Fortunately, his father knew him well enough to see his determination. The man pursed his lips and grunted in the way of an old dog sitting down for a nap. “You’ll not be turned aside, will you?”
“No.”
“And you want me to burn any more letters from Lady Meunier.”
“I want you to give them to me.” He was curious to see what lies she was spreading.
“I can do that. And I can be nice to Lady Gwen, even if her own aunt says she’s peculiar.”
“Well,” he said with a smile. “She is unique. And I value her all the more for it.”
His father turned toward the house. It was cold out here, and Jackson was grateful to head inside as well. It wasn’t until they were at the door that his father stopped him with a heavy hand on his shoulder.
“I can be nice to the girl, and I can hold my tongue about what you’re choosing, but I won’t be putting any of the family money into your scheme. It’d be folly to throw away everything we’ve got. Can’t risk it. I’m sorry.”
Then he went inside leaving Jackson to stare in fury after the man’s back. His family wouldn’t have a penny if it hadn’t been for his improvements to the farms. His father had turned over the management of the estate to him years ago, and so their coffers were full because Jackson had made sure of it. He’d left the bank accounts in his father’s name because it had been convenient. And because he didn’t want to embarrass his father. The man was horrendous when it came to management.
And now Jackson wasn’t to touch any of it? It was his money! He’d merely allowed it to exist in his father’s name out of kindness.
Damnation! Now he had to wrest control away from his father, and that would be an ugly fight that might tear his whole family apart.
Chapter Nineteen
This wasn’t thefirst time Gwen had been surrounded by women who had an avid interest in everything about her. She’d gone through a dozen Seasons, after all, and there was always at least one event where she was the oddity on display. She’d learned to focus on something she could manage and ignore the rest. In this case, she intended to see her bedroom and perhaps air some of her clothing so it wouldn’t wrinkle. It’s what Lilah had suggested she do.
That was her plan, but it didn’t work. Her mind latched onto something entirely inappropriate, as it was wont to do, and she was hard pressed to keep her mouth shut especially as Abigail kept asking her questions with barely a breath in between each sentence.
“It’s so exciting to meet someone new. Tell us everything about yourself. Where are you from? How long are you staying? What made you come all the way from London with Jackson? He didn’t say anything about you in his letter. I read it so many times, I’ve practically memorized it. And we just got it a few hours ago.”
“Enough Abigail,” Camile said, physically stepping between her sister and Gwen. “Let the lady breathe.” Then she turned and smiled. “This will be your room. We’ll have it set to rights in a moment.”
Meanwhile, Lady Allbury cast her a sad look, as if she too were overpowered by the three sisters. “You must be hungry. I’ll see that something is put together in the kitchen. Pray come down when you’re ready. I was just about to make some tea.” Then she turned and left, nearly bowling into Webster who was just then coming up the stairs. Gwen’s maid tried to maneuver inside the bedroom, but there wasn’t room with all the people, and so the woman stood in the threshold with her hands on her hips and a sour expression on her face.
Meanwhile, Abigail began speaking. “This is normally her room,” she said, pointing at Camile. “She’s the neatest of us all. You couldn’t find room to breathe in Bea’s room, and mine is—”
“A disaster?” teased Camile.
“Well-organized chaos.”
“Ha!” The two bickered as they worked together to change the sheets and reset the room. Gwen tried to focus on them. She wanted to make a good impression, but her gaze kept going back to Beatrix and the lady’s paper flowers as they adorned her body. The lady in question noted her regard, even as she dropped Gwen’s valise with a thud.
“Do you like them?” she asked as she turned to show off all the flowers she had set about her body.
Gwen peered closer. They were not paper cuts, as she had first guessed, but painted flowers on canvas that had then been cut and pinned to the underlying dress or attached to an item of jewelry. The sheer multitude of the flowers was daunting enough, but no more so than in a garden. Gwen could manage the number of flowers. What she could not release was that many of those flowers were drawn incorrectly.
“Don’t answer her,” Abigail cried from the corner. “She’ll want specifics, and nothing good ever comes from that.”
Gwen turned to the woman. “The specifics are always important.”
“No, they’re not,” Abigail countered with the ease of a long-standing argument. “Sometimes it’s about the general system. The details obscure that.”
Camile waved her sister back as she pushed the bed back into the corner. “Lady Gwen has had a long trip. I doubt she wants to talk philosophy right now,” she said.
“Well, what would you like to talk about?” Abigail pressed. “Fashion? On-dits? How about pets? Do you have one? Are they hard to manage in the city?”
“Maybe she wouldn’t like to talk at all. Maybe she needs to rest.” Camile tried to shoo her family out, and they did back away. Unfortunately, they continued to talk during the entire process.
“But she’s been in the carriage all day. Maybe she needs to walk a bit? I always feel sore after a ride and need to move about just to find some ease.”