Jarvis scrambled to his feet. “Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord.”
“See you get that chit in hand. Don’t break her spirit, mind you—I’m looking forward to doing that myself—but do what you must to bring her to heel, understand? I won’t be patient forever, and it would be a pity if you found yourself unable to meet your obligations, wouldn’t it?”
Lord Godfrey didn’t wait for an answer. He settled his hat on his head, tossed one last warning look at Jarvis over his shoulder, and disappeared through the door.
As soon as he was gone, Jarvis fell back into the chair behind his desk. He sat there for a long time, drumming his fingers on the wood surface, thinking. His niece was an obstinate little chit, just as Godfrey had said. He couldn’t frighten or coerce the girl into doing his bidding the way he did with his wife and daughter.
Despite his promises to Godfrey, Jarvis wasn’t certain he could manage Lucinda at all.
Not in the usual way, that is.
He opened a drawer, drew out a blank sheet of paper and dragged the inkwell closer. “Poor, dear Lucinda,” he muttered with a smirk as he dipped the quill into the ink. “Such a pity the girl should be so grievously afflicted.”
He began to write.
Dear Dr. Willis,
I write to you out of a grave concern for my niece, Lady Lucinda Sutcliffe, daughter to the Earl of Bellamy. A gentleman of your profession will, I dare to assume, have heard of the earl’s grievous descent into madness after the tragic death of his wife. Alas, doctor, I’m sure I needn’t tell you the afflictions of the father are often visited upon his innocent children.
As much as it grieves me to say it, such is the case with my dear niece, Lady Lucinda.…
Jarvis wrote until he’d reached the bottom of the page, then signed his name with a flourish. He sprinkled it with sand, then folded and sealed it. When he’d finished, he leaned back in the chair, his lips curling with satisfaction.
Yes, that would do. That would do nicely.
Chapter Fourteen
There was nothing shocking in Ciaran’s appearance at Lucy’s door the following morning. It was the season, after all. Hopeful gentlemen were darkening the doorsteps of eligible young ladies all over London, eager to pay their calls and prove their devotion.
To the casual observer, it was a perfectly ordinary occurrence.
But Ciaran’s jaw was tight as he grabbed the brass ring hanging from the lion’s mouth, and let it fall with a resounding thud against the door to the Jarvis’s lodgings in Portman Square.
He knew this visit for what it was.
A battle of wills.
He’d told Lucy he’d take her for a drive today. He was determined to do just that, and Jarvis, no doubt, would be just as determined to stop him. Since Ciaran didn’t intend to accept a refusal, odds were high this visit would go the way of Brighton’s bare-knuckle bout. Ugly, that is, if not actually bloody.
So be it, then. He wouldn’t break a promise to Lucy.
He rapped again, more insistently this time, and after another brief wait a butler appeared. He ushered Ciaran into the entryway and disappeared up the stairs to present his card.
Ciaran was fully expecting a large footman or two to descend the staircase and try to toss him onto his arse into the street, so he was surprised when the butler calmly reappeared at his elbow with a polite bow. “This way, sir.”
Ciaran followed the man up the stairs, his brows drawn together in a suspicious frown. Likely as not, Jarvis was waiting for him in the drawing room with a loaded pistol.
As it happened, Jarvis wasn’t waiting for him at all. There was no sign of Lucy’s uncle in the small, overheated room into which he was led, but just as Ciaran was about to celebrate this unexpected stroke of good luck, his satisfaction gave way to disgust.
Jarvis wasn’t here, but Godfreywas.
Mrs. Jarvis and Eloisa Jarvis were seated on a settee at the far end of the room, their shoulders stiff, their hands clenched in their laps. “Good afternoon, Mr. Ramsey.” Mrs. Jarvis offered Ciaran a polite nod, but her eyes were wide with mute appeal.
Ah, so that’s what was happening. Mrs. Jarvis had—no doubt against her husband’s orders—instructed the butler to admit Ciaran. He was hardly two steps over the threshold before he realized why she’d done it.
To save Lucy.
And not a moment too soon.
