Summers' Embrace Page 4

  “She has strained her ankle. A few days rest is all that she needs. But I am afraid she will not heed my advice. She must stay off her feet during that time. If not, she could injure it further.”

  Branson nodded. “I will see that she follows your orders, doctor.”

  “Thank you. Now, if you will please excuse me, I have been called elsewhere.”

  “Of course. How much do I owe you?”

  “I have not tallied the bill. I will send you a statement tomorrow…if that is all right with you?”

  “That will be fine. Good day, doctor.”

  “Good day, Mr. Wilcox.”

  When the door closed, the façade of civility Branson conveyed melted away. His sister’s presence was going to cost him money. He had to come up with a scheme to be rid of her but get to keep her money.

  “Mr. Wilcox,” Winston said from the door.

  “What?” Branson snapped.

  “Miss Wilcox is requesting your presence.”

  “Of course she is.” Branson set his drink upon the table and approached the door. “Let’s see what type of difficulty she will cause now.”

  Branson located Catrina still sitting upon the settee. Her right foot was elevated on a pillow. A white bandage was wrapped securely around her ankle.

  “I see you have made yourself comfortable,” Branson said with hostility.

  “For the time being,” Catrina retorted.

  “What do you want, Catrina?”

  She swallowed hard and raised her chin. She wanted to go to Eden with Elena, and she knew she had to be forceful with her request, or Branson would never let her go.

  “Elena is traveling to Eden next month and has asked me to accompany her.”

  “Who? Where?”

  “My friend Elena Paxsley. Her family is traveling to the newest seaside resort and has asked me to accompany them.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “Because? What type of reason is that?”

  “You just arrived home.”

  Catrina snorted with disgust. “Like you care.”

  A malevolent sneer came to Branson. “Why, dear, dear sister. You know your welfare is of my utmost concern.”

  “Oh, please, Branson. You despise me. Now that I am of age, you will try to pair me off with the first available old miser you can find and not lose a minute’s sleep over it.”

  “You are so very perceptive, little sister.”

  “I am not perceptive. I know you despise me, Branson. You blame me for our parents’ death. So, before you sell me to the highest bidder, I plan on enjoying my last summer with Elena.”

  “I forbid you.”

  “You can forbid me all you wish. But I am going. And if you refuse, I will run away.”

  “You will do no such thing.”

  “I have every right to visit my friend.”

  “You have no rights! You are a woman and are under my dictate until you wed.”

  “Or turn twenty-one.”

  “You will be married by then, Catrina. I am in the process of locating you a suitor as we speak.”

  “Then that suitor will have to come find me at Eden. And if you refuse to allow me this…I’ll…I’ll…” What would she do? Her eyes widened as the idea hit her. “I’ll ruin my reputation.”

  “What?”

  “I will seek out the first man and stay the night with him. Perhaps Lord Huntsley.” She had no idea what “spending the night” entailed. She just remembered hearing Miss Eddy speak of how a girl’s reputation would be ruined if she spent a night with a man who was not her husband. And that if she did, no man would want to make her his wife. If that were true, then Catrina knew that would push her brother over the edge. Especially now that she knew Huntsley was Josephine Montgomery’s son.

  “Why, you little harlot!”

  “I am not a harlot! But I will behave like one should you deny me this, Branson.” She was not sure how a harlot acted either. She did see one once when she and Elena had slipped away from Miss Eddy’s. The only reason she knew it was one was that Elena had said the girl was one. The girl was dressed in a rather low-necked gown and had kissed a strange man right on the mouth! In the street, no less! The girl then took the man’s hand and dragged him inside a small house. So, if kissing a stranger was how one acted like a harlot, Catrina was not too proud to do so—just as long as it made it possible for her to travel to Eden.

  Branson pressed his lips together tightly as he ground his teeth.

  “Why do you even care if I am here? You hate me. I’ll go to Eden while you find my future miserable husband.”

  “You would do something so scandalous as ruining your reputation to spite me, wouldn’t you?”

  “It’s not to spite you. It’s to get what I want. And I want to go to Eden. No, wait! I am going to Eden…with or without your approval.”

  Brandon tsked his tongue. “My, my. Here I thought your time at Miss Eddy’s might have taken that independence out of you.”

  “I am delighted to say that it only nourished it. Made me stronger.”

  “Stronger? You mean more vindictive. I cannot believe you would soil your reputation just to enjoy the summer with your boon companion.”

  “I would.” She shrugged and twisted her head haughtily. “But the best part is that it would anger you.”

  “Fine. If you want to spend your last summer with that Paxsley girl, so be it. Just know that when you return, I will have a suitor for you…and because of your spirited nature, you will definitely not like my choice.”

  “I expected no less. You will find the most miserable, cruel, deformed miser to pair me with. But, at least, I will be away from you.”

  “You hateful bitch. I only wish that day our parents died you had perished as well.”

  Catrina swallowed down the lump in her throat and blinked away the painful tears. She always knew her brother wished she had died. But to hear him voice his disdain was a pain she had not experienced in eight years.

  In a voice clear and full of hatred, she replied, “Likewise.”

  Thomas controlled his temper as he left Windy Ridge. Branson Wilcox was an imbecile! After Thomas had left Catrina on the settee, he encountered Branson in the hallway. Instead of Branson thanking Thomas for assisting Catrina home, Branson had the nerve to tell Thomas to never return!

  “Then I suggest, next time, you be the one to come to your sister’s aid,” Thomas said. “Instead of sitting in your study like a useless twit.”

  Thomas did not wait around to hear Branson’s response. He could care less about what the bastard had to say. Thomas had always considered Wilcox a useless sod, and now he had definitive proof.

  Well, he had proof before now. It was always the way Wilcox demanded that Josephine give him back the land that he claimed was rightfully his. It was, in fact, left legally to Josephine. Wilcox’s father, Patrick, and Richard Montgomery were distant cousins. When Montgomery died, he left instructions for his lands and wealth to go to Josephine. Branson was furious and demanded the properties be distributed to the blood heirs. He lost his argument.

  It grated on Thomas’s nerves how Branson thought Thomas had control over his mother’s finances. Truth be told, Thomas could care less what his mother spent her funds on…as long as she left him out of the equation.

  Thomas mounted his steed and held in the desire to kick the horse into a run. He was furious but would not give Wilcox the satisfaction of thinking he had chased Thomas away. Instead, he nudged the horse to a slow walk. However, once at the gate, Thomas placed his heels to the horse and took off at a run towards Montgomery House—his mother’s home.

  Montgomery House was a grand structure. Three stories of granite accentuated with marble and copper. Thomas’s stepfather, Richard, had spared no expense on his country estate. Richard hired the best gardeners and landscapers in Europe. Sculptors from Rome. Botanists from Germany, France, and Spain. Architects and de
signers from England. Every inch of the grounds were sculpted to Montgomery’s specifications.

  Thomas never cared for Richard, yet the man was worldly. In his youth, Richard traveled the globe acquiring his wealth. He owned sugar plantations in the Caribbean, copper mines in Cornwall, vineyards in Rome, and tobacco farms in America. Richard assumed he never would marry. Hell, to meet the man would be reason enough to see why he never married. Montgomery had been a homely man. Large ears and teeth with a small nose and wide eyes. He was short in stature and rail-thin, only making his horsey features more pronounced. He was rude with a shrill, nasally voice and considered himself more important than the king. In his youth, Richard had made a will, instructing his solicitor to sell all properties and give the money to his closest living relative upon his death. After Montgomery married Josephine, he changed the stipulations of his will. He stated that all of his money and lands go to Josephine. This, in turn, left his blood relatives furious.

  Wilcox had tried numerous times to declare Richard’s will null and void, stating Richard was not right in his mind when the document was made. Or that Richard could not have foreseen his wealth and that he would want it to be distributed equally to his blood relatives and not a wife whom he had just wed. Josephine had hired only the best lawyers and rebuked Branson’s claims each time. The last time? They threatened to have Branson committed if he continued with his allegations.

  Thomas genuinely did not care about the money. His father, Timothy, had made certain Thomas did not have to worry about funds. Timothy had made wise investments, and Thomas continued with those investments as well by purchasing two sugar cane plantations in the Caribbean. Selling the sugar increased Thomas’s wealth, but shipping had been an issue. If his mother knew that Thomas had brokered a deal with the St. Johns to ship his sugar, she would thrash him with her walking stick. She hated her sister and her sister’s family. For the life of him, Thomas could not figure out why. But then again, he really did not care.

  The horse’s heavy breathing captured Thomas’s attention. He pulled back on the reins, slowing the stallion’s pace. Leaning forward, he roughly patted the beast’s neck.

  “Sorry, Thor. I didn’t mean to run you like that.”

  The horse answered with a snort and a shake of its head.

  Thomas dismounted from his mount, deciding to walk the remaining distance to Montgomery House. Not that it would be a long stroll for he had run his horse to the edge of the property. It was a short walk to the stables but long enough for the horse to cool down. He handed the reins to the stable master and headed to the house.

  Entering from the back, he hoped to avoid his mother. He did not want to contend with her at the moment. Easing down the hallway, he was about to enter the study when he heard her shrill, hate-filled command.

  “Come here, Thomas.”

  Thomas closed his eyes, containing his disgruntled moan.

  “Thomas!”

  Sighing, he turned and entered his mother’s lair. She was sitting upon the settee, her feet out in front of her, her hand resting on the back. The black dress she wore was a stark contrast to her white flesh. Her once red hair was now solid white. Green eyes filled with hatred pierced him. Once upon a time, she was a stunning woman. But now, she had allowed overindulgence in food and spirits to take away her youthful figure. Her constant frown had caused wrinkles to settle around her eyes and mouth. And her yelling had caused her voice to become thick and gravelly.

  “You called, Mother,” Thomas said, stopping before her.

  “Take a seat,” she spat, motioning to the ivory chair to her left.

  Thomas did as bade. The sooner he allowed her to rant, the sooner he could leave.

  “I take it you did not find him?” Josephine asked.

  “We did. But he managed to elude us.”

  Josephine slid her feet to the floor. Facing her son, she wagged her pudgy finger at him. “He needs a firm hand. You are being too soft on that boy.”

  “Me? You are the one who invited a man with a perversion for seeing our neighbors unclothed.”

  “I brought him here with hopes that you could reform him.”

  “It is not my job to ‘reform’ him. That responsibility fell solely upon his useless father.”

  “You know Truman could not help that he was unwell.”

  “Not well? The man was lazy…pure and simple. I’m amazed that he had the motivation to even die. And your sister, Merritt, has not aided in his plight either. Instead, she waves away his violations as nothing more than boyish actions.”

  “He is young, Thomas. He needs guidance.”

  “He is twenty! He does not need guidance. He needs a foot shoved up his ass.”

  “Thomas! That is my nephew you are insulting.”

  “And I am your son. But with the way you defend his actions, one would think he is your son, and I am your nephew.”

  “I do not defend him!”

  Coolly, Thomas asked, “Then what would you call it, Mother?”

  “Trying to get others to see the error of his youthfulness.”

  “Error of his youthfulness? Hell, when I was ten, I behaved with more dignity than he does now. Why don’t you just admit it, Mother?”

  “Admit what?”

  “I am an embarrassment to you.”

  “What?” A feigned look of shock came over Josephine as she dramatically placed her hand to her chest. “Why I would never say that, Thomas.”

  “Yes, you would. You do not like the fact that I have associations with commoners. You do not like that I have not married. That I prefer to gamble and spend my evenings at gentlemen’s clubs instead of in the company of boring, refined women.”

  A sneer pulled Josephine’s full lips. “You just gave reasons why any mother would be embarrassed by their children. And since you acknowledge your shortcomings, I suggest you rectify them and find a proper wife. I hear that Iris Parker you have been calling upon is hoping to land a husband soon.”

  Thomas ignored his mother’s comment about Iris Parker. He knew she was fishing for some sort of gossip about his relationship with Lady Iris. “My shortcomings? At least I seek my personal satisfaction with willing participants and not peering through open windows.”

  “That was uncalled for, Thomas. You know Clayton cannot help his affliction.”

  “He can. He simply chooses not to. Why should he? He knows that his mother or you or Uncle Marcum will come to his defense and pay off the victims. Aunt Merritt coddled him. Truman, if he weren’t so lazy, would be turning in his grave at the type of man his son turned out to be. As for Uncle Marcum, he needs to stop rushing to Clayton’s defense every time the blighter gets into trouble.”

  “He needs help, Thomas. Why can you not see that?” Josephine waggled her finger again at her son. “You are jealous.”

  Thomas snorted in disgust. “Jealous? Why would I be jealous of Clayton?”

  “Because you want the attention all for yourself. You cannot stand that Clayton has found a way to get his family to take him in and comfort him. You are jealous because when Truman died, we all felt sorry for Clayton. He was just a young boy when he lost his father. You, on the other hand, were old enough to handle the heartbreak. You are jealous because when your father died, no one paid you the attention you thought you deserved.”

  “He was eighteen! The same age I was when Father passed.”

  “He was still just a child and needed comforting. As for you? You had already proven that you were just as cold as your father,” Josephine sneered.

  “I cannot believe you just said that,” Thomas seethed.

  “What? You were jealous when your father died. You were jealous because I received all the sympathy. Because condolences were given to me, to your aunts, to your cousins, but not to you.”

  “Have you gone mad? I mourned my father.”

  “Mourned him? You spent the weeks after his death in a drunken stupor with his whore,” Josephine hissed.

  “W
hy would I bother coming to you?” Thomas stood and turned his back to his mother. “You had your sisters to hear your pitiful plight. Of how you had a loveless marriage and how I was a mistake that should have never happened.”

  “You should have never happened! He was angry that his whore had married and was leaving London with her new husband. He came home drunk that night and forced himself upon me. What woman wants a child conceived from rape?”

  “Rape?” Thomas whirled around to face his mother. “I seriously doubt there is enough liquor in all of England to make a man drunk enough to willingly take you to his bed.”

  Josephine gasped and shot to her feet. “You razor-tongued, ungrateful child! I should—”

  “Don’t speak,” Thomas barked. They never saw eye to eye, and it was common knowledge that she did not like him. But to hear her say that his father had raped her? The lie was too much. “I do not want to hear another lie about Father pass over your lips. Timothy was a good man forced to marry a vicious woman.”

  A smirk came to Josephine. “You still defend that man.”

  “I will always defend my father. You, not so much.”

  Josephine snorted. “I would expect no different from you.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Take it as you will.”

  Thomas clenched his fists. How he hated his mother. “I take it that you are the one jealous.”

  A bitter laugh left her as she approached the hutch. Pouring a glass of sherry, she asked, “What do I have to be jealous of?”

  “That Father loved another woman. That, if given a chance, he would have married her instead of you.”

  “If you are referring to his whore the Dowager Duchess Miriam James, then you would be sorely mistaken. She loved another. A man with more money and a greater title than your father. And she married the man.”

  “No. That is the lie you spun. A lie you kept telling yourself. Father told me the truth of their relationship.”

  “When?” she seethed.

  Thomas snorted. “Like you do not know. Hell, Miriam lived with Father and me. As far back as I can remember, you stayed at your sister Merritt’s. For the longest time, I believed Miriam was my mother and that you were just a cold, angry, distant relative who came for an occasional visit. When Father told me the truth, I thought he was jesting. But Miriam verified his claims.”