Chapter Six
Drake had nearly reached home before his tongue stopped burning, and the ache in his jaws eased from that vile biscuit.
What sort of poison had Lady Felicity used?
Damn and blast it all, he had nearly choked to death right there in her garden.
That would teach him for not being entirely open about his circumstances.
He scrubbed his jaw and worked his mouth as if he had taken a hard punch.
What would she have done to him if she knew his uncle still lived and breathed?
That thought stopped him in the middle of the lane.
What would Lady Felicity do if he told her the truth, told her that Mr. Charles Pembroke was really Lord George Pemberton, the sixth Earl of Wakefield, and that he, Drake, was no more than a member of the gentry who had sold everything except for his father’s land to try to drag the Wakefield name out of its mire of disgraceful debt?
Drake snorted. His father’s land. An estate that had once provided quite an income, but also required servants and tenant farmers to work it.
The tenant farmers had remained, but the rents they paid barely covered Wakefield Manor’s needs, and he would be damned straight to hell before he raised their rents because of his bloody uncle’s selfish ways.
He shook his head, amazed at how he had mismanaged everything while trying to clean up his uncle’s mess. He had failed everyone. Worst of all, he had failed the memory of his father. Damn, but he hated money. It truly was the root of all evil.
He raked a hand through his hair and spat in the dust of the road.
Without Lady Felicity’s dowry, what the devil was he to do now?
Worse than that, what would he do without Lady Felicity?
His precious kitchen angel lived in his thoughts and haunted his dreams. Not just because of her beauty, but for her kindness, her caring, and her soulful eyes that reflected the sweetness of her character.
Now what would he do, since any hope of making her his was well and truly gone?
Her revelations about her mistreatment as a wallflower of the ton had shocked him, but also explained why he had discovered her in Lady Atterley’s kitchen.
What he wouldn’t give for the name of the cur who had slandered her and put that pain in her lovely sapphire eyes.
It didn’t matter that her brother and brother-in-law had already pummeled the worthless cove.
Drake wanted his own opportunity to teach the bastard how a genteel lady should be treated.
Hands shoved in his pockets, he shouldered his way through the front gate.
The wrought-iron bars of the entrance were in dire need of painting, but it couldn’t be helped—not until he paid down more of the debts against his credit.
At least all the merchants had been kind and understanding, but the pity in their eyes stabbed him in the heart.
“Are you unwell, my lord?” Yateston asked as Drake dejectedly strode into the entry hall that was as stripped of every refinement and bauble as the rest of the manor.
“I am fine,” he told the butler. “How is Uncle today? When I looked in on him earlier, he was sleeping.”
Yateston brightened. “He insisted on rising from his bed, so I assisted him into his bath chair and placed him just outside beside the doorway next to the kitchen garden. He wished for a bit of fresh air.”
“Well done. I shall join him out there.” Drake handed over his hat and gloves, and then his coat.
There was no reason for anything other than a waistcoat here, and one never knew when he might be called upon to help with a chore.
As he passed through the kitchen, he noticed a bowl filled with shiny red apples in the center of the worktable.
“Where did those come from?” he asked Mrs. Pepperhill.
They couldn’t have come from Wakefield land.
Their trees had been stricken with a blight and died, much like the Wakefield coffers.
She curtsied and bobbed her kerchief-covered head. “My brother’s missus sent them, my lord. Their trees are giving more than they can put up at a time, and they thought we might enjoy them.”
“We will, indeed. Please extend my gratitude for your family’s generosity. It is most appreciated.”
The housekeeper dipped another nod, then returned to her task of chopping carrots and parsnips. “Got these from the garden today, and there be plenty more where they come from.”
“More good news.” But Drake didn’t feel the sentiment. How was it he could coax the earth to grow things with abundance, but couldn’t convince the ledger books to stop bleeding red ink? “I am out to the garden to visit with Uncle. Shall I take him some water?”
“Already seen to it, my lord.” She scraped the chunks of root vegetables into a bowl and wiped her hands on her apron. “He seems in fine spirits, and glad I am to see it.”
“Yes,” Drake agreed, admiring his uncle’s ability to survive any and everything with defiant jauntiness. He exited the kitchen and squinted as he stepped into the sunny garden. The day was bright. He just wished his spirits were as well. “Good afternoon, Uncle.”
Uncle George looked up from his book. “Well? How did it go? Will the first of the banns be announced this Sunday?”
“She knows.”
“She knows what?” Uncle George closed his book and set it on the table beside his chair.
“Lady Felicity and her sister peered into our garden yesterday. They saw its condition.”
“Did you tell her we are simply caught midway in finding more servants to tend it?” Uncle George nervously patted his blanket-covered knees. “Good servants are often difficult to find. I feel sure she would find that an acceptable answer.”
Drake snorted and flicked a hand at the weed-choked garden. “This mess cannot be explained away as a few weeks of inattention.”
Uncle shook his head. “Nonsense. With the Wakefield charm, you can convince her of anything. Put some effort into it, boy.”
“I do not like lying to her,” Drake said through clenched teeth. “She deserves better.”
His uncle’s bushy gray brows knotted over his bruised and blackened eyes. He sadly shook his head. “You like her—a dangerous thing, boy.”
Unable to sit, Drake paced up and down the path of cracked flagstones. “I do indeed like her, but it no longer matters. She made herself quite clear today. She wants nothing to do with me.”
“She said that?”
“She did not have to.” Drake scraped his tongue on his teeth, still tasting that deadly biscuit.
Uncle George shrugged and picked up his book. “Ah well, there are other dowries out there, and you do not necessarily need to like your wife, you know. That is what mistresses are for.”
“That is disgusting.”
“That is a fact of life, boy. Your father dying while pining away for your mother is a rarity.”
“A rarity I would like to find for myself.”
Drake’s uncle blew out a huff that sounded like a hissing kettle. “Nonsense. Money first, boy. Everything else will fall in place as long as you have money.”
Drake had never realized just how avaricious Uncle George truly was, and the longer he toiled to protect him and right his wrongs, the more he disliked him.
This was not the man of his childhood, the man who had told such fantastical tales and always had time to sit with him and chat as if he were an adult.
No, this Uncle George was a self-serving, money-grubbing scapegrace.
Yateston appeared in the doorway, tense with an uneasiness that shouted from him. “You have a caller, my lord,” he announced, then cleared his throat. “Shall I return Mr. Pembroke to his room?”
Mr. Pembroke. Whoever had stirred the butler into such a state needed to be kept in the dark about Uncle’s true identity.
“Yes, Yateston. Show Mr. Pembroke to his room,” he said, ignoring his uncle’s growls.
“By the by, who is it?” He had visited all their creditors.
Or at least, he thought he had. Had he missed one?
Was it another solicitor bearing news of more unknown debts?
Drake braced himself for the worst. At this point, nothing would surprise him.
Yateston threw out his chest and stared straight ahead. “Lady Felicity of the Broadmeres and her sister Lady Merry.” He held out his arm bearing Drake’s neatly brushed jacket. “I thought you might want your coat, my lord.”
Gads alive, had she come to finish him off with more poison? Drake grabbed the garment, yanked it on, and shrugged it into place. “Pray tell me you put them in the better parlor?” The other one had a broken window.
“Of course, my lord.”
Drake pointed at his uncle. “Stay in your room and stay quiet. I do not wish to add to the lies of omission of which I have already been found quite guilty. Understood?”
With an unhappy smirk, his uncle huffed and rolled his eyes, shooing away Drake’s request with a wave of his hand. “Go, boy. Charm the woman while you still have the chance.”
Rushing inside, Drake paused in the kitchen. “Mrs. Pepperhill, we will need tea. I realize we cannot offer cakes or biscuits, but pray, do whatever you can.”
Appearing as worried as he felt, the housekeeper bit her lip and nodded while glancing around the kitchen. “I shall find something, my lord. Never fear.”
Not reassured in the least, Drake strode down the hallway, dreading what awaited him. Had she brought her brother and brothers-in-law to speak in her defense? Drake shook his head. Do not be silly. Yateston would have said.
As soon as he stepped through the archway, the lovely Lady Felicity hopped up from the settee and held out a basket covered with a checkered cloth that matched the soft green muslin of her gown.
“Lord Wakefield, I am so glad to see you fully recovered. I most heartily apologize and swear on my own life that I had no idea those biscuits were so horrid. Please forgive me.”
His heart rose the barest bit from the pit into which it had plummeted, lifting his spirits along with it. “Forgive you?”