Mad Jack (Sherbrooke Brides 4)

“She,” Darnley said, drawing himself up, “is a widow who recently bought the Cit Palace over in the village of Brimerstock.”

“Cit Palace?”

“I believe it is still called Curdlow Place by folk who are steeped in its local history and regard the past twenty years as the present and not at all history. However, since your lordship has your left eyebrow raised in further question, I would add that an ironmonger named Greeley from Newcastle bought it some twenty years ago and moved in his family, which consisted of thirteen children, all of them ill-bred boy louts and muffin-faced girl chits. Iron seemed to fall into decline and Mr. Greeley was forced to sell to Mrs. Finch. I would have to say that the lady is an improvement.”

Although he didn’t want to say it, Gray thought, wondering about Mrs. Finch. Darnley paused, hearing his master’s voice from the entrance hall. “Excuse me, my lord. I believe Sir Henry and Mrs. Finch have returned. Please, wait here.”

While Gray waited, he reviewed a possible course of action—a fist straight to Sir Henry’s jaw, a knee to his kidney, an elbow to his neck. No, if he ended up selecting one of those satisfying options, it would only be fair to let Jack select her preference first.

Sir Henry had locked her in her bedchamber for three days? Amazing that in modern days such a thing could still happen. It was odd to remember that Gray had known her for fewer than three weeks. It was perhaps even stranger to realize that he had grown quite fond of her in a very short time, that she had a fighting spirit that pleased him.

He turned to look up at the portrait of a very lovely woman above the fireplace. She couldn’t have been older than twenty-five when the portrait was painted. The angle of her head, yes, that reminded him a bit of Jack. Her mother, then. Whereas the woman looked exotic with her dark hair, golden complexion, and brown eyes, Jack was fair, blue-eyed, with white, white skin. There was no portrait of Thomas Bascombe, Jack’s father. Had he been as fair as Jack? Probably so.

Gray turned at the sound of heavy boots. The door opened and Sir Henry strode in. Behind him was an older lady who looked flamboyant and very sure of herself. She was nearly as tall as Sir Henry, showed a plentiful bosom, beautifully swathed in dark blue satin, and looked as if she knew just about everything that would make a man slobber in his brandy.

“My lord,” Sir Henry said after a moment of staring at Gray. “This is Mrs. Finch. Maria, this is Lord Cliffe, my stepdaughter’s husband.”

Gray bowed over her hand. She gave him a smile that, had he been in a brothel looking for skill and utter complaisance, would have hardened him on the spot.

“We finally received your message, Sir Henry, in Brighton. Jack is upstairs with her sister.”

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Finch said, stripping off her gloves as she walked toward the sideboard. “Poor little creature. Ah, well, it is probably for the best, Sir Henry. Who would like a brandy?”

Sir Henry nodded. Gray just shook his head.

“Who is Jack?” Mrs. Finch asked as she placed the brandy snifter in Sir Henry’s large, smooth hand.

“Jack is my wife and Sir Henry’s stepdaughter.”

“Oh? I thought her name was Winifrede.”

“Things change,” Gray said. “Now she’s Jack.”

“How perfectly hideous,” said Mrs. Finch and

laughed, which was meant to remove the sting but didn’t.

“Who cares?” Sir Henry poured the brandy down his throat. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “Whoever or whatever she is now is of no concern to me.”

Mrs. Finch said, moving just a bit closer to Gray, “I understand you were just married.”

“Yes,” Gray said. He looked down at his fingernails, then over at Mrs. Finch. “As you said, Mrs. Finch, the poor little creature.”

“I wish she’d taken ill when she was with my sister in York,” Sir Henry said. “I don’t like to see the servants as overworked as they are now. Everyone is unsettled. My meals are late. My valet nicked my neck shaving me this morning. I don’t like it. It isn’t comfortable.”

Gray smiled. “I can see how that would disturb you, having your throat cut.”

“I suppose you and Winifrede want to remain here until the little girl either dies or manages to survive?”

“Yes, if that won’t disaccommodate you further.”

“It will, but no one seems to care about me. That old fool Darnley was already smiling and nodding because Winifrede was back. Doubtless Mr. Potts will prepare a delicious dinner since Winifrede is here.”

“I understand that Dr. Brace is more optimistic than you appear to be on the child’s condition.”

Sir Henry shrugged. “Brace is a fool. I heard the child coughing hard enough to bring up her guts. If she doesn’t die of this, it will be a miracle.”

Gray wanted so badly to smash his fist into Sir Henry’s mouth that he was nearly shaking with it.