Page 1 of Bargaining for the Barrister
Chapter 1
London, England
May 28, 1821
A man of intelligence couldeasily retain his fortune—unless, of course, he also possessed a charitable heart. To be made a barrister at only twenty-six meant Paul Sheldon was indeed intelligent. But it was also dreadfully apparent that his charitable heart positively bled money. This morning was a prime example, as his heart and bankbook had been squeezed dry by Mrs. Hammond—his own relation—and only because he refused to see a child starve. After a year as a barrister, he’d saved a measly hundred pounds. Now he had just enough to have his trunk and collection of law books conveyed from his shared flat in London back to Rothbrier Hall, his family’s estate in Brookeside.
“Thank you, deary,” Mrs. Hammond said, patting her reticule. They exited the bank and were greeted by the congested streets of a busy summer day in the heart of London’s commercial district. Little George—a sweet underfed boy of five—sat on the steps by a tall granite pillar, waiting for his mother. Paul had made sure the lad had eaten a hearty meal before their trip to the bank, but one meal would not change the gauntness in his sunken cheeks. Despite Mrs. Hammond’s assurances otherwise, he suspected the money would go right to her drunkard husband, and her children’s suffering would persist.
Little George jumped up from his seat when he saw them, waving at him. The lad’s mother paid her young son no heed, apparently not finished with Paul. She turned to face him as if wanting to prolong her visit.
“You’ve grown to be far more handsome than I suspected. Why, you were once as scrawny as Li’l George. I daresay a lady has caught your fancy by now. Are you courting anyone?”
As if he would confide in a woman he hoped never to see again. “Madam, I believe our business here is done.” He narrowed his eyes, silencing with his fierce glare any further conversation, willing her to run with his money while she still could. While he glared, he couldn’t help but observe her. She had his same russet hair and dimpled cheeks but was nearly a foot shorter than he was. But there was no comparison beyond their appearance, for Paul refused to believe a similarity existed. They might share the same roots, but the Hammonds would always be the black branch of the family.
“I do believe our business is done.” She gave a soft laugh that was not as uncomfortable as it should have been. “We’d better be off now.” When Mrs. Hammond spread her arms out to give him a farewell embrace, Paul drew back. He hated to be touched, and if he were to make an exception, it would not be for this conniving, selfish woman. Her lips turned down in a deep pout, but Paul made no concession.He might be charitable, but he could also be intimidating when he chose to be.
Her arms dropped awkwardly to her side. “Goodbye, then, sweet.” With a wiggle of Mrs. Hammond’s fingers, Little George reluctantly clasped on to his mother’s hand.
Paul fisted his hands beside him to keep from reaching out and snatching her reticule off her wrist, though all it took was a glance at little George for him to resist. Still, a small whine escaped his lips as he watched them walk away with his hard-earned savings.
Without money, how could Mrs. Hammond think he was capable of courting a woman? He scoffed. She was the very reason he’d not marry until he’d earned his fortune, nor would he have a brood of children he couldn’t provide for. One look at the fading view of Little George and his commitments were reaffirmed. Besides, no woman deserved to shackle herself to a man as unlucky as he was.
As though to ensure he could not forget the truth of that thought, he was soon reminded of the constancy of his misfortune. He had planned to return home to Rothbrier Hall for a short holiday between quarter sessions and then travel back to London to begin the fourth session, but a week later, when he arrived in Brookeside, he knew he would not be departing for Town again until he had the funds to do so.
Riding through the countryside did bring a sense of peace with it, but at the same time, Paul missed the energy of the city. The change of pace and setting would no doubt take some adjusting to.
Instead of riding straight to Rothbrier Hall, he led his horse to the neighboring estate Bellmont Manor. The familiar view of the grand house softened his frustrated plans. He tossed his reins to a groom, and the tight muscles in his back and legs rejoiced as he stretched them on his way up the dozen steps to the door.
Mr. Green, a lanky man with sagging cheeks, greeted Paul with a friendly smile. “He’s in the billiard room, sir.”
Paul handed over his hat and stepped into the vaulted entry covered in gleaming mahogany wood. “Thank you, Mr. Green. Good to see you again.”
A short walk down a few corridors led Paul to the room he knew as well as his childhood bedchamber. As he reached for the handle of the billiard room door, his best friend, Ian, opened it. After one look at Paul, Ian motioned him inside. More of the same mahogany wood covered the lower half of the walls in the square room, while the upper half was papered in a robin’s-egg blue. The earl’s home was an abbey of safety to him. Here, more than anywhere else, the Hammonds had no true hold on him.
Paul shivered as if his body was ridding itself of the dark memory from a few days prior. He had almost made it to his own home but had needed to speak with Ian—a voice of reason—to settle him before he faced his parents. Three chairs circled the fireplace opposite the billiard table, and he and Ian sank into their seats. Paul heaved a sigh of relief.
“I had not expected to see you until tomorrow at the earliest.”
“Yes, well, I lacked the funds to stay longer.”
Ian stared at him, likely confused at how Paul could work so hard and make so little. His brow rose in sudden understanding. “That woman found you again, didn’t she?” It was more of a statement than a question, and Ian’s words dripped with disgust. His abrupt manner did not intimidate Paul like it might others. While his friend carried the same stern and haughty demeanor as the earl, Paul knew Ian’s passion lay in helping others—especially those within his intimate circle. Paul had been the recipient of this loyal friendship since childhood, as Ian had time and time again pulled him through many rough patches. For this reason alone, he had confided in Ian about Mrs. Hammond’s leeching attachment to him and then sworn him to secrecy. Paul was a private person, and he hated the idea of even his other friends knowing about this side of him.
“I fed her youngest a meal and did my best to assess the situation. In the end, I did what I felt was in his and his siblings’ best interest and paid her off.”
“Again? With the last of your savings?”
A wave of sickness passed over him again, and he nodded. “I would never turn my family away empty-handed.”
“They aren’t your family,” Ian growled. “They might be your blood, but that’s all. Your parents are good people, but even they would not give the Hammonds a single farthing more than they already have.”
“I know, I know.” The Hammonds knew this too, which was why they’d turned to Paul for help. They had an emotional hold on him, one he couldn’t sever even if he wished to. He blew out his breath. If only he could treat them with objectiveness and less compassion, like he did his cases, they wouldn’t cost him so dearly.
Ian huffed. “You’re too soft.”
Paul nodded his agreement. If this charitable side of him was a virtue, it was also his greatest weakness. He hunched forward and clasped his hands. “If I could think of a better alternative, I would do it. I don’t regret helping them, but I do worry what sort of future I’ll have if I keep giving away my savings like this.”
Voices sounded outside the study, and a door shut nearby.
