Page 101 of Brave New Earl (The Way to a Lord's Heart 1)

“She has mean eyes.”

“Geoffrey.” Jean waited until he met her gaze. “You can’t make things right by doing something wrong.”

“Because I went out riding by myself?”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

Jean watched his face shift from defiance to concern. “I didn’t want her to hurt you or Papa.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” answered Jean forcefully. “We can take care of ourselves. And you, too. The whole household, in fact. You can trust us to do that. I promise. And you must let us do so.”

He stared at her. He blinked and swallowed what looked very much like tears, though she’d never seen him cry. “What should I do?” he whispered.

“You must take me to Mrs. Wandrell right now.”

He nodded and stood. Jean got to her feet with a bit more difficulty, hampered by her heavy, damp cloak.

They wove their way through wet leaves out to the garden path. The day had darkened further as the afternoon waned, and the mist was thicker. Geoffrey nearly disappeared into it. She had to call him back to her side more than once.

He led her across the garden to the back corner of the house farthest from the kitchen and stables. The landscape dipped here, putting the ground floor above their heads. The walls were overgrown with vines behind a stand of laurel.

Geoffrey plunged into the bushes. Jean gathered her wet cloak about her and followed. When they’d penetrated the thicket, she became aware of a muffled thumping.

She emerged into a narrow open space right beside the wall. Overarching laurel branches made it dark. In front of her was an ancient, low door closed by a heavy wooden bar. The thumping came from behind it. She looked at Geoffrey. He nodded.

Jean stepped closer, raised the bar, and set it aside. She pulled at a broken hasp, only to have the door slam open so hard that she had to stumble back to avoid being knocked down.

“You little demon!” A disheveled, dusty, furious Mrs. Wandrell shot out of the opening like a cork from a champagne bottle. She seized Geoffrey’s coat collar and tossed him into the dark opening. “See how you like it in there!” She grabbed the folds of Jean’s cloak and jerked her forward. “And you! You wretched, wretched woman.” Mrs. Wandrell pivoted and, with a surprising surge of strength, shoved Jean after Geoffrey.

Jean, already off balance, staggered through the open doorway. The door banged shut behind her. The bar dropped into place with a resoundingthunk. Several thumps came next, as if Mrs. Wandrell was pounding her fist on the bar. Then silence descended, leaving Jean enveloped in blackness.

Terror washed over her in a wave. She couldn’t see. A musty smell filled her nostrils, threatening to choke her. She was shut away in a dark cupboard-like space, even worse for being unknown. Anything could be in here. She couldn’t breathe. She clenched trembling fists and fought for control.

A scrabbling sound made her flinch. “I’m sorry,” said a small worried voice.

Geoffrey. Geoffrey was in here with her. She was not alone.

“I didn’t know she’d jump out like that,” the boy said. “I would’ve fought her off.”

He must be frightened, too, Jean thought. She had to take care of him, even if she felt quite desperate. And with that thought, an iron resolve rose through the suffocating veils of Jean’s fear. She wasn’t going to be the sort of parent, the sort ofmother, who took her own struggles out on a child. The past would always be with her—no help for that. But her legacy wouldn’t shadow Geoffrey. Sherefused, no matter how difficult that might be. She took a deep breath, and another, reaching for calm.

“I told her youwerea wicked stepmother, and you were beating me,” said Geoffrey out of the darkness. “I told her she could hide in the house and watch you do it. She wanted to tell Papa. So he wouldn’t like you anymore.”

“A wicked stepmother?” Had they fallen together into a fairy tale?

“She said you’d be one, but I knew you wouldn’t.”

“Mrs. Wandrell said I would be a wicked stepmother?” Jean’s brain was slowed by her fear.

“I knew you wouldn’t be,” Geoffrey repeated.

“No, I won’t.” Her voice wanted to tremble, but she didn’t let it. “I promise.”

“She wanted to scare me. I could tell.”

“Could you?”

“Yep. But I don’t get scared.”

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