Taking the Earl (Heiress Games Book 3) Page 18

  “What if we’re really unicorns?” Antonia retorted, her voice dripping with disdain. “I’d think you would know better than to chase Papa’s imaginings.”

  “I thought they were imaginings,” Max said. “But you won’t believe what we found last night.”

  He explained the Briarley Bible and the evidence it showed to support their claim. He couldn’t leave out Lucy’s role in finding it, but he found himself not mentioning the strongroom and the Briarley rubies. If his siblings noticed that he evaded certain details, they didn’t call him out on it.

  When he was finished, Titus whistled. “It’s incredible.”

  “It’s unbelievable,” Antonia said. “But even if it’s true, why would anyone give the earldom to you? The aristocrats will close ranks. They won’t accept you.”

  “Lucy thinks they’ll accept me.”

  “Is this about the title, or about her?” Antonia asked.

  “Both, if I’m being honest.”

  That stunned them all into silence.

  Finally, Atticus cleared his throat. “I don’t know anything about Lucy, but if you think she’s worth risking Durrant’s wrath for, that’s good enough for me. I can always leave England alone if I have to.”

  “No,” Max said. “Either we all stay, or we all leave.”

  Atticus didn’t back down. “A year ago I didn’t know you existed. Cress and I were going to go to Canada if I couldn’t find a job here or if she couldn’t marry well. I’d make a much better clerk than I do a thief.”

  He grinned as he said it. Max remembered the night Atticus and Cressida had run back to their flat in London, winded and scared after Durrant had nearly caught them breaking into one of his houses. Atticus had wanted to prove himself worthy of being included in Max and Antonia’s missions — but he hadn’t shirked responsibility when it all went to hell. He would have given himself up to Durrant and tried to keep the rest of them out of it if Max hadn’t insisted that they would all go on the run together.

  Atticus was both bright and loyal — and entirely unsuited for life on London’s streets. “I probably should have let you go to Canada a year ago rather than bringing you to the city,” Max said.

  Atticus and Cressida glanced at each other, then quickly glanced away.

  “What does that mean?” Max asked.

  “What does what mean?” Atticus asked, trying to sound innocent.

  Cressida laughed. “You really are terrible at subterfuge, Atticus. That look means we’ve both thought about going to Canada at least a dozen times this year. Not because we weren’t happy to have all of you,” she added quickly. “I was thrilled when you came to retrieve us after our cousin died. But it was all such an adjustment. And when you drained your savings to keep Atticus in school and to rent a flat in a better neighborhood for the sake of my reputation…I think I felt guilty more than anything else. You and Antonia and Titus were better off without us.”

  “I think it’s the other way around,” Antonia said. “You were safer in the country than you could ever be with us.”

  “Either way,” Cressida said. “If Atticus and I go to Canada and you tell Durrant that we’re gone, maybe he won’t retaliate against you.”

  They’d mentioned Canada before, early in Max’s planning, but he’d dismissed the argument out of hand. His feelings hadn’t changed. “Durrant won’t give up his chance to get me back. He barely let me stop working for him the first time. I appreciate your willingness to take responsibility, but it won’t solve the problem.”

  Antonia and Titus exchanged a look. Max had been focused on Cress and Atticus, but he realized then that his other siblings were unusually silent.

  “Are the two of you planning to run off to Canada as well?” he asked drily.

  “Canada’s too cold,” Titus said.

  “And nowhere is far enough away from Durrant,” Antonia added. “You’re going to have to kill him if you want him to leave you alone, you know. He won’t let you go this time.”

  Max held up his hands. “I’m not a killer. And I thought the plan was to burglarize Maidenstone. Why have the choices suddenly become running away to Canada or killing Durrant?”

  Antonia shrugged. “I was sparing your delicate sensibilities before. But I think we all knew that we had to have backup plans if burglarizing Maidenstone failed. Atticus and Cress’s plan was to go to Canada. My plan was to remove Durrant from the equation. If money can’t buy him off, I’ll find another way to get rid of him.”

  Max frowned. “I wouldn’t ask you to take on that responsibility.”

  “I know. But you’ve saved all of us more than once. You could let us help you instead.”

  “It’s my duty to keep you safe,” he said. Of all the questions he had — whether to stay, whether to leave, whether to try to keep Lucy or whether to let Lucy go before she discovered that he was a thief — the one immutable fact was that he had to look out for his siblings. “I couldn’t save you when we were young, but I can save you now.”

  They all looked at him with something bordering on pity. “You deserve to be safe too, Max,” Cress said. “And what were you supposed to do when you were twelve? Manage a tea shop by yourself? Keep me and Atticus toddling around you on leading strings while you were selling tea and collecting accounts?”

  “I could have at least kept Titus and Antonia and me together,” he said.

  If he hadn’t been so clumsy in his first attempts to steal extra food for his siblings, he wouldn’t have been caught by Durrant. He would have made it back to the workhouse before Titus and Antonia were sent to other positions. They might have starved if he hadn’t stolen food, but at least they would have been together.

  “You know that’s unlikely,” Titus said. “Just be glad you found us again. Besides, I’m more concerned about what we’re going to do next, not what happened when we were practically infants.”

  Antonia nodded her agreement. “Cress and I are going to be missed if we don’t go back to the house soon. It’s already unusual that we left so early in the morning. Should we vote on our options?”

  “Yes,” Max said. “But I won’t let anyone run away to Canada alone. And before you suggest it again, I’m not killing Durrant. That leaves our original choices — we leave tonight, or I stay to claim the title and risk dealing with Durrant later. What are your votes?”

  Atticus raised a hand. “Before I vote, can I ask if this Lucy will be coming with us?”

  Max could see Lucy standing on a ship, fearless in the face of the waves. He could see her laughing as she walked down the streets of a foreign port, seizing the adventure she claimed she’d always wanted.

  But he could also see her standing at the top of Maidenstone’s spire, her hair whipping around her in the wind as she looked out over the land she loved. If he asked her to choose between him and Maidenstone, he knew her answer.

  It would never be the answer he wanted.

  “If we leave, it will be without Lucy,” Max said.

  “Then I vote to stay,” Atticus said. “At least until I meet her and see what all the fuss is about.”

  Antonia shook her head as though she was deeply disappointed. “I should’ve known you’d be a romantic,” she said to Atticus, sounding disgusted. “I vote to leave. Not because I don’t like Lucy — she’d probably make a fine wife if you’re wanting an idle rich lady. But Durrant won’t be put off because you’re suddenly a fancy lord. If anything, he’ll have even more ways to ruin you.”

  Max nodded. He didn’t like it, but they didn’t argue during voting. “Cress?”

  “I like Miss Briarley,” she said slowly. “She was lovely to me. But she was the only one who was.”

  “I thought you were talking to Lord Anthony last night,” he asked. He felt a little hum of anger start to build, but he kept his voice mild. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No. Lord Anthony is a gentleman. But the snobbery rolls off them in waves, Max. Even if you’re the earl, we’ll never fit in with
them. They’ll never accept anyone who stinks of the shop, no matter how rich we are. We might be happier taking as many jewels as we can and setting ourselves up as merchants somewhere else. You wouldn’t have a title, but wealth can buy you acceptance with other merchants. It never can with the aristocrats.”

  “So you want to leave?” he asked.

  Cress nodded. “I’m sorry, Max. I know you like her.”

  Max waved his hand, pretending it didn’t matter. “Titus?”

  “You know my vote,” Titus said. “Claim the earldom and thumb your nose at all those arseholes when you take your seat in the House of Lords. You have a thick enough skin to survive it and your kids will thank you for it. Not to mention us.”

  The vote was tied. It rarely came out like that. Usually the vote was a formality, since they always hammered out the details of their agreements long before anything came to a vote.

  They all looked to him. And for all that they had claimed earlier that they were ready to go off to Canada or take care of Durrant without him, he knew that they expected him to make this decision.

  He looked past them to the Maidenstone. If the superstitions were true, and if he really was a Briarley, one would think that the Maidenstone might give him some sort of sign. His decision would have profound effects — not just for his siblings, but for the title and the estate.

  And, of course, for Lucy. How could he stay and risk Durrant hurting her? How could he look her in the eye and tell her that he was a thief?

  But if he stole everything on his way out the door, she’d know he was a thief anyway.

  The clearing was silent — almost eerily so. He wasn’t a woodsman, but he thought there should have been more birdsong. Even the horses had stopped stamping their hooves. Maybe the Maidenstone was waiting for an answer. Maybe Max should take that as a sign.

  But this wasn’t a fairy tale. In real life, the thief could never win the princess.

  “Pack your bags,” he said. “Antonia, Cress, meet me in the chapel at a quarter past midnight. Titus, Atticus, have the carriage ready for loading by one. We’re leaving tonight, and we’re taking everything we can with us.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  For years, Lucy had longed for more family. Today, she wished they would all go to the devil.

  “You can’t possibly mean to support Vale’s claim for the earldom,” Octavia said.

  “You’ve said that four times,” Lucy responded. “Would you care to discuss something else?”

  Octavia shook her head. “This is so unlike you. You never take risks like this. We know nothing about Vale. He could be a murderer. Or a spy.”

  “Spies aren’t so bad,” Lord Rafael murmured.

  He was standing behind Octavia’s chair in the main drawing room. She looked over her shoulder at him with a mischievous glance. “You’ll have to convince me of that later.”

  Lucy somehow stopped herself from rolling her eyes. It was bad enough that Octavia was lecturing her about Max. It was worse to hear it while Octavia was mooning over Rafe like he was the best male specimen to have ever lived.

  Unfortunately, Octavia wasn’t the only person in the room trying to dissuade her.

  There were nine of them.

  Ferguson had called the meeting. Lucy had thought he was meeting with her privately, but Octavia and Rafe were there when Lucy arrived. Others had trickled in while Octavia harangued her about Max.

  Max, of course, wasn’t invited. But he was obviously the sole subject of the discussion.

  Ferguson had invited his wife, Madeleine, as well as Lord and Lady Salford. Lucy knew they’d been tasked with examining Max’s documents, but she dismissed them as a threat. The Briarley Bible told her all she needed to know about the veracity of Max’s claim.

  Rafe had somehow rolled Thorington and Callie out of bed in time to make this meeting. It was far too early for most guests to be abroad, let alone for the duke and duchess to have ridden over from the inn at Salcombe. Neither looked happy to be there. If she was lucky, Thorington would give her one of his trademark glares, say something rude, and be on his way within the hour.

  Emma was pouring tea for anyone who wanted it. That, more than anything else, put Lucy on her guard. Emma never made tea when Lucy hosted a gathering. The fact that she’d taken charge of the tea cart meant Emma considered herself the hostess.

  Which suggested that Emma had colluded with Ferguson about this.

  Suddenly, it all felt like an ambush.

  That feeling only grew when Claxton walked in and shut the door behind him. “Your grace, I’ve taken the liberty of stationing footmen outside. We won’t be disturbed.”

  Ferguson nodded. Claxton didn’t take a seat with them, but he stayed by the door — this side of the door. Had he been invited as well?

  Now there were ten people arrayed against her. Ten people who included the most important people in her life, save for Julia and Max.

  She shouldn’t already be thinking of Max as important. But she wished they were here right now. Of course, if Julia toddled in, dragging Octavia’s old doll and demanding that her mama play with her, it would certainly change the subject away from Max.

  It was a tempting thought.

  But Lucy straightened her spine and folded her hands in her lap. She’d faced worse things alone before. She could handle whatever this group had to say to her.

  Ferguson began the proceedings. “I thought it would be helpful to discuss the current state of the Maidenstone inheritance.”

  “I’m surprised my presence is necessary,” Callie said, holding Thorington’s hand. “I married your worst enemy. Surely that excludes me from winning Maidenstone.”

  “Your taste in men is rather appalling,” Ferguson said.

  Thorington inclined his head as though accepting a high compliment. “The sooner you disown Callie for marrying me, the sooner you and I don’t have to speak to each other again.”

  Ferguson sighed. “Unfortunately, you’re not quite the villain I thought you were. The two of you, as well as Octavia and Rafe, are still eligible to inherit. Or, at least, you were. Mr. Vale’s arrival has changed everything.”

  “Is he really the heir?” Callie asked.

  Ferguson slanted a glance at Lucy. “Our resident Briarley expert thinks so.”

  Lucy felt everyone’s attention shift to her, but she kept her eyes on Ferguson. “If I thought it wasn’t true, I’d be the first to throw him out. But you know Grandfather would have wanted to see the title continue.”

  “Are you supporting him because you believe his claim — or because he could make you his countess?” Ferguson asked.

  She had a quick, fleeting memory of Max’s hands on her and the words they’d whispered to each other in the vault the night before. She would have craved it all again even if he could never claim Maidenstone.

  But she still wasn’t entirely confident that he would stay. “Mr. Vale hasn’t made any promises,” she said coolly. “If he inherits, there is a good chance I would be left with nothing.”

  “Then why are you supporting him?” Octavia demanded again. “Surely you’ve found proof that he’s not the heir.”

  “I looked through everything he brought. So did Ferguson. From what I know of the Briarley family tree, his line looks legitimate. I’m as shocked as you are, but that’s the truth of it.”

  Ferguson glanced at Lady Salford. “Prudence, do you wish to add something?”

  Lady Salford looked at Lucy for a long moment. “Do you trust Mr. Vale?” she asked.

  Lucy barely knew Lady Salford — Prudence, as Ferguson had called her. The woman was a few years older than Lucy, with a wry, intriguing sense of humor. Lucy might have tried to befriend her if she’d taken more time to get to know her female guests.

  But they weren’t friends. Lucy had no idea why the question made her hackles rise — or perhaps she had some idea.

  Perhaps the question cut too close to the bone — too close to the questions Lucy ha
d been avoiding ever since she’d made her initial proposal to Max.

  “He’s given me no reason not to trust him,” Lucy said.

  Prudence gave her another long, assessing stare.

  “Did you find something in his documents?” Lucy asked. “If you don’t think he’s the heir, you should be meeting with him, not me.”

  Prudence shook her head. “His documents are impeccable.”

  “Too impeccable,” her husband added. “When was he orphaned?”

  Lucy realized Max had never talked about it, other than to say that he’d been present when his father had died. But the records had included his father’s date of death. She calculated the years. “He was twelve.”

  “How did a twelve-year-old keep all these records safe after he was orphaned?” Lord Salford asked.

  “Again, that’s a question for him, not me,” she said.

  It bothered her more than she could admit that she hadn’t thought of that. She knew absolutely nothing about his childhood. It didn’t matter when she was looking into his eyes, laughing at his jokes, and dreaming of all the ways they could please each other. But when they were apart, her brain had space to wonder about all the things she didn’t know about him.

  It didn’t help that everyone was looking at her like she was a fool. Like she was just as lovesick as Callie and Thorington, or Octavia and Rafe — like she’d lost all reason and all ability to think for herself.

  Lord and Lady Salford glanced at each other. Lucy, losing patience, said sharply, “Do you think the documents are all fake?”

  “Not precisely,” Prudence said.

  “We checked everything we know about forged documents. There were no obvious signs that anything had been altered,” Lord Salford said. “Of course, if any of them don’t match the church records in their respective dioceses, that would disqualify him. But it would take time to visit all the parishes and reconcile the records.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” Lucy asked.

  Prudence looked at her again, with another of those looks that seemed to be weighing the benefits of telling her the truth versus letting her keep her illusions. Finally, Prudence said, “The documents all look real. But when Alex and I went for a ride yesterday, I saw a man in the stables whom I recognized. Mr. Vale’s coachman used to work for an antiquities dealer named Mr. Ostringer.”