Love With the Perfect Scoundrel Page 29
“Yes.”
“I struggled between the desire to come after you and the necessity of staying there, to secure that bloody Wallace title, the land, and any monies due. And do you know why?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “It was to make myself more worthy of your notice. But in the end, I couldn’t wait. And so, I took one day to do something I had to do and then I went after you. And by the by, if you ever contemplate the idea of leaving again without telling someone precisely where you can be found, I do believe I will have to fashion a twitch to…Well, this blasted Norse wanderlust has got to be reined in, I tell you.”
“But I did tell someone. Mr. Williamson knew precisely where I was. Although, I didn’t know there were six Ivy Cottages in this county. Perhaps that’s why I never received any letters.” She swallowed. “What was the one thing you had to do?”
“I refuse to tell you until you give me an answer.”
“To what question?”
He looked at her grimly. “I found a letter waiting for me at Mr. Brown’s estate in Scotland. Helston and Ellesmere informed me that the House of Lords has indeed looked favorably on the request for restitution of the patent letters of nobility and all Wallace lands, although, Grace, I must warn you that there is virtually nothing in the coffers save for a portion of the meager rents the trustees collected each year from the tenants. The abbey is in ruins and will most likely stay that way forever. But I can at least offer myself to you as a gentleman, and no longer as a fugitive. And I do own Brynlow.”
“What are you asking of me?”
He took up her hand in his. “I would ask you to condescend to marry me, much as I do not deserve a person of your good character, your integrity.”
“Oh, Michael…” She burst into tears.
“Is that a yes, my love, or a no?”
“I know why you are asking. You feel honor bound to offer for me. But you see, it’s as I told everyone before I left. I’m grateful for what happened. I’m happy here with Lara. Did you know I went to the foundling home before I left and asked her if she would like to come away and live with me, despite my reduced circumstances?”
“Mrs. Kane informed me.”
“Well, you do not need to worry about me. I will be perfectly fine here with my little angel. And when the lease runs through, I might very well continue on here, or Lara and I might live simply yet comfortably on Mann. We shall see.”
He stared at her. “Grace, will you come with me for a moment? Trust me?”
She nodded and stood up. He offered his arm and she placed her own lightly on top of his, her chapped fingers resting on the back of his hand. Michael led her outside, toward the little bit of wilderness on the side of the cottage.
“Who is that?” Grace asked, looking toward James and the two horses by the stream.
“Just a deserving boy. He’s been searching for something—or rather someone—for most of his life. I invited him to come with me when I left London.”
“Really?”
“Yes. He reminds me of me, you see. He’s been searching a long time for someone he can entrust with his heart.”
“Michael, this isn’t very fair of you.”
“I know and I don’t care.” He raked his hand through his hair. “Grace, I’m that worried you won’t have me and I don’t know how to convince you. Please, my darling, I beseech you to find it in your heart to love me, as I love you. Do you think you would ever be able to do that?”
“You know,” she replied softly, “if you had just said that part at the beginning, I would have agreed straight away. Haven’t you guessed I’m in love with you…and will never stop loving you, ever?”
And suddenly she was flying in the air. He had snatched her off the ground despite his injured arm and swung her in an arc about him. And he was laughing as if he would never stop. And then he was clasping her to his immense chest, and she was lost in his embrace. He whispered in her ear. “You must promise me, then. Promise you will marry me soonest.”
Emotion robbed her of speech. She arched away to show him her feelings instead.
“Well, do you? Do you promise to marry me?”
“You know I will, Michael. Why won’t you trust me?”
“Because I need to tell you something else, but I must have your word first.”
“Well, again, I must say you aren’t playing fair. I would think you should do the gentlemanly thing and tell me if there is something that might influence my decision.”
He blinked, unmoved by her reproach.
“Well?”
“Will you have me or not?”
She sighed. “I said I would. Now what is it?”
Michael reached for her fingers and extracted four long strands of pearls from his coat, using his uninjured hand. Grace watched as they coiled, overflowing into her waiting palm, and suddenly realized how little she had thought of them once they were gone. “How did you ever…”
“Consider them a wedding gift from Rowland Manning, if you will. And this”—he extracted a worn document from his coat—“is from me.”
Grace allowed the forgotten pearls to slip from her fingers when she spied the document. The promissory note to Rowland Manning. “What did you do…?”
“You didn’t really think I would let that blackguard ruin your life, did you? I would have killed him before I let him collect your fortune, Grace. And I would have hung for it. Gladly. But I will not let you live in poverty because of me. I coerced Helston and Ellesmere to go to Manning’s with me. As they stood guard, I climbed through a window in the middle of the night to steal the promissory note.”
Good God. “And?”
“And he was waiting for me.”
“And?”
“And I convinced Rowland to return the note.”
Ill ease filled her. “And how did you do that, Michael? Perhaps you forget that I met the man.”
“I told him he could have my head, but not your fortune. During the course of our gentlemanly disagreement, I parted Rowland from his pistol at the same moment his pistol parted with its ball, hence the injury.”
She swallowed awkwardly.
“Gordy Lefroy appeared at the sound of the discharge. He was an old mate from the days when I apprenticed for Manning. When Rowland ordered Lefroy to fetch a pitchfork to kill me, Gordy refused. He did me a great favor, actually. He finally had the courage to tell Manning the truth, that I had accidentally killed Howard, who was beating a horse in a senseless rage after losing a large amount of coin to me. I had entered the stall with a pitchfork when I heard the horse screaming. The stallion swung about and reared when he heard me, probably assumed I was come to hurt him too. I raised the pitchfork to protect myself only to have the horse change direction in midair when he saw who I was. But the force of the horse’s shoulder landing against mine propelled me into Howard Manning. Gordy had seen it all, but Rowland’s rage at finding his brother near death was such that he would have killed anyone who contradicted Howard’s falsehoods. I don’t blame Gordy. He would have been relieved without recommendation and would have had nowhere to turn. Gordy and the others had urged me to run, had even emptied their own pockets to help me get away. All of us knew Rowland would blame me, would not hear the truth.”
“Oh, Michael,” Grace moaned.
“Helston and Ellesmere came in behind Gordy, and heard it all, even the damning part. Gordy said Howard had once hinted that he’d stolen a string of nobs’ horses in the North Country to line his pockets.”
“But how did you get the promissory note from Rowland?”
“Helston and Ellesmere threatened to expose all to the peers Rowland depended on for his business to thrive. That’s when he relented. But not before he wounded me more deeply than he had with a pistol ball.”
“He finally admitted you were his half brother.”
“Yes. Christ, Grace…”
She stroked his arm when she saw the sadness in his eyes. “But why didn’t you tell me about meeting Rowland whe
n you arrived here?”
“Because I thought I had a better chance convincing you to marry me if you thought your only options were living in modest comfort at Brynlow or living as an egg and dairymaid here. I figured I had little chance of tempting one of the richest and most beautiful women in England to do my mending in Yorkshire. Just consider the family of scoundrels you would be forced to marry into.”
Grace felt her lips twitching. “You are a very foolish man.”
“I suppose I should be completely honest with you, should warn you of one last thing.”
“And what is that?”
“As part of the bargain in retrieving your fortune, Rowland insisted he be the one to walk you down the aisle if we are wed. Suggested outrageously about having the right, since he was providing the dowry. Even had the audacity to suggest you might prefer him over me.” He leaned in to add, “Said he liked your fire. Imagine the nerve.”
“The trait does appear to run in your family,” she whispered with a smile. Grace studied the document in her hands. The idea of being in possession of the Sheffield monies again felt nothing so much as a burden all over again. “Michael? What would you think if I told you I don’t want this fortune anymore? If I suggested that it never brought me any sort of happiness?”
He looked at her, earnestness filling his face. “I would ask you what you propose to do about it.”
She gazed beyond his shoulder to the sight of a boy leading two horses with one hand and a young girl—Lara—with the other. “I would like to use a good portion of it to rebuild your family’s estate, and to offer the use of Wallace Abbey to the foundling home. The children could live in the countryside where they would have a better life, where we could also provide better food, better everything. Oh Michael…please say yes.”
“You would want to do this, truly?” he asked, amazement warring with adoration in his eyes as he pulled her behind the privacy of a sturdy oak tree.
“Yes.”
“Then you must do it, Grace. For you will create a far better place than I ever envisioned.”
“What place was that?”
He turned to see what she was staring at around the trunk of the tree. As he watched Lara and James laughing together in the distance, he gently clasped her to his warm chest and whispered, “Why, paradise. Now I see it’s anywhere you are, my love.”
Grace stared up into the golden eyes of the only man who had ever inspired her to reach beyond her carefully cultivated orderly life, and very inelegantly pulled his head down to hers. “This is when you’re supposed to kiss me.”
He dazzled her with a grin, and plucked a chicken feather from her hair. “I was trying very hard, just this once, not to rush you.”
“But I want you to rush me.”
He stared at her, waiting. And so she took matters into her own two hands and rose up the last inch to meet his lips.
And then, only then, did he let himself loose on her, prowling, and growling, and nuzzling and nipping to make sure she fully understood the depth and breadth of his love—forevermore.
Epilogue
Dear Mr. Brown,
I am writing to thank you for the new love of my life. I don’t know how you managed it, but a dear little dog, whom I have named Attila, was delivered to Helston House almost a full month ago. He has stolen my heart, quite recklessly, you see, despite the sentiments I still retain for my late husband’s large dogs. Luc tells me his breed has a God-given talent for dragging vicious badgers from their holes, but if he understands any of my late-night whispers, he will develop a taste for portentous, bloodthirsty dukes in their armories. Right now, however, he excels in lap sitting and bed sleeping.
John, I’m certain you will realize how difficult this is to admit, but it was very wrong of me to act as I did this winter. While a proper apology does not include excuses, I beg you to consider my explanation. I have never told anyone why I feel as responsible as I do where it concerns Grace Sheffey, who if there is any right in this world will soon become Lady Wallace. I would beg of you not to tell her, but it was my terrible husband who convinced Grace’s father to invest in that foreign canal scheme that failed so miserably. And Luc compounded Grace’s misfortunes by breaking her heart. Truly the Helston family has brought nothing but suffering to a young lady whose character is far greater than anyone else’s I’ve ever known.
When you left her in your wrecked carriage in the middle of a blizzard, I didn’t blame you. I blamed myself. I held myself liable for not having gained her trust. She turned to you in her darkest hour, not me. That pained me terribly. I had been determined to fix every evil the Helston family had ever done to her.
But I have learned something. I’ve learned that I must stop assigning culpability for other’s mistakes. And I’ve also learned that I must accept blame for my own wretched wrongs.
This is all to tell you that I am determined to change. I have never believed advancement in years may be used as an excuse for ill behavior. I do not blame you for going away without me this last time. I only ask that if you still possess the smallest shred of regard for me, and I am praying that Attila is a testament to that fact, then you will one day forgive me—just as I shall forgive you for suggesting that Attila, who is far more snout and teeth than leg and hair, reminds you of me.
Lastly, I wanted to inform that I am contemplating a possible return to Cornwall. While I had thought to remain in London this spring to broaden Elizabeth and Sarah’s prospects for happiness, it has become blindingly obvious that Elizabeth is everything but happy here. Indeed, she has changed from the fearless, outspoken lady we all knew. And I cannot fathom why. Sarah continues on as always…determined to revere the memory of her heroic husband. And so, I am undecided about remaining in London.
I am, however, determined to put off the decision until I hear news from you. Please tell my dearest girl that if she decides to run away yet again, that it had better be with Michael, the most perfect scoundrel I have yet to meet. And there is to be no talk of special licenses. They had best come to London, for I am determined to arrange a proper wedding at St. George’s with all the trimmings.
Your perfect hoyden,
Ata
Acknowledgments
Greatest thanks to Executive Editor Lyssa Keusch for her extraordinary editorial guidance. Her encouragement and insightful advice are such wondrous gifts.
And to Anne Kane and Cybil Solyn, endless appreciation for providing critiques of early drafts.
Thank you also to Arthur Huntington Nash and Kim Nash for supplying inspiring ancestral ideas as well as research materials concerning the equine industry in early-nineteenth-century Virginia.
To Ingrid Lindquist, thank you for nurturing my early love of horses via Sioux and all the others.
Nancy Meyer and the Beau Monde provided advice regarding entailed lands and missing heirs, and for that I am grateful.
And as always, special thanks to my family for tolerating life with deadlines and making it all worthwhile.
About the Author
SOPHIA NASH was born in Switzerland and raised in France and the United States, but says her heart resides in Regency England. Her ancestor, an infamous French admiral who traded epic cannon fire with the British Royal Navy, is surely turning in his grave.
Before pursuing her long-held dream of writing, Sophia was an award-winning television producer for a CBS affiliate, a congressional speechwriter, and a nonprofit CEO. She lives in the Washington, D.C., suburbs with her husband and two children.
Sophia’s first three novels won eight national awards, including the prestigious RITA® Award, and a spot on Booklist’s “Top Ten Romances of the Year.” Readers may contact her via her website: www.sophianash.com.
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Romances by Sophia Nash
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This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
LOVE WITH THE PERFECT SCOUNDREL. Copyright © 2009 by Sophia Nash. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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