Page 10 of A Deal with the Rebellious Marquess
‘Also not a lie. I was and continue to remain interested in her articles because they involve you, because you asked me to look into it. I did.’ That took a bit of the wind out of Orion’s agitated sails. It was time to be serious before Mother arrived in the drawing room. Jasper lowered his voice. ‘She has convinced herself you are a person of interest, the one common thread between all the separate pieces that went wrong leading up to the accident.’
Orion merely scoffed. ‘I could have told you that from the articles. That’s not new. You needn’t have gone to lunch to learn that.’
‘But I did learn something new, though. I learned that she is the driving force behind it. She’s the one who wants to reopen the investigation. She is not merely reporting what someone else has told her.’ He waited for the import of that to reveal itself to Orion. When Orion remained blank, he explained, ‘She is driven by emotion, by her grief. She has nothing but anger to sustain her. When she realises she has no proof she will have to let the issue drop and face the fact that she was seeking a scapegoat, not justice.’
‘But in the meanwhile, I am to bear the brunt of her tirades? The aspersions on my name, onourname?’ Orion’s sense of drama returned. ‘How long do you think it will take her to calm down? A week? Maybe two?’
That was a very good question. ‘I don’t honestly know.’ After meeting her today and taking her measure, Jasper wasn’t sure she’d calm down quickly or let go of her quest, not on her own at least. This certainly wouldn’t be over in a mere set of weeks without some form of iron-fisted intervention. Weeks were like eons to Orion.
‘It may take some time before she opens up to me and shares what she knows. She and I are both interested in proposing legislation for better dam oversight. I hope to build on that connection in order to discover just how strong she thinks her case against you is.’
His conscience gave another kick. He did not like the not entirely honest aspects of the plan, but it was already underway and what else could he do? His father had raised him to be honest, to seek truth, but his father had also imbued him with the importance of responsibility. There was no greater responsibility than caring for the family, protecting the family. What took precedence when the two came into conflict?
‘Your plan had better work,’ Orion groused ungratefully, oblivious for his dilemma.
‘If you don’t like it, you can always try cleaning up your own messes for once,’ Jasper growled. ‘Just tell me this—is there anything legitimate for her to base this new case on? We cannot afford to be ambushed.’ He didn’t think Fleur Griffiths was someone to make idle claims. If she thought she had something, she truly might. That worried him, especially when Orion hesitated too long to answer, their conversation cut short at the sound of rustling skirts in the hallway.
‘Cannot afford to be ambushed about what?’ His mother, the Dowager Marchioness of Meltham swept into the room, dressed for a night out. ‘I’ve got the Swintons’ ball tonight. Colonel Taggart will call for me after we eat.’ She looked between him and Orion. ‘Now, what is this about an ambush?’
Orion cleared his throat, a bit of devilry glinting in his eyes. ‘Jasper didn’t want to be ambushed by anyone on your list of lovely debutantes for him to consider this Season.’
Jasper shot Orion a quelling look. That damnable list was a sore topic because of the subject that always followed the list: when was he going to marry and ensure the succession? ‘I don’t need a list. I can find my own bride.’ He tried to prevent the inevitable production of the list from his mother’s pocket or her reticule or wherever she’d happened to stash it at the moment. It was always on her person. But he was too late. She produced it with a flourish. He winced. It seemed longer than the last time he’d seen it.
‘Oh, don’t look at me like that,’ she scolded with affection. ‘I assure you every mother in thetonhas a list. We can go over the list at dinner so that you are not “ambushed”. I think you’ll see the candidates are all quite reasonable. There’s room in the Colonel’s carriage for you if you’d like to attend tonight. Many of these girls will be there. It would be very efficient and I know how you like efficiency.’
‘No. Thank you for the offer, though, Mother. I have some business that requires my attention this evening. You should take Orion.’ He shot his brother anI-am-getting-evenlook followed by a lift of his brow that saidYou-owe-me-because-I-worked-all-day-on-your-behalf.
Orion shot him a resigned glare before smiling at their mother. ‘I would love to go.’ The butler announced dinner and Orion offered Mother his arm. ‘Whose lists am I on?’ he asked as if he didn’t know the only lists he was on were the naughty ones. ‘Do you thinkIshould marry soon? Perhaps a wealthy heiress?’ Orion was the king of distractions and he could make their mother laugh. For that, Jasper would forgive Orion nearly anything. It had been an invaluable gift in the early days after their father’s death when Mother had been inconsolable.
Despite his earlier dissatisfaction with his brother, Jasper couldn’t help but chuckle to himself as he watched the two go in ahead of him, their blond heads bent together, Orion charming, his mother laughing as she said, ‘Oh, not you, not yet, my dear. You needn’t rush to marry.’
Watching them brought fond memories. It had always been this way ever since he and Orion had been allowed down to dine with his parents. He’d been fourteen, Orion seven, and he’d been the one to insist Orion be able to join them, that they should dine as a family when he was home from school. Orion and Mother made a habit of going in together while he and Father, the ‘men of the house’, had lagged behind, talking business about the estate.
He remembered how his father’s gaze would follow his mother in those moments, his eyes soft with contentment, shining with love. Some would argue his parents’ marriage had been the best of both worlds—a marriage made on the grounds of mutual respect, but which had blossomed into an abiding love over time. Then his father had died and he’d seen how the loss broke his mother, how she’d cried and wept, how her strength had deserted her for a time. He did not want that for himself. Love hurt; love cut deeply. To him, it was the greatest of illogical ironies that something meant to be beautiful could turn so ugly.
Would Fleur Griffiths agree with him? His thoughts seemed to drift rather too easily to her. Wasn’t she also proof of the damaging capacity of love? She was so wrecked by grief and anger that even a year later she was still looking for a culprit, someone to pin her loss on, even when empirical evidence already suggested she would not find that someone.
If that was what love did to people, he had no use for it. He was the Marquess. He could not afford to be weak. A weak man could not protect his family. He’d promised his father on his deathbed that he would care for Mother and for Orion always, that the family would go on, would continue to thrive. A weak man could not keep that promise.
No, he was quite certain that love was a luxury that was not for him. He had to protect his family, his people, his lands and for that he had to be strong. He glanced towards the family shield that hung over the fireplace as he passed.Officio et Diligentia Semper.Duty and diligence always. Love did not factor into it. Such was the life of a marquess.
Burning the midnight oil, toiling over ledgers and adding up unrelenting columns while everyone else had long gone home to families and hot meals. Such was the life of a news syndicate owner. Fleur sat back from the desk and stretched. She’d been working relentlessly since she’d returned from lunch. Her stomach rumbled in reminder thatthatmeal had been ten hours ago. That meal had been a delicious feast for the tongue as well as the eyes, which was the very reason she’d assigned herself a punishing list of tasks that needed completing. If she went home she’d have nothing to distract her.
She’d spend her evening reliving lunch with the all too attractive Baron Umberton. He was exactly the sort of man her uncle had wished she’d married. The amount of thought dedicated to Umberton was a sure sign that she’d been alone too long. Not that she needed another sign. Last night had been proof enough. This afternoon’s luncheon was merely affirmation of what she already knew: she was lonely.
You ought to take a lover. That would appease your loneliness.
Her inner voice whispered the wicked temptation. It wasn’t the first time she’d thought of it. Nor would it be the first time she’d acted on it. She had taken a lover last autumn in the wake of Emma’s marriage. It had been anadequateexperience. There had been comfort, but not much else. But perhaps it had been too soon. Maybe she’d expected too much, been too desperate. Perhaps with the distance of a year, it might be better.
Fleur walked to the sideboard and poured herself a midnight brandy from Adam’s favourite decanter of Baccarat cut-crystal. It had been a gift from Emma and Garrett one Christmas. Garrett had been a staunch believer in investing in Baccarat crystal. The memory made her smile. She raised her glass to the ghost in the room. ‘I miss you, Adam.’ She took a long swallow, letting the brandy burn her throat, wishing it could burn away the pain, too, burn away the sense of loss.
She felt closest to Adam in this space that had been his office in London where they’d spent most of their time. Like the Newcastle office, the room still bore the marks of him: the cherrywood panelling, the green damask wallpaper, the masculine accoutrements—the decanters, the globe, the paperweight, the heavy furniture and draperies—a shrine to a successful man who’d reached the apex of his career.
Yet Adam had not been perfect. The imperfections that had lingered beneath the surface of their life together, both personal and professional, had bubbledtothe surface. She’d given up her life for him and in exchange he’d left her the burden of a news syndicate in debt. Revenue was down. Confidence in her leadership was down. How long would the board of directors allow her to continue if she couldn’t right their course? She didn’t know what to do. She’d tried generating more revenue by selling more ads, by offering subscription specials to bring in new readers, all the usual strategies. But still, circulation remained stagnant.
It was a hard pill to swallow in acknowledging that she was the reason for some of the stagnation. People were leery of a woman at the helm. It helped only somewhat that she was Adam’s widow. She understood that she borrowed credibility from him. But she was also honest. It wasn’t entirely her fault. There’d been debt before his death and he’d hidden it from her. Discovering the debt had felt like a betrayal.
Fleur felt anger flare. For both of them. Her anger had more than one source. How dare Adam leave her with this burden. Newspaper debt was a fact of journalistic life. It went in cycles. She could tolerate that. What she couldn’t tolerate was the secrecy. Adam hadkeptthis from her and she’d been ambushed with it. She’d appeared unprepared in front of the board of directors. On a personal level, the betrayal went deeper. The secrecy was further proof she and Adam hadn’t been partners in the truest sense, that while she’d given him everything, Adam had two separate lives despite the fact that they lived and worked together.
