Mr. Spencer and I exchanged glances.
“Imagine, a maid refusing service.” Ainsley’s bored drawl filtered down the hall. My hackles raised, I set down my quill.
“Agreed, Ainsley. You little wench, someone ought to teach you manners.” A scuffle and a startled cry sent my temper to a boil. Mr. Spencer and I dashed out the door to see Lucy on her hands and knees, picking up an assortment of linens that had tumbled to the floor. Mr. Beaumont loomed over her, his face mottled as crimson as his garish waistcoat.
I stalked down the hall, my gait uneven but heavy. Lucy ducked her head and dashed aside her tears with trembling hands. I reached for her and helped her to her feet.
“The sheets are now dusty, my lord,” she said with a sniff.
“Never mind the sheets,” I ground out. I spied the rumpled bed through the open door and knew exactly what Beaumont had intended for Lucy had she entered.
I turned to both men with their cravats loosened and their waistcoats open in dishabille.
“You have overstayed your welcome, Mr. Beaumont, Lord Ainsley. I want you both to pack your items immediately. Otherwise, Mr. Spencer and I will toss your clothes into the courtyard and you may have the pleasure of picking them up one by one while my staff stands by and watches. In fact, I do believe I would enjoy such a sight. You have fifteen minutes or the amusement will commence.” I pulled out my pocket watch, the tick barely discernible from the roar building in my ears.
Mr. Beaumont’s mouth rounded. He shut it, propping his fists on his lean hips. Then he jabbed a finger at me. “You will not get a farthing from me, Hawthorn. I won’t take your books, your Ming vases, or any of your tapestries. You’ll wither out here with no funds and no connections. You won’t have a chance in the world to rescue your abbey and orchards without me.”
A dry chuckle escaped me, infuriating him further.
“You illegitimate cur, pretending to be a viscount. London will never accept you if you cast Ainsley and me out. We will ruin you so no polite society will ever allow you to cross their thresholds.”
I froze. Had he read my uncle’s diary? My muscles tensed for battle. “If you are the representation of that society, I’ve had my fill.”
Lucy gasped, and Mr. Spencer muttered an oath from behind me, but I was too irate to care. I had survived thus far without the blessing of the ton. I had no intention of changing myself to overlook Mr. Beaumont’s vices or ignore the wolf lurking beneath the tarnished sheen of respectability. His veneer had worn thin within a matter of days.
“But what of the mosaics?” Lord Ainsley sputtered. “We came solely for them. I will not leave empty-handed after staying in this godforsaken place. Nor will I allow a crippled former soldier to dictate my affairs.”
This godforsaken place.I had used the same words that night I entered the abbey. For so many years, I had viewed it as a specter to escape. How was it that now, when I could no longer keep the abbey, I wanted to settle deep roots in this valley and finally find a sense of home?
“The mosaics belong to Mr. Perry. As for the gladiator piece, it and anything else I discover on this property are intended for Miss Littleton and Mr. Harrington. And should you refuse to leave, I have a pair of pistols that keep me company. I assure you, my arm works well enough to pull a trigger.”
Lord Ainsley dragged a palm down his face as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing while Mr. Beaumont glared at me.
“Don’t expect me to take this insult lightly, nor will you cash my note,” he snarled, but he made no move when I shouldered forward to stand directly in front of him. His nostrils flared, almost as if he expected me to deck him. The stench of port wafted from him, and likely something else. Bluish circles curved beneath his eyes from far too many late nights. It was rather gratifying to see him flinch when I moved closer.
“I shall tear up it up myself if need be.” I held up my silver pocket watch, the ornate minute hand inching too slowly for my liking. “Ten minutes and counting, Beaumont.”
The abbey seemed to exhale, the old walls shuddering with relief when the Dilettanti departed, taking their luggage and their cheroots and their bad manners with them. A foul wind picked up once more, pushing against the windowpanes, and a smattering of rain soon joined.
I regretted I hadn’t asked them to leave after they had pushed Mr. Harrington to drop Bridget from the presentation at the next Society of Antiquaries meeting. And my threat to shred Mr. Beaumont’s note had only set a fire to the situation. He had tossed his fine wool jackets, trousers, silky cravats, and pearl-white shirts into his luggage with no assistance other than his poor valet, who bore a steady stream of curses and abuse.
Mr. Spencer joined me outside in the courtyard with Mr. Whittle. We three, with our arms folded across our chests, watched the trail of dust spin on the road as the carriage rattled away. I hoped they would hit all the wretched potholes between here and London.
“Thank you, my lord,” Mr. Whittle sounded entirely humble. “Few viscounts care for their staff the way you have. I am entirely grateful, and my wife and daughter too.”
My mouth tilted in a wry smile. “I fear I may not be able to keep staff much longer. I don’t need to tell you we are gasping for air and in our last hour. I have no hope of convincing Mr. Talbot of any future success.”
Mr. Spencer shook his head. “If the ship is sinking, my lord, we shall go down with you leading at the helm.”
I wanted so badly to hope, but in truth I was tired and defeated. I decided to trust these two men, who had proven far more loyal than I ever could have expected.
“Beaumont will ruin me as soon as he reaches London within a day and a half. There won’t be a line of credit available to me if he plants rumors about my father. For the record, I am not illegitimate, no matter what he claims.”
Mr. Whittle’s gaze faltered at my frank words, but Mr. Spencer merely shoved his hands in his waistcoat. “Of course not. You have always been the rightful heir. Long have my wife and I prayed for your return.”
His words, no doubt inappropriate, managed to bring a rare sheen to my eyes. I was not alone after all.
Mr. Whittle reddened too, as if embarrassed by the overt display of emotion. “If you don’t mind me saying so, that gent wasn’t on the up and up himself. I overheard him in the stable this morning tell Lord Ainsley he’s got a heap of debts waiting to be paid in shady establishments. Both men do. Gambling and whatnot. Why, he told Lord Ainsley to be patient and see the mosaics come through for them.”
