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Chapter Eight

 

Fontaine pulled his mount to a halt before the Earl of Rothschild’s London townhouse. He imagined he should feel out of sorts or ill‑at‑ease at the very least. Instead he was determined and sure of his intent. In an hour or so, his life would be firmly set upon the path of his choosing. There was no way to avoid feeling triumphant about that.

Passing the reins to the waiting groomsman, the marquess climbed the short stairs with a decided spring to his step. Within moments, he was announced and shown into a large sitting room that boasted walls of pale gray woodwork inset with panels of grayish‑green damask and a ceiling that was the canvas for an impressive mural featuring fat cherubs frolicking amongst fatter clouds. The overall impression was one of affluence, but Justin was well aware that, in this instance, appearances were deceiving.

“Lord Fontaine.”

Turning his attention to the man who approached him, Justin noted the assured stride and uplifted chin of Sophie’s brother. They were very much alike, the two Milton‑Riley siblings. Physically similar in coloring and bearing, both tall and slender, yet there was a gulf between the two so wide they were nearly strangers to one another. Justin suspected it was due to the fact that they had been raised apart. Rothschild had been sent away to school, while Sophie resided with her grand‑mère .

“Lord Rothschild,” he greeted.

“An unexpected call,” Rothschild said, returning the avid scrutiny with narrowed green eyes.

“Though not unwelcome, I hope.”

“That remains to be seen, does it not? Grave matters are rarely pleasant.”

Fontaine smiled and sank into the nearest chair, a narrow settee covered in soft green fabric and backed with intricately carved wood. “I have come bearing honorable intentions toward Lady Sophie.”

The earl’s eyes widened. A brief shocked silence filled the room, and then he threw his head back and laughed.

Bending down, Justin reached into the leather satchel he had set on the floor at his feet. He carefully withdrew the documents his solicitor had drawn up at his behest and passed them over. Rothschild’s amused gaze turned to one of bewilderment as he accepted the proffered packet and settled into the seat opposite.

For a time, the only sounds in the room where those of pages turning and the ticking of the clock. Justin waited out the earl’s reaction to his demands by studying the contents of the room, looking for any item that might match the articles mentioned in Remington’s file.

“Dear God. Who arranged this farce?” Rothschild asked finally.

“I beg your pardon?”

Lifting his head, the earl blinked in obvious confusion. “I would not have thought you likely to be involved in a mockery of this magnitude. What wager did you lose to be pressed into this?”

“I am entirely sincere,” Justin assured. “I wish to wed your sister and you shall make that possible.”

“Are you serious?”

“Quite.”

“Bloody hell.” An incredulous silence filled the room for a long moment, then the earl snorted. “Have her, if you so desire, but the stipulations you make in this agreement are the ravings of a madman. I am free of her as it stands. I’ve no need to part with anything of value in order to accomplish that.”



“True. I appeal to your gentleman’s honor.”

“You waste both of our afternoons with this nonsense.” Rothschild stood, tossing the packet onto the small table between them.

“I ask only for the items that belong to Lady Sophie. I’ve no desire for anything beyond that.”

“I will not simply hand them over to you, Fontaine, which will necessitate a lengthy courtroom drama while you attempt to prove ownership. You may have lost your head over Sophie, but I think there are limits to the amount of scandal you are capable of tolerating.”

Justin’s mouth curved grimly as he reached back into his satchel. He watched as the earl crossed the room to stand before the window. Rothschild appeared irritated, yes, but his frame also vibrated with a barely perceptible anxiousness that betrayed his concern. The earl was not ignorant. He would know that leverage of some sort was involved. The man was bluffing, as all gamblers were wont to do.

“I had hoped to keep this exchange on pleasant footing,” Fontaine said easily, leaning forward to set a sealed document atop the table. Although he was completely focused on the nuances of the earl’s physical reactions to his increasingly aggressive salvos, he kept his own exterior relaxed and innocuous.

Rothschild glanced over, his verdant gaze dropping to the tabletop. His hands were clasped at his back, stretching the dark broadcloth of his coat across his shoulders. Unlike many who found that addiction to gambling and the drinking of strong spirits went hand‑in‑hand, the earl was trim, fit, and known only as one who liked to wager on just about anything. Sadly, he wasn’t very good at it.

Sighing, Sophie’s brother returned to his previous seat to inspect the new offering and Justin turned his attention to a small statue that graced one of several artfully arranged bookcases. The many volumes that lined the shelves were displayed in every possible fashion‑on their sides, spine outward, and front‑facing. In between, various antiquities waited to be admired and coveted.

It was not long before the earl made some hideous noise that was something between a strangled gasp and a sob.

“By God!” Rothschild sputtered. “Where did you get this information?”

The marquess shrugged. “I have my ways.”

“You cannot prove any of this!”

“Do I need to?” Looking at the earl, Fontaine raised both brows in silent query. “What a deucedly nasty business that would be. Of course, it might be worth it. Your scandal might take some of the attention away from mine. Yours is decidedly more lurid, I think you will agree.”

Rothschild’s face flushed with anger and embarrassment. “You do not understand my position.”

“Oh, I think I do. You and Sophie were bequeathed a modest collection of Egyptian antiquities by a French relative, and you are presently using them to guarantee your markers.”

“So, you see, I must retain them.”

“No, you must see that I do not care about your predicament. I might have been more accommodating had you shown even a modicum of support for your sister when she needed it most, but you did not, so I shall not.” The marquess rocked back on his heels. “Instead I shall drag you unwillingly up to my estate in Northamptonshire where you will dine with your sister and several highly esteemed members of the peerage who happen to have a fascination with antiquities. You will support her now, as you did not previously.”

A cold, hard edge entered Rothschild’s eyes. “You think you can make her suitable? You are delusional.”

“I think I can make her an Eccentric, and that, Rothschild, will make her acceptable to other Eccentrics. It is a beginning.”

What followed was a tedious hour of complaining, cajoling, and conniving that resulted nevertheless in Rothschild ordering his valet to prepare for a journey north. With such a disagreeable companion in tow, Justin anticipated a miserable trip, but as he watched the loading of the earl’s trunks onto the rear of his coach, he was grinning from ear to ear regardless.

“Dear heavens, he’s done it!” the dowager Lady Fontaine cried.

She lifted her gaze from the boldly slashed penmanship of her son, and smiled at her dearest friend. She had gratefully accepted the invitation to join the countess and Sophie on their return to their residence, despite her concern that her removal from Northamptonshire would delay word. She should not have worried. Fontaine had written directly to the Cardington dower property, having anticipated her inability to wait out news alone. “He has convinced Lord Rothschild to assist us.”

Lady Cardington clapped her hands, the tension that had gripped her slight frame upon the arrival of the post dissipating with a relieved smile. “His lordship has hidden depths. Of course, we both knew that.”

“Yes, we did.” The dowager refolded the short missive carefully. “But now we have work to do, Caroline.”

Blowing out her breath, Lady Cardington set her shoulders back. “What is required of us?”

“We are to arrange a gathering.” Leaning forward, the dowager passed the letter over. “I have no notion how we shall manage the guest list he has demanded.”

Caroline rose from her floral slipper chair and moved to the walnut escritoire in the corner where her spectacles waited. “We shall lie and elaborate.” She gazed out the window to where Sophie walked beside Thomas in the rear garden. “We need only to entice them to come. The rest we leave to Fontaine and Sophie.”

“Did you truly attempt to climb to the top of the pagoda?”

Sophie glanced down at her son with a sheepish smile. “I did.”

“I am glad I was not here to see it,” Thomas said, gazing up at her with Langley’s dark eyes. “I would have been frightened for you.”

“Then perhaps you can understand why I was so frightened when I found you attempting the feat yourself.”

“I thought you were angry.”

She set her hand atop his unruly chocolate brown waves. “No, not angry, darling. Terrified.”

Looking at the structure, she remembered fragments of the day when Fontaine had caught her hanging from the roof’s edge.

“By God, you mad creature!” he’d cried, just before he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her free, spilling them both to the grass in a tangle of limbs.

He had been shaking with fury, or so she had believed at the time. Now she realized how he must have felt and her heart hurt. How could she have been so blind to his feelings for her?

She sighed. She suspected she knew why. Confusion at the loss of her parents and the lack of connection to her only sibling had made it difficult for her to perceive affection. She had been angry at the world, and therefore saw only anger returned to her.

“I have been invited to visit the Fontaine estate again,” Sophie said, dropping her hand to link fingers with Thomas’s grubby ones. They rounded the corner and she gestured to a crescent‑shaped marble bench beneath a tree.

“I like Lady Fontaine.”

“So do I.” Although it was Justin who had requested her return in a short but sweet note that offered a chance at happiness. However, there was more at stake than her feelings. “Would you be upset if I went?”

Thomas appeared to consider the question carefully. “You have been sad since you returned.”

Sophie blinked, startled that he had been perceptive enough to notice. “I miss a friend.”

“Will you see your friend again when you go?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will not be upset, though I will miss you.”

With watering eyes, Sophie pulled Thomas into her lap and hugged him tightly to her. He wriggled and squirmed, protesting indignantly. And then he settled into her arms with an exasperated sigh.

“Thank you,” she said, when she had collected herself.

He squeezed her back and then climbed off her lap. “Since I cannot climb, can we catch insects?”

“I suppose.”

With a whoop of joy, Thomas led the way to the nearest bush. And for the first time in a very long time, Sophie felt hope.

 


Date: 2015-04-20; view: 584


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