Page 26 of Return to Wildsyde

“Ach, not forever,” he said impatiently. “I am nae forbidding ye to have contact with him. He may stay with ye during the holidays and once he is done with education, ye may both leave and do whatever it is pleases ye.”

“You’d really pay for his education?” Luella said, hardly daring to believe it. If she could give Jack the chance of a decent future, an honest career he could succeed at, then she could endure any amount of hurt pride. And all Lord Buchanan had really asked of her was to leave him alone. Surely she could do that?

He held her gaze, an expression in his eyes she could not read. “Aye, so long as he studies and does not throw the opportunity back in my face, for I am nae a fool. Throwing good money after bad is nae an occupation I have any time for, but if he wishes to better himself, I shall help him do so.”

“He won’t do that,” Luella said firmly. She moved closer to him and held out her hand. “Thank you, Lord Buchanan. I will do as you ask and keep out of your way, if you will do everything in your power to help Jack. It’s all I really want.”

He gave her a curious glance, looking at her hand with suspicion, but reached out and took it. Luella stifled a gasp as his large hand encompassed hers. It was warm and calloused, rough in a way she had not expected, even though he looked nothing like the elegant and fashionable noblemen she read about in romance novels. The contact was electric, sending little sparks of electricity dancing up her arm. Unsettled, her gaze fell to their linked hands as if she could see some evidence of the sensation, but Lord Buchanan dropped her hand as if she’d burned him and stepped away.

Luella fought to keep a sharp comment from her lips, determined to do nothing to jeopardise Jack’s chances, but really, was she so repulsive he could not bear to shake her hand? The idea stung, but she dismissed it. What did she care what he thought of her?

His opinion did not matter a jot and so he could revile her all he wished. She didn’t care a button.

rhedChapter 9

Dear Thorn,

I cannot believe it is May already. Work is coming on apace at Goshen Court and whilst there is still a mountain to climb, I believe it may be a place I can take a pride in soon, assuming it does not bankrupt me in the meantime.

For once the weather has blessed us with glorious sunshine and for the first time, I see that the gardens here, though sadly neglected, were once something special. Mama will love them, yet I am horribly aware that this season will come and go, and I promised her she and father could visit at summer’s end. It does not feel like enough time.

I have not yet told Tilly her grandparents will visit her, but I shall. I know they will be kind to her, no matter how angry or disappointed they are with me. How could they not be? I hope you will come and spend some time with us over the coming months, too. I imagine it is time you gave your liver a rest, in any case.

―Excerpt of a letter to The Lord Thomas Barrington, from his elder brother, The Right Hon’ble Philip Barrington, The Earl of Ashburton. (sons of The Most Hon’ble Lucian and Matilda Barrington, The Marquess and Marchioness of Montagu)

15th May 1845, The Sons of Hades, Portman Square, London.

Lord Thomas Barrington, or Thorn as he was known to his friends, drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. The air was damp and mild, and he was pleasantly bosky. He had also cleaned out his friend Ashton’s pockets, an achievement which he would not let the fellow forget anytime soon. Still, the devil would likely get his own back the next time they sparred. Ash had a punishing right hook, which they had all been on the receiving end of at one time or another. Not that they held grudges. Despite temperaments and personalities that were sometimes at odds with one another, they got along famously, and any disputes were settled in the ring. Few people fancied arguing with Ash, which meant he got away with bloody murder.

Thorn weaved a little, taking a moment to steady himself against a wall. Perhaps he had dipped a little deeper than he realised. Well, he knew he’d pay for it tomorrow, but it had been an enjoyable evening. A shame Pip wasn’t a part of things any longer, though he seemed contented in a different way. The challenge of restoring his tumble-down property and making a home for his little girl had focused his mind and given him a goal. It was what his brother had needed, even if this wasn’t the way Thorn would have wanted it to happen. He understood why Pip had kept Tilly a secret, but he still wished he had not done so. Their mother would be hurt, and heaven alone knew what Pa would say. Thorn felt rather sick even considering that. Not his problem, thank God. Seeing his brother’s predicament had made him a good deal more cautious about how and with whom he dallied. Facing his father with news of that nature was enough to terrify anyone. Yes, perhaps he did understand why Pip had kept it to himself.

Smothering a yawn, Thorn pushed himself off the wall and walked on. The blow came from nowhere, sending him staggering forwards. He hit the floor hard, his knees taking the brunt of the impact as he turned, instincts forcing him to roll and scramble to his feet. Turning to face the threat, he realised too late that there were three of them and a different tactic might have been prudent. He fought hard, satisfied to hear the crunch of something breaking beneath his fist as a nose gave way, but he was too drunk and too outnumbered to taste victory this evening. Two held him still, his arms pinned behind him as the other stepped closer. His face was covered but Thorn felt certain he was smiling, the glittering eyes oddly familiar as the man drove a fist into his guts.

21st May 1845, Wildsyde Castle, The Highlands of Scotland.

“Stop fidgeting, for heaven’s sake, ’tis another hour afore he will be home yet,” Mrs Baillie said with amusement. “You’ve been up and down those stairs so much ye will wear them out.”

Luella sighed and came back down into the kitchen, sitting down at the table with a thud.

“You don’t think the other boys will bully him for being English and not talking like they do?” she asked anxiously.

“Ach, there’s bound to be a bit of showing off and nonsense, but Mr Duncan is a grand fellow and he’ll skelp anyone who thinks to play the bully. They’re good lads, though. I know all of them, and their parents too, so if he has any bother, ye just get him to tell me, aye?”

“Thank you, Mrs Baillie, that means a lot to me,” Luella said fervently. “I just want him to be happy, to have friends and get a proper education.”

“Aye, well, he has the chance for all of that now.”

“What is the school like?” Luella persisted. Her stomach had been in a knot ever since that morning, when Jack had set off looking pale but determined upon his first day at school.

“Oh, it’s grand. The earl and Lady Morven began it decades ago, but Lord Buchanan had the place refurbished the year before last. ’Tis a neat little building with big windows so the room is bright and cheerful, though I hear Mr Duncan often teaches the lads outside when the weather is fine. He’s a believer in fresh air and exercise alongside learning, which makes sense to me.”

Luella nodded, heartened by this, if not by the idea that Mr Duncan would skelp anyone who misbehaved.

“There’s a girls' school, too.”

Luella looked up in surprise. “There is?”

“Aye. Good Lord, child, ye have met the countess. Do ye think she would have educated the lads and nae the lasses?”