Holt Sweet Surrender

1. Auflage 2012
ISBN: 978-1-62675-572-7
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 363 Seiten

CHERYL HOLT delivers another fast-paced, exhilarating novel of passion, betrayal, romance, and love that will have readers turning the pages to the very end...

Autoren/Hrsg.

Holt, Cheryl

Leseproben

CHAPTER TWO “Let’s go.” “What?” Grace steeled her expression, being determined to shield her fury and disappointment from Michael and Eleanor. She couldn’t describe what she’d witnessed of Jackson Scott, and she would never upset Michael by disparaging the family he’d been so excited to meet. What now? What now? What now? The question rang through her head. They’d cut their ties in Cornwall, so she had no home to which they could return, and she’d spent every penny in her purse, bringing them to Milton Abbey. She didn’t have enough coins to buy them supper, and gallingly, she wondered if they dared beg for a few scraps of food. They could knock at the kitchen and tell the servants they were indigent and starving. They’d likely be fed, but she refused to have Michael treated so shabbily. “Let’s go,” she said again. “Why?” Michael asked. “Your uncle isn’t here,” she lied. “I spoke to a servant upstairs. Mr. Scott has left for London, and they’re not sure when he’ll be back.” “Can’t we stay and wait?” “No one has the authority to let us, I’m afraid.” “What are we to do?” Eleanor stammered. “We’ll walk to the village”—Grace forced a bright smile—“and I’ll think of something on the way.” Grace couldn’t hold Eleanor’s searching gaze. Her sister knew they were in dire straits, but Grace had never explained just how dire. Grace had pinned all her hopes on the Scott family, being utterly resolved that she could convince them to render assistance. But she hadn’t expected to encounter a scapegrace like Jackson Scott, so she hadn’t devised a back-up plan. With Mr. Scott’s low morals revealed, there was no reason to tarry. Grace would never allow Michael to meet Mr. Scott, so their circumstances were particularly grim. “Perhaps we can prevail on Mr. Porter,” Michael said. “He seemed very kind.” “Perhaps we can,” Grace agreed. Mr. Porter had lived in the village all his life. If there was any employment or charity to be had, he would be the person who could inform her. She waved to the door, and Michael and Eleanor rose and moved toward it. Grace followed, lagging behind so they couldn’t see her visible concern. She’d always perceived herself to be extremely smart and pragmatic. How had she descended to such a miserable point? No money. No home. No job. No prospects. No…anything, and two children who needed care and support that she had no means to provide. They trudged down the front steps and started down the driveway, and she was so distressed that she didn’t notice a man approaching on a horse. He reined in, dismounted, and marched by as if they were invisible. Grace ignored him, too, their passing glances catching for the briefest instant as they proceeded in their opposite directions. Then recognition dawned for both. Frowning, they stopped and turned. “Grace…Bennett?” At the same moment, Grace murmured, “Mr. Dane?” “Miss Bennett, it is you.” He scowled as if she was an unwanted pest that should be stamped under the heel of his boot. “Hello,” Grace said with an equal amount of cool disdain. Duncan Dane had been Edward’s best friend. On one unpleasant occasion, he had visited Georgina and Edward. Grace had suffered through a distasteful supper with him as Edward’s special guest from London. He’d been rude and condescending, constantly making snide remarks about Georgina and Edward’s marriage to her. Mr. Dane had found fault with their small cottage, with their docile, rural existence, with their marital bliss. He’d viewed it all as being very funny, as if Georgina was beneath Edward and not worthy of Edward’s attention. Grace hadn’t understood Mr. Dane’s derision. She and Georgina had assumed Edward to be a traveling merchant. Apparently, Mr. Dane had known Edward’s true position in the world and had been greatly humored by how he was consorting with Georgina. Why had Edward invited Mr. Dane to Cornwall? Had Edward been playing a malicious joke on Georgina? Had it been some sort of rich man’s lark? There were always stories circulating about the horrid behavior of the wealthy, idle sons of the aristocracy. Was Edward’s relationship with Georgina an example of their wicked antics? Perhaps Edward had brought Mr. Dane to Cornwall as a boast, as if to proclaim, Look what I did, and I got away with it, too! But Georgina had loved Edward. She’d gone to her grave loving him. How could he have been so cruel? If he’d been engaged in a prank, the consequences were very, very real. The couple had wed in the local church, even placing their signatures in the Bible in the church’s vestibule. The vicar who had performed the ceremony was still ministering to his flock. He was a witness to the validity of the union, so what had been Edward’s ploy? Grace couldn’t begin to guess, but she had no patience for a bounder like Duncan Dane. He was incredibly handsome—blond hair, blue eyes, and tall, lanky physique—but he knew he was attractive, and he was overbearingly obnoxious because of it. According to Edward, Mr. Dane had no family or prospects. He spent his time gambling and trying to attach himself to rich widows who would tolerate his bad habits. How typical that he would show up at Milton Abbey when the loathsome Jackson Scott was in residence. They were probably chums. During her abbreviated encounter with Mr. Scott, he’d called for Duncan. He had to have been summoning Mr. Dane to toss her out. They were both scoundrels; they were both insufferable. Grace whipped away, intent on continuing to the village, when he said, “I never thought to see you again.” “I could say the same,” she curtly replied. “What brings you to Milton Abbey?” She’d die before she’d tell him. “We came on a private matter, but it’s resolved so we’re leaving.” She gestured for Michael and Eleanor to proceed, but they were staring at Mr. Dane. He was staring at them, too, his focus riveted on Michael. His scowl deepened, and he inquired, “May I be introduced to your companions?” “I’m sorry, but no, you may not.” “Grace!” Eleanor scolded, stunned by Grace’s discourtesy. Michael stepped forward—without Grace realizing she should prevent him—and motioned to Eleanor. “This is my very dear friend Miss Eleanor Bennett, and I am Michael Scott.” Mr. Dane sucked in a sharp breath. “What is your name?” “I am Michael Scott. We traveled to Milton Abbey to— “That’s enough, Michael,” Grace interrupted. “We don’t need to waste Mr. Dane’s time.” Mr. Dane inserted himself between Michael and Grace. “You traveled to Milton Abbey to what?” “To meet my father’s family,” Michael said, “but they are not at home.” Mr. Dane sucked in another sharp breath. “Who is your father?” “Edward Scott,” Michael responded. In his innocence, he didn’t grasp that Duncan Dane was the very last person who should be apprised of anything. “And who is your mother?” “Georgina Scott.” “How old are you?” “Nine.” Mr. Dane paused, calculating the dates, then he whirled to confront Grace. “Where is Georgina?” “She passed away.” He pointed a trembling finger at Michael, his furious gaze locked on Grace. “Is that boy who I think he is?” Mr. Dane demanded. “No,” Grace said as Eleanor said, “Yes.” “Edward is his father?” Mr. Dane was almost wheezing with shock. “No,” Grace insisted. When Eleanor might have piped up with the truth, Grace shook her head, silencing her with a glare. An awkward, fraught interval festered, where a thousand secrets flew through the air. Finally, Mr. Dane murmured, “We didn’t know. No one told us.” “That’s because there was nothing to tell,” Grace asserted. “Goodbye.” She clasped Michael’s wrist and stomped off. As she noticed Eleanor hadn’t followed, she snapped, “Eleanor, come!” Eleanor was grinning flirtatiously at Mr. Dane, and Grace’s command had her yanking away. “Goodbye,” Eleanor said much more civilly than Grace had. They had marched several strides down the drive when Mr. Dane called, “Wait! Where are you going?” “None of your business,” Grace rudely retorted. “Grace! Honestly, what is wrong with you?” Eleanor smiled at Mr. Dane. “I apologize, Mr. Dane. My sister never acts like this.” “I’m sure she doesn’t,” Mr. Dane courteously replied. “We’re going to the village,” Eleanor explained, “but then…I’m not certain where we’re headed. We were hoping to stay at Milton Abbey, but I guess it...