Page 2 of Reforming Lord Neil

“Let us hope such occasions are rare in the future,” her mother said. “But if you will fetch some bread and jam, granddaughter, we can have a little celebration.”

Small joys kept them all hopeful of better days, though Teresa saw none on the horizon.

Hours later, the teacups were drained, and the rain had finally stopped. Wearing a dress that had once been as blue as the summer sky but had faded to a more gray-like color, Teresa went out to milk their old dairy cow.

Milking a cow. What would her late husband have thought, if he saw her perform the undignified chore? Yet every time she sat on the three-legged milking stool, Teresa offered up a prayer of gratitude for the animal and the farmer’s daughter who had taught her how to go about milking.

After that chore, she went to weed their summer garden, leaving her shoes off rather than coat them in mud. It was easier to clean her feet than scrub at mud-caked shoes. Gulls had already been and gone, picking at the bugs that had come out to nibble on cabbages and vines, before making their journey to the sea. It had surprised her to see such large birds taking notice of her little garden, yet she expressed her thanks for them, too. The smaller birds were still hopping about, finding tinier creatures that threatened carrot leaves and chamomile petals.

By the time Teresa finished in the garden, Caroline had already fed their six chickens and gathered the eggs. She waved to her mother from the barnyard and went on her way with her basket of eggs.

Teresa wiped a line of sweat from her brow and walked to the fence separating her property from the road. Though tired, she ducked beneath the long rail and started up the path. It curved over a hill, then turned eastward and upward, taking her above the sea.

Dunwich lay to the south of where she stood. All Saints’ church tower, crumbly as it was, poked up from the cliff side. She shuddered and turned from that somber sight. Instead she turned her face to the east, where the sun rose steadily.

“We will make it through today,” she said quietly. “And this week, and this month, and this summer. We can make it through winter.” They had already done it once.

Yet even as she spoke, lifting her hopes and eyes heavenward, a weight dragged at her heart. Her meager income would barely keep them alive. How would she find a way to pay for repairs? For any help at all? If she were a man, it would be enough. A man could climb atop thatched roofs to repair them, till more ground than she could, swing a hammer, chop wood, and do all manner of things she had to hire out.

But if she were a man, she would not be in her predicament. She would have inherited from her father, for one thing. Never married and thus kept the eight-thousand pounds of her portion away from her husband.

The familiar anger surged, quickly replaced by guilt. “I am not angry at you, Henry,” she said softly to the sea. “I only wish you had told me, that I’d had some warning.” She had never even suspected her husband had a weakness for cards. He had treated her with such tenderness and love. He had been a present and compassionate father. There had never been anything to make her worry over his conduct or their marriage.

The revelation bestowed upon her when her brother-in-law had told her of her husband’s debts had nearly shattered her good memories of Henry. She could not imagine her husband stealing the funds that ought to have supported her and Caroline upon his untimely death. The reality stung deeply.

She wiped away the tears she had thought conquered that morning. Squaring her shoulders, she forced a smile. Likely had anyone seen, they would have found it a grim expression.

Man or no man, she would find a way to make every farthing count. They would be warm and well fed come winter.

Somehow.

Chapter Two

No one hated the Marquess of Alderton the way his third son hated him. Lord Neil would rather fling himself off the second-floor balcony than spend more than an hour in his father’s company. The entire household knew it, and so everyone from Lady Alderton to the lowliest scullery maid kept away when the two men were in the same room.

That meant that the family members at home rarely sat together after dinner. But that evening, Lord Alderton had commanded they all retire together to one of the parlors. Apparently, he had something on his mind.

Neil glanced at the doors leading to the balcony, wondering if he vaulted over the rail whether or not the shrubbery below would break his fall.

“This family has come under scrutiny,” his father said in his deep, cool voice. “I am positioned to lead my party, should things go according to plan next Season, and I have the support of the Regent.”

Of course he did. The marquess and His Royal Highness were often seen in each other’s company. Neil kept his mouth closed, and his eyes on the doors.

“Behaviors must alter. After the way Olivia nearly exposed herself to public scorn, I have decided I have given all of you too much of a leash.”

Olivia, from her place on the settee next to their mother, gasped aloud. She shook her head dramatically, her golden curls bouncing. “Father, you cannot still believe those lies. I explained what happened, that Sir Isaac—”

“Enough, Olivia.” Their father did not need to raise his voice to silence her. His power in their family, in the kingdom itself, was well known. “I know you well enough to recognize your manipulative explanations, your deceits. I have seen you practicing your wiles since childhood.”

That drew Neil’s full attention to his family.

Lady Alderton gasped and put an arm around Olivia. The two of them looked very alike, and Neil had also inherited his mother’s coloring: fair hair and eyes that never quite settled between green or brown. “Alderton, what a thing to say—”

“We both know where she gets it,” the marquess said with a careless flick of his hand, directing it to his wife. When Neil’s mother paled and began to protest, the marquess laughed darkly. “Stop your sputtering, my lady. You have taken more lovers than I these past years.”

Neil clutched at the arms of his chair. Whether his father’s accusation was true, his mother did not deserve such disrespect in her home, before her grown children. Yet lashing out at the man would worsen the situation.

“All of you are a disappointment to me,” Alderton went on, turning his back to them. “At least I have two worthy heirs. And two children I know to be mine.”