Douglas said, a dark eyebrow raised a good inch, “Does the fellow know who you are?”
“Well, he knows that I’m Jason Sherbrooke. Does he know that I’m your son? If he didn’t, he probably does now. But what difference would that make in any case?”
Douglas smiled at his innocent boy. “The first thing we need to know is why Mr. Benjamin Chartley, factory owner, is in London. I’m thinking it’s very likely he has hopes to enter London society. More than likely he has a daughter of marriageable age. If that is the case, we’ve got him.”
“But I don’t-”
“Jason, he will sell you Lyon’s Gate at the price he paid for it or he will find every door in London closed to him. Then I’ll consider ruining him.”
Jason laughed. “Now, aren’t I a moron for not thinking of that?”
Douglas said, “You would have, given a couple more hours. You’ve been in America too long. Do you really think Miss Carrick is off for France to bring Thomas Hoverton to ground?”
“I wouldn’t doubt it. I keep telling her that she’s more American than English and this certainly proves it. It’s exactly what Jessie Wyndham would do. Give her a whiff of a villain and she’d be off. She’d take at least two guns with her, the whip she uses on jockeys who don’t play fair on the racetrack, and a knife in her boot, strapped to her ankle.” He laughed, couldn’t help himself, and shook his head. “What a debacle.”
Corrie said, “It is something we never considered. I like Hallie, but let me be painfully honest here. I was perfectly ready to have her kidnapped and removed to the Shetland islands. I fancy she could spruce up one of those ancient Viking huts and be perfectly content raising the local ponies.”
The twins’ nanny appeared suddenly in the doorway, looking harried, nervous, and resolute. James and Corrie were on their feet. “Yes, Mrs. Macklin? Is something wrong?”
Mrs. Macklin said, “No, no, don’t worry, my lord. It’s just that Master Everett wants to waltz.”
“Waltz?”
“Yes, my lord. With his uncle.”
At that moment, they heard a loud yell.
“He is rather insistent,” said Mrs. Macklin over another yell that made James’s left eye twitch.
Corrie said, “You waltz very well, Eliza. Why don’t you take him for a spin around the nursery?”
“Master Everett says I’m not man enough to do it right,” said Mrs. Macklin.
“Oh dear,” Corrie said. “It’s begun already?”
“Master Everett says my feet don’t cover enough ground.”
Jason was laughing. “Well, who can play the piano whilst I dance with Everett?”
His mother appeared in the doorway, Willicombe behind her, a large silver tray on his arms. Alex said, “I’ll do it. Goodness, Everett ’s gotten bigger in the last day and a half.”
“We’re off then to the music room. Mrs. Macklin, what about his brother?”
“Master Douglas is currently chewing on Wilson ’s bone and the puppy is trying to drag it away from him.”
Corrie said, “He is only seven weeks old, a Dandie Dinmont terrier, so ugly and precious all you want is to hug him until he creaks. Wilson and Douglas are good friends.”
“More ugly than precious,” James said. “But he fits quite nicely against my neck at night.”
Mrs. Macklin said, “I’m sorry, my lord, but Wilson slept against my neck last night.”
“Well, Wilson is in a new house,” Corrie said. “We’ll see whose neck he seeks out tonight.”
“Unfortunately,” the earl said, “it would appear that Douglas also likes to eat from the puppy’s bowl.”
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Macklin said, “and here I hid Wilson ’s bowl underneath Everett ’s bed.”
Smacked in the face at the same time by both the absurd and the ridiculous, Jason thought as he hauled Everett off to the music room, the little boy kicking his legs and waving his arms and singing at the top of his lungs in Jason’s right ear. James and Corrie went with Mrs. Macklin to pull the bone out of Douglas ’s mouth all while slipping the new puppy another one. Neither of them doubted Douglas would be waltzing with his uncle in under five minutes.
As for Hallie Carrick, she was upstairs in a lovely bedchamber, changing into her oldest clothes.
CHAPTER 10
When Hallie appeared thirty minutes later, a single valise clutched in her hand, a lovely dark blue cloak over her shoulders, Willicombe, the Sherbrooke butler, sent his lovesick nephew Remie to inform Jason, who gave Everett and Douglas over to their grandfather for the next waltz. Jason came into the entrance hall where Hallie was giving instructions to Remie, who stood frozen with horror.
“Just a moment, Miss Carrick,” Jason said. “I’ll need to change before we can leave.”
She whipped around. “You think you’re coming with me, Mr. Sherbrooke? You think you’ll stomp this blighter’s liver before I can? No, you stay here and beg and plead with this Mr. Chartley whilst I go fetch our money from Thomas Hoverton. When I return I’ll see to Mr. Chartley. In the meanwhile, don’t you dare let this man fleece you, do you hear me?”
“You’re thinking like an American,” he said, picking a spot of lint off his sleeve, suppressing a smile.
“What do you mean by that snide remark?” He saw her right hand tighten into a lovely fist.
“Oh, I don’t know. How about you’re exhibiting a marked lack of subtlety? Or you’re simply forging ahead without pausing even a moment to think things through? There’s no need to boil over with rage.”
A lovely arched eyebrow went high.
Remie took two quick steps back, hoping to escape.
Jason said, “There’s no reason to go haring off after Thomas Hoverton right now. If you still wish to go after him once I’ve told you some things, why, I’ll be forced to accompany you.”
“You won’t be forced to do anything of the kind. What sorts of things?”
“ London is very different from Baltimore, Miss Carrick, surely you learned that. You’re a bright girl. As you must know, London society doesn’t allow just anyone through its august portals. Money doesn’t matter. For example, Lucinda Frothingale’s now-dead husband wouldn’t have ever been admitted into London society for the simple reason that he owned and operated flour mills. The fact that he would have been richer than many of England ’s vaunted peers wouldn’t have mattered. Flour mills constitute trade, Miss Carrick, and folk in trade, who have no ancient lineage, no powerful family behind them, aren’t allowed into the club. Do you understand?”
“Yes, of course, but I still don’t see what-” Jason saw the instant she realized what he was talking about. He refused to acknowledge she’d caught on more quickly than he had. She said slowly, “I think I’ll go see my uncle’s solicitor. He can find out just exactly who this Mr. Chartley is.”
He realized, of course, that he should have encouraged her to go after Thomas Hoverton, despite the fact that she was a young lady, quite alone. Did she have any money left after paying Thomas Hoverton for Lyon ’s Gate? And if she didn’t have very much money, would she arrive in Calais and realize she couldn’t afford a baguette much less respectable lodging? Jason said, “There’s no need for you to do anything, Miss Carrick. My father has already taken care of it. We will know all about Mr. Benjamin Chartley soon enough.”
“But I-”
“I’m beginning to believe you have more hair than brains. And I’m thinking your hair is probably lovelier than your brains as well.”
To his surprise, she didn’t hurl herself at him. She didn’t move at all. She stared down at her shoes, the oldest pair she had, which were very fine indeed. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. My father was always telling me that I should make it a habit to sit in a corner for three minutes and think before I acted. He said whenever I acted too quickly, he had to clean up the most abominable messes.” She looked up at him, a glimmer of a smile lighting her eyes. “I thank you for stopping me before I could make a mess. I should hope that my hair looks better than my brains. That’s a horrifying thought, though I’ve never seen what brains look like. Now that I think about it, I don’t have much money either.”