Page 61 of Avenging the Earl's Lady
“The lady is esteemed by all the members of my large, extended family,” Shaldon drawled, “as well as our friends, and the best society.”
He turned his back on the man and walked away.
Payne-Elsdon was seeking to provoke a challenge.Someday, someone would have to kill him.
On the carriage ride home,Shaldon silently parsed Penderbrook’s polite chatter about the evening’s performance.With his debts paid, and his apologies made, the young man’s cheerful self-assurance had returned.
In that regard, he was just like his father, Reginald Dempsey.
The present crisis was settled, but the boy’s over-confidence, his cockiness, would provoke more to come.Had he not been stacked up against such a villain, and had it not been for Jane’s involvement, he would have let the young fool flounder himself out of the pond and onto dry land.
The carriage pulled up in front of Penderbrook’s lodgings.
“Thank you, my lord,” he said.“I cannot thank you enough for your generosity.”He reached for Jane’s hand.“And you, my lady, I should like to call on you soon and hear more of what you have to say.”
It was all said too handsomely.
Without waiting for Jane’s response, Penderbrook opened the carriage door and stepped out.
He turned and leaned in.“My lady.”He fumbled his hat.“My lady, I was wondering if, in private, I may call you Mother?”
He felt Jane’s sharp little breath and the jerk of her head as she nodded.
“Yes,” she said.“I should like that very much.”
Penderbrook’s smile gleamed white in the light of a gas lamp.He closed the door and they pulled away.
Jane collapsed against the squab,her mind a jumble, her body conscious of Shaldon’s warm bulk next to her and the possibility of his comfort.
His hand settled over hers.“Did it go well?”he asked.
Had it?How she wished to be close to the young man she’d thought about every day of his life.Still…he’d had twenty-four years of abandonment.He wouldn’t have got over that so quickly.
“Perhaps too well,” she said.“I think his anger yesterday afternoon was more honest.”
“He is being courteous.Finding his way.”
“He reminded me tonight of…of Reginald.”She swallowed a lump and looked at him, making out his frown in the flashes of passing lights.“You paid his debt, he said.”
“And he shall pay me a portion every quarter out of his salary.”
“Such an amount, Shaldon—what sort of position will he hold to allow that?He’ll be tempted to more foolishness, or…”
“To theft?”
Shame welled in her, the heat of it rising into her cheeks.“I’ll instruct Guignard to give you the painting if you’ll forgive Quentin’s debt and allow him to keep all of his income.”
“The painting you stole from me?”
She held her breath, waiting for more and finally sighed.“Yes.”
She would still be a thief, but she must at least try to give her son more of a future.And then she would find her own way.
And if her son was foolish again?A young man never had money enough.
If Guignard copied the painting before handing it over to Shaldon, she could sell that and add to her son’s income.
“I am not opposed to the idea of selling the painting as you planned, but I believe it would be better to find an auction house that will take it on.A bidding frenzy might drive the price up.”He squeezed her hand.“We will share the profits.”
