Page 109 of Ladies in Hating
“The family’s coffers cannot give me purpose, Oliver, only money.”
“Money is very useful! Do not underestimate the power of an independent fortune.”
Jem laughed. “I’m not. I assure you, I am not. The truth is…” He paused to look at them all, his gray-green eyes serious and earnest. “I like working for Mr. Yorke. I have a handful of years remaining before I can be admitted to the Rolls of the Courts. After that”—he looked half-pleased and half-embarrassed—“I would like to move here permanently and open a law practice in Devizes.”
There was a brief moment of silence as everyone took in this series of revelations. Jem—the owner of Renwick House—to move away now, just when it was beginning to be properly habitable?
And yet, it was easy for Georgiana to fix her mind around the shape of Jem’s desires. Independence. A purpose all his own, not given to him by father or brother.
“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” she said softly. “So long as you do not forget that we are here if you change your mind. You are allowed to choose what’s best for you. And you are allowed to change.”
“I shall only approve of this if you permit me to loan you the funds to open your practice,” Fawkes said.
“Done,” said Jem promptly.
“Dash it,” muttered Fawkes. “That was too easy. I should have offered to pay for it outright.”
Cat had not yet said anything, and when Georgiana looked over, she saw that Cat’s dark eyes were damp and shining. “Jemmy,” she murmured.
He was grinning at her—at both of them. “Do you think—that is, would you mind staying here while I’m gone? Overseeing the reconstruction on my behalf? I can’t precisely pay the two of you, but perhaps you’ll find the jewels?”
It was astonishing how they did this, these Laceys—offered the closest held dream of your heart and smiled at you when they did so. As though giving came naturally to them. As though love was theirs in such an abundance that it was easy to pour out more.
“I would like to stay here very much,” Georgiana murmured.
“You would have to pry me out of here with a crowbar, Jemmy,” Cat said, “if you wanted me to go.”
“Not in a thousand years,” he said, and then somehow Cat and Jem were hugging, holding on hard, bittersweet and beloved, and Georgiana’s heart was so full, watching them, that she almost did not notice when Fawkes slipped the banknotes inside Jem’s discarded coat.
Eight weeks later
Ambrose Cleeve, the Earl of Alverthorpe, looked as though he’d been struck in the head, except by something very pleasant.
In all the years that she’d known him, Cat had never seen Ambrosegrinbefore now. It was disconcerting.
“Did you see herhair?” His voice was slightly overloud. Cat wondered if he’d slept at all since the baby had been born the night before. “Look at it all! Precisely the same color as Noor’s, and somuchof it. The physician said it would all fall out, but the midwife disagreed, and I’m inclined to think she’s right. Don’t you think she’s right?”
“Ambrose, my dear,” his mother said, “sit down before you fall down.”
“Oh God,” Ambrose said, and sat down abruptly on the settee. The baby in his arms performed a very tiny yawn, and everyone in the room froze to take in her majesty.
A month ago, Lady Edith Cleeve had moved down from London permanently, splitting her time between the Alverthorpe residence and Renwick House in order to make herself available for the end of Noor’s confinement. As it turned out, the baby had been extremely dilatory in her arrival, a delay which had given Edith the opportunity to move cautiously toward a full reconciliation with her sons.
Edith, Ambrose, Georgiana—they were all reserved, all painfully careful with one another.
But Percy had eased everything with his cheerful, bounding presence—and Noor with her honesty and dry humor—and now, too, the tiniest Cleeve would bring them closer still.
Ambrose stood up again, putting Cat in mind of a jack-in-the-box. “I should bring Noor some water. It’s been an hour. Would you like to hold the baby, Georgie?”
“Oh,” Georgiana said. “I—all right.”
Ambrose settled the swaddled baby in Georgiana’s arms and hurtled off in the direction of his wife.
“Perhaps he will fall unconscious on the way to the bedchamber,” Edith murmured. “One can only hope.”
Cat wasn’t quite listening. She grinned down at Georgiana’s miniature niece, whose cheeks were extraordinarily round. The baby’s fingers, curled over the top edge of the swaddling blanket, were inexpressibly tiny, and Cat could not help but marvel at each perfect fingernail.
“Isn’t she darling?” she murmured to Georgiana. “Congratulations, Auntie George.”
