Fair Weather Enemies Read online

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Get Scandalous with these historical reads… My Darling Duke

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  How to Capture a Duke

  About an Earl

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by Sawyer North. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  10940 S Parker Rd

  Suite 327

  Parker, CO 80134

  [email protected]

  Scandalous is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Erin Molta

  Cover design by Elizabeth Turner Stokes

  Cover photography by Period Images

  Kevin Eaves, Kiselev Andrey Valerevich, and Kiselev Andrey Valerevich/Shutterstock

  ISBN 978-1-68281-531-1

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition February 2020

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for supporting a small publisher! Entangled prides itself on bringing you the highest quality romance you’ve come to expect, and we couldn’t do it without your continued support. We love romance, and we hope this book leaves you with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.

  xoxo

  Liz Pelletier, Publisher

  I wish to dedicate this novel to my wife, Karen, who is my first reader and the inspiration for Jane; to my aunt, Doris Murray, who taught me to love stories and puzzles; and to my editor, Erin Molta, who believed in this work and became my first champion.

  Chapter One

  September 1816

  The Year Without a Summer

  “I fear the worst, Auntie.” Miss Jane Hancock pulled her pelisse protectively tighter to ward off the chill of an unnaturally brisk September morning. “Mr. Rutley never calls a meeting unless he wishes to torment children or beat small animals.”

  Mrs. Hester Byrd squeezed Jane’s arm with reassurance. “Chin up, my dear. You have weathered vicious storms before. What further menace could he offer?”

  Jane regarded her father’s younger sister with a sigh. “I do not know. However, given our dismal financial obligations, I entertain some dire notions.”

  She shifted her attention to the crowded, muddied pavement in search of Rutley’s office in the heart of London. The towering presence of St. Paul’s Cathedral lifted her gaze. She launched a brief prayer toward the church before returning her focus to the bustling street. Her abrupt halt nearly caused Hester to stumble.

  “Jane? You act as if you’ve seen the devil.”

  “Worse, Auntie. It’s him.”

  Jane stared daggers at the familiar man emerging from a carriage not ten steps ahead. Adam Ashford. The mortal enemy. The fountain of all ills. He tipped his impeccable top hat to the driver, straightened his stylish cravat, and turned. As he locked smoldering brown eyes with hers, his smile melted into a scowl that squared his jaw. They glared at each other for five interminable seconds before Aunt Hester fractured the stalemate.

  “Mr. Ashford. How unexpected to encounter a neighbor so far from the confines of Oxfordshire.”

  He nodded grimly toward Aunt Hester. “Mrs. Byrd.”

  A sharp elbow from her aunt freed Jane’s gritted teeth. “Mr. Ashford.”

  “Miss Hancock.”

  The exchange of greetings proved more spat than spoken. Jane leaned toward her aunt. “When I said I feared the worst, I did not anticipate such an unfortunate scenario.” She spoke loudly enough for Ashford to overhear. “We do so well to avoid one another back home. A chance meeting in London can only be considered a bad omen.”

  “Clearly,” he said. “I would have consulted a witch, had I known. However, as you were here, Oxfordshire was short of witches.”

  “And now clearly short of asses. I wonder who will pull the manure cart in your absence?”

  “Perhaps one of your many suitors.” He paused. “Oh, apologies. I forgot. You have no suitors.”

  No thanks to you, she thought. She flashed a smile meant to slice. “If suitors are all of your species, sir, then I prefer a dog. At least they possess the good sense to cease howling from time to time.”

  He opened his mouth but clicked it shut and pivoted to stride away. Jane’s smile dissolved as she watched his retreating form. She scrutinized his expensive top boots, tight breeches, and snug spencer that hugged shoulders more becoming of a boxer than a proper gentleman. What an arrogant dandy, so smug in his station! Only the slight unruliness of his auburn hair detracted from his dapper appearance.

  “Jane.”

  She blinked and looked at her aunt. The woman smiled wanly. “The first rule of effective feuding, dear, is to never ogle the enemy.”

  Jane flushed with guilty indignation. “I am certainly not ogling Mr. Ashford. I merely offer cold disregard.”

  “If you insist.”

  A wicked retort died on her lips when Ashford abruptly ducked into a familiar door ahead. Rutley’s office. A wave of dread swept over her. Had Ashford conspired with Rutley to finally ruin the Hancock family after four generations of trying? Aunt Hester’s tense grip seemed to confirm her worst suspicions. Jane swallowed alarm, straightened her spine, and followed Ashford’s path to the office and through the ornate green door.

  A moment passed as her eyes adjusted to the dim, wood-paneled interior lit by a pair of meager oil lamps. She found three men scrutinizing her with wildly different expressions. Ashford narrowed his eyes, clearly surprised by her entrance. Mr. Rutley, an aging whip of a man, devoid of hair and empathy, smiled like a serpent preparing to dine. A third man—middle-aged, tall, and grim—regarded her as if assessing the quality of market cabbage. She did not realize she had stopped until Aunt Hester prodded her toward Rutley’s desk. The motion of her feet loosened her tongue.

  “What is this about, Mr. Rutley?”

  “No pleasantries? Right, then. I am not one to beat about the bush anyway.” He motioned to the stranger at his side. “This is Mr. Barlow, whom I have contracted for legal counsel on this particular matter. You should know that he is one of the most effective solicitors in all of London.”

  “The most effective,” Barlow corrected. “You need not understate for t
he sake of my humility. I can endure the praise.”

  Aunt Hester laughed. “You appear to offer yourself praise enough, Mr. Barlow. More seems redundant.”

  Barlow blanched, seemingly disarmed by the unexpected challenge—and brilliant smile. Only fifteen years Jane’s senior, Hester remained a fetching woman, despite having been widowed at the tender age of eighteen. Emboldened by her aunt’s frankness, Jane waded into the moment.

  “Introductions aside. Why have you called me here? And why did you invite the rabble?” She motioned toward Ashford without sparing him a glance.

  Her pretentious neighbor harrumphed. “My question exactly. To what do I owe this indignity? Have you struck a deal with the Hancocks to ruin my family?”

  Rutley smiled with all the charm of a scorpion and motioned to a set of three chairs arrayed before his desk. Jane and Ashford exchanged warning glances before occupying the two farthest from each other. Aunt Hester occupied the middle chair while Barlow remained standing. Rutley settled behind his desk and steepled his fingers on the desktop.

  “Well?” said Jane.

  Rutley smiled again, clearly savoring the moment. “I am calling in your debts, Hancock and Ashford alike, payable within twenty-four hours. Failure to pay will result in the inevitable financial consequences.”

  Jane recoiled and gasped from the force of the blunt statement. He was calling in her debt? Now? Then the full context of Rutley’s declaration impacted her. She looked at Ashford to find him similarly stunned. “You owe Mr. Rutley money as well?”

  He cut hollow eyes toward her. An utter lack of response provided the answer. Rutley seemed only happy to explain.

  “The Ashford estate owes me eight thousand pounds. Your family owes me more than half that sum. Forty-eight hundred, to be precise. With the recent economic uncertainty, I have lost confidence in your respective abilities to make good.”

  Jane nearly rose from her chair in anger before remembering decorum. She gathered her composure. “Mr. Rutley, sir. You know very well that the widespread failure of spring and summer crops has all but shuttered our mill. I ask only a year of grace. Next year’s crops will restore us, I am certain.”

  The desperate faces of each farmer who had visited her family’s mill the past several months surged through her mind. Between historic cold snaps and torrential rains, most farmers had barely managed to produce enough to spare their families from starving during the coming winter. Mill revenues had virtually disappeared. Her working capital was approaching nil.

  Rutley waved a dismissive hand. “That is none of my concern. When your father died, I advised you to sell to me for the forgiveness of your loans. I warned you against assuming his debt and amassing further liability to save your mill. I find no pleasure in having been correct.”

  Jane knew him to be lying about one thing. He took great delight in her family’s demise. “I have initiated efforts to sell the mill.”

  “Again, not my concern. With the current crop crisis, any sale would net only a fraction of what you owe. Your heroic efforts are quite too late.”

  Apparently less concerned about decorum, Ashford did stand. His pent dismay burst forth. “Rutley, you know very well how the poor weather has brought my tenants to their knees. If I demanded what they salvaged, they would not survive the winter.”

  “Not my concern.”

  “For nearly two hundred years my family estate has produced a profit annually, even during drought-stricken times. We will again next year. I have released most of my staff in the meantime to stretch what little funds remain.”

  “Again, not my concern.”

  “Why, you snake…”

  Rutley surged to his feet and loomed over the desk as would a fire and brimstone preacher in his pulpit. “That will be all, Mr. Ashford. Your family assumed the risk, and you have defaulted. I possess the legal right to trigger the consequences. As your estate is collateral for the debt, you must forfeit it to me.”

  Ashford’s jaw went slack. “But my estate is worth three times what I owe. And because of the lien you’ve placed on it, I cannot sell even a portion of it to cover the debt.”

  “Not my concern, Ashford. Particularly given that you courted my daughter but never offered marriage. Otherwise, I might have considered friendlier terms.”

  Jane listened with stunned numbness to the caustic exchange. She inhaled a quivering breath. “And what of me? Will you take my mill?”

  He frowned at her. “Despite its status as collateral for your loans, your mill is nearly worthless in the face of your debt and the general crop failures. As such, I have no choice but to remand you to debtor’s prison.”

  Jane faded into her chair with shock as those last two words circled her brain. Debtor’s prison. She had not foreseen that outcome. Most folks she knew who entered debtor’s prison emerged either depleted or in a pine box. Furthermore, she knew no one who owed the amount she did. Her future dissolved bleakly before her eyes as she stared blankly at the floor in silence. Ashford plopping into his chair drew her glance. His pained expression caught her by surprise.

  “Miss Hancock, I…”

  She returned her gaze to the floor, leaving his comment unsaid. She did not want his pity. The room lapsed into silence once again.

  “Mr. Barlow.” Her aunt’s tender entreaty pulled Jane from her disarray.

  “Mrs. Byrd?” Barlow replied.

  “What your employer proposes is monstrously intolerable, do you not agree?”

  Barlow breathed deeply, perhaps quelling agreement.

  Hester nodded. “May I take my niece’s place in prison?”

  Jane sat bolt straight. “No, Auntie! Never. This is my burden, not yours.”

  Tears lit Hester’s eyes and she nodded again. She leaned toward Mr. Barlow. “Sir, my niece and Mr. Ashford are young and yet bear alone the burdens of their family names with no remaining elders to guide them. I realize you represent Mr. Rutley in this specific matter. However, I wonder if you might see fit to offer them a token of advice.”

  The request appeared to surprise Barlow. He frowned and glanced at Rutley. “Sir?”

  Rutley waved a hand and stepped toward the door of his office. “I see no harm in it, given the finality of the matter. I must leave for an hour to attend another meeting anyway. Perhaps in the meantime you may impress upon these youngsters the necessity and inevitability of my actions.”

  He collected his coat and hat and left without further adieus. Stunned silence held sway in the aftermath of his departure. It broke when Jane shifted her head to glare coolly at her lifelong adversary.

  “See what you’ve done? Now we are both ruined.”

  Chapter Two

  Adam Ashford bristled at Miss Hancock’s accusation. All blame for the pending fiasco crouched at her family’s feet. He paused to measure her with an iron gaze. She presented the very picture of righteous indignation, her blue eyes piercing him like a flaming spear, her slender frame tense. A single strand of chestnut hair escaped her bonnet to fall across her cheek, giving evidence of a wild creature beneath, a creature willing to savage him unjustly. His tenuous control snapped.

  “I beg to differ. What your great-grandfather began, you have finished. I assume your only regret is that your family will crumble with mine.”

  She clenched her jaw and coiled for what should have proved a blistering diatribe, but her aunt’s touch suggested restraint. Her nostrils flared as she cut blazing eyes at the older woman, but then she dipped her head.

  “See here!” Mr. Barlow’s voice knifed between the contestants. “I will offer no counsel to the unwise. Your insistence on lobbing accusations at each other provides ample evidence of your foolishness.”

  Adam clenched and unclenched his fists before expelling a breath. He nodded to Barlow. “I will refrain, sir. I cannot speak for her.”

  “And wel
l he shouldn’t.” Miss Hancock’s voice dripped accusation. “But I will honor a truce while you advise us.”

  Seemingly satisfied, Barlow stepped before them to lean against the massive desk. “Very well. I require context. The long-standing animosity between your families is well-known. To appropriately counsel you, I must hear the details as you understand them.”

  Miss Hancock nodded and removed her bonnet. Her coiled locks relaxed to caress slender shoulders, framing high cheekbones and a delicate nose that might have been attractive if not for her seemingly permanent frown. Adam sighed inaudibly. What a waste of a perfectly lovely face. Worse yet, if her Aunt Hester was any indication, Miss Hancock’s beauty would not soon fade.

  “Very well, if you must know.” Miss Hancock’s response to Barlow’s demand interrupted Adam’s unintended scrutiny. He listened carefully, curious about her rendition of the dark events from a time long past. She shot him a glance of challenge before continuing. “My great-grandfather served as steward for Mr. Ashford’s great-grandfather. To augment the income of the Ashford estate, the two men established a lucrative trade in Glasgow, importing tobacco from the Americas for export to France. My ancestor used his share of the profits to build a successful mill back home. Mr. Ashford used his portion to expand his estate. All proceeded well for a time. However, their partnership unraveled during the Jacobite rebellion of 1745.”

  “They were not partners,” Adam growled. “My great-grandfather bankrolled the enterprise. Mr. Hancock was merely an employee. Regardless, the rebellion put the business and their lives in dire straits. The Scottish holdings were forfeited to the rebels in exchange for safe passage across the English border.”

  Barlow pursed his lips and nodded. “So, they lost everything?”

  “Not everything.” Miss Hancock’s emphatic tone communicated an intent to reclaim the narrative. “My great-grandfather used his own funds to employ a trusted friend on behalf of the partnership to take sixty-four hundred gold guineas away from Glasgow. The hired man slipped away under the noses of the rebels and disappeared.”

  Barlow expelled a breath. “Sixty-four hundred guineas are worth, what, nearly seven thousand pounds. The friend stole the gold, then?”