Page 178 of The Ladies Least Likely
“There’s a trick to it,” Mal said, walking on Hugh’s other side. “Cream tea. Something about where the jam goes, though on my life I can’t recall which way is correct.”
“You’ll never make a good Cornishman if you don’t learn,” Amaranthe scolded him, and between them they got Hugh inside. Ralph deposited the trunk inside the foyer and went back for the rest. The sound of shrieking floated from the formal parlor.
“I will have this clock, you saucy wench, and I’ll have your backside in the street without a character for crossing me!” Sybil’s voice, unmistakably.
“Ee ain’t yours, ee’s the duke’s, innit!” Eyde retorted. “You’ll have to answer to Mr. Grey do you help yourself to anything more under this roof, and I don’t care if ’er’s the Queen herself!”
“I am still the duchess!” Sybil yelped. “My marriage wasn’t a sham like the one that produced these miserable little bastards. I will have what I am due!”
“Hugh,” Amaranthe murmured, “perhaps you would run to the kitchen for me and tell Mrs. Blackthorn we’d like those scones.”
“And miss Mal taking on our stepmother?” Hugh answered. “Not for the world.” He straightened his back, and Amaranthe smiled.
She admired Mal’s air of command as he strode into the parlor. When he spotted Ned and Camilla in the far corner near the fireplace, a white-faced Ned holding his sister while tears rolled down her cheeks, Mal’s rage became magnificent to see.
“Sybil, by God, you will not take a thing from this house but what my father gave you. And I will have your things sent to your lodgings, where you will be waiting, since you are leaving this house this instant.”
“You would deny me!” Sybil lifted the heavy ormulu clock to throw at him. With alarm Eyde leapt forward and wrested it from her, cradling the ornate piece to her chest as if it were a baby bird.
“You would leave me penniless! You heard the will. You know what your father left me. An annuity, barely enough to keep a carriage. How am I supposed to hold up my head?”
“The annuity is more than enough to keep you comfortably, and if you were displeased with your jointure, you should have made that known when the marriage settlements were being drawn up,” Mal said. “But you were so eager to be a duchess, I daresay you were only thinking of your immediate benefit, weren’t you? You would stoop to rob Hugh’s inheritance, and leave the children without money for food or fuel to run off to the Continent with Popplewell, and then dare show your face in this house? Truly, madam, your arrogance astounds me!”
“My arrogance?” Sybil stabbed a finger in his direction. “I don’t know how you manufactured those documents, but you will not get away with this. Thief! Imposter! To think I thoughtyou too witless and shiftless to ever be a bother to me, and to find you are capable ofthis.” Her angry gaze swept to include Amaranthe. “And her, wearing my gowns!”
“I can assure you all your gowns will be returned to you,” Amaranthe said. “I see you have need of them, since you have put off mourning already.”
“I must havesomethingto live on.” Sybil stomped her foot.
“You should have.” Mal took a step forward, his voice lowering dangerously. “The account books for both the house and the estates show that you and Popplewell have been diverting income to your own pockets for quite some time, since well before my father died. If you have not hoarded your ill-gotten gains enough to support you, I cannot find it in me to harbor any pity.”
Sybil’s eyes widened, and she looked nervously toward the door. “You—you’re threatening me. And lying. Again.”
“I have seen the books as well,” Amaranthe said. “I could swear to it in a court of law. I believe even duchesses can be convicted for stealing, can they not?”
Sybil’s pale face took on a hunted expression. Stealing was regarded much like forgery and punished with fines, transportation, or death, depending on the severity of the crime and the whim of the judge. Sybil had stolen a great deal.
“You,” she spat at Amaranthe. “I imagine you’re quite pleased with how all this turned out. Taking up with a bastard and contriving to make him a duke!”
“You will leave Amaranthe out of this,” Mal said. “You will leave this house this instant. We shall not be troubled by you or your demands again, or those account books will be given to my solicitor for review. And if I hear one word—even the slightest intimation—that you have said anything ill, indeed anything at all about my brothers or sister…” His voice trailed off, theunspoken threat more daunting than anything he could have given voice to.
Camilla gave a choked little cry, and Ned firmed his arms around her. Hugh crossed the room to stand before them both.
Sybil rallied; she would not go down easily. Amaranthe had to admire her fighting spirit. “I spoke no more than what is the truth. If you’re the duke now, then they’re nameless bastards. They have nothing and no one.”
“They have me,” Mal said. “You had no right to tell them, Sybil.”
She licked her lips. “Someone had to. Hugh had the right of it. It’s only too bad you returned in time to stop him leaving. How can he live here, knowing?—”
“Enough!” Mal roared. “Ralph, you will open the door for the duchess, and if she does not throw herself through it this very instant, she may not leave this house unscathed.”
“Brute!” Sybil cried, but she picked up her massive skirts and scurried for the door. “I always knew you were uncivilized.”
“Then you know better than to cross me,” Mal said. “Out!”
She complied.
Mal faced his siblings, standing on the other side of the patterned rug, with a set of chairs and a small table between them. They stared back at him, forlorn.
