Page 24 of Joy to the Earl

“Do not dare speak to me of loss. My two sons…my beloved, handsome, and refined gentleman sons, lie cold in the ground. As does Mr. Crawley, who possessed a truly great legal mind. Yet this deformed and devil-eyed abomination, John Henry Francis Wakefield, eleventh Earl of Lynthorpe, lives. There is no justice in the world.”

Lynthorpe. Crawley. Lynthorpe. Crawley.

The names of the men who had nearly destroyed Phillip Vale spun around and around in her mind, until bile rose in her throat and she let go of Jack to press her fingers to her mouth. Crawley the lawyer and Lynthorpe the peer who casually ruined others, like the lords who had driven Papa to his death with their cruel lies and deceit. Surely she hadn’t welcomed a monster into her home, into her bed, into her daughter’s life?

“Say it’s not true, Jack. Say you aren’t Lynthorpe,” she choked out.

Jack shook his head, his face parchment-pale. “I can’t.”

No. No!

“Was everything a lie? Your history…your family…you being free?”

“Oh dear,” said Lady Lynthorpe. “I hear the jarring tones of lowborn overreaching. Did you think he might wed you? The notorious trollop daughter of an actor? Good heavens. Perhaps he might come to an arrangement with you for certain favors, but his lordship will marry a woman of his station. Lady Marianne Alton is his promised bride.”

Marianne. Lovely lass…very pretty and sings like a nightingale…

Almost the Earl of Lynthorpe…

I have no secrets…

Agony clawed her heart to shreds. “You…you bastard. How you must have laughed at us with our country ways, offering you employment and old clothing when all the while you were one of the wealthiest peers in England! How you must have laughed at me, an actor’s foolish daughter, believing you to be a virgin, believing you to be an honest carpenter, falling in love with you, when all the while you merely wanted the W word of whore while you waited to return to your aristocratic fiancée. My compliments on your performance. You tricked us all.”

Jack reached out, and tried to take her hand. “Rosalind, let me explain. It’s not as simple as that—you know from my accent it is not. Please.”

“No,” she spat, hating him with every fiber of her being, hating herself for being such a complete twit to be duped by a lord who had even told her truths on several occasions. If she’d actually deigned to listen. “You’ve said enough…done enough already.”

“Don’t do this to us,” he said hoarsely, lines bracketing his mouth like she was hurting him unbearably. Well, she would give the Earl of Lynthorpe something to feel hurt about.

Turning to him, Rosalind reached out as if to touch him. Then her hand flew up, and she slapped him across the face, hard enough to leave a bright pink mark on his cheek. “You’ve already done it, my lord. Do not ever, ever, try to contact me or a member of my family again.”

“Rosalind!”

Jack’s voice echoed through the foyer, but she covered her ears.

And ran.

* * *

“Is there anything I can do for you, my lord? Anything at all?”

Jack turned away from the street-facing window of his newly acquired library and shook his head at the butler, who had been hovering like a mother hen since Rosalind ran and left him shattered. At the moment it felt like the sun would never shine again. “No thank you, Griggs.”

“But you’ve been in here for hours and haven’t eaten a bite,” said the old man, actually wringing his hands. “I can send for something else. The kitchens will be happy to prepare whatever you wish.”

“I’m not hungry right now.”

“Very well. I must apologize again, my lord, that your first set of new clothing won’t be ready until tomorrow.”

Jack sighed, staring down at the breeches, shirt, and jacket he’d borrowed from Rosalind’s late father’s trunk. A part of him never wanted to take them off. Even though they were a bit too tight in places and very old fashioned, they were his last link to her. “Not your fault. Even a London tailor needs a little time to put together a wardrobe, especially for measurements such as mine. And I’m comfortable enough for now.”

Griggs smiled sadly. “I also must apologize for my reaction when you and Lady Nelson arrived. Your face is the exact likeness of your grandsire’s, but in those old breeches and such…my word.”

“You thought he’d risen from the grave?”

“Terrible, I know…this is most impertinent of me, but would you like to hear a little about him?”

“I would,” Jack said softly, swallowing hard. “Take a seat.”