Chapter 23
Tainted Bloodline.
Cart read the headline for the fifth time, unable to process how any reputable news source would write such a scathing story—about him. It was disgusting, it was degrading, and worst of all, it held some truth.
Tossing the morning post aside, Cart picked up his fork and pushed the cold, forgotten food around on his plate.
He should eat something. He was famished, but couldn’t bring himself to take so much as a bite when he arrived home the previous evening.
He could feel his stores of energy within his body depleting with each breath he took.
He’d been so frustrated with the situation, with Jude, that he hadn’t slept at all.
He’d gone over and over how he’d been so oblivious to her deceptions.
After all these years being back in London after his father’s passing and his uncle misuse of the estate, Cart thought he would have noticed something was wrong.
He should have been able to stop Uncle Julian from destroying all his ancestors had built, but the truth was plain before him.
Much like with Jude, Cart would have been completely ignorant to his uncle’s activities.
Maybe his bloodline was tainted, or more accurately, he was tainted.
He set his fork down and a maid appeared out of nowhere to collect his dishes, still piled high with Cook’s usual morning meal.
Lord Gunther had been justified in distributing the details of the vase’s disappearance and reappearance.
That it meant Cart was named as the antiquities contractor who was charged with finding the vase was unfortunate, especially since all the sordid details pertaining to the ransom note and money demanded for the vase’s return were also included in the story.
All of London was likely reading the story as if it were a modern day crime tale, complete with the vase’s mysterious reappearance at Lord Gunther’s townhouse.
The only part the post did not see fit to report on was that the ransom money had been returned to Lord Gunther.
Suspiciously, that tidbit of information had been left out entirely.
He could only imagine the shame this would bring upon his family—Theo especially.
Cart had been interviewing boarding schools for her to attend until her coming out season.
The chance that any school in good standing would accept her now with the family’s scandalous past—and present—was unlikely. She was an innocent in all this.
Curse Jude for setting her sights on him, for drawing him in with her brilliant mind and, mostly, for making him believe he could have more following their kiss.
It was not all her doing, though. Cart knew that much.
His irrational behavior and impaired judgment may have been the direct result of their association but he was responsible for his own actions and reactions.
He had never been that randy fool who threw caution to the wind and seized the day, his father used to say.
His life had been one of study, learning, reflection, and action, but he’d lost sight of that where Jude was concerned.
And he would suffer the consequences.
“Simon!” Lady Cartwright screeched, sailing into the dining room.
Cart wished he’d kept his plate to busy himself during her tirade.
“I have received a note this morning.”
“Oh,” Cart said, a serene expression masking his dour mood. “Do tell me more.”
“You will not believe this,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken.
A servant jumped forward to pull out her chair and another set a dish with toasted bread and marmalade before her.
She did not so much as pause to show her appreciation.
“My attention and attendance are no longer required at Chrissely’s House. Can you believe that, Simon?”
He racked his brain for what Chrissely’s House was, though its name did not even vaguely sound familiar.
“My charity for the salvation of impure women of dubious standings,” she said around a bite of bread. “They cannot do this. I assure you, I will be a force to be reckoned with. If they think to dismiss me with no grounds after my many years of service, dedication—and money—they are mistaken.”
“My money,” Cart mumbled. It was an insult his mother didn’t deserve. “Besides, you were only telling me a fortnight ago that you plan to depart London after the season.”
“Your father’s money,” she refuted. When Cart only snorted, grabbed the post, and feigned disinterest, Lady Cartwright huffed.
“At any rate, I cannot fathom what I have done to deserve the dismissal. My husband—your father—was a powerful man. You”—she looked at her only son, a pained expression on her face—“are an earl, as well. They cannot do this to me, no matter what my future plans are.”
Her meaning was not lost on Cart. His own mother still saw him as a failure, a man not worthy of the Cartwright title. She thought him a dimwitted, gullible, easily swayed man without the sense needed to lead his family.
Once she set eyes on the morning post, all her accusations would be grounded in fact, at least where society was concerned.
“What do you suggest?” she queried, sipping her tea.
She never asked for his opinion, let alone assistance with an actual dilemma she was trying to solve. “What do I suggest about what?” Cart played as if he were uncertain of what she spoke.
“Chrissely’s House,” she said. Her teacup returned to the table, the delicate china hitting the saucer with more force than usual. “I have half a mind to write a contemptuous letter of rebuttal and send it to each of the chairwomen. That would show them I am not one to trifle with.”
A small part of him longed to agree and allow her to draft the letters and send them off with much fanfare, but it would only hurt Theo further. “Mother, are you not involved with several other charities of equal import?”
“Why, yes,” she scoffed. “What sort of fashionable lady would I be if I did not use my influence to help the less fortunate?”
“What sort, indeed?”
“You are not taking this seriously, Simon.” She set her intense stare on him.
The same look would have sent him cowering under his bed as a youth, but now he felt only pity for her.
“I am trying to set forth a favorable example for Theodora, well, as favorable as possible on the measly allowance you allot to me.”
“You know we are both on a similar allowance—I can argue you far outspend me and Theo combined.” His pocketbook was likely to suffer further when his mother left for her travels.
Cart shook the paper to straighten the crease and located a story he’d been reading before noticing the article naming Lord C_wright as the man Lord Gunther had found disfavor with.
Thankfully, they hadn’t printed his name in its entirety, but it was certain to be enough for many to guess at whom the post alluded to.
“Besides, you have done nothing, it is I who have offended the powers that be in society and gained us a mention in the post.”
The room grew silent. And still. No sound of his mother chewing her meal, sipping her tea or grasping her table knife to stab him. For the last, he should feel fortunate. Not that a knife to his hand would be amiss, as it would at least give him a measure of distraction.
“What have you done to tarnish this family further?” she seethed.
Her words were no more than a whispered accusation. Far more dangerous than when she loudly proclaimed her allegations to anyone who would listen. This question was meant solely for him, not for those around them to ponder all the shameful things Cart had done.
If he were wise, he’d leave the post for her to read and walk from the room.
He could maybe spend the day at White’s in their reading room.
They hadn’t obtained new, worthwhile reading stock in months, but the distance would prove wise when his mother began her assault on his character.
The disdainful looks he’d receive at White’s would be no less brutal than his mother’s onslaught of cruel claims.
On the other hand, running away may very well suit him best—not to his gentlemen’s club, but farther away.
Outside society’s reach and far from Lady Cartwright.
Certainly then, people would forget him and the mockery he’d made of himself.
With time, Theo’s connection to Cart would become blurred and the ton would forget her association with him.
By the time she was presented to society, he would be a distant memory for everyone involved.
The last lingering remembrances of a commonly held name, but nothing more.
“Do not make me ask you again, Simon Montgomery,” she hissed. “You may very well be Lord Cartwright, an earl in your own right, but I am still your mother—and the matriarch of this family.”
His mother? Cart wanted to laugh at the term.
How nice it would have been to have a mother after his father had died suddenly. She hadn’t even sent for him at Eton.
How reassuring it would have been to have his mother by his side when he found out about his uncle’s duplicity.
Lady Cartwright had treated him with outright scorn since his return from university—her plans to journey outside of London, no matter the cost to him, were worth the peace to his household.
How he’d delight in a mother who would commend his many accomplishments in restoring the family coffers. Yet his mother continued to think her only son a dullard, a man not fit to take the helm of the Cartwright legacy.
He was innocent in everything Lady Cartwright held him accountable for.
His Uncle Julian’s siphoning from the Cartwright estate had likely started long before Cart’s father passed away. Though he’d pored over every estate ledger since his return from Eton, Cart had seen no entry embellished or any funds taken without authorization by his man of business.
But still—everything had been gone.
And the only person left to take the blame was Cart.