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Instead, Ambrose turned back to the coach and instructed the Averell footmen to take their things into the house. The duke had graciously allowed Ambrose to borrow two of the lads in his employ along with a coach and driver until staff could be hired for Greenbriar. Ambrose didn’t mistake his new brother-in-law’s concession as kindness. Averell only wanted to make sure his sister had the means to return should she need it.
The driver, a bulky man named Stitch with an outrageous mustache, was polite to Ambrose, but little else. He suspected Stitch would be reporting back to the duke on a regular basis. Averell, pompous prick that he was, had obviously decided the pointed threat he’d made before Ambrose took Theodosia from London wasn’t sufficient.
‘Your future existence is tied to my sister. Pray, keep that in mind.’
The duke deemed Ambrose unworthy of Theodosia. It was virtually the only thing he and Averell would ever agree on. He had seen the suspicion in the duke’s eyes, so like Theodosia’s, stabbing him with accusation down the length of the dining room table while Ambrose tried to enjoy his meal. The same way Theodosia had looked at Ambrose after he’d blundered so badly with her this morning.
She had beenglorious, striding across the room this morning, stark naked and without a shred of modesty. Her breasts were bloody magnificent, every luscious inch of them. He’d been hard-pressed not to take her back to bed, but Ambrose didn’t have a death wish. Anger at him had emanated with every step she took, deliberately flaunting herself before Ambrose as part of his punishment.
He’d been half afraid she’d trip over something and spoil the moment, but she hadn’t.
At Theodosia’s approach, the front door of Greenbriar, covered in chipped paint and squeaking on rusty hinges, opened to reveal Ambrose’s sister.
Jacinda, a shy smile of welcome on her face for Theodosia, hobbled out, her cane sending small puffs of dust up around the patched hem of her skirts.
Mrs. Henderson trailed behind her, apron flapping about her broad hips as she wiped her hands.
No sign of Erasmus the sot, thankfully. Probably out picking half-dead flowers so he could bestow a bouquet on Theodosia when she arrived. She might well take one look at his uncle’s alcohol-soaked form and head right back into the Averell coach.
Ambrose stalked behind Theodosia, hating how, in hearing him, she moved quickly out of the way so that not even her skirts would touch him.
His teeth ground so hard, he thought his jaw would break, but Ambrose said nothing. Sometimes retreat was the better part of valor, especially when it came to Theodosia. The awkward, agonizing coach ride to Greenbriar from the inn advised him to leave her be for now. At least she was wearing her spectacles.
Jacinda was practically dancing at their arrival—or as much as one could dance with a lame leg. A thick braid of deep auburn hair flew back and forth over her shoulder as she came to greet them.
Ambrose stepped forward, pulling his younger sister into a tight embrace, feeling the fragile bones of her shoulder blades beneath his palms. She seemed thinner and much more delicate than she had only a few weeks ago when he’d come to tell her he was to be married. She’d beamed at the news, happy and excited, the relief on her face so profound, Ambrose had nearly wept.
He would do anything to save Jacinda.
None of the circumstances which had befallen her were of her own making. Jacinda hadn’t forced their father to become a sot. Or to gamble away every bit of the Collingwood wealth, including her dowry. Nor was she to blame for the tragic accident which had cost her full use of her leg.
A wave of guilt broke over Ambrose, one which threatened to engulf him at the very sight of Jacinda and Greenbriar. He should have been here. Instead, he’d been roaming the Continent in a fit of rage at his father, drinking excessively, fighting, and bedding lovely women. Many of them widows, as it happened. If Mrs. Henderson hadn’t heard the bone crack as she made her way to the library, or if Erasmus hadn’t been here, there wasn’t any telling how long Jacinda would have lain on the floor. His father had been passed out drunk in a corner, but his uncle, who’d arrived at Greenbriar a few weeks earlier, had been sober enough to summon a physician.
He owed Erasmus for caring for Jacinda as best he could.
“Where is our uncle?” Ambrose whispered into Jacinda’s ear.
“The village tavern. Mr. Owens stopped earlier and asked him to take a pint. I thought it best if he weren’t here when you arrived with your wife,” she quietly replied so Theodosia couldn’t hear.
Owens was the village drunkard, whereas Erasmus was the titled drunkard. The pair were most often found passed out together on the floor of a local tavern. Sometimes his uncle even slept there amongst the spilled ale and sawdust.
“I didn’t give him any coin,” Jacinda said in a tight voice. “I hid what you left me under a loose floorboard in my room. He did try to sell a couple of books. But don’t worry,” she assured him. “They weren’t any of my favorites. Nor yours.”
“Good.” Ambrose nodded. Ambrose’s father had already decimated the collection of tomes, some of which had been the property of the Collingwood family for more than a century, by the time Ambrose had returned to Greenbriar. The remaining books would only fetch a coin or two, but enough for Erasmus to buy a bottle.
Releasing Jacinda from his embrace, Ambrose waved over Mrs. Henderson, anxious for them both to be introduced to Theodosia.
Edmund Collingwood, as impossible as it was to believe, had been directly responsible for Jacinda’s accident. Drunk and stumbling, he’d knocked the ladder out from under her as she’d reached for a book, then passed out. Mrs. Henderson had related to Ambrose the depth of his father’s despair when, upon waking from his stupor, he’d realized what he’d done.
Jacinda even claimed their father had refused to leave her bedside as she’d healed and had stayed relatively sober, vowing never to drink again.
All of it was a lie because at some point during her recovery, Edmund had gone back to London, started drinking again, and signed away the only thing left, the sum set aside for Jacinda’s dowry, so he could dice at Elysium. He died a short time later. Ambrose never told his sister what their father had done, or where. All he’d said was that their fortune and estates were gone, save Greenbriar. Better to remember the loving father who wouldn’t leave her than the weak sot easily manipulated by the owner of Elysium.
Ambrose had to shut his eyes against the absolute fury rising within him, opening them only when he extended an arm in Theodosia’s direction.
She ignored his hand. Not unexpected. She did give Jacinda a brilliant smile.
“Theodosia, this is my sister, Lady Jacinda Collingwood.”
