Still utterly destitute, Asher now walked to the Hollanders’ townhouse with a quick step, optimistic that some grand plan would start to unfold.
In order to marry Winn, he needed enough to return every farthing Lord Waldenfield had paid him. Enough to pay off his father’s debt to Seabrooke, and never face his henchmen again. Additional money for the special license, a place to live . . . to start their lives . . .
Not only that, he needed to ask Waldenfield for permission and to withdraw Winn’s dowry. He didn’t want her ever to question how much he loved her. Having her was all that mattered to him.
Unfortunately, by the time he arrived at the Hollanders’ townhouse, he hadn’t come up with a single idea worth a shake of salt. He hoped they’d be struck by one of their farfetched, but surprisingly brilliant, ideas. In the back of his mind, however, he felt guilty for the way that his father had taken away their dreams as well, and knew they’d likely be drowning their sorrows for weeks to come.
Climbing the stairs to their study, he was surprised to hear them laughing heartily. And when he entered the drawing room, he was shocked to see who was standing with them.
“You,” Asher said to the man with the gray mustachios. Not only had he sold this man his knife in the village square across from the Grinning Boar, but now he recalled seeing him at Mr. Windle’s jewelry shop the day they’d tried to sell Winn’s pearls.
The man bowed with a flourish and in his gravelly bark of a voice said, “Sir Roderick Devine at your service.”
“The privateer?” Asher asked, looking to One and Two, who were grinning like cats who’d eaten the heads and tails of all the goldfish in a bowl. And it seemed like they weren’t going to tell him a thing, so he turned his attention back to Devine. “The Hollanders bought your hunting lodge.”
“True enough,” Devine said with a sly, amused twitch of his mustachios.
“Yet I was under the impression that—and forgive me for saying this—you’d died years ago.”
“Privateering was a precarious walk along the plank. One minute, you’re looting for the crown, but then the war ends and suddenly it’s treason.” He lifted his hands in a helpless shrug. “So I arranged to make it appear as though I’d perished at sea, rather than face the hangman’s noose.”
“As anyone would,” Asher said, digesting this in slow bites.
Then he saw Bates nudge Avery with his elbow, both of them fairly bursting with laughter. The former coughed into his fist, poorly disguising his words, “Ask him about the treasure map.”
Asher glanced back to Devine. “Is it real?”
“Indeed. The map is the genuine article.” That sly grin returned. “The treasure, however, was unearthed years ago.”
The twins guffawed, slapping each other on the back.
“And to think,” One said, “we’d have sailed all that way for nothing but sea air and sand.”
“Holt, your father has done us all a favor,” Two added, wheezing.
Devine handed a waiting glass to Asher and poured a liberal amount of rum into it. “Just what a man like Shettlemane deserves, I should think.”
Asher took the glass and scrutinized the stranger. “How is it that you knew my name in the village, and that you seem to know my father?”
Devine’s winged brows rose and he looked to Asher. “I’ll only say that I am acquainted with someone who knew your father long ago. Now, let us forget treasure maps for the moment and drink a toast, for I’ve been informed by these fine fellows that you have settled your heart on taking a wife.”
Asher held up a hand. “Don’t startle the Fates. I’m still unsure of how to accomplish this feat. But I must, and before her father decides to marry her to someone else.”
“What can we do to help?” Avery asked, staggering up to tap his glass to Asher’s and gulp down a hearty swallow. He was half drunk and it wasn’t even noon.
“Do you know of anyone who might need a shop clerk? A cobbler looking for an apprentice?”
* * *
Directly following Asher’s departure, Winnifred went to her father’s study, prepared to call off the wedding. With her hand on the latch, she took in a deep breath to garner her courage. But when she heard Mr. Woodbine’s voice beyond the door, she paused, listening.
“I think an additional five thousand pounds per annum should justify all the inconvenience I’ve suffered,” he said.
“Or better yet,” her father began, his tone dropping so low with warning that it raised gooseflesh on the back of her neck, “let us discuss a certain necklace and the note that came with it.”
Realizing that she’d left the pearls in the parlor, she rushed back to retrieve them. When she returned to her father’s study to hand them over, however, she opened the door to find him gripping the front of Mr. Woodbine’s cravat and glaring down into his wide, terrified eyes.
“Settlement for breach of contract? How dare you! My daughter was always too good for the likes of you. You money-grubbing worm. If I had that necklace in my hand, I’d cram it down—”
“Thank you, Father,” she said, stepping into the room, so happy she could burst. Whalebone beware!
He abruptly released her betrothed and cleared his throat. And when she laid the necklace in her father’s hand, the ashen Mr. Woodbine fled the room without a backward glance, nearly bowling Mother over in the corridor.
“Julian,” Mother tsked, but with a smile playing on her lips. “Did you threaten Mr. Woodbine?”
He straightened his coat. “I did, indeed.”
“What a relief!” Mother said, shocking Winnifred to her heels. “I am glad we’re finally rid of him. I cannot count the times I’d wanted to tweak that man’s nose whenever he wrinkled it with distaste. I hope the duke and his brothers live forever and that overbearing stuffed shirt never inherits.”
Father nodded in stern agreement, and looked to his dumbfounded daughter. “I only wanted what was best for you, but I refused to acknowledge what a complete arse that man is. If I’m to be honest, I was ready to beat the pulp out of him the day these arrived.” He held up the pearls, then dropped them with an unceremonious clatter onto his desk. “Thankfully, you had more sense than I. Though that isn’t to say I’m condoning you running away and worrying your mother sick, young lady.”
“Quite true,” Mother agreed, but reached out and squeezed her hand. “Even so, I have made my share of mistakes. Instead of trying to prepare you for heartache, I should have taught you to honor the demands of your heart. A marriage should have love and affection to see it through hardships.”
Realizing her mouth was agape, Winnifred closed it with a snap. Who were these people and what had they done with her parents?
“Now, what’s this I hear from the servants about Lord Holt paying a call this morning?” Mother asked, and Father’s brows lowered.
Winnifred blushed under their combined scrutiny. “Well, you see . . . Lord Holt and I have something of an understanding between us. I have every confidence that he will soon request an audience with you to ask for my hand in marriage.”
She relayed a few more details—though none that would compel her father to beat the pulp out of Asher—and explained that they’d both professed their love to each other.
Mother smiled and embraced her.
Father’s brows remained low. “I’m not convinced that Holt is worthy. He’s a bit too arrogant if you ask me. Stood on my very doorstep last night and tried to tell me that he knew my daughter better than I did.”
“Father.” Winnifred set her hands on her hips, her stubborn glower matching his own.
“Then again,” he added on a resigned exhale, “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to give him another chance.”
“If you’ll recall, Julian,” Mother said, slipping her arm beneath his, “my father wasn’t terribly pleased with you either. He thought you were too full of yourself.”
Father gazed down at her with a reminiscent grin. “I had you on my arm, Genie. How could I help but be a little full of myself?”
Again, Winnifred gaped at her parents. She had no idea what had transpired between them for such an alteration, but she wasn’t about to question something that filled her with hope.
“I’ll just leave the two of you alone then . . .” she said, backing out of the room. “I’m going to check with the kitchen about the tea I’m serving when Jane and Ellie arrive.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” Mother interjected, following her into the corridor. “The first few of your altered dresses arrived a moment ago. They will be simply lovely on you, I’m certain.” She pursed her lips as she slid a glance to her daughter. “Don’t give me that look of disbelief, and stop waiting for me to add something critical. I took your words to heart, my dear. And I am trying to make up for the years I’ve wasted every opportunity to fawn on you.”
Winnifred rolled her eyes. “I hardly need fawning.”
“Then at least, tell me you are eager to try on each dress, complete with hat and gloves.”
“Must I be eager or simply willing?” she asked with a wry lift of her brows. What had she gotten herself into?
* * *
A short while later, Asher stepped out of the Hollanders’ townhouse, ready to embark on his first order of business.
“Holt,” Devine called from behind him, donning his hat as he left the townhouse as well. “I know you have plans to scour London for a prospect, but I wonder if I might talk to you for a moment. Would you share my carriage, by chance?”
“I’d be honored,” Asher said, climbing inside the sleek lacquered chaise. He gave the direction of his solicitor’s office in Cheapside.
He’d formulated a plan of action to extricate himself from his father’s grip. He knew there was little he could do about his father borrowing money against his name. There would always be disreputable moneylenders who chose to ignore proper procedures. But he could draft letters, stating that he refused to be held responsible for monies lent to anyone who falsely used his identity. This might be the only thing to help him in court over the years to come and keep him out of Fleet.
When they were on their way, Devine didn’t waste any time. “I wanted to return this knife,” he said, placing it on the table between them. “It wouldn’t be right for me to keep it. After all, it’s part of your inheritance.”
Asher looked down at it with fondness. “It is all I had left of my mother’s, but I cannot accept it. Our trade was a binding agreement. You helped me out of a tight spot and this is the very least I can do to repay you.”
Besides, he’d been clinging to places and objects that inspired her memory long enough. His mother would always be with him, no matter if he had the knife or visited her grave at Ashbrook Cottage.
Devine stared at him quizzically. Then gradually, one side of his mustachios twitched in a grin. “You’re not at all like your father. It was always Liliandra’s wish that you would favor your mother’s temperament.”
“Liliandra?” Asher startled, sitting forward. “Do you mean my Great-Aunt Lolly?”
Devine chuckled. “As I said, this knife is part of your inheritance. Didn’t your mother ever tell you about her aunt stealing away on a ship?”
“And just how would you know anything about that?”
“As the perished privateer that I am, my name is Sir Roderick Devine. Yet for years on the open seas, I was an infamous pirate known as the Mad Macaw. And I offered the treasure that goes along with that knife to Liliandra when I proposed. Bold as brass, she’d said she would only marry me if she could give the entire ship and the treasure in its hold to your mother. She even made me sign a contract and put the whole of it in safekeeping.”
Stunned in speechless disbelief, Asher couldn’t form a reply.
“Liliandra read your mother’s letters to me,” Devine continued. “That is how I became acquainted with your father. And she’d always wanted your mother to be able to escape.”
Someday, Asher . . . Someday, the two of us are going to sail away on a treasure ship and start a whole new life, full of adventure.
“So the stories were true?”
“Knowing Liliandra and her inclination to protect your mother, she likely didn’t tell the whole story.”
Asher blinked. “And to think, my mother had a treasure all that time. Did she know?”
“Aye, but she wrote to Liliandra and asked that it be kept from you for a time.”
“She was afraid that I would turn out like my father,” Asher surmised. And thinking of Shettlemane, he felt a shiver course through him. “Once he realizes that there isn’t any treasure from the map he stole—and after an entire voyage of imagining how he’d spend it—he’ll be even more of a ruthless gambler than before. No. It is still best in safekeeping. Perhaps I’ll leave it for my own children one day.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Devine said gravely. “You see, there’s much more to tell you about Liliandra.”