Wicked Wyckerly (28 page)

31

Avoiding his London town house, where stone throwers, along with a horde of dun collectors, might await him, Fitz strode into Quentin’s home in all his travel dirt, determined to set his future on the straight and narrow. He simmered with frustrated fury over his findings in the ledgers, but he had more important projects in mind. Pounding information out of Geoff would have to wait.

Fortunately, Quent was available. He glanced up at Fitz’s entrance and shook his head in dismay. “Five children, Fitz! Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Haven’t a clue,” he said cheerfully. “But I’m certain that Abby does, and that’s all the assurance I need. Congratulations are in order, I believe. She has agreed to make me a happy man.”

Quentin rose to reach over his desk and shake Fitz’s hand. “I doubt I’ll ever understand what makes a man choose one woman over another, but if you prefer Miss Merriweather to Lady Anne, then you must have your reasons. Lady Belden will not be pleased, which makes
me
a happy man.”

Fitz chuckled. “She can’t help it if she married an old miser twice her age and lived to regret it. Would you like to come with me when I tell Lady Bell I’ve kidnapped her heiress?”

“For the price of that entertainment, I’ll even purchase the special license I’m sure you’ve come in search of.”

“That’s expensive entertainment, old boy.” But Fitz didn’t argue over the gift. His
family
mattered more than his pride. By jingo, he had a real family now. Or he would have, if he lived long enough to marry.

Of course, given the Wyckerly reputation, Geoff’s family may have actually stolen the money the estate had received as loans, two generations ago.
Family
could be a two-edged sword. When had Geoff’s family started its own business? Angry as he was right now, Fitz would wager they’d gone into trade on the exact date that the first banknote was issued. If that money had been fraudulently obtained and Geoff knew what had been done—then his cuz was guilty of concealing and profiting from theft.

“But I must warn you that I have to find a barrister to legally reclaim Abby’s siblings, and then see if my cousin has returned from Yorkshire,” Fitz now told Quentin. If Geoff were smart,
he’d
be the one heading for the Americas about now.

“Done and done,” Quent said, tapping a hat onto his head and grabbing his walking stick. “After Montague warned me of what you were up to, I didn’t want any delay in savoring this moment, so I did some research for you. Geoff has apparently returned to town and is consulting solicitors and bankers. He has also applied to several gentlemen’s clubs to which he will probably not be accepted.”

“As neither of us are, old chap,” Fitz said grimly, immediately grasping the implications. “But even a disgraceful Wyckerly might be welcome if he bears a title.”

“As Geoff could be, if he were earl and not you,” Quent agreed.

“As much as I’d love to send the estate creditors his way, I need to be earl to retrieve Abby’s siblings,” Fitz declared, suddenly glad that he had the title he would have willingly sold a few short weeks ago. “That’s higher on my agenda than throttling Geoff. I’ll send around a note demanding he attend me at his first opportunity. I could get used to this being head of the family.”

Quent glanced at him with concern. “If he’s eyeing your title, he won’t be pleased to learn of your impending nuptials.”

“If he’s hiring stone throwers, I’ll fling him over a parapet,” Fitz retorted. “I’ll send a message around to Montague to see if he’s found the ruffian at Tattersall’s.”

With a nod of accord, Quent led the way out. “I’ve located a barrister who is eager to accept an earl as client and who will challenge the children’s executor.”

Although frustrated that he couldn’t confront his cousin yet, Fitz happily followed Quentin into the misty gray day. With visions of his wedding night dancing tantalizingly within reach, he found it easy enough to forget everyone but Abby.

He whistled and twirled his cane as he marched off. Damn, but it actually felt
good
to shoulder his fair share of responsibility. Obviously, the need for a jolly rogering had affected his wits.

“No, no, and NO!” Abby shouted, whacking a damask sofa with a broom, sending three baby mice scurrying from the cushions and over the back, into the walls.

The mice weren’t her problem. Lying, conniving Bibley was.

“You cannot rent Danecroft’s rooms to any passing stranger just to put coins in your pocket! No wonder the master chamber was clean!” She whacked the sofa three more times, to be certain all the mice were gone, and to vent her frustration. No mice in an earl’s residence, indeed.

Fitz had been gone for three days, and she was climbing the walls with worry. She knew he was fine. He’d sent daily notes that assured her everything was wonderful. But he wasn’t
here.

And his entire household was mad. Insane. Moon-struck and in dire need of discipline. And she was in jeopardy of falling apart at the seams with nervousness, trying to decide if she was doing the right thing after all in marrying him. She was giving up her quiet farm life for
this
?

“Yes, miss,” the butler said phlegmatically. “I will tender my resignation at once, miss.”

Abby swung around with the broom upraised, just missing Bibley’s stuck-up nose. She shook the battered broom at him. “
You will not.
I suspect you’ve fared quite well here, and Fitz doesn’t owe you a single shilling. In fact, you no doubt owe him. If you leave, I’ll have the magistrate after you. Just tell the innkeeper to quit sending their overflow of patrons here. This is
not
an inn.” No wonder the servants had kept up the linen and hadn’t sold the furniture. An earl’s house used as an
inn
!

On the other hand, if Fitz’s family had thought of it first, maybe then they wouldn’t be so far in hock.

“Yes, miss.” Despite his apparent frailty, Bibley neither dodged nor blinked. “Do you foresee the earl wishing to stay through the hunting season?”

“A particularly profitable season, I assume?” she asked with rare sarcasm.

Bibley lifted the silver card platter he’d carried in before being attacked by a broom. “One must assume,” he replied with feigned indifference.

Abby sighed and began to beat a velvet chair until rising dust made her cough. “Renting out rooms is Fitz’s decision, not yours. Our task now is to prepare for his guests. You will be paid regularly once all the accounts are straightened out.”

“His lordship reads accounts?” the butler asked, warily backing toward the door.

“
I
read accounts, Bibley.” She attacked a spiderweb hanging above the Adam mantel. “I looked at Cook’s just this morning. Eggs do not cost a shilling a dozen, not when you have your own hens! There are not enough people in the entire
village
to account for the number of hams for which the estate has been charged, especially when you have
pigs.
Does anyone at all in this household read invoices?”

“The bills go to the earl, miss,” Bibley intoned indifferently, while casting a surreptitious glance to the escape route.

“Do you expect me to believe no one ever hunted deer and quail in winter? Or ate wild-duck eggs? I wager they did, Bibley, and that I won’t find payment on the books for the privilege. I wager you paid those creditors and their inflated bills with the earl’s game. Even if you meant well—and you will have to prove that, Bibley—the late earls were being robbed blind by these tradesmen who still come begging, even after being fed all year from Danecroft land! Fitz will easily discover it. You may tell them we’ll see them in court if they try to collect before the accounts are all straight. They should be ashamed of themselves! I never saw such greed.”

“Yes, miss.” For the first time, the skinny butler’s feigned unconcern developed a crack in it. He tugged at the knot in his threadbare neckcloth. “I’ll send Alice to help you ready the guest chambers.”

“You will send for Mrs. Worth, Bibley. That’s why I called you in here. I want Mrs. Worth back as housekeeper, and I don’t care if it was you or she who has been aiding and abetting the merchants, but you’ll both go to prison if this house isn’t back in order within the week. Mr. Applebee tells me Mrs. Worth is living quite comfortably in a cottage on the edge of town, Bibley, so do not tell me she has moved on.”

“She is retired, miss,” the butler said, drawing his thin shoulders straight with contrived indignation.

“She is thirty years younger than you are, Bibley.” Abby shook the broom under his scrawny nose again, and his palsy instantly halted. “In fact, I have it on good word that she is your daughter, Bibley, and that you spend most of your time in
her
cottage, dining and wining well. We will need that wine when Fitz’s guests arrive, do you understand me?”

“It is mere dandelion wine, miss!”

“Since it is from the estate’s dandelions, then I shall send Applebee to collect it, shall I? Shall I have him look for the family silver while he is there?”

“The earls sold that. You will find the figures in the accounts.” Indignant, he failed to call her
miss
this time.

“Excellent. I am glad to hear that, Bibley. And be sure I will check. And you stand warned. Lord Danecroft has a head for numbers. He will find every missing shilling and padded bill as soon as he has time to go over the books.”

She halted as another unpleasant realization hit her. “
That’s
why you tried to pretend Fitz was dead, wasn’t it? You didn’t want him going over the accounts until you had time to look at them. The previous earls never cared, but that was the first thing Fitz asked for, wasn’t it? So you hoped he would stay away if you gave him a good excuse to disappear.”

Bibley tried to look old and palsied again, shaking his balding head in denial.

Abby rolled her eyes. “Don’t give me that helpless act. If I were you, I’d warn everyone who has padded their bills to correct the balances they claim he owes before he figures it out. Fitz does not often lose his temper, but he is very unpleasant when he does.”

“Yes, my lady,” Bibley said, pretending to clear his wattled throat. “I will see what I can do, my lady.”

As the butler sidled from the room, Abby heard applause from the hall door. Aware she was covered head to foot in dust and that her billowing apron looked as if she’d been cleaning fireplaces, which she had, she swung around in trepidation. She would make a laughingstock of a certainty, looking like Cinderella returned to the ashes.

Blake Montague and Nick Atherton filled the opening. Atherton leaned his shoulder lazily against the doorframe and beamed with approval. Less inclined to reveal his thoughts, Montague, still clapping, sported a sardonic smile.

“That was a superb performance, Miss Merriweather,” Mr. Atherton said in admiration. In his frilled neckcloth, tailored riding jacket, and polished boots, he looked every inch an indolent London dandy. “You may make an honest man of the old goat yet. I am now regretting that I did not pursue you more forcefully. If you could turn that temper on m’family, I’d be forever in your debt.”

At the moment, she was still in such a state of agitation that she might have shaken her broom at the two scapegraces for letting themselves in, but her concern for Fitz overrode all else. She forgot about her disarray as she eagerly searched over their shoulders to see if he might have arrived with them.

“He’s escorting the parade,” Montague said, surmising where her interest lay. He, at least, looked as if he’d ridden for hours. His simple neckcloth was stained with travel dust, and his boots were well-worn and down-at-the-heels. “We’re the advance party, come to warn you that Lady Belden is
en route
.”

“And Quent,” Atherton reminded him. “And the vicar. And a barrister and a whole host of boring twits. And Quent’s sisters and maybe a niece or two,” he added, thumping his cheek with one finger and idly recalling the list in his head.

“Oh, my.” All the starch drained out of Abby. “We are not nearly ready.”

“You’ve a couple of hours to find a pretty gown,” Atherton said gallantly. “A lady as lovely as you needs no more than that. Why don’t Blake and I round up a few of those thieving servants and see if we can whip them into a frenzy as well as you do?”

“It would be a pleasure,” Montague agreed, narrowing his dark eyes.

Flustered, unaccustomed to gallantry from anyone but Fitz, but fearing his pride would be hurt if she allowed in an entire parade of guests before the house was even close to being ready, Abby dithered uncertainly.

“I do believe we’ve struck her speechless, Montague. Let us make good our threats before she takes that broom to our worthless hides.” Atherton removed his shoulder from the wall and seemed prepared to head for the door.

“No! Wait. . . .” Abby hastily untied her apron and brushed a cobweb on her cheek, seeking words that didn’t come to her easily when she was flustered. “Bibley has been robbing Peter to pay Paul for so long that he no longer knows what honesty is. Don’t go threatening anyone until we have the truth of it, please.”

The handsome gentlemen were looking at her with such interest that she forgot her embarrassment. “We will need some boys to help in the stables,” she continued. “Talk to Mr. Applebee for me, will you? I’ll tell Bibley that we have guests, and Mrs. Worth can bring some maids with her when she arrives.”

Even Montague managed a grin at her curt orders. “Aye, aye, Captain. Anything else?”

“Food. We need food.” Sighing, she rushed past them into the hall, wadding her apron into a ball. “Cook has kept up the kitchen garden, and we have hens, but we will need beef. Stop at the butcher, please. Invite him to the wedding, if you must.”

“Pity it’s not hunting season,” she heard Atherton drawl as they sauntered toward the front door while she hurried toward the kitchen. “A good venison steak with a strong pepper seasoning would set me right about now.”

“If we stay in the lady’s good graces, maybe she will allow us to come back in the fall,” Montague concluded as they departed on their errands.