A Lady Never Surrenders Part 29

"And she didn't?"

With a hard glare, he crossed his arms over his chest. "One night in a cottage is hardly a good test of how well she'd endure a lifetime in Cheapside."

"So last night was a test, was it? And even so, she pa.s.sed it. In response, you talked about duty and honor and such. Made her feel as if marrying her would be your concession to propriety. Have I judged the situation aright?"

It was getting harder to pretend that he'd behaved like anything but an a.r.s.e this morning. "She has a b.l.o.o.d.y duke chomping at the bit to marry her, and you think she could be happy with me? Here?"

Aunt Ada planted her hands on her hips. "You know, I'm beginning to be insulted. I thought I'd made this quite a comfortable home, and now I find that you think it comparable to some hovel in the woods."

"That's not what I-"

"If you showed the same lack of feeling with her as you are with me right now, it's a wonder she didn't slap the tar out of you." She shook her head. "You decided her future without even considering her feelings. Don't you find that presumptuous?"

A frustrated breath escaped him. "It's not just the money; it's the difference in our stations. Even knowing who my father was, I'm no less a b.a.s.t.a.r.d and she's no less a lady. I still work for a living."

"And she's bothered by that? She's contemptuous of your station?"

It must have been difficult for you, starting so young in a place like Bow Street. You must have worked very hard to have risen so high in such a short time.

Celia had said those words with clear admiration. And she'd been willing to marry him even knowing he might never become Chief Magistrate. Indeed, she'd spent half the morning resisting all his attempts to tell her how difficult she might have it if they married.

Aunt Ada took his hesitation for a no. "That's the trouble with you, my boy. You're so ready to a.s.sume that others will turn their noses up at you that you ignore how they actually behave. You're well respected in the community. You've accomplished so much, yet you brace yourself for the cry of 'b.a.s.t.a.r.d' even when that cry isn't given."

He hated it when his aunt made sense, especially when it conflicted with what he was sure was right. Though he was getting less sure of it by the moment.

Her voice fell to a soft murmur. "Has it occurred to you that she made no complaint last night because she was with you? That being with you made the rest of it endurable? And that being without you might make all her fancy living intolerable?"

"No," he said acidly as he rose from the table and turned for the door, "that had not occurred to me."

She laid her hand on his arm to stay him. "Why not? Is it really so hard to believe that someone might truly love you for who you are?"

Anger welled up in him. "Yes, it is!" he spat. "When I would have given my soul to be called his son, my own father couldn't even bring himself to claim me! He didn't love me for who I am; how am I to believe that anyone else could?"

Profound sadness washed over her face, tinged with regret. "Oh, my dear boy, it was wrong of your mother to have told you that foolish tale she invented about your birth. And it was wrong of me-and William-to let it stand." She gripped his arm. "I know we made mistakes, the three of us. But surely you realize that you were always loved. By me, by your mother, and yes, by your father."

Tears trickled down her cheeks, but she swiped them away ruthlessly. "He was so proud of you, and rightfully so. If not for his fear of a scandal that could embarra.s.s me and cost him his position, he would have shouted from the rooftops that you were his son. Never, ever think for one minute that he was ashamed of you. He loved you until the day he died."

The fervency of her words crawled inside the hard kernel that had always resented his supposed n.o.ble sire, eroding it.

For so many years, he'd lived with this pressure on his chest, this belief that his father hadn't wanted him badly enough to claim him. And her revelation that his uncle was his father had only eased the pain a little, for they'd kept that knowledge from him.

But if he were fair, he had to acknowledge that in their place he would have been cautious, too. He knew what it was like to suffer terrible slurs. His uncle would have never wanted that for Aunt Ada. And Uncle William had been able to do more for Jackson as a lauded magistrate than if he'd lost his position. Magistrates were expected to live exemplary lives; they weren't supposed to engage in what the law considered incest with their sisters-in-law.

Though it had been wrong of Uncle William to keep it from him, Jackson began to understand why he did. The man had been flawed. He'd made mistakes.

And so had he, in being so cautious with Celia. Certainly he hadn't given her a fair chance to accept or refuse his offer of marriage. At the very least, Celia deserved such a chance.

"I have to go, Aunt," he murmured. "I told his lords.h.i.+p I would return this evening to give him a full report, and it's getting late already."

"Yes, of course." Then she started. "Oh, I almost forgot in the midst of all that's been going on!" Reaching into her ap.r.o.n pocket, she pulled out a missive and handed it to him. "You received a letter from some people up north."

It was from the family of Mrs. Rawdon's former lady's maid, Elsie. They'd finally provided him with an address for her, in Chelsea. But if he went there now, he'd never make it to Halstead Hall before the family retired.

Confound it all, he ought to go interview Elsie tonight. What if she'd been involved with the shooting?

Somehow he doubted that. He just couldn't imagine some lady's maid lying in wait on the road to shoot them, then searching the woods. Besides, he had to see Celia. He couldn't bear to think of her lying in her bed hating him all night.

Shoving the letter in his pocket, he turned for the door.

"Before you leave," his aunt said, "answer one question for me. If Lady Celia weren't the daughter of a marquess-if she were some young woman you'd met at an a.s.sembly, the daughter of a baker or a tailor-would you hesitate to marry her?"

"No," he said, not even having to consider his answer. "If I could have her, I'd want for nothing else."

She seized his hand and squeezed it. "Then do whatever you must to secure her. Because if you don't make the attempt, you'll regret it the rest of your life."

Her words stayed with him throughout the hour and a half ride to Halstead Hall. They plagued him as his carriage approached the stable, and he noticed the other equipages there, which told him that the house party was still going on despite everything.

Her words were all he could think of as he was shown into Stoneville's study. As Jackson waited for the marquess, whom he'd been told was still awake and would be with him presently, they wouldn't leave him.

Aunt Ada was right. If he didn't attempt to make Celia his, he would never withstand the loss of her.

Stoneville entered the study, a guarded expression on his face. "Well, well," he said as Jackson rose, "our missing investigator has shown up at last. Did you or your men find anything along the road to High Wycombe?"

"I'm afraid not, my lord."

As Stoneville took his seat behind the desk and bade Jackson sit as well, Jackson related everything he and Celia had discovered, though it was clear that his family had already acquainted him with the information about their mother's love affair.

After adding his own observations to that, Jackson then gave a thorough report of what had happened on the road, and what his suspicions were concerning why they'd been shot at. The marquess asked him several questions, which he answered as best he could.

"So you plan to speak to Elsie tomorrow?"

"First thing in the morning. I would have gone tonight, but I thought you needed to hear everything first."

"I appreciate that."

"Besides, I also wanted to know ... that is..." Jackson braced himself for any reaction. "How is Lady Celia?"

Stoneville shot him a veiled glance. "She's well, considering all that has happened. She closeted herself in her room and told us she didn't want to see anyone." His gaze hardened. "Especially you. She said she wanted nothing to do with you from now on. She made me promise I would keep you away from her. Which makes me wonder exactly what happened last night."

h.e.l.l and blazes.

Time to state his intentions. Beating around the bush hadn't served him very well earlier. "It doesn't matter what happened. I am here to make things right. I want to marry your sister."

Stoneville eyed him closely. "Minerva seemed to think otherwise."

Jackson sighed. "I'm not surprised. I believe that I also left Lady Celia unsure of my intentions. I ... um ... made rather a hash of it when I proposed the first time."

The marquess chuckled. "I'll say."

Jackson cast him a startled glance.

"Yes, I heard all about your offer. Do forgive my amus.e.m.e.nt. If you'll recall, I made rather a hash of my own marriage proposal." He sobered. "I also understand that my grandmother had something to do with your reticence to offer marriage."

"I was not reticent," Jackson said fiercely. "I was never reticent about that. I've wanted to marry your sister almost from the moment I met her. And no matter what your grandmother thinks, it has nothing to do with her fortune or her position or-"

"I know." When Jackson blinked, the marquess smiled. "You forget-I've watched you work for nearly a year. I've listened to your opinions and heard of your fine reputation. I know a man of good character when I see one."

"Even if he's a b.a.s.t.a.r.d?" Jackson bit out.

"The Duke of Clarence has ten b.a.s.t.a.r.ds and everyone turns a blind eye, so I don't see why we can't have at least one in the family. Or two, if you count Jarret's stepson." Stoneville smiled. "We Sharpes are h.e.l.lions after all. We wouldn't want to become boring. What would the gossips have to talk about?"

His aunt's words leapt into his mind: That's the trouble with you, my boy ... You brace yourself for the cry of "b.a.s.t.a.r.d" even when that cry isn't given.

"Your grandmother isn't so nonchalant about it," Jackson pointed out.

"True. And she may very well hold to her threat to cut Celia off."

"You know about that?"

"She let it slip to Minerva."

"Ah. So Lady Celia knows now, too," he said, not sure if that was a good or a bad thing.

"Actually, I don't think she does." He stared hard at Jackson. "Does it matter to you if Celia loses her fortune?"

"No, though I hate the thought of sentencing her to a life of sacrifice."

"Yet you still mean to offer marriage."

"I do, and this time I'll make sure she knows what your grandmother intends to do. But I hope it won't matter to her." He admitted what he'd realized after less than a day separated from her. "Because apparently I'm more selfish than I thought. I simply can't bear to be without her."

Stoneville's expression softened. "Now that's what you should say when next you see her."

"And when might that be?" Jackson asked.

"I don't know. I told you-she made me promise to keep you away. And the family has already retired for the evening." At Jackson's muttered oath, the marquess's voice softened. "Give her time. You have to talk to Elsie in the morning anyway, so come here after that and perhaps she will see you then."

Jackson was not going to wait until tomorrow, not when every moment away from her made her harden her heart against him.

He rose. "As you wish. But I left several personal items here while I was a guest at the house party, so if you don't mind, I'll fetch those before I leave." That would give him an excuse to find her room and make her listen.

"Very well." As Jackson headed for the door, Stoneville called out, "Your room is in the west wing, isn't it?"

Jackson halted to eye him warily. "Yes. Why?"

"You may not know that there's a shortcut through the south wing." The marquess stared steadily at him. The family resided in the south wing. "Indeed, I would love your opinion on a piece of art. I'm thinking of selling it, and you might know of a buyer. It's a fine military painting by Goya hanging right next to Celia's door, if you'd care to take a look on your way past."

He couldn't believe it-Stoneville was telling him how to find Celia's room.

"Just remember," Stoneville added, "if you should happen to run into anyone, explain that I wanted your opinion about some art."

"I appreciate your faith in my judgment, my lord," he said. "I will certainly take a look at that painting."

Stoneville's gaze hardened as he stood. "I trust that you'll behave like a gentleman while you're pa.s.sing that way."

He bit back a hot retort-his lords.h.i.+p was one to talk. But the fact that the man was helping him with Celia was a small miracle, and he wasn't about to ignore that. "Yes. A perfect gentleman."

"Good. I'll hold you to that."

With a nod, Jackson hurried out into the hall. Even with Stoneville's sly urging in this endeavor, he hesitated to sneak about the house after the ladies had retired. But the sounds of drunken men from down one hallway told him that some of the gentlemen were still awake, so he hastened his steps. The last thing he wanted was to run into Celia's suitors right now. He wasn't sure he could trust himself around them.

Jackson had been in the south wing once before, when Stoneville had received him in dishabille, so he knew its layout. Fortunately, it took him only a few minutes to find Celia's room.

He knocked on Celia's door, but there was no answer. Should he pound on it to wake her?

Ah, but if she asked who was there and he told her, she might refuse to let him in. He glanced down at the ancient lock, and his eyes narrowed. Perhaps it would be better to have the element of surprise on his side.

Thank G.o.d he always traveled with his lock picks.

Chapter Twenty-three.

Celia was awakened from a dead sleep by some sound. A knock? She wasn't sure. But whoever it was would knock again. Not that it would do them any good, because she wasn't letting anyone see her in her present state, eyes puffy from crying and her hair tangled from tossing and turning. It was a miracle she'd had any sleep after she'd spent hours fretting over Jackson.

She scowled. She wasn't going to think about him again.

Suddenly, a different sound came to her ears-a steady clicking at the door. By the light of the fire, she saw the handle shake.

Fear coursed through her. Good Lord, someone was trying to sneak into her room! And not someone with a key or they would have opened the door by now. Was it the same person who'd tried to kill her?

Then they were about to have a surprise. Soundlessly, she sat up and lifted the pistol she'd kept loaded on her bedside table ever since yesterday. Heart pounding, she waited until the door creaked open, then c.o.c.ked the pistol and said, "I'd stop right there if I were you. I've got a gun trained on you, and I won't hesitate to use it."

There was a harsh intake of breath, followed by a low male voice saying, "It's me, Celia. Don't shoot."

"Jackson?" she said incredulously. "What the-"

"I had to see you." He opened the door and stepped inside.

Her heart still pounding, she carefully unc.o.c.ked the gun and lowered it. "Go away."

"Not until we talk," he said steadily.