is my decision to make. I was the injured party and I choose to let it go,” Jane said resolutely.
Finn didn’t want to have his first quarrel with her in front of a stranger, so he dropped the subject with the intention of raising it again in private.
Jane chewed her thumbnail as she stared out the carriage window grappling with troubling thoughts. It perturbed Finn that she chose to turn inward rather than reach out to him. He told himself to be patient; trust and confidence must be earned.
“Tell me, Jane, what causes the frown that mars your pretty face? It grows fiercer by the moment.”
Her head jerked toward him. “Forgive me. I am poor company! I should have thanked you for coming with me.”
“I’m your husband. My place is beside you.”
“Still, it cannot have been pleasant to learn of my disreputable relation.”
“Everyone has a family member or two they’d like to see exiled to the Falklands. Your cousin is accountable for his own failings. They don’t reflect on you.”
His acceptance warmed her. She was tempted tell him the worst of it, but there seemed to be no good reason. She and Pip were safe. Tom’s hold over her was broken. To relive his brutality would be distressing for them both. Better to consign painful memories to the past where they belonged.
“You are too kind,” she said with a shy smile.
An answering smile broke over Finn’s face and as always his overwhelming maleness swamped her senses. He dwarfed the interior of the spacious coach, seeming to take up most of the room with his arm draped across the back of his bench seat and his long, muscular legs stretched out before him. His calf grazed hers as he shifted in his seat and the contact was electrifying even through her petticoats and skirt. The twinkle in his eye made her wonder if he had done it on purpose.
“Feel better?” he asked.
“Yes.”
After a pause, he asked softly, “How did you end up in London, Jane?”
“After Uncle Charles died, Tom became my guardian. When he tried to force me into marriage, I fled.”
“You have already explained those general facts, but I’m curious about the details. These are modern times. A woman cannot be forced to marry.”
“In theory, that’s true. In reality, men have many ways of forcing women to their will.”
His eyes grew intense. “What do you mean, precisely?” Finn was beginning to understand that Clovershire was far worse than an embezzler.
“Please Finn, I’d rather not talk about it. Suffice it to say, Cook helped me escape. Her son brought me to London to her sister who took me in and taught me a trade.”
“You
escaped
? Was he holding you prisoner? Did he lock you up?”
Jane silently cursed herself for using the word.
“Surely you had other family to turn to.”
“Tom had the legal right to retrieve me. I didn’t want to endanger my loved ones and I had Pip to consider. Tom wouldn’t have hesitated to use her to make me comply with his wishes.”
“What do you mean by ‘endanger’ your loved ones?”
Jane groaned. Another revealing slip of the tongue.
“I should have said ‘inconvenience’. Please, please, may we speak of something else?”
Finn considered her request then said softly, “I hope in time you’ll trust me enough to share your worries. I’ll ask only one more question. Do you believe Clovershire is capable of violence?”
“I know he is,” she whispered. “Now please, let us turn to more pleasant subjects.”
Finn clenched his teeth. For now he would respect her wishes, but in time he’d insist upon knowing everything. He lifted her hand to his lips and she saw herself reflected in liquid pools of midnight blue. He brushed a kiss across her palm then slid his arm around her shoulder. She felt safe tucked in the crook of his arm.
“All right, I won’t press, but I want you to rely on me. You’ve been alone for too long,” he ran his hand up and down her arm in a soothing caress. “Let me take care of you, love.”
His words were a balm to her affection-starved soul. Of course, “love” was nothing more than a casual endearment to rogues like Finn, but it still lit a bonfire of happiness in her breast. She ignored the little voice of caution that harried her whenever she melted for him.
Don’t be a foolish moon-eyed girl
, it warned.
Keep those feet on the ground… he wants them up in the air.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would bolster her defenses. For now she would luxuriate in all the comfort her handsome, sweet-talking rogue of a husband had to offer.