Lessons from a Scandalous Bride (Forgotten Princesses #2)(15)

A guarded look came over his face. “And what would that be?”

“I get the children. And Mama, too.”

He scratched his bristly jaw, obviously considering her words. “And what will I get?”

“Money. Freedom. You won’t have a brood of children beneath your feet. You can live the life of a gentleman . . . go off and spend your money however you please—“

“I can do that anyway—and keep my kin.”

“No. You can’t.” She sucked in a breath. “You won’t get a penny from me unless you agree to these terms.”

His eyes narrowed. “The boys. Adam and Conrad. They’re getting older. They can be useful—”

“I want them. All of them.”

“That’s going to cost you.”

Loathing curled in the pit of her belly. “What kind of man negotiates the sale of his children?”

He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m an entrepreneur.”

“I’ll pay whatever you ask. But I get all of them. Or I walk. That’s the arrangement.” She held her breath tight inside her chest, hoping he’d believe her bluff—that she’d walk away from her family. No matter the situation, she’d never do that—could never turn her back on them.

He studied her, clearly contemplating her offer, weighing if there was any disadvantage to him.

“Very well,” he finally relented. “You can have the children. They’re naught but trouble, anyway. But I keep your mother.”

A protest surged hotly to her lips. “No!” Her mother would not live much longer if she remained with him. Of this she was certain. “I’ll pay you.”

“You can’t pay me enough for her.” He thrust his face close. Spittle flew from his lips. “She’s my wife. I keep her.”

Gazing into his eyes, she knew he would never relent on this point. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “Very well.”

He smiled suddenly. “I’m glad we had this talk.” Shivering in the morning chill, he flipped up the collar of his coat.

Glaring at him, she marveled that she could ever despise anyone so much.

Squinting out at the tree-shrouded horizon, he murmured mildly, “Best be quick and get yourself to the altar. Don’t know how long the little ones can fare without proper care. Life can be so . . . taxing.” He glanced back at her, an eyebrow winging high. “As you well know.”

With that parting comment ringing ominously in her ears, he drifted off down the path.

The next afternoon Marguerite surprised Cleo with a visit. Even if Cleo hadn’t grown fond of her half sister in the last year, she would have been delighted to see her for the distraction alone. She’d suffered a restless night, her encounter with her stepfather replaying through her mind, filling her with a gnawing sense of urgency. She must do something and soon. She might not be able to save her mother, but she could still save the children.

Deciding an outing would do her some good, Cleo suggested they visit her favorite place, a bookshop she had discovered shortly after arriving in Town.

The bell chimed over the door as they entered the shop. Cleo inhaled, loving the musty, leathery aroma. Mr. Schumacher greeted them warmly, coming around his wide oak counter.

“Ladies! So good to see you again. Anything I can help you with today?”

“Just browsing, Mr. Schumacher,” she replied, untying her bonnet’s ribbons beneath her chin.

Marguerite did the same, smoothing a hand over the top of her raven-dark hair.

“Well, you always manage to find something with no assistance from me. Enjoy! Let me know if you need anything.” Beaming, he gestured widely with his hands, welcoming them to peruse the towering shelves stuffed haphazardly with books. Cleo was certain they were organized in some order and fashion that Mr. Schumacher alone understood. Patrons, however, were hopeless to understand what that pattern might be.

Marguerite trailed behind her, evidently content to let Cleo browse the many books. Cleo pulled out one title and then slid it back in its home, strolling along and running her fingers over spines.

“See anything you like?”

“Not yet.” She looked over her shoulder with a smile. “But I will.”

“Of that I have no doubt. You read more than any soul I’ve ever known.”

“Books were such a rarity growing up. The only thing I ever read with any regularity was Mama’s Bible. Or sheet music. When I practiced the pianoforte at the rectory, the vicar would sometimes let me read from his collection of books.” She smiled at the memory. “The reverend was a good man, but his reading preferences were different from my own. He didn’t own a single novel.”

She selected a battered novel by Mrs. Radcliffe and tucked it beneath her arm.

Marguerite arched a dark eyebrow. “I’d hazard to say he would not have approved of that one.”

She laughed. “Most assuredly.”

Cleo exclaimed with delight as she found a thin volume of poems. Thumbing through it, she saw that it was all melodramatic rubbish. The best kind. Pleased, she hugged the book close.

“I’ll be back. I want to see if there are any books of children’s rhymes. My friend Fallon enjoys reading to her daughter.” Marguerite moved down the aisle.

Cleo continued to browse as Marguerite moved off. Surrounded by so many books, she could forget the world around her . . . especially so close to the chance of escaping into other worlds. Better worlds.