“We will not let him.” Jo moved resolutely to Caro and slid an arm around her waist. “I will tell my father, and he and my mother will rally behind you. Papa will find you all the legal advice you can possibly stomach.”
“You are kind.” Caro sagged into Jo’s half embrace. “I will do everything I can to stop Rudyard, but I am so afraid. If Leo is taken from me, I don’t know how I will stand it.”
Caro had borne up stoically when her parents had died a few years after her marriage, and she had borne up again when the haut ton had scathingly disapproved of her marrying he Duke of Aylesmore. She’d also remained strong when Leopold had breathed his last, and again when the creditors had descended, and the staff had deserted her.
But if Rudyard had the courts snatch Leo from her, Caro would never survive it. Nothing would mend her heart if she lost her little boy.
Jo was sweet to offer help, but while Prince Rupert was a powerful man in his own way, he wasn’t British, and the haughty judges in the courts might pay no attention to him or his solicitors.
Eamon said he’d help as well, but again, Caro had little conviction that he could. Not against the might of the judiciary, combined with Rudyard’s family connections and standing.
She laid her head on her smaller friend’s shoulder and let Jo try to comfort her, squeezing her eyes tightly against the tears that threatened to shatter her.
“It’s a mess, isn’t it?” McCormick said bluntly.
Eamon and his friend surveyed the massive bookcases, from which Eamon had pulled volumes here and there, shaken out pages, and perused books that appeared interesting. He’d tried to keep the stacks neat, but that had proved impossible. This corner of the gallery looked as though it had been struck by a very small tornado.
Leo, who’d been responsible for some of the chaos, had gone upstairs to study, reluctantly, at his mother’s insistence, conveyed through Singleton.
McCormick had come to cast his practiced eyes over the books. Though he’d intended to speak to Caro beforehand, to ask her permission to invade her house, Caro hadn’t reappeared. He and Eamon had made a start while the ladies remained upstairs.
“Any book might be valuable,” Eamon said. “The duke’s organization was, shall we say, haphazard. Cheap junk next to nice tomes that might fetch a quid or two from a decent bookseller. The man didn’t know the difference. The duchess says he bought what he liked without understanding what he’d obtained.”
“I meant the entire situation.” McCormick leaned against a long table. “Piles of this stuff, most of it worthless. A lifetime of being swindled.”
“The Aylesmore dukes weren’t wise, no,” Eamon said in some frustration.
“More like bloody fools. Dukes are supposed to be wealthy beyond measure. How does all of that slip away?” McCormick glanced down the long gallery to the massive staircase in wonder.
“It happens if they make unwise investments,” Eamon said. “Or neglect to go to court to retain rights over certain lands. Not all land and personal property is entailed, and entails can be broken or not renewed.”
McCormick blew out a breath. “Too complicated for me. Math should be pure numbers, not mucked up with money and law.”
“Pure numbers.” Eamon grinned at him. “That’s why you taught the artillery about trajectories and Wellington how to strategically move his men and equipment.”
“Different altogether,” McCormick insisted. “What did you want my opinion on?”
“I’m not as versed in rare books as you or Wolfe. I don’t want to miss anything in the dross that might bring Caro some needed cash.”
McCormick’s brows climbed. “Caro, is it? You’ve moved on from Duchess, have you?”
Sam Noble had said much the same thing. Eamon’s cheeks warmed at his slip, but he shrugged. “She’s a real person, not the sort who waves her status in one’s face.”
“Which means she’s kinder to you than you deserve.” McCormick chuckled. “If you’re still on about that wager, I advise you to look elsewhere. Leave the poor lass alone.”
“Shall we change the subject?” Eamon’s voice cooled. “I’ll not pursue her because of a wager, don’t worry. She is worth far more than that.”
“Mm.” McCormick watched him with more understanding than Eamon liked. “Her Grace is very close with the lively princess, is she?”
“Very dear friends.” Eamon lost his annoyance. “If you’re thinking of winning our wager in that direction, you are more deluded than I am.”
He had the enjoyment of seeing McCormick grow uncomfortable. “Never crossed my mind.”
McCormick was a brilliant man but a very bad liar. Eamon knew he was a fool to show interest in Caro, but Josephine of Osagard was royalty without doubt, far out of the reach of a gentleman farmer’s son from the remote north.
Eamon joined McCormick at the table, leaning next to him and folding his arms.
“There might be a gem in that stack of muck,” Eamon said, gazing at the books around them. “Maybe we’ll be as lucky with that as we are at love.”
