Sweet Surrender by Cheryl Holt Page B

passed by, she noted that he had cake crumbs staining the front of his shirt.  She could have scolded him, but why bother?  It was a waste of breath.
    Once he’d left, Susan asked, "Have you heard from Jackson?"
    "No.  Have you?"
    "No, but I wouldn’t expect to."  Susan fidgeted in her chair.  "Why hasn’t he come to town?"
    "He’s proving a point."
    "How can he be proving a point if we have no idea what it is?"
    "He’s in charge, and he wants us to realize that he is."
    "Realize it!  I’ve thought of nothing else since the day Edward’s will was read."
    They’d both staggered out of the meeting with Edward’s attorney, reeling with shock over Edward’s last wishes.  Jackson was in control of the money, and if Edward had still been alive, Beatrice would have murdered him for being so foolish.
    "I’ve made a decision," she told Susan.
    "What is it?"
    "We shall travel to Milton Abbey."
    Susan frowned.  "Are you sure we should?  What if our arrival upsets him?"
    "How can he complain?  It’s Percival’s home and Jackson his guardian.  There is no reason not to go."
    Susan actually shuddered.  "I can’t imagine waltzing in unannounced."
    Beatrice rolled her eyes with disgust.  "Grow a spine, Susan.  You remember what we discussed, don’t you?"
    "Yes."
    "How can you carry out your part of the bargain if you’re scared of your own shadow?"
    They’d agreed to join forces against Jackson, with the easiest solution being for Susan to seduce Jackson and marry him.
    If Susan was his wife, her and Beatrice’s financial jeopardy would be significantly reduced, with Jackson less inclined to retaliate for old wounds.
    As for Beatrice, her part of the deal was to take Percival off Susan’s hands, to finish rearing him for Susan.  Susan would be free to enjoy the social whirl of London without the drag of her awkward son who generated so many rumors.
    Beatrice liked London as much as the next person, but she’d gladly return to Milton Abbey—and stay there—with Percival if it meant her fiscal future was secured.     
    "Jackson was just so… angry that day he left," Susan whined.
    "It’s been ten years, Susan."
    "I don’t believe he’s forgiven me."
    "Then persuade him to forgive you."
    "You act as if it will be simple."
    "Jackson is a simple man with simple tastes.  Remind him of why he used to love you."
    "What if I can’t?"
    "You were married for a decade, Susan.  If you can’t entice Jackson, there’s no hope for you."
    Susan glared, pondering an insolent reply, then she rose and stomped out in a snit.
     
    DC
     
    Percival loitered on the verandah, peeking in the windows, observing as his mother and grandmother argued. 
    They were both so cruel to him, and he didn’t understand why.  He was always polite and considerate, and he always tried his best, but it was never good enough.
    He hated that they’d sent him outside.  He liked to listen to them talking, because sometimes, they mentioned his father, and it made him happy. 
    Percival and his mother had lived at Milton Abbey, and his father was rarely there, so Percival hadn’t known him very well.  On the odd occasions he’d visited, he’d been like a ray of sunshine, lighting up Percival’s world.  His father was kind to Percival and answered his questions without snapping and shouting.  His father never told him to be silent, never scolded or claimed he was a nuisance. 
    Their fleeting encounters had been remarkable, and he missed his father, but couldn’t ever admit it.  If he raised the topic, his mother would pounce and say that his father was dead and Percival should get over it.  But Percival didn’t want to get over it.
    His father had been wonderful, had been everything Percival wasn’t—brave and smart and funny—and Percival would never stop grieving.  He wouldn’t!  And he didn’t care what his mother said about it.
    In the parlor, his grandmother had enraged his mother, and she stormed out.  Percival