Chapter 29
29
T he funeral was a small affair as one might imagine for an impoverished earl. Afterward, Julia wandered the halls of Huntly Manor wearing a black mourning gown that had once been her mother’s. She’d told Willaby she wanted to take an inventory of the items they would put up for auction but in truth, blindfolded she could point to every piece of furniture, every vase, picture, and item of silver remaining in the house.
After living in the opulence of the Dunscaby residences, everything appeared a bit shabbier and worn than it had done before she departed. But with no money to make repairs, it was little wonder the draperies were faded, the velvet on the settee in the parlor worn, and a leak in the roof had left telltale streaks down the wallpaper in one of the unused bedchambers.
On the following day, she dragged herself out of bed and, while she dressed, she leaned toward the looking glass and examined the dark circles that had taken up residence beneath her eyes. “Willaby is right,” she said to her reflection. “I need to eat and take care of myself. Then I’ll take a pot of tea into the library, sit at my old desk, and prepare a list for the auctioneer. There’s no use putting it off any longer.”
The sooner the household effects could be sold, the sooner she and the old butler could purchase tickets to sail for Australia and escape her mortifying shame. The housekeeper, Mrs. May had already given notice and had moved to a new position in Cheltenham.
Though wracked by melancholy and a sense of loss, Julia had no reason to stay, and ought to be looking forward to the new adventure. There were so many opportunities in Australia.
Are there not?
Unfortunately, she couldn’t think of one positive thing awaiting her in the new country. Reports were the place was full of convicts and poisonous snakes. Life was hard, even for the wealthy. Julia had no hope of ever making her fortune, or marrying anyone regardless of his post, be it a swine farmer or a vicar. Worse, the voyage could take anywhere from three to eight months, depending on the weather and the wind. And though Britain had done much to battle piracy, there were all sorts of horrible things that could happen at sea…like the ship capsizing on rocks and splintering into bits, sending all those aboard to a watery grave.
“Stop,” she chastised herself after she’d eaten a bowl of porridge and was heading for the library. Inside, she strode straight to the old globe and slowly turned it until she found the island continent. She placed her finger on the dot that marked Sydney and traced a line to Portsmouth where she and Willaby planned to board a ship. “See? Though it might be halfway around the world, Australia doesn’t seem all that far when looking at it this way. There is absolutely nothing for me to worry about.”
In truth, it wasn’t the journey that had her tied in knots as much as the awful, humiliating way she’d left the MacGalloway household. Never in all her days would Julia be able to erase Martin’s bereft expression from her mind—the horror in his eyes when he realized she had been deceiving him all that time.
If only she could explain that she had indeed worked as Papa’s steward and had executed her duties with utmost care and proficiency. Julia always prided herself in a job well done no matter what she was doing, no matter how much or if she was being paid. Of course, she hadn’t been paid by her father, but nonetheless, she had performed her work as if she had actually attended university and earned top marks.
She gave the globe a pat before pulling out the last slip of unused paper from the writing desk and embarked on the task of listing the inventory. With luck, the sale ought to not only pay for passage to Australia, but there might be enough money left for her and Willaby to eke out some sort of existence while they searched for work. Perhaps she’d find a position as a governess or seamstress. Furthermore, as the former butler to the Earl of Brixham, Willaby ought to find a new post in no time. It had surprised her when he’d agreed to accompany her to Australia, but the old man was faithful to the family and had insisted he would never allow her to travel abroad unaccompanied.
When Willaby came in and cleared his throat, the sound more like a groan than a polite interjection, Julia had already compiled a list consisting of four columns and had turned the paper over. “I’m afraid to say that you have a visitor. I cannot believe that vile scoundrel has pounced this quickly.”
Placing the quill in the holder, she tried to keep her hand from trembling, though the feather still twitched as she drew her fingers away. There was only one scoundrel to whom the butler could be referring. Julia, too, didn’t expect Silas Skinner to stake his claim only a day after the funeral. “Afraid?” she asked with a nervous chuckle, praying she sounded far more self-assured than she felt. “That sounds rather ominous.”
“I wish he had waited—had shown a modicum of respect for his betters, but I fear the blackguard must have raced for Brixham as soon as the papers reported the earl’s passing.”
One of her shoulders ticked up as she tried to feign indifference. “I, for one, am not surprised. Everyone knows that without an heir, Papa’s title will be rendered extinct. Mr. Skinner no longer has the peerage to dissuade him from taking his claim to debtor’s court. That is if we were planning to fight him.”
“Which we won’t.” Glowering, Willaby tugged on his cuffs. “We haven’t a rat’s chance in hell of winning.”
A rock as heavy as lead sank to the pit of Julia’s stomach. “No.”
“Shall I show him in?”
She managed a hapless smile. “Is there any other option?”
It seemed as if Julia hardly had time to move in front of the writing table and compose her person when the moneylender was introduced and the door closed behind him. Licking his lips like a licentious cur, Mr. Skinner moved forward, gripping what could only be the deed to Huntly Manor in his fist.
She stood very still, clasping her hands in front of her midriff, her knuckles white. “Have you come to tell me you’ve had a change of heart and are dropping your claim to my home?”
His lips disappeared into a craggy line, making the ugly scar on his face more prominent. “Hardly. I’ve been waiting for this day to come for far too long to throw away the spoils on an ungrateful wretch.”
A hundred retorts played on the tip of Julia’s tongue. She hadn’t thwarted him, not really. The duke had sent Smallwood to Scotland where she fully intended to go after she fulfilled her promise to stay in London as herself for merely a few more days. If Martin had not taken her to the shipyard, Mr. Skinner most likely wouldn’t have found out about her delay. But all of that was in the past and not a whit of it mattered to this man.
She gestured to her list. “Now that we have laid Papa to rest, I’ll sell the last of the estate’s furnishings. Once that is done, I’ll not stand in your way.”
“You are already in my way.”
Julia pursed her lips. The man should have greeted her first and offered due courtesy. But, no, he was too bent on claiming the manor for himself. Heaven’s stars, she’d heard enough about Deuce’s to know it was gauchely opulent with not a penny spared from the enormous crystal chandeliers to the red velvet fainting couches above stairs where the women of easy virtue were reputed to flaunt their wares.
“I assure you, within a month, I will have all traces of the St. Vincents removed from Huntly and the manor will be yours. As my father’s only heir, there will be no need to pursue me in debtor’s court.”
“Unfortunate. I would ’ave rather enjoyed watching ye fall further into ruin.” He smirked. “But I am not willing to wait a month. I’m not willing to wait another day.” He moved his hand inside his coat and pulled out a shiny flintlock pistol. Julia shrank, as he stroked his fingers along the barrel, her gaze darting to the door behind him. Should she run?
“Since ye ’ave refused my generous offer for a position at Deuce’s, I’ve decided to take possession now. Today.”
When Peaches jumped down from the settee, Mr. Skinner swung the barrel toward the cat who swiftly disappeared behind a curtain. Julia dashed for the door, but before she reached the latch, the cur grabbed her arm and jerked her against the wall, making the back of her head hit the plaster. “You, you vile snake,” she seethed, ignoring her inner voice, demanding that she cower like a simpering waif. “You are reprehensible. Surely you do not plan to shoot me? You may have connections in high places but murderers in the town of Brixham are tried and convicted rather swiftly. There’s even a gnarly old oak ready and waiting with a hangman’s noose.”
He sneered, stale breath skimming her face, while he brushed her cheek with the tip of his pistol. “I’m merely a man defendin’ me due and I am prepared to use as much force as necessary, luv. That is unless ye want to reconsider my offer.” He licked his lips and raked his gaze down her body. “Think about it, luv. Ye’ll never feel the knives of ’unger stabbin’ your belly, unable to sleep for the pain. Ye’ll never know what it’s like to live in the gutter in midwinter, shiverin’ until your chatterin’ teeth feel as if they will rattle out of your ’ead.”
Julia recoiled from the cold iron muzzle as he carelessly waved it too near her head. As she moved, Mr. Skinner jutted his knee against the wall, pinning her in place. He might sound as though he’d been raised in the gutter of London’s streets, but no one disputed the fact that the moneylender was a self-made man with wealth beyond compare. Why was he driven by some demonic desire to first ruin her father as well as her, no matter the cost?
With trembling breath, she stared at the deadly weapon. “W-why are you so intent on acquiring Huntly? Residing a two-day ride from London makes no sense at all, given your involvement in Deuce’s.”
His nostrils flared. “I don’t recall sayin’ I intended to live ’ere.”
That would be right. He’d force her out and let the manor stand empty while he searched for new tenants. Her mind raced as she glanced from the pistol to his knee. “You seem delighted with a base, sick satisfaction because you were the catalyst of my ruination. And now, only one day after I buried my father, you refuse to grant me the slightest amount of time to grieve, let alone set the estate’s affairs in order.”
“Why should I care?”
“Because it is the humane thing to do.”
“Is that so, luv?” Mr. Skinner leaned into her, making it all the more impossible for her to flee. “I’ll ’ave you know your father did not see fit to show me a modicum of ’umanity. And I was just a lad of ten, dressed in rags, and fendin’ for meself.”
Sliding her foot to the side, she pressed her leg against his offending knee. “My father? You had an altercation with Papa when you were a child?”
He slapped his hand onto the wall beside her head, stopping her progress. “Let us just say your dear old sire is the reason I made it my life’s goal to ruin those ’ighbrow snobs who comprise the stench of their so-called polite society.”
Though frightened out of her wits, Julia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Yes, her father had fallen to vice, but only after her mother passed away. Mr. Skinner definitely appeared to be no more than ten years younger than Papa. Capturing her bottom lip with her teeth, she tried to knit the puzzle together. “If you were ten years of age, my father would have been how old? Twenty?”
“Old enough to be a foolish earl.”
Well, twenty had to be a good guess. Her father had inherited the earldom at the age of eighteen—and he hadn’t married Mama until he was five and twenty. “I find it difficult to believe Papa would have crossed paths with you let alone do something so abhorrent you’ve held a grudge all these years. Please, help me understand,” she said, hoping to buy enough time for the man to err, for his attention to be drawn away. “What awful misdeed did my father commit?”
“Allow me to paint a picture for ye. I did ’ave a mother, though it seems all my father was good for was a bit o’ seed. It turns out gin was Ma’s only true love. I was a mere five years of age when she sold me to a tyrant—a man who’d use any excuse to crack a whip across me back. At least he provided a roof over me ’ead until the bastard was gutted in his own bath, leaving me without so much as a pallet to sleep upon or a farthing to me name. I’d spent the better part of a year on the streets when a shiny black carriage with a crest etched in gold on the door rolled to a stop in front of the wooden crate I called ’ome.”
Julia’s heart sank. “The Earl of Brixham’s crest?”
“How did ye guess?” Mr. Skinner mocked, his breath decidedly foul. “After ye refused my generous offer and then thwarted me, I figured ye for an imbecile.”
Julia caught the glint of the flintlock’s muzzle pointing away as Skinner spoke. She rubbed her fingertips, inching away ever so slightly. “Did you ask the earl for help?”
“I asked ’im for a penny—the measly price of a loaf of bread.” Mr. Skinner again trapped her, jutting his face to within an inch of hers, tapping his gun barrel against the hideous scar slashing through his lips. “’e rewarded me with a strike with the silver ’orse ’ead on his bleedin’ cane. And I’ll wager ye’ll never guess what your dear papa said.”
Julia gradually moved her fingers toward the weapon, but the fiend quickly pointed the barrel at her chin. Dear God in heaven, would she pay in blood for her father’s sins? She could only imagine how the privileged young earl might have replied. She’d seen her papa’s ugly side but found it difficult to believe that he was truly tarnished before he’d met Mama. Perhaps it was her mother who had turned him into the good man who filled Julia’s childhood memories?
“’e told me to crawl back into the gutter and pray for a swift death ’cause the outlook for my life was misery at best, though most likely more ’ellacious than ’ades.”
Julia’s stomach turned over as she closed her eyes and drew in a shaky breath. She had no cause to doubt the man, she’d heard her father use the term “more hellacious than Hades” a time or two. How could he have been so careless with a human being? A child, no less. “I’m so very sorry,” she whispered, desperate to explain that the earl hadn’t always been a rogue. At some point he’d become a responsible husband and father. But then he’d fallen again—and this twisted man standing before her was so filled with hate. She feared nothing she said or did could make up for the damage done.
The expression on Mr. Skinner’s face grew hideous as he snarled. “Your apology is empty, oh ’igh and mighty lady.”
Julia pushed her fists against his chest but the fiend was immovable. Her gaze met his merciless grey eyes and a chill thrummed through her blood—a chill she absolutely must not allow to paralyze her. “P-please allow me a mere fortnight and Huntly will be yours!”
“I think not.” Within the blink of an eye, he clamped his icy fingers onto her chin and squeezed. “I’m throwin’ ye out. I know ye are destitute and penniless. I want ye to pay for your father’s cruelty. I want ye to know what it is like to be so ’ungry, you’d eat an uncooked rat. To be so cold, you’d give your cherished virginity to warm your ’ands by a fire.”
“I would never stoop so low.”
His eyes blazed as his fingers dug into the sensitive flesh on her face. “You ’ave no idea the vile deeds to which you would stoop, ye despicable wench.”
Sneering as if sickened by the sight of her, he shoved her to the floorboards. Shrieking, Julia threw out her hands to stop her fall. Out of the corner of her eye, Mr. Skinner drew his foot back clearly intending to deliver a kick. Scrambling to scoot her feet beneath her, she lurched away just as his boot smacked into the wall.
He spun the pistol her way. “Dammit, you bitch. I’ll make ye suffer for that!”
“Willaby! Help!” she screamed, darting for the door. As her fingers brushed the latch, the miscreant grabbed her chignon and yanked her against his chest. Needling pricks of pain shot through her scalp while he slid an arm around her throat.
The vile blackguard pressed the length of his body against her back. “I ought to take ye now. Show ye what it feels like to be swived by a real man.”
“Unhand me!” Julia croaked against his strangling hold as she smacked her head against his chest, making a hollow thud. She clenched her fists, ready to deliver a jab—just as soon as she could twist enough to break free.
The door swung open, blinding her with a flood of light from the window across the hall. Through the glare, a tall, dark figure barreled inside. “Release her now or meet your end.”
The pressure against her voice box tightened while Skinner dragged her deeper into the room. “Martin!” she croaked, her voice but a garble.
The cold, steel barrel of the pistol pressed against her temple. “Take one more step, and I’ll shower the walls with ’er Ladyship’s blood.”
A click echoed through the chamber as Martin pointed a flintlock pistol just over Julia’s shoulder. “And I’ll see to it you hang from Newgate’s gallows with a placard bearing the word thief draped around your neck.”
The sound of her own breath rushed in her ears while silence swelled through the air like a boiling kettle about to burst its top. Each man glared at the other, waiting for someone to be the first to move.
As she tightened and balled her fists, a realization dawned. During this entire time, she had not heard Mr. Skinner cock his weapon.
Can I take a chance?
If she didn’t, Martin might very well lose his life and that she could never bear.
Drawing in an enormous breath, Julia thrust herself against the blackguard’s chest, stepped to the side, and ducked beneath the barrel of the pistol while slamming her fist backward against his loins with all her might.
With his shriek of pain, the fiend buckled forward.
Martin lunged in, throwing an uppercut, his fist striking Skinner’s jaw so hard, the man’s head snapped back before he crashed to the floor. Without hesitation, the duke pounced on the dastard’s chest, pressing his pistol against Mr. Skinner’s forehead and pinning the man’s gun-wielding wrist with his knee. “Lady Julia St. Vincent now owns Huntly Manor and you are trespassing.”