Silent Revenge (4 page)

It suddenly seemed too much. She stood and walked away from Ira, distancing herself from his words. The facts he presented to her were inconceivable. She would lose her home and whatever small inheritance her father had left her unless she found a husband.

She paced back and forth across the room, then stopped. “What will happen if I don’t have a husband, Ira?”

Ira wiped his hand over his face. “If you have no husband, then the inheritance becomes yours.”

Jessica stopped. The inheritance would become hers.

The inheritance would become hers!

Hers!

She wanted to laugh. She took in a deep breath and released a quivering sigh of relief. “Then everything will be fine,” she said, rushing across the room to give Ira a quick hug. She muffled a near-hysterical giggle behind a trembling hand. “Oh, Ira. There is nothing to worry about. Don’t you see? Between my small inheritance and the money I receive from my designs, I’ll get by. I don’t require much. If I’m sure to always live within my means, I’ll be able to live quite comfortably.” She didn’t know how much money she would have, but it did not matter. She had her designs. She could support herself.

Another thought entered her mind and she raised her hopes expectantly. “Oh, Ira. Perhaps Lord Tanhill will not even want the house. Perhaps you’re worrying for nothing.”

One look into his face told her Ira did not think so. Jessica only knew she had to do everything in her power to make it so. This house meant too much to her.

Ira’s reaction was not encouraging. He shook his head, then walked over to the small writing desk and placed his folder on the top. With slumped shoulders, he picked up the stack of papers and shuffled through the documents until he found what he was looking for. He handed her the single sheet of paper.

“This is what you are worth, Jessica Stanton. This is the
small
inheritance your father left you.”

Jessica skimmed down the page until she reached the number at the bottom. Her face paled. Even though she had never swooned before in her life, she feared she might now.

“Is this right?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“But…” She looked at the staggering sum again. “Where did Father get all this money?”

Ira poured a cup of tepid tea and took a swallow. “A small portion he inherited from his father. A great deal came from his profits from the East India Company. Your father was a very astute businessman. He was very frugal and invested wisely. Some of his wealth can be attributed to luck, but most of it was sheer genius. He had the Midas touch. Our queen even called on him for financial advice more than once.”

Jessica looked again at the figure at the bottom of the page. “I had no idea Father had so much money. I thought I would be fortunate to be left a small inheritance that would provide for me until I died.”

“I wish to God your father had indeed left you a small inheritance,” Ira said deliberately. “I wish more than anything that on your twenty-fifth birthday you would not become one of the wealthiest, if not
the
wealthiest woman in England. I wish that I had the power to protect you from your stepbrother.”

Jessica frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know how he found out, but Lord Tanhill knows about your inheritance.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he has already contacted Percival Westchester, one of the foremost solicitors in all of England. I have a very close friend who works for Percival. As soon as you receive the money, your stepbrother intends to start proceedings against you.”

“Against me? Why?”

“To prove you incompetent. To prove that you cannot manage such a large amount of money by yourself.” Ira ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “Tanhill is beginning preparations to have himself placed as your legal guardian. He intends to prove you mentally incompetent. To have you put away. In an asylum. He wants the money and knows he must have you committed to get it.”

Jessica couldn’t stand by herself any longer. Her knees gave way beneath her. If Ira hadn’t reached for her, she would have fallen to the floor.

An asylum.

A place where they locked away people society did not want to look upon, people who were different. Where abuse and mistreatment were common, and compassion and caring did not exist. Where society hid those who were blemished, and forgot them until they died.

The thought of living amidst such squalor, filth, and disease scared her to death. The idea of being locked in a dank, dark cell of cold, gray stone with bars on the windows evoked enough fear to give her nightmares. Jessica had been plagued with them while Lord Tanhill lived in her home.

“Can he do it?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer. Of course he could. He knew her secret.

God help her, she was scared.

She swallowed hard. “What can I do? How do I fight him?”

“There’s only one way, Jessica. You must marry. You must find a husband who is strong enough to stand up to Tanhill.”

Jessica shook her head. “I cannot marry!” She knew her voice was too loud. She knew she sounded like the crazy person her stepbrother, Colin, would have everyone believe she was. “Who would have me, Ira? Who in all of London would consent to marry a freak?”

“You are not a freak.”

“Explain the difference to the people who would walk on the other side of the street if they ever found out about me. Explain that to the people who would believe just as my stepbrother. That I should be put away.”

“Marriage is your only solution.”

She could not keep the despair out of her voice. “Don’t you understand? That is not a possibility. No male in all of England would take me as his wife.”

“I’m afraid you’re wrong. There would not be an end to the number of men who would take you. If only for the money.”

Jessica paced back and forth, voicing each concern aloud as if putting it into the open lessened its hopelessness. “Even if I could find someone who would agree to marry me, how would I know he wouldn’t put me away himself once he has the money?”

“You don’t. You must choose someone strong enough to stand up to Baron Tanhill, and honorable enough to never betray you.”

“I can’t do it, Ira. I can’t sell myself for money. I can’t trust any man enough to put my life in his hands.”

“You have no choice. You cannot fight your stepbrother on your own, Jessica. He is the essence of everything evil. He will destroy you. I’m afraid only someone equally as ruthless can protect you from him.”

“Are you certain Colin cannot harm me if I marry?”

“Colin cannot touch your inheritance once you marry. Without your money, you are of no use to him. And, you will have a husband to protect you.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks and she swiped them away. “But I don’t want to marry,” she whispered.

“It’s the only way, Jessica.”

She was loath to admit it, but this was the first time since the day she’d been locked in her imperfect world she had to admit she was helpless to survive alone.

“I’m afraid, Ira.”

“I know. I’m afraid too.”

Jessica took a handkerchief and wiped the traitorous tears that trickled down her cheek. “Ira, I don’t have much time left.”

“I know,” he answered.

She steeled her shoulders with all the determination she could muster.

She would be twenty-five in six days.

Jessica paced the drawing room like a caged animal. She knew what Colin was like. She knew firsthand the cruelty that came naturally to him. She knew the meanness that was a part of his personality. There wasn’t another man alive who was strong enough or intimidating enough to hold his own against him.

She sat down on the sofa and dropped her head to her hands. She was exhausted. It had been hours since Ira had left her, reemphasizing the need for her to find a husband as quickly as possible.

The shadowed figure of the tall, imposing man who’d dared to face the
ton
flashed before her. Jessica forcefully pushed it away. She refused to let his image become a reality. He may have had the courage to stand up to the
ton,
but that didn’t mean he could withstand the deviousness of which Colin was capable.

She walked to the window. There was nothing but blackness out there. Nothing but the quiet silence of a town gone to bed.

Mel said Northcote was her husband’s closest friend. She said the Duke of Collingsworth would trust him with his life. Surely if Collingsworth thought so highly of him, he was honorable enough to protect her. And, she knew he was desperate for enough money to pay his creditors and save his estate.

She closed her eyes and the Earl of Northcote appeared again. This time she let his formidable stature and blatant strength envelop her. She let her mind focus on the challenging glare in his eyes and the unyielding force in his gaze. She let his power and dominance cover her and for a moment she felt at peace. She felt safe.

Was it possible?

A stab of frantic indecision clutched at her insides. He had, after all, evoked terror in all of London’s nobility. She’d seen it. Colin would not dare challenge him.

Jessica rationalized that question using the same sense of order with which she solved every problem. Hadn’t Mel told her how desperate he was to find a rich wife? Wasn’t he about to lose everything if he didn’t marry someone with enough money to save his inheritance? Marriage to her would be a perfect solution with no risk to either of them.

She would be safe from her stepbrother, and the earl would gain back everything that belonged to him. She would never make any demands of him, and upon thinking of it, she was confident he would never expect her to publicly play the role of his wife. Especially when he found out her secret.

She sat on the edge of the sofa, digesting the decision she had just made. It felt right. Placing her life in his hands terrified her, but not as much as knowing what her stepbrother was capable of doing to get the money. Not as much as being certain of the hell she would live locked in an asylum.

With determined resolve, she turned and reached for the bell rope. “Hodgekiss, have the carriage brought round.”

Chapter 3

S
imon stretched his long legs before the fireplace and leaned back in the large burgundy leather chair. The comfortable wingback happened to be one of the few pieces of furniture that remained in his London town house.

He fingered the three-cornered hole in the leather, thankful for the flaw that had saved it from being pawned. He was also thankful for the mar in the headboard of a bed upstairs as well as the loose leg on his desk and the imperfections of a few other damaged pieces scattered throughout the house.

He looked at the meager belongings in his study, then lifted the bottle from the table beside him and tipped it until the last of the amber liquid filled his glass. He brought the glass to his mouth and swallowed, then dropped the empty bottle to the floor. It teetered precariously, then toppled.

He wanted to get drunk. He
needed
to get drunk. He needed to forget today.

As if his Indian manservant, Sanjay, could read his mind, the small, dark-skinned man crossed the room. In his ever-so-silent manner, he placed a second bottle on the table, then reached down to pick up the empty.

“Before this is over, Sanjay, you will wish you had not been so foolish as to insist on coming back with me to England.”

“That will never be, master. My mother and sisters are alive because of you. I am alive because of you.”

“But not Sarai.”

“That is because it was her time to be taken from this life, master. You did all you could. And I am thankful. To serve you in this one lifetime alone is not enough to repay you for what you have done.”

Sanjay lit another candle branch and placed the brightly glowing fames on the far side of the room. The study shone with the brightness of day, as if the light could ward off the gloom.

“I fear I will have to find you in my next life, too,” Sanjay said, turning up the one lantern so it burned brighter. “So that I may complete the task I have started. Perhaps I will come back as a donkey. To ease your burden and carry you where you wish to go.”