Chapter 18
Black Jack’s Legacy
Angel luxuriated in the deep tub of hot water and sighed. If only she knew Milly and Toby were safe and well, she would be perfectly content. Leo had sent men out searching for them, armed with letters from both him and Angel assuring them all was well—so for now she had to be content with that.
She knew she ought to be more appalled by the duke’s vehement refusal to acknowledge her or to accept their marriage, but in truth, she couldn’t find it in herself to care.
His threats to Leo had been shocking, but she found she only pitied the man.
He could not see what a wonderful son he had, a man he ought to be proud of.
The duke was certainly an intimidating brute and had made her quail at first, that was true, but then she had imagined the man coming face to face with her grandfather and realised the duke would probably have wet himself.
That had given her pause and reminded her of just who she was.
It had given her the courage to stand up and accept Leo’s proposal.
For if he was courageous enough to disregard his father’s wishes, then she could be brave enough to accept.
That she might one day be a duchess and would certainly be a marchioness was too implausible to consider for the moment, so she didn’t.
She just imagined she was to marry Leo Cleaver, the man she had fallen wildly, wholly and irrevocably in love with, and that was all that mattered.
She certainly did not care if his father cut him off or not, though she hoped Black Jack would not mind too much if she shared his treasure with her husband.
She thought not. Actually, Angel thought they’d have got on rather well, the wicked fellows.
Since their confrontation with his father, she had been whisked away by Grandmama Langley and been attended to by what seemed to be an army of female servants.
Her clothes had been taken away to be burned, on instruction from the dowager.
Hart’s sisters, who were apparently champing with impatience to meet her, had both sent a selection of dresses for her to choose from.
An efficient lady’s maid by the name of Jenkins had thoroughly washed her hair with scented soap and spent an age easing out the tangles.
“Are you ready to get out now, Miss Everdene?” Jenkins asked, holding up a large square of linen to dry her with.
Angel nodded and stood as Jenkins looked discreetly away and then wrapped the towel about her.
Rather bemused by all the attention, Angel allowed Jenkins and several other maids who seemed to be in her thrall to pamper her.
Her hair was dried and combed and prettily arranged, and they helped her to dress.
Whilst Angel had always had a lovely wardrobe, for her father had never been mean in that respect, the items presented to her now were beyond anything she had ever known.
The undergarments were all the finest quality, embellished with delicate lace, and the gowns laid out before her were so exquisite Angel hardly knew how to choose between them.
“The pink would look wonderful with your black hair, miss,” Jenkins offered with an encouraging smile.
Angel reached out a finger and touched the silken fabric. “And you are quite sure Lady Cecilia and Lady Henrietta don’t mind lending me their things?”
Jenkins shook her head, her expression grave.
“Oh, no, indeed. They are the dearest creatures, I promise you. I’m Lady Henrietta’s maid, miss, and I’ve been with her since she was a little girl.
A kinder soul you’ll never meet, nor Lady Cecelia neither.
Both ladies are beside themselves with delight to hear their brother has found someone special, for they dote on him, you know, and they said to tell you they cannot wait to meet you. ”
Angel let out a shaky breath. “Well, in that case, I should love to wear the pink.”
Hart made his way down the stairs, not a little relieved to have escaped Blake’s clutches. His valet—who had arrived on time but without his master—was sulking and giving every indication that he would punish Hart for his recent escapade for days to come. Possibly weeks.
Hart considered the idea of parting company with the man, who would try the patience of a saint.
He was an exceptional valet, though. Hart was hardly the easiest gentleman to dress; he cared little for fashion and preferred comfort over style, so he knew Blake considered him the trial, and with good reason.
Besides, finding someone to replace him was far too much bother when there were many more enticing things to consider, such as his upcoming nuptials.
He wondered how long a courtship Angel would wish for, though regretfully he supposed they’d best not marry too quickly if they wanted to get through this with no hint of scandal.
Either way, he’d just have to grit his teeth and endure Blake’s sulking.
On reaching the ground floor, he was greeted by the butler, a cold fish by the name of Norbury.
“Where are my sisters?” he asked, not bothering with a greeting. Norbury, a tall, rangy man with thinning black hair, was his father’s creature and disliked Hart on principle. The feeling was mutual.
“In the blue parlour with the Dowager Duchess, my lord,” he said, as if giving such information was far beneath him.
Hart stalked in that direction without another word and tugged open the door to the blue parlour. Almost at once he was engulfed in a flurry of femininity as his sisters rushed at him.
“Hart!” they cried, running across the room to throw their arms about his neck, just as they had when they were children.
Hart laughed as they hugged him and kissed his cheek.
“All right, let a fellow breathe, can’t you!
” he complained, though he was secretly delighted.
It had been too long since he’d seen them and he’d missed them.
Despite his not coming home often—for obvious reasons—they were very close, and he spoiled them dreadfully whenever he got the chance.
“Oh, you wicked boy!” Cecilia scolded him, taking him by the hand and dragging him over to a cosy arrangement of chairs around the fire.
“It’s at least six months since we last saw you and now you come home with a bride we knew nothing about.
Tell us everything at once, and don’t leave out a thing! ”
“Well, maybe some things,” Hetty added with a dry smile, for his sisters were well aware he was a man who embraced life and took every opportunity to enjoy it.
Hart sent her a warning look but allowed them to tow him along into the room. His grandmother had already taken her favourite chair, and he saw now that she had company.
“Leave off, Cilly,” he told her with a laugh, disengaging himself so he could greet the old lady whose blue eyes were darker than his grandmother’s but shone with the same kind of irreverent delight. “Your grace, how do you do? I am pleased to see you again.”
The Dowager Duchess of Hawkney, a long-time crony of his grandmama’s, inclined her head regally.
“You are looking disreputable, Hartwell. But I always had a soft spot for a rogue, and you certainly appear to have been living up to your reputation. Now, what’s this I hear about you marrying Black Jack Baxter’s granddaughter? ”
“Nothing but the truth,” he admitted, and gave in then to Cecelia’s and Henrietta’s demands that he tell them everything.
So he sat down, allowed them to ply him with tea and biscuits, and told them all—nearly—of his and Angel’s adventures.
“—and then we were thrown into the back of a cart and hauled off here,” Hart said, enjoying his audience’s expressions of rapt astonishment.
“Heavens. But what about the treasure?” Hetty demanded, her pale blue eyes wide with alarm. “What if someone else has taken it?”
Hart considered this, for it had been playing on his mind too. “I think not. Now that Mercy and her thugs have been taken care of, no one else knows about it. Save for Milly and Toby.”
“Oh, poor Mrs Pettigrew,” Cecilia exclaimed, looking anguished on her behalf. “She does not know where her mistress is, other than having been taken up by the law. The poor woman must be beside herself.”
“Milly is made of stern stuff,” he said, though in truth he was more than a little anxious about them. “She’s got a level head on her shoulders. We’ll find her and Toby safe and sound, of that I have no doubt.”
“But your Miss Everdene must be so disappointed. To have gone through so much, and travelled so far, only to be thwarted at the eleventh hour,” Cilly said, pressing her hands to her bosom with a sigh of frustration on Angel’s behalf.
“Ah, yes, setting out for pirate treasure and coming home with only the heir to a dukedom must be a grave disappointment,” the Dowager Duchess of Hawkney said with a snort of amusement.
“Maria, don’t tease,” Grandmama said with a laugh.
“But I can see why you snapped her up so quickly. In the first place, she’s a beautiful girl with spirit and she’s unlikely to bore you.
In the second, she fell in love with Leo Cleaver, and that I know is something that means more to you than all else. ”
Leo sent his grandmama a fond smile, for she knew him well and understood him, too. “It was a gift, to set the title aside and be someone else for a while.”
“It sounds like a wonderful idea,” Hetty said with a wistful sigh.
“Marvellous,” Cilly agreed sadly. “Imagine if you met a young man who didn’t know your father was a duke, and you had an enormous dowry, and he still wanted to know you. What a gift indeed.”
“Don’t get any ideas,” Hart told them sternly. “I will not be impressed if I have to hare off about the countryside looking for you two because you’ve run away to become governesses, or some such foolishness.”
“A governess!” Hetty replied indignantly. “Surely, we can think of something more shocking than that? Far too respectable.”