The Promise (11 page)

Tom shifted in his seat, seemingly bored as Mr. Hamlyn detailed pension settlements for several aged servants who had served Clairmont for many years. He ground his teeth at his predecessor’s generosity. With each name mentioned, Tom’s jaw worked harder, as if the funds were coming out of
his
pocket.

Tom drank deeply from a glass of water, setting it down with a clatter. His hands began to tremble as Mr. Hamlyn recited a long list of contributions to charities, the church, and a significant sum to establish a scholarship at his alma mater, Oxford.

Mr. Hamlyn eventually arrived at the heart of the matter. The new earl leaned forward, unable to hide his eagerness. In a surprisingly short period of time, less than it had taken to read the servants’ allotments, Mr. Hamlyn detailed Tom’s portion… five-thousand arable acres, the manor home known as Clairmont and its furnishings, numerous farm buildings, tenant dwellings, farming equipment, livestock, and forested lands attached to the ancestral Gray family seat.

“Congratulations, my lord. Your new home is one of the finest properties in Dorset,” Mr. Hamlyn said as he handed a stack of documents to Tom. “I will not review the minutiae. Suffice it to say there are many important works of art, paintings, sculptures, furnishings, silver, jewels, et cetera, et cetera. If you have any questions, or would like to go over the inventory ledgers with me and your bailiff, I would be happy to do so after we are through here.”

Then Mr. Hamlyn turned to Jane.

“All
unentailed
property, including various account funds, investments, and real property gained through his wife’s marriage portion, are bequeathed to his only child, Jane Gray, sole issue from his marriage with Jacqueline Valere Gray, nee Moreau.”

Tom sat in stunned silence as the solicitor read a seemingly endless list of properties in London, Sussex, Cornwall, and Bath, a controlling interest in a fleet of merchant ships, bank accounts, valuable works of art, and on and on. Mr. Hamlyn explained that Jane’s considerable inheritance would be managed by an investment firm in London under the supervision of her uncle, who was also her guardian, until she reached twenty-five or married, whichever came first.

Tom glared at Jane with murderous intensity.

“Why are you crying, you stupid little chit? Christ,
I
should be the one crying!” He stood and slammed his fist on the table. “That old bastard left you everything but this rotting pile in the back of beyond!” He threw his arm out, palm upward, in an encompassing gesture.

Uncle Charles surged to his feet, “Control yourself!” he barked, but Tom was beyond that.

“This travesty will… not… stand! I’ll seek legal counsel. The earl cannot controvert primogeniture laws to benefit his daughter.”

Mr. Hamlyn raised a calming hand.

“Now, now, my lord, please regain your seat. I should explain that the bulk of Lady Jane’s inheritance comes to her through her mother’s dowry. The countess was a considerable heiress in her own right. Her jointure provided that the wealth she brought to the marriage would flow to her children. Lady Jane being her only child...”

“Legal folderol,” Tom sputtered. “
I
am the heir, not Jane. As such, I have legal rights. If property has been stripped from the entail, then…” he paused, uncertain of his precise rights or how to claim them.

“My lord, I assure you, every legality has been observed,” Mr. Hamlyn said in a placating tone. “Exacting records exist for every stick of furniture and piece of silver that belongs at Clairmont. Nothing has been removed. It would be a waste of your time and funds to challenge the will. The earl was perfectly within his rights to provide for his only child.”

“Clearly he was not of sound mind when these papers were drawn up. Either that, or he came under the undue influence of an opportunist.” Tom turned toward Charles and pointed. “Is this
your
doing? As Jane’s guardian you will have control over her funds. Is that your plan, then? To become a wealthy man through your niece? How contemptible!”

“You arrogant puppy,” Charles snarled. “This has nothing whatsoever to do with me.”

“Gentlemen, please! You’re upsetting Jane,” Mr. Hamlyn said. Having presided over many will readings, he was on familiar ground. He had developed a statesman’s knack for smoothing ruffled feathers.

“The earl did everything humanly possible to ensure that his affairs would be executed precisely according to his last wishes. Do as your conscience dictates, my lord, but you should know that the will is unassailable. Neither will you be able to build a case that his lordship was not of sound mind. He was a close personal friend of the Duke of York to the end. In fact, the Duke’s signature is on the document as witness.” Mr. Hamlyn slid the last page across the table and pointed to the Duke’s name.

Tom looked at Jane through narrowed eyes. “Perhaps you’re right, but mark my words, this will not stand. I refuse to cheated of my birthright.”

Jane clutched her uncle’s sleeve.

“Is that a threat, Lord Gray?” Charles demanded.

Tom scowled and tugged at the hem of his gold brocade frock coat. “I don’t make threats, Mr. Hamlyn. I make promises, and I promise you this is not be the end of the matter.” He shoved back the chair, sending it crashing into the wall. He stomped into the hall and shouted at a startled footman to fetch his horse.

Uncle Charles wrapped his arm around Jane’s shoulder reassuringly. “My guess is he won’t be joining us for Christmas dinner,” he quipped in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Believe it or not, his was a mild reaction compared to some I have witnessed. The reading of wills seldom pleases all parties involved. Your cousin will come around, Lady Jane.”

“I hope you’re right about that Mr. Hamlyn. There is something disturbing about the new earl,” he laughed when he caught Mr. Hamlyn’s theatrically arched brow. “Quite an understatement, I know.”

“His eyes are very strange, and it is not just the color,” he observed. Tom Gray had one blue eye, and one green. “He might have been burned for a witch in centuries past. Robert did not care for him, you know. Had to bail his nephew out of several scrapes at school over the years. He found the boy’s behavior distasteful, but he never shared the details with me.”

Charles shrugged. “It is fortunate then that our paths are unlikely to cross.”

Two months later her uncle was dead and Tom had filed to be named her new guardian.

That’s when her nightmare truly began.

Chapter Nine

Jane longed to tell Lord Wallace that she hadn’t always been poor, that she had once been the pampered daughter of a country gentleman looking forward to her first London Season. But what did it matter? That life had been stripped away after her father’s death. Her cousin was a ruthless, evil man willing to commit any sin to achieve his ends and she was at his mercy still.

The first time they spoke, Lord Wallace had asked about her tale of woe. If only he knew how gothic it was! There were certain parts of her story she would rather cut out her tongue than divulge. But without knowing those horrible details, would he insist she return to her cousin’s protection? Would she even have a choice? Tom was her legal guardian, and that gave him absolute power over her. Better to leave things as they were for a little while longer.

While Jane had never done anything she was ashamed of, after living on her own in London for eight years her reputation was surely as forfeit as Maura’s would have been had the
ton
learned of her denouement. Ladies of quality did not labor with their hands, or wait on customers, or haggle with street vendors over the price of spices and fruit. They didn’t travel throughout the city without chaperones or live alone above shops in the business district. By the strict standards of the
Beau Monde
, she was already a ruined woman, chaste or not.

She had everything to lose and nothing to gain by revealing her identity.

One afternoon, the sky was dark with clouds as she locked up. Sensible shoppers and costermongers had long since sought shelter from the threatening storm. The streets were nearly empty as she hurried west. A light mist had begun to fall when Jane saw a group of young men casting dice against an apple crate, oblivious to the weather.

In a city full of predatory men, she was always careful of her surroundings. She gave the youths wide berth and kept her head down to avoid eye contact as she scurried past. She felt reasonably safe; the young men seemed too preoccupied with their game to give her much thought.

Head down and eyes to the cobbles, she was forced to halt when a pair of tattered boots planted themselves in her path. With a sinking stomach she realized she should have crossed to the other side of the street. Jane tried to step around. “Excuse me, sir,” she said politely.

“Well, what ’ave we got ’ere? A fine piece like you shouldn’t be walking the streets alone. Gives a bad impression, lovey. You are alone, ain’t you?” He looked around as if looking for her escort.

She didn’t answer.

“I can remedy that,” he said in a sly voice. Then louder to his friends, “Look ’ere mates. Might ’ave me a cozy little armful to keep me warm tonight. What d’ya say?” He jostled her arm. “Join me an’ the lads for a pint?”

Several more pairs of boots appeared in front of her amid appreciative murmurs. Jane felt a mild panic. She had extracted herself from similar encounters on more than one occasion in the past. All it took was a little bravado, charm, and good sense of humor. They were probably harmless, but the smell of cheap spirits hit her full force and her concern doubled. Men in their cups often did things they wouldn’t do when sober. To make matters worse, in her peripheral vision she could see a dark, garbage-strewn alley several feet away.

“I’d love to tip one back with you lads, but unfortunately I’m on my way to do an errand that can’t wait,” she said with what she hoped was a carefree, friendly smile. “I’ll be back this way in half an hour. I’ll take you up on that drink then.” Jane took a nonchalant step backward to create some distance between her and the men. Then she tried to step around them.

“Not so fast, dove. You can’t be in
that
big of a ’urry, can you?” He grabbed her arm roughly and she panicked, kicking him in the shin while twisting in an attempt to wrench free.

“Strumpet!” he backhanded her then dragged her toward the alley.

Jane shouted at the top of her lungs,
 
“Help! Help me!” but the few people within hearing distance turned away nervously. Minding one’s own business in the city was the best way to stay alive. Every Good Samaritan eventually learned that no good deed ever goes unpunished.

Finn was peering out the window of his carriage thinking of the delectable Miss Gray when he saw a flash of brown skirts and a familiar profile. Several ruffians were accosting a woman. Panic knifed through him.
Was it Jane?
Adrenaline surged through his veins as he pounded the roof three times, hard and fast. Before the horses had pulled up, he exploded from the coach.

When he was close enough to identify Jane as the struggling victim, a cold black fury overtook him. With strength borne of outrage he quickly dispatched one of her attackers with a powerful uppercut to the jaw. He pivoted and sunk a broad fist into the stomach of another, driving his knee into the blackguard’s chest as he doubled over. The youth slid to the ground and promptly retched. A third vanished down the alley without so much as a backward glance. Finn spun on the last man standing and glared at him through narrowed eyes. The bastard was holding Miss Gray’s arm tightly with one hand and held a nasty looking knife in the other. He jabbed it at Finn to ward him off.

“Release her!” Finn snarled.

Jane froze, looking back and forth between Finn and the knife. She was relieved to have a champion, but terrified he might be wounded.

With a muscle twitching in his jaw, Finn advanced slowly on her attacker.

“I saw ’er first Guvnah,” the street tough looked at Finn’s expensive clothing and smirked, evidently confident he would easily prevail against such a toff. “Sweet thing like ’er out walking at night alone’s askin’ for it, swot I think. I plan t’be the one what gives it t’er.”

The crude threat infuriated Finn. He lunged, grabbing the assailant’s wrist, twisting hard to dislodge the knife. Suddenly released, Jane fell sideways with a strangled cry. Finn slammed his elbow it into the man’s neck, forcing him up against a brick wall.

He pummeled her attacker with a merciless volley of punches. Lost in a haze of rage, he hammered the youth over and over again. Jane scrambled to her feet and grabbed his arm. She was jerked back and forth several times, but she held on with all her strength. Gradually he became aware she was pleading with him to stop.

“Lord Wallace, please! The boy’s had enough. You’re going to kill him if you don’t stop.”

Sanity slowly returned. Finn felt a gentle tug at his shoulder. He shook his head and the fog cleared. He caught a look of astonishment and admiration on his coachman’s face.

Miss Gray’s eyes, enormous above ashen cheeks, viewed him with alarm. “Thank you for rescuing me, but I wouldn’t care to be cause for murder charges against you.”

Finn looked down at the young man groaning in pain, but still very much alive. A smile of satisfaction flickered over his fine mouth.

“Whey-faced lad like ’im out at night alone’s askin’ for it, swot I think,” Finn said loudly, in a perfect imitation of the street youth. “I guess I was the one what gived it t’im.”

Coachman Simmons laughed. “Is that what they teach at the Pelican Club, my lord?” he asked, referring to the Covent Garden boxing club Finn frequented.

“They might have polished me up a bit, but I cut my teeth defending myself against bullies at Harrow. You would be surprised how vicious lordlings can be,” Finn’s heartbeat was returning to normal. He brushed dirt from his sleeves and realized his hands were bleeding.

“Mind you don’t stain your togs,” the driver ripped a handkerchief in half. Jane rushed forward to take the pieces then carefully wrapped Finn’s raw knuckles.

“Thank you,” he said with an encompassing glance at Jane and Simmons. “Payton wouldn’t speak to me for a month if I ruined my new weskit,” he joked.

“He’d faint, more like,” Simmons said dryly. Finn’s valet was notoriously persnickety.

“Come, Miss Gray, we must leave before we create a scene,” he placed a hand on the small of her back and guided her toward the coach.

“It would be safe to say the scene has already been created,” she glanced back at the pile of groaning bodies in the alley. “Flight is our only option.”

Finn helped Jane climb up then dove in behind her as a small crowd began to form. He smoothed bandaged palms over his hair and straightened his cuffs. It didn’t help much, he still reminded Jane of a tomcat after an alley fight. His cravat was rumpled, his shirt untucked, filth streaked his breeches and waistcoat.

He stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles, assessing her condition with a sober expression. “Are you all right, Miss Gray?”

“Frightened, ’tis all. They didn’t harm me,” she assured him. “You were very brave to come to my rescue against so many,” she said nearly in a whisper. Jane raised trembling hands to her chignon to determine whether she looked as disheveled as he. Hanks of hair tumbled down around her face and back, most of her pins having fallen out during the struggle.

His eyes glimmered with humor and a devilish grin softened the harsh cast of his features. “Not at all, Miss Gray,” he brushed the compliment aside. “The Wallace patents go back to the Middle Ages when legend has it our ancestors were fearless chevaliers. As a boy I despaired that I wasn’t born in more thrilling times. I dreamed of wielding a claymore or broadax. Finally I have been given the opportunity to rescue a damsel in distress and I owe it all to you,” he winked at her.

It was an obvious attempt to sooth her nerves and it worked. By the time they reached Carlisle House, her heartbeat had slowed to normal and her hands no longer shook.

“I’ll disembark here then have Simmons take you to the servant’s entrance. If we walked across the street together looking as we do, some rather inappropriate conclusions might be drawn about our conduct,” Finn said with laughing eyes.

Jane tried to return his smile, but winced as the cut on her mouth spread wider.

Finn frowned and leaned forward to take a closer look, gently pressing his thumb to her bottom lip. Her cheek and jaw were swollen. He swore under his breath and the rage he felt earlier returned. Ugly bruises would soon discolor her face.

“You should have allowed me to beat him senseless. If ever there was a black-hearted bastard who deserved to die, it was he,” Finn said darkly. “Pardon my language, Jane.”

Her name sounded wonderful spoken in his deep drawl. She wondered if he realized he had used it.

“It appeared from my vantage point that you
did
beat him senseless,” she said, her eyes sparkling.

“Excellent! In that case, I am satisfied,” he grinned.

“I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been there,” her lips trembled.

Finn slid onto the bench beside her and wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder. “I fear I have a fairly good idea what would have happened. You were very fortunate indeed that I happened along when I did. From now on we will send a carriage for you. It is unpardonably remiss that I have not seen to it before this… unfortunate event. I will have Peckham arrange it post haste.” His mood was mercurial, shifting from playful to pensive to pique without warning.

“Truly, my lord, it is not necessary. I never know the exact time…” Jane began.

“Don’t be foolish, Miss Gray,” his eyes darkened. “It should be more than obvious at this point that it is absolutely necessary. If you’re not ready when Simmons arrives, he’ll wait.”

Discomfited by his anger, she nodded and tried to wriggle away, but he tugged her closer. For a fleeting moment his chin rested on her head and she could have sworn she felt his lips press into her hair before he released her. “Thank God you’re safe,” he said softly.

Jane was confused by the entire exchange, the use of her Christian name, his too-brief embrace.

Finn stepped down from the carriage and turned to face her with a neutral expression.

“You were putting up quite a struggle. If there had only been one of them, I have no doubt you would have prevailed without my assistance.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “I will summon my mother to help put you in order before Pip gets a look at you.”

“Right. Good idea,” she nodded as the door shut.

“Around to the kitchen, Simmons,” Finn instructed. “I’ll send mother below stairs to assist.”

HARRY BARNES HAD BEEN leaning against a tree watching the assault unfold when Lord Wallace jumped from his carriage. The reporter recognized him immediately, not because of his work in Parliament, Barnes didn’t give a damn about politics. He was familiar with Finn’s legendary affairs with London’s most notable beauties and frequently reported his romantic escapades, creatively embellished, of course.

The Duke of Rutledge’s younger brother was handsome, rich, and a favorite among merry widows and other promiscuous ladies of the
ton
, three excellent reasons to hate him, to Barnes’ way of thinking. There were few people the reporter liked, but he felt an especially fierce enmity for the peerage. Barnes’ father had been an undistinguished groom in a nobleman’s stables, his mother a scullery maid. He had grown up on the fringes of the wealthy world. He had seen more than enough extravagance to make him angry and envious that so much was held in the hands of so few.