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village," Eleanor explained, "but then…I’m not certain where we’re headed.  We were hoping to stay at Milton Abbey, but I guess it won’t be possible." 
    "Have you talked to Jackson Scott?" Mr. Dane asked Grace.  "Is he aware this boy is here?"
    "No," she lied again.
    "Come back inside then," he coaxed.  "He has to be notified."
    "There’s no need to bother Mr. Scott," Grace firmly stated.  "Even if he was at home—which he’s not—I can’t think of a single thing I’d like to hear him say."
    She spun away, grabbed Michael and Eleanor by a wrist, and pulled them down the road.  When Mr. Dane called to them again, she kept on.
     
    DC
     
    "Jackson!  Where are you?"
    Jackson Scott—explorer, expatriate, cad, bounder, and libertine—paid no heed to the shouted question.
    Duncan was approaching and showing much more animation than he’d likely exhibited in his entire life.  He was the most carefree, indolent rogue in the kingdom, and he had elevated sloth to a fine art.  What could have pushed him into such an excited condition?
    "Jackson!  I must speak with you.  Now!"
    "Ignore him," Jackson told the beauty who was stretched out on his bed.
    They were in his bedchamber, the other three lovelies left behind in the parlor to entertain themselves while he sought a more personal type of amusement.
    The previous evening, the ribald quartet of females had arrived from London, but he’d been too intoxicated to fully enjoy them.  He planned to rectify the lack by spending the day sampling the charms of one after the next until he’d had his fill.
    He hadn’t set foot in England in a decade, and he wasn’t happy to have returned.  Edward’s death had been the lure that dragged him back.  For reasons unknown to any sane man, Edward had appointed Jackson as guardian to his son Percival.  It was a bizarre and ludicrous designation that confounded Jackson enormously. 
    He knew nothing about children and had no desire to oversee Percival or his property and fortune.  He had no desire to linger at Milton Abbey or to socialize with his mother Beatrice and sister-in-law Susan. 
    He intended to choose a reputable boarding school, place Percival in it, and hire some accountants to manage his money.  Then he’d leave for Egypt as quickly as a trip could be arranged.
    In the meantime, he’d wallow in iniquity, and he’d do it so blatantly and so publically that every coarse rumor would float to London. 
    He wanted his bitter, miserable mother to hear them all.  She would fume and roil with distaste, would rue the fact that he was an adult with his own fortune.  She couldn’t threaten or punish him, which would gall her tremendously.
    He smiled, relishing the notion of his putting Beatrice in a temper.  His childhood had been a slog of dodging her rages and wrath, and he savored the realization that he could now act with impunity, and she could extract no revenge.
    He grabbed his partner by the waist and shifted her so she straddled his lap.  She was very buxom, with large pendulous breasts, and she was blond, and thus, a delectable change from the brown-haired mistresses who warmed his foreign bed.
    He was stroking his thumbs across her nipples when Duncan burst in without knocking.  He was an immoral wretch and completely unfazed to stumble on Jackson and his doxy, naked and lounged together, their limbs entwined. 
    "There you are."  He was very exasperated.  "I’ve been searching everywhere."
    "Why would you have?" Jackson snidely retorted.  "I told you I was spending the day in bed.  Did you think I was joking?"
    "We have a problem."
    "No, you have a problem.  I have a bedmate, and I’m busy.  Pester someone else."
    To Jackson’s astonishment, Duncan seized the woman and hauled her to the floor.
    "Ouch!" she complained as she righted herself.
    "I need a few minutes with Jackson," Duncan said.  "Alone."
    "But we just started," she mulishly protested.
    "Precisely," Jackson agreed,