She had to make this right. Fix the mess her father’s unbridled ambition had created. Make sure Jordan wasn’t forced to wed her all so that he could erase a debt he had nothing to do with. But help would be required. She and Aunt Lottie must leave this house.
So instead of storming into the study and confronting the monster who had been her father, Odessa returned to her bedroom. Seated at her desk, she wrote a short but pointed note to her cousin, the odd, but very powerful Duke of Ware.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Epps has apologizedfor the delay, my lord. The packet became misplaced on the way to the train station. Thankfully, precautions were taken to make multiple copies of the survey, as you suggested. All the copies have been certified. One has even been filed at the solicitor’s office in Spittal, as you requested.”
Jordan nodded. The entire affair of the misplaced survey, among other random problems which had arisen, smelled of Whitehall, who must have found out about the coal at Dunnings despite the precautions Jordan and Patchahoo had made.
“How fortuitous Epps made it to the train station at all given the wheel of his carriage broke on the way.” There had been a fire at Dunnings, burning the ruin of a house to the ground. No great loss there. Two of the assistant surveyors requested by Epps had gotten lost on their way to Northumberland. The survey had been misplaced by the very man Patchahoo specifically hired to deliver it.
“Odd that that the Duke of Ware’s man was out on the same road as Epps and intercepted him. The duke’s estate is in the other direction,” Patchahoo mused.
“Fortuitous.” Epps and his survey had been delivered to Jordan this morning. The news was as expected. Coal, a great bloody mound of it, was hidden beneath the barren landscape of Dunnings. A team of men were already on their way, dispatched by Patchahoo.
“I wish to properly thank you,” Jordan said. How far he and Patchahoo had come from that first meeting at The Hen. “The Sinclairs are incredibly grateful.”
A blush snuck up the edge of Patchahoo’s collar. “I am your solicitor, my lord. I am merely doing my duty.”
“You are more than that, you are my friend,” Jordan said, meaning every word. “An honorary Sinclair, though I’m not sure you’ll wish to spread that news about.”
“Bent never knew.” Drew, settled in an overstuffed chair, lifted his glass. He’d recently returned from a visit to the country and the arms of Lady Robley. “Thank God. Else we might have found ourselves on a boat destined for a distant shore. Lady Longwood will be beside herself when she realizes we aren’t impoverished rats anymore. And best of all, you won’t have to dance to Whitehall’s tune and wed his unappealing daughter.”
Slate blue eyes floated before Jordan, along with a swathe of skin like satin, her hair spread out over the coverlet of her bed. He’d been paying a great deal of attention to her left breast when Odessa told Jordan the story of a wife poisoning her husband by grinding up apple seeds into his biscuits, meticulously, over an entire year.
I miss her. Desperately.
It had been a mere two days since he’d seen her, but Jordan didn’t want to endure a third. A note had been sent, asking if he could call, but his request remained unanswered. He’d been so mired in Dunnings, Epps and the survey…he hadn’t given it much thought until now.
“You don’t have to wed her and can now beg off, thanks to Patchahoo and his way with words,” Drew said needlessly. “Remind me, Patchahoo, to never sign a contract without you reviewing it. Whitehall, as intelligent as he is, never considered you’d have the funds to repay him. Now you won’t need to worry about sticking his daughter in some house in London that you’ll never visit. Or bumping into her at a ball and making awkward conversation. Cheers.” Drew drained his glass.
“She isn’t invited to many balls as Whitehall’s daughter.” Lady Curchon’s had been an exception. His original plans for Odessa had not been a secret to Drew and Tamsin. He doubted anyone, even Patchahoo, assumed Jordan’s relationship with Odessa had become—
Real. Very real.
“Jordan isn’t going to beg off. Or jilt Miss Whitehall.” Tamsin regarded Jordan over her glass of ratafia, trying not to grimace with each sip. “Are you?”
A knock sounded on the door before Jordan could answer his sister.
“My lord.” Holly’s massive form filled the doorway, a silver tray in his hands on which sat a slim packet. “This was just delivered. The messenger was instructed not to wait.”
Jordan stood and took the packet, not recognizing the seal.
“From the Duke of Ware, my lord,” Holly informed him. “So claimed the messenger.”
Tamsin stiffened and peered into her ratafia. “I haven’t done anything, Jordan. I promise.”
“I know, Tamsin. You’ve become a shadow of your former self. An insipid flower growing in London where you once boldly marched about.”
His sister frowned at him. “I will not have Aurora’s debut ruined.”
Jordan waved a hand. “You’re becoming quite proper.” He looked at the packet. “I’m sure it is merely the duke ensuring that Epps arrived safely and wondering why I haven’t thanked him profusely. I met Ware at Lady Curchon’s, Tamsin, if you recall.” Jordan didn’t mention the duke’s relationship to Odessa since she’d mentioned it wasn’t common knowledge. “He’s as big as Holly and obsessed with insects. You wouldn’t attract Ware’s notice, unless you were a moth.”
Tamsin resolutely took a sip of her ratafia.
Jordan took the packet, cracking the seal as he opened it. Paper torn to bits fell to the floor, scattering across the rug and his feet. Another document was wedged inside the envelope. The paper slid out and landed near Patchahoo.
Jordan stared at the tiny squares of torn paper. A hole seemed to open beneath his feet. Odessa hadn’t answered the note he’d sent her. Miss Maplehurst had been unavailable for her usual walk with Tamsin and Aurora.
