“Come,” Grace said, taking his small hand. “I’ll fix you a cup of warm milk.”
“Is Father in there?” He pointed to the closed parlor door.
Her stomach felt as if it were hollowed out at the child’s worried expression. She wanted to shelter Adam from their father’s sins and their financial troubles.
“I can hear him snoring,” Adam said when she remained silent.
Grace sighed. “Father is in there, but it’s best to leave him alone.”
“Are we going to have to leave the house? Go to the country?”
“Who told you that?”
“I heard Mr. Stevens speaking with Mrs. Stevens.”
Goodness. Children were smart. They were also good at eavesdropping.
“No. We will not have to leave.” Grace sounded more certain than she felt.
“I won’t have much to inherit, will I?”
“Adam I—”
“Don’t fret. I don’t want to be a baron.”
“You don’t?”
“No. I want to be pirate and travel the South Seas.”
“Oh, Adam. The barony is your birthright.”
He wrinkled his nose. “You can have it.”
She ruffled his hair. “It doesn’t work that way and you know it.” Taking his hand, she led him away from the parlor and toward the kitchens. “Now let’s see about warming some milk. I’d like a glass, too.”
An hour and two cups of warm milk later, Grace tucked her brother into bed. She then wandered to her bedchamber but didn’t bother to lie in the four-poster and attempt to sleep. Rather she lit more candles and sat at the escritoire in the corner of the room and withdrew a stack of ledgers. Her work had kept the creditors at bay until now, but it wouldn’t be enough if her father continued visiting the tables.
What if he never stopped?
The fastest and most efficient way to help her family was to marry a man of wealth. But dressing for a successful Season was costly. She needed new gowns, shoes, and accessories.
Would she have enough even if she sold all the jewels?
Her thoughts turned to Ian Swift and his sordid offer. The risks were high. Dare she accept?
…
The sun had long since risen by the time Ian returned to his large town house in Piccadilly. He’d recently acquired the residence from a viscount who’d owed him money. Prior to residing there, he’d lived above the Raven Club. Ian’s butler opened the door before he reached the top step.
“The Countess of Castleton waits in the parlor,” Jenkins said.
Ian stiffened. He was exhausted after a night at the club. A fight had broken out at one of the tables, and after his man had stopped the fisticuffs, Ian had harsh words with both gamblers and permanently evicted the Earl of Loveland’s heir from his club. Another gambler, the Marquess of Nottingham, had foolishly wagered an unentailed country estate in Hertfordshire and, when he had lost the property in a hand of cards, had burst into tears and had to be escorted out. Then there had been the tedious and time-taking ledgers to review with Brooks.
Ian wanted nothing more than a hot bath and a bed. An early-morning visit with his mother was the last thing he desired.
Ian stepped into the parlor. “Hello, Mother.”
The countess rose from a settee by the fireplace. “Hello, Ian. I had hoped to find you home.”
She was a tall, elegant woman who was still attractive, her blonde hair without a hint of gray. She was dressed in a black mourning gown that brought out specs of green in her light brown eyes and creamy skin. She’d been a great beauty in her youth and had captured the earl’s interest during her first Season. Ian’s darker looks had come from his father.
Ian waited for his mother to return to the settee, then took a seat in a chair across from her. He was aware of her cool sweeping gaze, and he became conscious of his attire. He knew he appeared far from respectable with a smudge of dirt on his sleeve and his dusty boots. Christ, he wasn’t even wearing a cravat or coat and certainly wasn’t fit to receive a countess. If he’d known his mother would be waiting for him, he would have changed before coming home. “I had business to attend at the club.”
“Yes, about the club. When will you give it up?”
He sighed. “Why would I do that?”
“I believed after your brother’s…your brother’s…”
Matthew’s death.
Ian’s stomach tightened like a fist. It had been two months since the tragic riding accident, and his mother still struggled to say the words. He hated female hysterics, and he spoke before tears welled in her eyes. “I have no plans to give up the club.”
She looked at him incredulously. “But surely you must know that you have to take your place as the new earl and return to polite Society.”
Not bloody likely. He hadn’t been part of Society for a decade. He wasn’t the firstborn son. He was never supposed to be the heir.
“Your father would have wanted you to take your brother’s place,” she said.
Ian nearly laughed out loud at that. The Earl of Castleton would roll over in his grave if he knew Ian was the earl. His father had never approved of anything Ian did and had made his dislike of his younger son well known.
His mother must have sensed any mention of Ian’s father wouldn’t be persuasive. “You used to attend balls, parties…the opera. It will be just as it was.”
“That was long, long ago.”
Years ago, Ian had resided in his father’s house and had exuberantly enjoyed life as a younger son and bachelor with the allowance provided for him. But the money had come with the earl’s demands, disturbing demands Ian was not willing to obey—a marriage match with the daughter of a marquess who shared a country estate with Castleton. Lady Madeline had been pretty, but it was clear she was born simpleminded. It would have been like marrying a ten-year-old child in a woman’s body.
Ian had been horrified at the prospect, but Castleton hadn’t cared about Ian’s happiness—all that mattered was Lady Madeline’s sizeable dowry.
Ian had taken the only course he could. He’d left and had sworn never to ask his father for a shilling. He’d made a different life for himself. A very successful life, and he had more money than he could spend in a lifetime.
More money than in the earldom’s ample coffers.
“You must be reasonable,” she said. “What of Ellie and Olivia?”
Ian’s brow furrowed at the mention of his younger sisters. “How are they faring?”
“They are grieving the loss of their brother. They need guidance, and most importantly, entry into Society.”
“They have you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she retorted. “As the new earl, your behavior directly impacts them.”
He hesitated. This was an argument he couldn’t ignore. He cared for his sisters. Ellie was headstrong and intelligent. Oliva was quieter but no less determined when she wanted something.
“My behavior matters naught. I’m no longer accepted in Society.”
“That could change. It must change. Your duties extend to the earldom and your sisters. They’ll be turning eighteen and sixteen. Ellie is already talking about debut gowns and being presented at court.”