The Worthington Wife. Sharon Page
As if that would happen. He would never marry one of them—one of the aristocracy.
“Looking at this place,” he said to Julia, “I can’t believe no one ever chopped the heads off the English aristocracy.”
He figured that would stop her trying to converse with him.
But it didn’t. “I can assure you that many members of the aristocracy have been afraid of that very thing for quite a long time,” she said smoothly. “But it is that fear that can lead to more justice for people, for better conditions and more decency—if it is pushed in the right direction.”
That answer he hadn’t expected. “You almost sound like a socialist.”
“Are you one, Worthington?” At his look of surprise, she added, “That is how you are to be addressed now. By your title.”
“I remember the lawyer telling me something like that. But having to hear that title is like having a bootheel ground into my heart. I’d prefer you call me Cal.”
Her lips parted. God, she had full, luscious lips.
But then, why shouldn’t she? She’d never slaved in a factory for fourteen hours a day. Or spent hours over a tub of steaming water, destroying her hands to scrub dishes.
A footman came by, holding a dish of oysters toward him. When Cal had made his money—a fortune that this family knew nothing about—back in the States from bootlegging and other enterprises that he wouldn’t talk about, he’d dined in a lot of nice restaurants. He’d liked knowing he could have whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it. But the amount of food coming out—and going back—shocked him.
“How much food do you people eat at dinner?” This was the third course and they hadn’t gotten to anything that looked like meat.
“There will be several courses, especially at a dinner party,” Lady Julia said softly. She kept her voice discreet, he noticed. “I expect the Worthington cook, Mrs. Feathers, wants to impress you.”
“Why? No one else around here does.”
Lady Julia faced him seriously. “The servants all know that their livelihoods depend on you. On whether you are satisfied with them or not.”
“They don’t need to knock themselves out,” he said. “I’m dissatisfied with this on principle.”
Her lips parted—damn, he couldn’t draw his eyes away from them. He wanted to hear what she would say, but then the duke sitting on the other side of her started talking to her. Not her brother, but the Duke of Bradstock. Black-haired and good-looking, Bradstock talked like he had a stick up his arse and couldn’t find a comfortable place on his chair.
“Lady Julia, have you given up that shocking hobby of yours?” the duke asked. “Or hasn’t your brother taken you in hand?”
Julia turned from him to Bradstock.
For some reason Cal felt damned irritated to lose her attention. Julia was the type of snobbish woman he should avoid. But he liked talking to her. And that surprised him.
“I am not in need of being ‘taken in hand,’” Julia said.
“He should forbid these forays into the sordid underbelly, Julia,” Bradstock went on.
Cal had no idea what they were talking about, but he could tell Julia didn’t like what the man was saying.
“I am over twenty-one, James,” she said crisply. “If I choose to do charitable work, I do so. When I told you of my work, I did not think you would hold it against me.”
“It shows you have a good heart, my dear.” The duke laughed. “There’s charity, my dear Julia, but surely this is beyond the pale. These women don’t want help. They’ve found a métier that they enjoy.”
“These women are starving and they have children to feed. I think what is beyond the pale is that there is no real help for these women. Their husbands were our heroes. And I don’t believe they enjoy what they are doing,” she said shortly.
Cal grinned. Not such a snob, then. He liked seeing Lady Julia with her blood running hot.
“My dear girl,” Bradstock said condescendingly, “we can’t just hand out money en masse. Times are hard for all of us. This year, I could only put in half the order for the wine cellar at my hunting box. Austerity has hit us all.”
“Hate to think you had to live without a bottle of wine,” Cal said. “If Julia is helping the widows of servicemen, I think that is pretty damn admirable.”
Bradstock glared at him. “A gentleman doesn’t use language like that at the dinner table.”
“Where I come from a ‘gentleman’ doesn’t tell a woman what to do when she doesn’t want him to.”
“And I’ve heard where you came from was some kind of cesspool,” sneered the duke. “You must be extremely grateful you were saved from whatever ditch you were in.”
“James, please. And Worthington, I do appreciate your support, but there is no need for heated discussion.”
So the duke got a “please” out of her and he got told off. “Get used to it, angel,” Cal said. “I’m the earl now.”
Her eyes widened in shock.
“If the man from the slums of New York agrees with you, my dear, isn’t that a sign you are doing the wrong thing?” Bradstock asked, looking down his nose. Cal would sorely love to rearrange that nose on the handsome idiot’s face.
“James, stop it. Let’s speak of something else. And do remember Worthington is your host.”
But Bradstock wouldn’t give it up. “If I were your brother, Julia, I should give you a spanking for being so naughty.”
Cal didn’t like the hot, appraising look in the bastard’s eyes. “If you don’t leave her alone,” he said heatedly, “I would be happy to beat you up.”
“Please, Worthington. Don’t. He is teasing.” Julia’s hand touched his wrist. Once, when he’d been working in a factory after the War, before he went back to life with the Five Points Gang, he’d gotten a shock from an electric outlet. The sizzle and tingle that had shot through his arm was nothing like the one that came from her touch.
Hell, she was everything he didn’t want. Privileged. Ladylike. Superior.
Except she had a heart and was willing to defend her beliefs. He liked her—and he hadn’t expected to like any of them.
All the men at the table—the Duke of Bad Manners, the Earl of Whatever, Viscount Something—watched Julia. They couldn’t take their eyes off her. Which didn’t seem to be making the Countess of Worthington too happy.
Just to piss them off, he said loudly to Julia, “You asked me if I like Worthington. For one man to get all this by the accident of his birth is wrong. A man should earn what he gets.”
She didn’t look shocked. “I can assure you that an earl who runs his estate properly works extremely hard. A responsible earl ensures his estate prospers, cares for his tenants and acts in a just manner. We are not frivolous and we don’t spend money lavishly on ourselves off the backs of others.”
He looked pointedly at the marble and gilt. “Don’t you?”
“Worthington Park would no longer exist if the men before you did that. Anthony’s father was one of the best landowners in the country. He was progressive, fair, compassionate. If he had not been, Worthington would have been destroyed by the harsh times that came both before and after the War.”
“And you’re telling me the tenants are happy to be poor while the earl is rich?”
“The tenants are happy with their treatment. On an estate like this, everyone knows the value of their place.”