The Beast's Bluestocking (The Bluestocking War), Eva Devon [e textbook reader .TXT] 📗

too, glad for a moment of levity. “Well, if one has to get wisdom, I suppose that is a very good way to acquire it, indeed.”

The gentle knock upon the door before the servant entered the room startled Phillipa. They were not expecting anyone or anything, and luncheon was still not for at least another half an hour, but she swung her gaze to the servant who stood before them in his green livery.

He gave a slight bow and said, “Excuse me, Lady Phillipa, but your father, the Earl of Harrowton, is here to see you.”

“My father?” she gasped, surprised. Her stomach dropped, and her fingers tightened about her glass. She did not like her father at all.

His presence actually made her feel quite uncomfortable, for he was an unpredictable sot. And unkind one too.

He enjoyed making his daughters feel terrible about themselves. He guilted them into believing his impoverished, reduced condition in life was their fault and that they should do their utmost to ensure his comfort and to take care of him.

He did not care if the actions he deemed his daughters need take were damaging. No, all that mattered was his own pleasure, his own needs. And the very idea that he would have come down to Cornwall to see her?

She shuddered inwardly.

What ever could he need? Probably money.

Blacktower had insisted he go abroad, but her father was not good at listening to rules. He still believed himself to be above such things, and well, now. . . If her father was here, no doubt he was hoping she would be able to wheedle funds out of Grey for him.

Such a thing was positively preposterous. She wished her father had a sense of limitation. But he did not. Nothing seemed to inhibit his requests for assistance. No matter how shaming.

He did not feel shame as far as she could surmise.

The truth was, Phillipa wasn’t about to ask Grey for money or support of any kind for her errant father.

She’d have to send the earl packing and firmly.

But she’d also have to be careful. For if he’d risked Blacktower’s wrath coming back to England to seek funds from his youngest daughter, he was growing ever more cornered, like an awful rat who was worried about being extricated by a terrier. She didn’t wish her father ill will, but she did wish he would not keep crawling back into her or her sisters’s lives.

His continual return made it quite painful and hard to thrive.

At least now, she was strong enough to know she could tell him to go to the devil. And that he couldn’t force her to anything. He might think he had the power. He might even try to use the law. . . But she was no longer friendless. With two dukes in her corner, the Earl of Harrowton was in check.

“Fine, then,” she said. “I shall see him. Take me to him, Tom.”

“Yes, My Lady,” Tom replied evenly.

Phillipa reluctantly set her wine down and stood. “Clara, I shall be back as quickly as I can.”

Clara looked distinctly concerned at the idea of leaving them together, for she knew a great deal about the Earl of Harrowton’s antics regarding his daughters.

“Would you like to invite your father to lunch?” Clara asked, her eyes wide with skepticism.

“No, he shall not be staying,” Phillipa stated flatly. “That would be the very worst of things. We shall have him gone in a trice, and if he refuses to listen to me, I’m sure he will listen to Grey.”

Clara laughed dryly before she reached out and squeezed Phillipa’s hand. “Oh, I’m certain that can be arranged. And we have a host of big, fine, strong male servants. We shall have him chucked out if necessary.”

Phillipa laughed too though she felt no mirth. “Thank you for that, dear friend.”

She smoothed her hands down the front of her skirts and headed out into the hallway, following Tom, ready to confront her father.

She would tell him to go immediately and to not return, and that if he stayed or attempted to cause her difficulty, she would have to tell the Duke of Blacktower that he had violated the terms of his agreement.

And that? That would make his life very difficult, indeed, without the toleration of the Duke of Blacktower.

Tom stopped before the door. Reached out with his snowy glove, he took the brass handle in hand. He turned it easily and swung the panel open.

He gestured for her to enter. “My Lady, is there anything you require? Tea for you and the earl?”

“No,” she said, her shoulders squaring as she stiffened her resolve. “My father does not require tea. He shall go as quickly as possible.”

And with that, she faced the door, drew in a deep breath, and crossed over the threshold, ready to take a stand against the man who’d made her life almost entirely miserable.

Chapter 15

The man standing by the fireplace was most certainly not her father.

Phillipa came to a halt, her slippers pressing into the woven Persian rug. She stared at the man as her stomach dropped and the room seemed to spin about her.

She had no idea who this man was and no idea why he would make such a pretense as to declare himself to be the Earl of Harrowton.

His dark hair was lined with silver. His eyes were jagged black, and his skin was burnished to the point of leather. He looked as if he had been beaten by wind and sun, and that’s when it hit her.

A spike of dread and horror pierced her, stealing her breath and, for a moment, all reason.

She blinked and collected herself. She’d need all her wits about her for this.

Of course, she knew who this was!

There was really only one possibility.

Someone who had practiced such duplicity and who was of such an age and of such a disposition?

Yes, there was only one conclusion.

For, the man stood as if he was a man in command. His shoulders were broad and