With a groan, he slumped onto the bed and buried his face in his hands. How sodding wonderful. At last he could vindicate his parents and restore his birthright. He should be cheering his bloody head off.
He didn’t give a rat’s arse whether he lived or died.
“Merrick? Merrick, what the devil’s got into you?”
Dazedly Jonas raised his head. Two tall, well-dressed men crowded into his cell. It took him a few moments to recognize the Duke of Sedgemoor and Richard Harmsworth. Men who had once saved his life. Men who he’d avoided for years because every time he saw them he relived the vile shame of his scarring.
“Where’s Sidonie?” He surged to his feet and thrust past them, but the corridor outside was empty.
“I sent Miss Forsythe home in my carriage,” Sedgemoor said with a hint of disapproval. More guilt. Jonas guessed she’d been unable to hide her distress.
Sedgemoor continued. “Before she left, she asked us to offer our services.”
Brava, bella. He had no idea how she’d managed it, but with the assistance of these two darlings of the ton, he was sure to evade the hangman. He wished he cared.
“The lady says she has proof of your innocence.”
“Yes, yes, she does.”
So the dance began. He drew an unsteady breath and realized Sidonie was right. While he might resent accepting her advice, he wasn’t stupid. He had to prove his innocence and the story she’d concocted would serve as well as another. Once free, he’d assess what remained from his ruined life. And whether he could be bothered to fix any of it.
He studied these men who had come to his rescue long ago and who came to his rescue again. Sedgemoor and Harmsworth had never scorned him for his bastardy. Both, in spite of their scandalous backgrounds, were known as men of their word. If they pledged themselves to help, they would indeed help. He straightened his shoulders and struggled to sound purposeful. He couldn’t fail now. He owed his parents justice. “I have my father’s marriage lines.”
“Good God,” Harmsworth breathed. “You’re Viscount Hillbrook. That sets the cat among the pigeons.”
“Indeed.” It was too late to revenge himself on William by taking what he’d valued most. It wasn’t too late for Jonas to restore his parents’ good names. “Now I’ve received blessing from my cousin’s family to make circumstances public, I intend to claim my inheritance.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mrs. Merrick requests an interview, my lord.”
At the stentorian tones of the butler he’d employed to run his London home, Jonas laid down his pen and rubbed tired eyes. “Here at the house?” he asked, astonished.
For three months, he’d been officially acknowledged as Viscount Hillbrook and he’d only started to make headway through the tangle William had left of the estate. He’d started on the current batch of paperwork before breakfast. It was early afternoon and he couldn’t see himself getting away before dinner.
Now Roberta wanted to see him. He hadn’t spoken to either Forsythe sister since that bitter encounter in Newgate when he’d turned, hurt and angry, on Sidonie. Three months was time enough to repent his temper but did nothing to soothe the ache in his heart. Yearning for her stopped him sleeping. If he occasionally dropped into a restless doze, harrowing dreams tormented him.
He was in a damned bad way.
Such a bad way, he occasionally wondered if he could overcome pride to crawl back to Sidonie in forlorn hope of a kind word. After the way he’d lashed out at her, he didn’t expect forgiveness. She’d saved him and he’d reacted not with gratitude but with rage. But then prudence would demand he let well enough alone. Leave her free to pursue the future she had no intention of sharing with Jonas Merrick.
She’d made that more than clear.
When he’d settled an allowance on Roberta and accepted financial responsibility for William’s sons, he’d offered Sidonie a stipend, too. At the time, he’d still felt bruised that she’d put her sister before him—how lowering to recognize jealousy was at least partly to blame for his outburst. But even in his anger, he couldn’t bear to think of her scratching out a meager living. He wanted her to be able to buy a pretty dress or a new bonnet.
Some City lawyer had replied on her behalf, rejecting any assistance from the Hillbrook estate. She’d made no acknowledgment of the gift as a personal matter. Her chilly refusal left Jonas feeling like she’d sliced open a barely healed wound. Common sense and self-preservation insisted he leave their dealings there. Common sense proved a deucedly cold bedfellow on a winter night and he was near to consigning it to the devil. If he chased Sidonie, he risked humiliation. Humiliation seemed a luxury compared to this endless, gnawing yearning.
In Devon, Sidonie had wanted him. He’d been wrong about so much, but surely he wasn’t wrong about that. Perhaps if he groveled low enough, she’d deign to bestow her favor again. So pathetic he’d become in his loneliness. All his life he’d imagined that if he claimed his heritage, wiped the stain of dishonor from his parents’ memories, acquitted that brute William for his spite, he’d be happy. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d been unhappier.
As he said, pathetic.
Even he was sick of how he moped around Merrick House. He needed a good kick up the arse.
“My lord?” the butler prompted, extending the silver salver with Roberta’s card once more.
Jonas realized he’d drifted off again. His continual distraction was another thing to blame on Sidonie. He’d been hailed as the most incisive financial mind of his generation. Nobody would say that these days.
Roberta was here at Merrick House. Probably to cavil about her allowance—Jonas had hedged the payment with strict conditions to curtail her gambling and extravagance. To hear news of Sidonie, it might be worth enduring a tirade about his stinginess.