Page 20 of The Widow’s Christmas Surprise

“Of course. You will need to marry her to return our rightful property to the family’s control.” Kersey’s brows dipped lower. “What did you think I meant?”

“That we need to kill her, of course.”

“What?” The tumbler of brandy slipped from Kersey’s hand and smashed to the floor, shards of glass and spirits spraying the expensive red and cream Aubusson carpet. “Are you mad?” He stepped away from the mess and grabbed Anthony’s arm. “Don’t let me hear you speak of such a thing ever again. Killing the woman is wrong, and even if it weren’t, if you were caught you’d swing for it.”

Anthony jerked his arm away. “I’m joking, of course. It’s just that anything would be better than being saddled with a mousy little thing like her.” He swallowed the last of his drink, then hurled the glass into the fireplace. Sparks flew as the dregs of the brandy blazed up. “Why can’t you leave me out of it? Marry her to James instead. He’d probably jump at the chance to bed a woman regularly that he didn’t have to pay for.”

Appalled at his son’s callous attitude—although they’d never been close, he’d not seen this sort of behavior in Anthony before—Kersey nevertheless tried to make him see reason. “James’s marrying her won’t do. It would bring the assets back to the family, but not to the Kersey estate. As he doesn’t stand to inherit, unless something untoward befalls you, he’d be a fool to simply deed it back to the earldom. He’d more likely decide he’d be better off retaining the property to create his own little empire.”

“I won’t do it, Father. She’d be an agreeable tumble once or twice, nothing more. I’ll not tie myself to her for all eternity.” Anthony crossed his arms and leaned back, like a recalcitrant horse balking at a difficult jump.

“So keep her in the country and carouse to your heart’s content in Town. You won’t be the first gentleman to do such a thing for money.” Kersey shook his head. He’d believed Anthony would have seen the necessity of this plan as quickly as he had. So now he needed an inducement to sweeten the pot. “Marry the girl and get her with child as quickly as you can. That may solve all your problems. Childbirth is a chancy thing. Look at what happened to Princess Charlotte, and she had the best doctors available.” He turned away from his son, letting the words sink in, and raised the decanter. “Care for another drink?”

Silence echoed in the still chamber until his son’s footfalls scuffed the parquet floor. “Fill the damn glass.”

Repressing a smile, Kersey did exactly that, then handed the almost dripping tumbler to Anthony. “I thought you would see reason. There’s simply no other way to secure these assets.”

“You don’t even know what she stands to inherit. It could be next to nothing—something left to shame her, like all her husband’s small clothes or the oldest horse in the stable. I might be throwing away my prospects for a collection of chamber pots.”

“The solicitor said the change to our coffers would be significant. We cannot afford the risk.”

Anthony took a substantial sip, then tipped the glass toward his father. “I’m telling you, a widow who’s lost two husbands in such a short space of time must be out of her mind with grief. Easiest thing in the world for her to take poison, or walk out into a lake and drown herself.” He glared at his father. “Trust me, no one would suspect a thing.”

“Do you also intend to commit infanticide while you’re disposing of the mother?” Exasperated by his son’s bloodthirsty streak, Kersey poured himself another as well. “The solicitor said the will benefitted both mother and child. If something happened to the dowager, do you think for a moment you’d be able to get closer than a stone’s throw from that baby? No.” He inhaled the cognac’s sweet fragrance. It seemed to have a calming effect on him. “Trust me on this, Anthony. Seduce the little widow—child’s play for you, I’m sure.”

His son shrugged, but a hint of a smile ghosted across his lips.

“Marry her, assume her inheritance, whatever it is, and then carry on with your life as you normally would. Your mother seems rather taken with the young widow. She can likely keep her entertained here at the Hall while you amuse yourself more handily elsewhere.”

Scowling, Anthony took a long sip of the brandy. “I suppose I will have to do it, won’t I?”

“You are the only one who can.”

“It’s rather difficult being the family savior.”

“Yes.” Kersey nodded. If such a title smoothed the young puppy’s way to performing the deed, then let him think so. And God help the dowager if her inheritance proved to be inadequate. He might be hard pressed to restrain his son’s more violent proclivities.

Chapter Eight

Early Tuesday morning, Maria came downstairs to find Jane already at breakfast, busily cracking a soft-boiled egg. She hit the shell a precise blow that neatly severed the slightly pointed top from the rest of the rotund body. Scooping out the tiny bit of egg, she topped it with a small pat of butter and popped it into her mouth, smiling as she savored the morsel. “Will you join me for eggs and toast, Cousin?”

“How did you know I was behind you?” Maria came forward into the room, her head cocked.

“You must blame Saunders, I assume.” Jane discarded the empty sliver of shell onto her plate and began on the larger portion of egg. “He is so enamored with his elevation to butler he has taken to polishing the silverware once a week. This smooth strip around the teapot”—her cousin tapped it with a fingernail—“is as reflective as a mirror. I saw you quite distinctly as you came to the doorway.”

“So I suppose you do not have eyes in the back of your head, although I for one would not lay a wager on it.” Maria sat across from Jane and laid her napkin in her lap. “Another pot of tea, Saunders, with a boiled egg, toast, and jam.”

“You know you could have your breakfast delivered to you in bed.” Jane raised her head from the egg cup. “Although you are widowed, I am certain that much of an alteration can be claimed if you wish to laze about in the mornings.”

“I could say the same thing to you, Cousin. You could take your rest as well until later in the day.” Maria smiled with an archness to her voice.

“Indeed, I could. But I would then miss all the to-do which will likely break out at any moment.”

“What do you mean, ‘to-do’?” Anxious for some distraction, Maria grabbed a cold piece of Jane’s toast and began to slather it with the creamy butter.

“It has been four whole days since we met the Kerseys.” Sprinkling salt onto her bite of egg, Jane proceeded then to the pepper before eyeing her breakfast with pure joy. “I will wager that the earl will either send for you or put in an appearance himself so he can watch your face crumple when he tells you to pack your bags, he is throwing you out.”

“Throwing us out?” The knife in Maria’s hand hovered above the piece of bread, butter perched on the tip of the utensil. “He indicated no such thing the other day, Jane.” She grabbed Jane’s hand and squeezed. “Have you heard something?”