Chapter Nineteen #2
Though Tom very much doubted it. Robert and Mary Blakey were good, earnest people. Robert Blakey himself came from gentry class, and while hardly of humble stock, he had instilled in Tom a sense of obligation to his work and the wellbeing of others. Marcus could have well used their tutelage.
Marcus’s mouth twisted at the mention of his adopted parents, and Tom had no doubt as to the reason.
“Has the bride hunt begun for you?” Tom asked, needing to redirect the conversation.
“I am not engaged yet,” Marcus answered, sounding somewhat needled by the question. “I have yet to find the lady who Father feels is the right person to be the countess.”
Tom had heard more than a few stories from Gabe about his parents’ marriage, and by all accounts it was not a happy one.
And given the naturally proud nature of the Hawthorne family, and the earl’s noted eccentricities, Tom could hardly imagine a woman with the elusive qualities that would have met the approval of the Earl of Ashcombe.
“And your sister?” he said. “Having only entered society of late, I can only assume this is not Georg—” he caught himself, then continued, “Lady Georgiana’s first season.”
“Georgiana has never required a season,” Marcus said, turning his attention back to Tom.
“She has long been promised to our neighbor, Lord Sharpe. Father rightly felt that given the strain on the estate, it would not be prudent to waste funds on gowns and balls and chaperones when the marriage had all but happened.”
But it would never happen…if Tom could show Georgie how much he loved her.
“I see,” Tom replied, taking a sip of his wine, masking the need to steady himself. “Is he here? Sharpe, that is.”
“Indeed, he has lived in the Caribbean these last four years, seeing to his investments,” he said. “But he has returned and intends to secure a special license so there will be no impediment to marriage.”
Investments no doubt meant sugar, a crop that brought delight to many, made a few very rich, and created a brutal system for far too many.
Given what Tom knew of Baron Sharpe’s relationship with his former wife, who must have died alone while he was an ocean away, he knew there was nothing he would not do to ensure Georgie was safe from this man’s clutches.
“Is that why your sister is in London?” Tom asked, forcing himself to be calm.
He caught sight of Georgie, deep in conversation with several ladies, including Miss Morehouse and his stepmother.
She was clad in her favorite color, but despite the pretty pink that warmed her skin, there was a deniable strain that tempered her smiles.
“Yes,” Marcus said with such certainty that it was clear he had no idea as to his sister’s actual plans. “She had stayed with Baroness D’Anville, a friend of our mother’s, to help her secure a few fripperies for the wedding.”
A few fripperies, including an entirely new husband. What miracles of planning had she orchestrated to arrange such a trip?
“Well, I shall have to tell the Blakeys,” Tom said. “They were always fond of your sister.”
At the mention of his adopted parents, Marcus’s gaze narrowed.
“I cannot believe you removed Mr. Blakey from Whetherby,” Marcus said, his voice low, as if the loss of his steward was some kind of personal affront.
“I am certain there will be many fine candidates to take on that role,” Tom answered, not wishing to give in to Marcus’s glowering.
“But none nearly so well qualified, nor for such a salary,” Marcus replied without the slightest bit of self-awareness.
When Tom discovered that after over twenty years of service, Mr. Blakey had been given hardly any increase in his income despite years of faithful service, he was outraged.
“I almost think you did this on purpose.”
“I offered the people who raised me the chance to be close to me because I have regard for them,” Tom said, giving his head a shake. “Why on earth would you think I’d done this to you?”
“Because of Georgie, of course.”
Tom stilled, unsettled by the mention of Georgie on Marcus’s lips. Had he discovered what had happened at the Lyon’s Den? That couldn’t have been it. She would have been packed up and sent to a nunnery if she’d been discovered.
“I haven’t even spoken to—” Tom caught himself just in time, “Lady Georgiana in years.”
“Of course not,” Marcus said, rolling his eyes. “I wasn’t having my sister ruin our family over some nobody. Could you imagine the scandal?”
“You wrote that letter?”
“Of course I did,” he said, the bastard managing to look indignant. “Do you think Georgie’s education was up to that task? Perhaps now, it would have been different.” Marcus shrugged, as if the action that had separated Tom and Georgie—and created so much animosity on Tom’s part—had been nothing.
A flood of memory and sensation—the hurt, the anger and bitterness that had ruled Tom for so long, that he’d leveled straight at Georgie, prickled hot under his skin.
Tom looked for his opportunity to escape, the implications of what he’d just heard settling on him.
Cold fury ran down his back, but he had no outlet for it now.
For years, he’d blamed Georgie not just for the rejection, but for the particularly cold and petty tone of it.
Those words had sliced him open, and he’d retaliated with his own harsh response.
Except the words hadn’t been hers.