Page 4 of The Truth About Lord Stoneville
“I happen to know,” Gran went on, “that Oliver sold the last unentailed piece of family property to pay off several debts that you gentlemen jointly accumulated, since I refused to cover them. There is little left to sell that is not entailed. You need what I can provide, if you are to continue to live comfortably.”
Deuce take her for being right. With the town house and his brothers’ lodgings gone, his siblings would have no choice but to move in here. Even Oliver was without a place at present—the property in Acton that she’d spoken of had been his home until recently. He’d been staying with his brothers while he figured out what to do. But he hadn’t planned on having the estate support them all, as well as his brothers’ future wives and children.
No wonder Gran had managed to run a brewery with such success for the past twenty-two years. She was a Machiavelli in skirts.
“So who would inherit Plumtree Brewery?” he asked. “Do you mean to say you wouldn’t leave it to Jarrett, as Grandfather wanted?”
“I’d leave it to your cousin Desmond.”
As Jarret groaned, Minerva cried, “You can’t leave it to Desmond. He’ll run it into the ground!”
Gran shrugged. “What do I care? I will be dead. And if you won’t take the necessary measures to make sure that it stays in your family, then it really doesn’t matter where it goes, does it?”
Celia rose in protest. “Gran, you know what Desmond will do. He’ll hire children and work them to death.” Celia volunteered with a charity that fought to improve child labor laws—it was her passion. “Look at how he runs his mills. You can’t leave it tohim.”
“I can leave it to whomever I please,” Gran said, her eyes cold as slate.
Surely she was bluffing. She hated Desmond as much as the rest of them.
Still, she’d never been the bluffing sort. “I suppose you’ve chosen our mates for us, too,” Oliver said bitterly.
“No. I leave that to you. But you will not settle down unless I force your hand; I have indulged you all too long. It is time you do your part for the family, which means providing the next generation to carry on my legacy.”
Celia dropped heavily into her seat. “It’s not as if Minerva and I can just pick a husband at whim. A man has to propose marriage. What if no one does?”
Gran rolled her eyes. “You’re both lovely ladies who turn heads wherever you go. If you, Celia, would stop trouncing your brothers’ friends in shooting matches, one of them would probably offer for you in a trice. And if Minervawould stop writing those ghastly Gothic novels—”
“I won’t do that,” Minerva protested.
“At least take a pen name. I don’t seewhyyou must go about acknowledging the fact that you are the author of such disreputable stories, scandalizing everyone you meet.”
Her gaze shifted to Jarret and Gabe. “As for you two, you could actually attend a ball occasionally. Jarret, you do nothaveto spend every night in the gaming hells, and Gabe . . .” She let out a weary sigh. “If you would only stop racing any fool who challenges you, you might have the time to seek out a bride. You lads are perfectly capable of enticing respectable women to marry you. You never seem to have trouble coaxing whores and actresses into your beds.”
“Oh, God,” Gabe muttered, his ears turning pink. It was one thing to bed a whore and quite another to have one’s grandmother remark upon it.
She fixed Oliver with a steady look. “And we all know that your brother has a considerable advantage: his title.”
“And the trade of title for money ended so well for our parents,” Oliver said sarcastically. “I can see why you’re eager for me to repeat the transaction.”
When pain slashed over her face, he ignored the twinge of guilt in his chest. If she meant to force them into this, then she’d have to accept the consequences.
His mother’s last words to him clamored in his brain.You’re a disgrace to this family . . . .
A chill coursed down his spine. Abruptly he walked tothe door and opened it. “May I have a private word with you in the hall, Gran?”
One gray brow flicked upward. “If you wish.”
As soon as they were away from the others, Oliver faced her down. “Inflicting me as a husband on some hapless woman won’t change anything.”
“Are you sure?” Gran met his gaze steadily, her blue eyes softening. “You are better than this aimless life you lead, Oliver.”
God, if she only knew. “This is what I am. It’s time you accepted it. Mother did.”
She paled. “I know you do not like to speak of what happened that day—”
“I don’t,” he cut in. “And I won’t.” Not to her or anyone.
“You will not speak of it because you blame me for it.”
