“I wish you had all perished at Dunnings, but I suppose that was too much to hope for.” Her voice shook. “The Sinclairs are nothing more than a pack of beetles that find their way into your flour.” Lady Longwood’s face turned puce, an unattractive hue in clothing as well as skin. “Well, you won’t find a warm welcome in London.” A smug smile pulled at her lips. “And you’ll need to make a decent match to save you. Which is now an impossibility. Not one young lady who possesses a decent fortune will look your way, nor will her family accept you. I’ve made sure of it. You’ll stay impoverished. Unwelcome. The Sinclairs will fade into obscurity, as they should have years ago.”
Strange that Lady Longwood didn’t know about Angus Whitehall. Or Bentley’s involvement with the man.
“My beloved nephew was in dire straits because ofyourmother’s flagrant spending.” She continued her tirade. “Bentley inherited an already teetering estate. He was forced to borrow large sums from me just to maintain appearances. Leeches, that’s what you are. You sucked the lifeblood from Bentley with your constant demands.” Lady Longwood glanced at Percival, who nodded in agreement. “I’ve paid the staff at Emerson House for years and I will no longer do so.”
“Do you hear, Hart?” Jordan said in a mournful tone. “You’ve lost your position. Just as well, you were going to be sacked today at any rate. I hope you receive a recommendation from Lady Longwood.”
Hart puffed out his chest and finally looked to Bentley’s aunt, who pointedly ignored him.
“How odd,” Tamsin interjected. “My mother has been dead fortenyears. I wonder how she managed to fritter away Bentley’s fortune on dresses, furniture, or other fripperies from the grave. I hadn’t known she possessed such skill.”
“And the estate was solid when my father died,” Jordan added. “I saw the books, my lady. Bentley was a pathetic wastrel. A gambler. A man who had little charity in his heart and will not receive an ounce of it from me now that he is gone. A terrible earl and a worse brother. Good day, Lady Longwood.”
The sound of an enraged animal came from her at the dismissal. Had there been a knife or other weapon handy, Jordan would have found himself murdered in his own drawing room.
Tamsin glared at Percival, kicking him in the ankle. “Get up. You’ve overstayed your welcome, my lord.”
Percival came to his feet like a great toad, crumbs rolling off his stomach to litter the floor. He lumbered to stand behind his mother, thick fingers patting her shoulder protectively.
“Do not invade my home again. Either of you. Do I make myself clear, Lady Longwood?” Jordan considered, briefly, breaking each one of Percival’s sausage-like appendages. This was what society deemed an example of a well-bred gentleman? Percival? Bentley?
I’ll have none of it.
“I never pressured Bentley to repay me.” His adversary stood and smoothed her skirts. “He was my family. But you, Lord Emerson, are not. I’ll expect all debts, along with the gifts I’ve given him over the years—”
“Good day, Lord Longwood,” Jordan said again, chilly and polite. “Lady Longwood.” He would toss her out the door if need be. Her sour presence spoiled the air in his reclaimed home. “I beg you to not trouble yourself by calling upon me again, or I won’t be responsible for Lady Tamsin’s behavior.”
Lady Longwood sniffed and took Percival’s arm. “Out of the goodness of my heart, I came today to check on your welfare and offer my assistance as you re-enter society because that is what my beloved Bentley would have wanted. I was dismissed and told to leave. Escorted out of your home.” That ugly, feral smile once more broke across her sharp features. “I’ll make sure everyone knows of your unkind behavior towards me. You’ll rue the day you came to London, Jordan Sinclair.”
Jordan raised his glass to her. “I already do.”
Chapter Five
“My lord, Mr.Whitehall awaits you in his study.”
Jordan rubbed a finger against his temple, willing the ache to subside. He hadn’t slept well his first night in London, owing to the fact that nothing at Emerson House had been readied. Patchahoo’s instructions had been deliberately discarded by a staff instructed by Lady Longwood. He couldn’t fault Hart or the number of servants under his guidance; after all, Bentley’s aunt had been paying their salaries. She’d probably instructed Hart and the others on how to deal with the Sinclairs. Ready themselves if Jordan ever made good on his promise and unexpectedly appeared on the steps of Emerson House.
Hart was unceremoniously and immediately sacked after Lady Longwood’s dramatic exit. The butler sputtered, protesting his departure until finally gathering his things and exiting the premises. The upstairs maids, Bentley’s snobbish valet, three footmen, and two grooms were all shown the door. Jordan kept the driver Patchahoo had hired for the trip to London and the stable boy who was promoted to groom. A scullery maid also survived the purge because she’d been hired only last week. Not enough time to be infected by Lady Longwood.
Patchahoo, bless him, perhaps anticipating the day’s events, was prepared. He sent a note that Lord Emerson was not to worry. Assistance was forthcoming in the form of a plump, amiable older woman named Mrs. Cherry who had recently lost her position due to the death of her elderly employer.
Mrs. Cherry arrived like a small whirlwind, taking charge of the kitchens and the lone scullery maid, declaring that no matter what else might transpire, Lord Emerson and his family would eat well. The larder had not been depleted.
Additional staff would be forthcoming. Patchahoo had already started inquiries.
Jordan tugged at the cravat around his neck. Damned thing felt far too tight. Or perhaps it was the thought of Whitehall leading him about on a leash.
He studied the fine wood paneling and mellowed cream walls of the Whitehall residence, thinking that if he didn’t know it was the home of a sharker, Jordan would think it that of a lord or a wealthy merchant. Certainly not a gentleman of Whitehall’s reputation. The house itself stood at the edge of a still fashionable area of London, one inhabited with well-bred families whose standing in society had faltered along with their fortunes. Snobbery hung in the air, along with the scent of the roses from the park across the street. He doubted Whitehall was overly friendly with his neighbors.
Jordan followed the butler, who introduced himself as Burns, to a polished oak door at the end of the hall.
What had Burns done to land in such an undesirable post as butler to Whitehall? Murder? Theft?
After a short knock, Burns opened the door and bowed. “Lord Emerson, sir.”
Angus Whitehall stood, standing behind a massive desk of oak. He made no move to come forward and greet Jordan, and there was little welcome in the blue of Whitehall’s eyes. Only calculation. The snaggle-toothed sharker who’d lurked about the Spittal docks often greeted his own victims with the same expression. Whitehall’s appearance as a gentleman probably allowed him to slip into the waters of society unnoticed.
Whitehall smiled, showing a line of crooked teeth. “My condolences on the loss of your brother, my lord.” He managed to sound sympathetic.
