The Heiress of Winterwood

Graham stepped into the broad hallway, determined to go unnoticed by the handful of guests who had gathered there. A quick sweep of the space confirmed Miss Helena Barrett’s absence. He exhaled. The woman had babbled all evening. Her incessant prattling had kept him from seeking out Miss Amelia Barrett, his true reason for attending in the first place.

He made his way down the hall to the library in time to see Edward Littleton stumble in through an outside door. The inebriated man shuffled past without seeing him. Graham released a breath. He wasn’t fond of Littleton. But if the person coming in had been Helena Barrett and he’d been forced to endure one more tale about purchasing Indian muslin or German lace, he would have thrown himself from one of Winterwood’s towers.

He watched Littleton stagger past a side table and nearly knock a candle to the planked floor below. So far, what he had seen of Amelia Barrett’s intended had been unimpressive at best. Graham had every intention of watching him more closely as the evening progressed, but first he needed a minute alone. He stole behind the couches, careful not to draw the attention of a small group of men who had gathered in front of the fireplace. Twisting the door’s ornate brass handle, he stepped out onto a wide stone terrace. The breeze carried a hint of rain, and the frost’s spicy scent invigorated his senses. He stretched and inhaled deeply. He still missed sea air, but this was preferable to the suffocating rooms within.

“Are you looking for something, Captain Sterling?” The voice was soft. Feminine.

He turned to find Miss Amelia Barrett standing behind him. He glanced back over his shoulder. She had been alone with Littleton. He bowed. “Miss Barrett. I wasn’t aware you were out here.”

“If I did not know better, I would think you were following me.” Her words were an obvious attempt at lighthearted conversation, but her face told a different story.

“I deserve that. I apologize for my behavior in the cemetery yesterday. I had no intention to intrude or offend.”

Miss Barrett stepped from the shadows. The yellow light filtering through the tall drawing room windows slanted over the gentle slope of her nose and highlighted the curve of her cheek. “It is I who should apologize, sir. It was impolite of me to leave so abruptly.” She lowered her voice, as if taking him into her confidence. “You see, as a general rule, I prefer not to cry in front of other people. Especially people I do not have the pleasure of knowing well.”

You will not cry in front of a stranger, yet you would propose to one? The words bubbled near the surface of his mind. But he said nothing.

The breeze carried strains of a pianoforte from somewhere in the house, and she glanced toward the door. “I should return. If you will excuse me?”

Without a thought for decorum, Graham reached out and touched her arm. “Wait.”

She turned, her eyes flitting from his hand on her arm to his face. “Yes, Captain Sterling?”

He shifted uncomfortably. He was alone with her. Would not now be a good time to speak with her as he had intended? With his time in Darbury limited, he did not have the luxury of waiting. “I wondered . . . I have been meaning to ask . . . You see, I know very little about my wife’s final days.” He hesitated, pausing to interpret the shadow crossing her face. “Might I trouble you for a moment of your time to ask you a few questions?”

She hesitated, interlaced her fingers, then nodded. “Of course. You have my permission to ask me anything.”

“I received only three letters from Katherine after she moved to Darbury. I have no doubt she wrote more frequently, but as you can imagine, the post did not always extend over the sea. How did you and Katherine become acquainted?”

After an awkward silence, Miss Barrett spoke. “We met after she moved to Darbury, to Moreton Cottage. That was almost a year and a half ago. Jane Hammond—that’s the vicar’s wife—told me that I had a new neighbor, and as I am sure you can imagine, we do not often receive new neighbors in Darbury. I called upon Katherine; we grew fond of each other and soon became fast friends. We spent nearly every day in each other’s company. She was, of course, with child when she arrived, but a few months after her arrival, she fell ill. Since she was all alone at Moreton Cottage, with only two servants to tend to her, I insisted she stay at Winterwood for her lying in.”

Graham could no longer hold back the question. “Did my brother not offer any assistance?”

Miss Barrett’s lips parted in what could only be surprise at his directness. Heavy silence blanketed the space before she spoke. “If I remember correctly, Mr. Sterling was out of town for most of the time Katherine was in Darbury.”

Graham masked his annoyance. He would deal with his frustration toward his brother at another time. Right now there were other things he needed to know. “What was it . . . That is to say, how did she . . . ?” He stopped himself and tried again. “What were the circumstances surrounding her death?”

Miss Barrett stepped to the railing, as if trying to put distance between them.

Graham closed the space she created by joining her at the balustrade. “I don’t mean to upset you, but I beg of you . . . I must know.”

She stared away from him into the blackness. “How much do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

A sharp gust swept over the terrace, and Miss Barrett shivered. She gathered the hem of her shawl and ran the fringe through her fingers. He adjusted his stance, preparing to hear whatever might pass her lips.

“From the beginning of her confinement, it was clear that something was amiss. She was confined to bed early on. The midwife advised that if she was too active, she could lose the baby.”

The wind calmed. Miss Barrett paced with slow, decided steps, her shimmering gown billowing behind her and glittering in the faint light from inside.

“When her time came, the midwife told us it was too soon. Katherine should have carried Lucy for another month, but she couldn’t . . .” Amelia paused, her head lowered, as if gathering her thoughts or calming her emotions. She sniffed, fixed her eyes on the ground, then went on. “She labored for days. Then, after Lucy came, Katherine succumbed to puerperal fever.” She pointed, directing his attention to a narrow window in a far wing. “There. That was her room while she was at Winterwood. She died in that room.”

Graham rubbed his hand over his face and let it settle over his mouth. Katherine, his Katherine, had been in pain. Snippets of memories bombarded him. Her smile. Her hair.

He looked over at Miss Barrett. She had stayed with Katherine to the last. Without her, who would have been there for his wife? His indebtedness to this wisp of a woman ran deep indeed.

Graham forced words through his tightened throat. “That must have been very difficult for you, Miss Barrett. Thank you for your kindness. I am grateful she did not die alone.”

Amelia fixed her eyes on her hands. “As I have told you, Katherine asked me to care for Lucy. I promised, and I do not give promises lightly. Ever since that day, Lucy has never been out of my care.” She hesitated. “And forgive me for speaking on such a private matter, but I intend my words to be a comfort. Katherine loved you so very much.”

Words failed Graham. The more details he heard, the more difficult they were to hear. To absorb. He had hoped that knowledge would soothe the unsettled ache in his chest, but the answers only caused further turmoil.

Drops of rain blew in with the wind. A shout echoed from inside Winterwood, and Amelia cast a nervous glance toward the door. “I must go now, Captain. Edw—Mr. Littleton—will be looking for me.” She bobbed a curtsy, but instead of heading toward the drawing room door, she moved to the stone stairs leading down to the lawn.

“Where are you going?”

Her glance back at him was incredulous. “You do not suggest that I go back through those doors after being alone with you out here?”

He shook his head. “Do not be absurd. It’s been raining for days! You’ll slip and do yourself harm in all that mud.”

“Captain Sterling, we have shared this terrace for more than a quarter of an hour, and there may be guests in the library. If someone should notice that we walked in at the same time—no, I thank you. I will go around.”

He trailed her as she moved farther into the darkness. “It’s starting to rain. You will be soaked through. We’ll go in through different doors, and surely no one will see.”

She stopped and turned so quickly that he almost ran into her. “I do not think you understand.” She fretted with the edge of her shawl. “Mr. Littleton is not a man to be crossed. If he should even think that you, um, I mean, that I . . .”

Her words faded, and she diverted her eyes.

Was she frightened of Edward Littleton, or were her words a warning? And if the latter were true, did she think the man intimidated him? Graham stifled a snort. “You don’t know me very well, Miss Barrett.”

Miss Barrett jutted her chin into the air. “And you do not know me, sir.”

He stepped closer to her, almost enjoying the interchange as a welcome relief from the somber nature of their discussion. “Your Mr. Little-whatever-his-name-is is a pup compared to the men I deal with every day.”

She matched his step with a backward one of her own. “Well, you do not have to live with the man. I am to be married to him in a matter of weeks. I would consider your discretion a personal favor.”

“It’s none of my business, but—”

“You are right,” she cut him off. “It is none of your business. So if you’ll pardon me . . .”

This was ridiculous. He could not, would not, let her or any other woman go stumbling blindly into the dark night.

The rain’s intensity increased. The drops plopped on his cheeks and brushed his eyelashes. “Very well,” he grumbled, waving his hand toward the door. “Go inside if you must. I’ll go around.”

She hesitated, but as a fresh gust of wind brought stronger rain, she ducked her head and looped her shawl over her hair. “Thank you, Captain Sterling. If you round the corner there, you’ll find the kitchen entrance.”

He covered sarcasm with a huff. “I think I can find it.”

“I will see you inside.”

She disappeared through the door. Staring at the empty door frame, he flipped up his collar and descended the stairs to the lawn.

Headstrong woman. Headstrong, determined, intriguing woman.




Graham slipped back inside Winterwood Manor and followed the sound of voices to the billiards room, where the men had gathered. The room was dim and close. The smoke from the fireplace escaped and curled toward the molded ceilings, obscuring the multitude of landscape paintings adorning the dark green walls. Laughter abounded. He took a seat next to the fire, hoping the warmth would dry out his soggy boots.

“Mr. Littleton is not a man to be crossed.” Miss Barrett’s words echoed in his mind. He stared at Littleton, who stood next to the billiard table, cue in hand, laughing a little too loudly. The man’s arrogant manner irked Graham. So did his obviously drunken state.

“Well, well, where have you been?” William sauntered toward him with a glass in each hand. Another sight Graham had seen more times than he cared to admit. William handed him a goblet of port.

“Needed some air.” Graham considered downing the drink, but instead swirled the tawny liquid in his glass and watched it splash against the sides.

“Why are you wet?”

“You would not believe me if I told you. What’s going on in here?”

William leaned back and balanced himself on the arm of the sofa. “Billiards. You play?”

“Of course.”

“Join us.” With a chuckle, he pushed himself off the furniture. “If you think you can beat me, that is.”

Graham slouched to the left and caught a glimpse through the open door of the drawing room where the ladies had gathered. The pale blue silk of Miss Barrett’s skirts swirled past the threshold. He found it difficult to tear his eyes away. Like it or not, he was bound to the woman. Bound by grief. Bound by the love of a child. And now that he knew the full extent of the service she had done his wife, bound by honor. That connection posed no small amount of difficulty, since it was clear to him that Miss Barrett had no business marrying a man like Littleton.

“Graham!” William’s voice carried above the laughter. “Get over here.”

Rising from his chair, Graham headed toward the table to stand next to Littleton, whose height matched his own. He didn’t speak to the man, nor did the man speak to him. Right or wrong, Graham judged character quickly. He had to. One such misjudgment on board his ship could spell disaster.

His instincts screamed for him to watch this one. And watch him he would.




The morning following the engagement dinner dawned overcast. Settled at a small writing desk in the library, Amelia sought distraction. Her fingers traced the printed words in her father’s worn Bible. She tried to concentrate, but the letters swirled on the page.





Blessed is the man that trusteth in the Lord, and whose hope the Lord is. For he shall be as a tree planted by the waters, and that spreadeth out her roots by the river, and shall not see when heat cometh, but her leaf shall be green; and shall not be careful in the year of drought, neither shall cease from yielding fruit.





If only she found it as easy to believe the words as to read them. As much as she hungered for the truths in them, her fear-laden heart and mind stubbornly refused to give them credence. She leaned her elbows on the desk and stared through the window’s wavy glass at a vista of wide lawns, manicured gardens, and the moors beyond, still tinged with a remnant of fall’s rich color.

The sun peeked golden from behind the waning clouds, bathing the page in sunlight. Whose hope the Lord is. The words called out to her. But somehow she couldn’t bring herself to trust them. Not after all the sadness she had known—growing up motherless, losing her father, watching Katherine die, fearing that Lucy might be taken. In truth, Amelia was beginning to believe that those words were for people like Katherine and Jane. Not her.

Amelia sensed Edward’s presence before she saw him. The fine hairs on her arm prickled as his footsteps approached. After their daunting interaction on the terrace the previous evening, she wondered what to expect in his demeanor.

A finger traced the back of her bare neck, the touch shooting shivers through her body. He rested his large hands on her shoulders, and his lips grazed the top of her head. “Good day, my darling.”

Amelia tensed. His voice sounded as it always did: confident and agreeable. She kept her eyes fixed on the Bible’s page. “Good afternoon, Edward. I trust you slept well?”

He swung around to lean against the desk. His leg, dressed in fine gray pantaloons, rested dangerously close to her arm. “I’ll sleep better when I don’t have to sleep alone.”

She winced at his suggestive remark but decided to ignore it. She had other things to worry about.

Edward drew a deep breath and stretched. “What to do today.” He said it more as a statement than a question. His tone of voice suggested that he either did not remember their curt interaction or did not care to discuss it.

So be it. Regardless of how she felt about Edward’s behavior last night, she was plighted to marry this man in just a few weeks. She must make every effort to be civil.

“Care to take the horses for a ride?” she asked.

“No.”

“Shall I read aloud to you?”

He laughed, his rich baritone filling the small space. He took the Bible from her and flipped through the pages. “Dear Amelia. Dear sweet, good Amelia. Read aloud if you think it will do some good, but I fear I am beyond help from that book or any other.”

“Nobody is good of their own accord,” she reasoned.

“Well then.” He looked at her with eyes still red from last night’s indulgences and all but dangled the Bible in front of her. “Perhaps you can reform me.”

Vexed by his condescension, she snatched the Bible, pushed herself away from the desk, and crossed the room to the window. “A walk, then?”

He gave his head an impatient shake and began to pace. Edward Littleton was a man in constant need of amusement, never content to be still. In Darbury for but a day, and already his restless eyes beamed impatience.

She glanced from the shelves of her mother’s books to her father’s faded chair. She loved Winterwood. It was her home, the seat of her memories. She feared that Edward appreciated the estate purely for the fortune that came with it.

But was she any better? Had she not deceived him only two days ago by proposing to another man? She bit her lower lip, aware of her wrongdoing. He, however, seemed blissfully unaware of his.

The mantel clock struck the hour. She looked out the window to the front drive. “Mr. Carrington will be here soon. That will be a nice diversion for you.”

Edward studied his fingernails. “I have been meaning to talk with you about Carrington. When your uncle and I returned yesterday, we paid him a visit. I have relieved him of his duties.”

“What do you mean, ‘relieved him of his duties’?”

“Just what I said. Now that I am to be master, I do not need his assistance with our affairs. I will handle Winterwood’s business on my own. I believe the man has already departed the estate cottage for his offices in Sheffield. He will send for his things later.”

She whirled around from the window. Had he intended not to tell her? Had he thought she wouldn’t notice? She forced steadiness to her voice. “Before he died, my father hand-selected Mr. Carrington to handle our affairs. He knows more about Winterwood’s workings than you could possibly imagine. He knows all the tenants by name. I don’t even know them all by name. How could you do something like that without discussing it with me first?”

“Calm down, Amelia.” He stretched his hands out in front of him, attempting to settle her as one would a nervous horse. “You’re getting upset for nothing. You are right that managing an estate like this is a complicated business, but I’m a competent man. There’s no need for you to worry about it.”

“You are missing my point,” Amelia retorted. “Mr. Carrington is a trusted family friend. How dare you just cast him aside without even—”

“Your uncle and I spoke at great length about it. He agreed it was the best course of action for everyone.”

For you, you mean. She bit back the words and focused on her argument. “My uncle is not Winterwood’s heir. I am. That fact alone gives me the right to—”

“Egad, Amelia. Why would you worry about such things? Do not allow yourself to become agitated over something so insignificant.”

“Insignificant? I—” She shut her mouth as a painful realization registered. Edward was patronizing her. Treating her like a child. She studied his dark eyes, hardly recognizing the man who was speaking to her now. Yes, he was still handsome and confident, passionate and energetic. But this other side of him, abrupt and self-serving, almost frightened her.

She could not guess his motives, for nothing about him lately was as it seemed. But suddenly she knew one thing for certain. If allowed, this man would destroy everything important to her.

For weeks she had teetered on the cusp of losing Lucy. Now the one person who understood her father’s vision and cared for Winterwood as she did, Mr. Carrington, had been cut from her life. Once bound by marriage, Winterwood Manor would legally be more Edward’s than hers, and she would have little choice but to do his bidding.

Did she have any choice now?

She glared at Edward and fought the nausea swirling in her stomach. Arguing with the man would not get her what she wanted. She had to be smart, to act wisely. She looked out the window to the grounds below. As she did, her gaze fell on the one person who held the power to change her situation.

Captain Graham Sterling.





Graham’s headstrong mount stopped midtrot and veered sharply to the right. Again. Graham lurched in the saddle and yanked the leather reins, struggling for balance. The obstinate horse’s uneven gait and strange penchant to change direction without warning would threaten to unseat the most experienced rider, let alone a man who had spent most of his days at sea.

“Need help controlling that beast?” mocked William, pulling his fine bay up next to Graham.

“Stubborn mule.” Graham assessed his steed’s crooked ear and squeezed his legs around the animal’s belly. He’d never been much of a horseman, and his years at sea had not helped. He resented having to buy the animal on his journey from Plymouth to Darbury, but he had been forced to when unable to secure a post chaise for a leg of the journey. He’d been so anxious to arrive that he had purchased the first halfway suitable mount he’d come across. He’d been paying the price ever since.

“We should have taken the carriage.”

William laughed. “Nonsense. Too fine of a day for that. Finally, an afternoon free of rain! Besides, ’twould be a bother to take the carriage for such a short drive.” He nodded toward Graham’s horse. “When the time comes to select a pony for that daughter of yours, I suggest you leave it to me. It appears you have little talent for it.”

Graham ignored his brother’s jab and tightened his grip on the reins. The feisty animal wouldn’t gain the upper hand again.

“I, on the other hand, have an excellent eye for horseflesh,” continued William, his light eyes twinkling. “Take Tibbs here, for example.” He gave a low whistle, and the stallion’s ears perked up. “Pity I must sell him.”

“What? Sell that one?” Graham nodded at William’s prized bay. “I thought he was your favorite.”

“He is, but he’ll also fetch a fine price at Abbott’s.”

“Eastmore seems to be doing well enough. Why worry about money?”

William shrugged. “Ah, you know, foolish decisions, bad bets. Nothing outlandish, but a few extra pounds lining my pockets could not hurt.”

Graham masked his surprise at his brother’s comment and followed William through Winterwood’s iron gates. Tall elms lined the drive. Autumn had blown most of the gold and crimson leaves to the ground, leaving a brave few to hold their stead against the insistent wind. Beyond the drive, Winterwood’s gray battlements jutted majestically into the crisp blue sky. The sun’s brilliant glow reflected from the numerous bay windows and cast shadows below the cornices and pediments.

They reached the main entrance, and two adolescent stable boys appeared to take the horses. Graham swung himself to the ground and handed a boy the reins, grateful to have both feet back on the ground. He started toward Winterwood’s heavy front door, then noticed that his brother hung back.

Graham paused. “Are you not coming?”

William removed his leather riding gloves and tucked them in his pocket. “Of course. Of course.”

Why was he acting so strange? Graham decided to overlook the alteration in his brother’s demeanor. Heading back to the door, he lifted the iron knocker and let it fall. The anticipation of seeing his daughter again brought lightness to his step. Would she remember him?

The butler answered the door and ushered Graham and William into the drawing room. Everything looked exactly as it had when Graham first arrived at Winterwood three days past. But how different everything seemed now.

“Captain Sterling!” Miss Barrett appeared in the doorway, her lemon-colored gown bright as the afternoon sunshine, Lucy in her arms.

“And Mr. Sterling.” Miss Barrett’s smile faded a little when she spotted William. A slight awkwardness hovered between them, and Graham made a note to ask William about it later. But right now he could think about little else besides his bonny daughter.

Graham stepped forward eagerly, remembering how easily she had come to him that first day. But today she shrank back against Miss Barrett, her eyes regarding him with trepidation. When he reached out to take her, she turned her head and clung to Miss Barrett.

“Come now, dearest,” coaxed Miss Barrett, her voice soft and low. “Go to your father. He’s come such a long way to see you.” As she tried to pass the child to Graham’s arms, Lucy shrilled with such vehemence that he had to keep himself from covering his ear.

Graham stepped back, alarmed that his own child should be so resistant to him. Lucy’s face reddened, and his eyes grew wide. “It is all right, Miss Barrett. She is clearly frightened. She does not yet know me.”

Miss Barrett’s eyebrows drew together. “I apologize, Captain Sterling. She’s been a bit out of sorts today. I am sure she will calm down after you have been here awhile.” She cooed at Lucy and bounced her gently, casting another cool glance over toward William.

“Welcome to Winterwood, gentlemen.” Helena Barrett’s energetic voice pierced the uncomfortable atmosphere. “We saw you coming up the path, so we had the servants set us up on the side lawn for our visit. It is fine out, perhaps the last beautiful day before winter, so we should take advantage, do you not agree?”

Graham and William followed the ladies and Lucy through the drawing room, down the corridor, and through the library to the same terrace he’d shared with Miss Barrett the previous evening. How different it looked bathed in day’s warm glow. Below them, on the lawn, two servants scurried about, setting tables and chairs for tea and spreading quilts on the fading grass.

The two women led them down the stairs to the lawn just as George Barrett rounded the south wall riding a great black horse and accompanied by a small pack of auburn and white dogs. He appeared every bit the country gentleman—cropped riding coat, dark brown breeches, and top-boots.

“Ah, there’s Father.” Helena Barrett looped her arm through her cousin’s and waved at her father with the other.

George Barrett pulled to a stop next to the ladies. “And how are you today, my dears?” he asked, smiling down at his daughter and niece before acknowledging the men.

“We’re very well, Father.” Helena Barrett pointed across the lawn. “We’re about to have some tea. You gentlemen can join us in a bit if you’d like.” Arm in arm, the cousins ambled toward the tables.

“Good to see you, Barrett.” William took hold of the horse’s bridle. “Been out hunting already, have you?”

“No, just out for a ride. Good for the constitution, or so Mrs. Barrett tells me.” A smile crossed the round man’s chapped face, and he cast a glance over his stooped shoulder to the preparations on the lawn. “I think the women expect us to take tea, but I have something a bit more robust in mind. Can I interest either of you in a man’s beverage?”

“Uncanny, Barrett.” William gave the horse’s neck a pat. “You know my very thoughts.”

George swung down and slipped the reins over the horse’s head. “What about you, Captain? What say you to a little diversion? I am anxious to hear an account of the war against America and what our forces are doing to protect our interests in the region. As you know, we make our living in trade, much of it with the West Indies. I have had more than one ship captured by the scoundrel privateers. But I hear your journeys take you farther north? Closer to Halifax?”

Graham nodded, looking over George’s shoulder to where Lucy played on a blanket spread on the grass. “Yes, sir, we were in Halifax before our recent return to Plymouth.”

A look of approval brightened the older man’s ruddy complexion. “Very good. I look forward to hearing all about it. Shall we go to the house for some talk and libations?”

In another time and another place, Graham would have immediately accepted the offer. Now something else occupied his thoughts. “I believe I will visit with my daughter for a bit; it’s why I came. Perhaps I will join you later.”

George tipped his hat in Graham’s direction. “Don’t mind us, then, if we take our leave.”

Graham returned the nod and stepped to avoid the noisy flurry of dogs that swarmed around George and William as they returned the horse to the stable. The sun peeked out from behind silver clouds as he crossed the lawn, its yellow light streaming through the leafless branches and casting curved patterns on the browning grass. A lively breeze blew in from the north, and if he closed his eyes, he could almost be shipboard again, standing on deck with the wind on his face. But instead of a sharp aroma of salty sea air, the mossy scents of the moors greeted him. And instead of the crass voices of hardened sailors, he heard only the polite tones of gentle ladies.

How different life was on land. He’d grown accustomed to the sea; indeed, it was the only life he knew. He could not help but wonder how different his life would have been if he had never been sent away, if he had been born first and inherited Eastmore Hall.

Miss Barrett’s words interrupted his thoughts. “Lucy loves the outdoors.”

“She comes by that honestly.” Graham bent to sit next to his daughter and then stretched out his legs. “I prefer to be out of doors any day.”

Lucy crawled from Miss Barrett’s lap and attempted to wiggle over Graham’s boot to reach the adorning tassel, apparently forgetting any qualms she’d had about him just moments ago.

“Where are you going, little miss?” he asked, drawing Lucy into his arms. She giggled when he crossed his eyes at her, then rewarded him with a lopsided grin. Her tiny legs punched him in the stomach as she inched back down to the quilt. He picked some grass and spread it before her. She squealed and reached for the treasure with her fists. He stopped her just before she put the grass in her mouth.

Just days ago thoughts of a child had intimidated him. But with every moment spent in her presence, he desired more. Lucy squirmed and yawned, and he scooped her up and kissed her plump cheek.

Miss Barrett stood and brushed grass from her skirt. “I think Lucy may need a blanket. There is a chill in the air. I’ll return shortly.”

Her footsteps crunched on the dry leaves as she walked away. The soft call of the warbler mingled with a nightingale’s song, and a red squirrel scurried to the tree line. The sounds conjured memories of a forgotten childhood, of long afternoons spent surveying the moors and cavorting amidst the purple heather and rocky terrain.

“Do you hear that sound, Lucy?” Graham said, recognizing a sound he’d not heard since his youth. “That’s a sparrow’s song.” The child, now worn out from her bout of play, drooped sleepily. Her eyelids gradually shut, displaying her long, pale eyelashes against her fair cheeks. He drew her close and tucked her head under his chin, enjoying the gentle rhythm of her breathing and the soft lavender scent of her hair.

What sounds of childhood would his daughter remember? Would it be the whistle of the wind over open spaces and the swish of the cotton grass beneath her feet? Or would it be of noisy carriages clamoring over cobbled city streets? He surveyed the main house, the lawns. The majesty of the grand estate was humbling, its beauty even surpassing that of Eastmore Hall. Miss Barrett’s strange proposal came to mind. If he accepted it, his daughter’s memories would be of this beautiful place. She could live here all her days, if she so desired. The place would belong to him, to Lucy, if he accepted Miss Barrett’s offer.

“Shall I take the child, sir?”

Graham looked up at the sound of a strong Irish brogue.

“I’m Mrs. Dunne, nurse to young Miss Lucy.” The plump woman, white cap over dark hair, stood ready to take the child. He’d lost track of how long he’d sat with his daughter. Miss Barrett had said she would return right away. Where was she? Careful not to wake the sleeping cherub, he stood and gently handed the child to her nurse.

“Don’t worry, sir. I’ll take good care of this one, I will.”

He smiled as she laid the child in a wheeled baby carriage, then started along the path toward the house. As he watched, he thought he heard rising voices carried by the wind. He furrowed his brow and listened.

Graham scanned the surroundings. William and George Barrett were still on the far side of the lawn outside the stables, apparently having forgotten about their port. Helena Barrett and her mother, whom he recognized from the dinner, sat at the table, sipping tea. It wasn’t them. Then he spotted a flash of yellow. It swirled out from behind the terrace wall and then vanished from sight.

Curious, he walked back to the terrace steps. As each silent footfall brought him closer, the muffled voices grew in intensity.

Littleton’s deep voice reached his ears first. “I will not have this discussion again. I think I have made myself very clear regarding my expectations on this matter. As my wife, you will comply.”

Miss Barrett’s response was immediate. “I am not yet your wife. How can you presume so? Do not think I—”

Littleton’s words crushed her protest. “I’ll hear not another word about it. You heard what I said, and you know what I meant.”

“Or what?” Her voice held a power that surprised Graham. It held a challenge, as if daring Littleton to continue.

“Of all the impudence. I should think—”

Miss Barrett’s voice sounded strained, as if pushed out through clenched teeth. “So help me, Edward, I’d sooner see Winterwood Manor in a stranger’s hands and be sent to the poorhouse than turn my back on someone I love.”

Littleton laughed. “Someone you love? So you love Lucy more than you love me, is that it? Well, you’re too late for that realization, Amelia. If you call this off now, what do you think will happen? Your inheritance will pass to another, and it will happen soon. What will you do then? Do you think your uncle will continue to care for you? Allow you to live in his house? He is as invested in this union as I. Don’t think for a moment that—”

The tones were harsh and escalating, and Graham recalled the hint of fear in Miss Barrett’s eyes when she spoke of Littleton. He had heard enough. He took the terrace steps two at a time and rounded the wall. Littleton held Miss Barrett’s arm in an awkward grasp. The knuckles of Miss Barrett’s clenched fist showed white, and her sapphire eyes were wide. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with each breath.

Graham stepped closer, his boots heavy against the smooth stone veranda. “May I be of assistance, Miss Barrett?”

With a surprised jerk, Littleton spun around and glared at Graham, his eyes no wider than tight slits. “What in blazes are you doing here?”

“I heard shouting.”

“This is not your concern. I’ll thank you to mind your own affairs and leave us to ours.”

Graham took another step. “Be that as it may, Littleton, you make it my business when I see a woman being treated in such fashion. I must ask you to release her arm.”

Amelia seized the opportunity afforded by Littleton’s break in concentration and twisted from his grip. She stood rubbing her wrist, her eyes like those of an animal caught in a snare.

Edward forced a casual smile that teetered on a sneer. “She is not your concern.”

Graham glared at Littleton, daring him to look away. “Miss Barrett, Mrs. Dunne is looking for you.”

For a moment nobody moved. Asserting the authoritative tone that he used with his crew, Graham lied again. “Miss Barrett, Mrs. Dunne needs your assistance.”

Without a word she gathered her yellow skirts and scurried from the terrace.

Littleton tugged at his cravat. A smug smile coiled his lip. “I know your angle, Sterling.”

“And that is?”

“You are exploiting Amelia’s affection for your child, sir.” Edward stepped forward, his words suspending a challenge between them. “What is it that you want, sir? Her money? Her land? Or just . . . her?”

Graham’s jaw clenched at the accusation. “Nothing of the kind. Miss Barrett has shown a great kindness to my family, and I am grateful. But mark my words. I will not stand idly by and watch you or any other man treat a woman, regardless of who she is, with such incivility.”

Edward sneered. “I know you Sterlings. You are all the same—you and your brother, and your father before you. Conniving. Calculating. You may be able to worm your way into Amelia’s good graces, but you will not take advantage of me. I want you and your daughter off my property, and I want you to stay away from my future wife.”

Graham’s temples pulsed. Part of him wanted to silence Edward by telling him of Amelia’s proposal, but he held his tongue. He could not put the woman who had done so much for him in such a precarious position.

He kept his voice low. “It will be my pleasure. But you are warned, Littleton. If I see you with your hands on her, or any woman, I will have no qualms about striking you down. That would also be my pleasure.”

Littleton’s face deepened to a dark purple. More like a spoiled child than a grown man, he flounced through the terrace’s door into the parlor, his coattails swishing behind him.

Graham relaxed his fists and pulled his waistcoat straight. In the distance, he saw Miss Barrett talking to Mrs. Dunne and bending over the baby carriage. She flashed a nervous glance in his direction, then returned her attentions to the baby. As he headed toward them, he no longer heard the sounds of nature or the whistling of the wind. Littleton’s harsh words regarding his daughter, his family, and Miss Barrett echoed in his mind.

At the sound of his boots stomping across the grass, the women looked up. He had no desire to see the embarrassment that painted Miss Barrett’s expression, but he knew what needed to be done.

“Miss Barrett, I am afraid my daughter and I can no longer trespass on your hospitality.”

Miss Barrett’s hand flew to her mouth. “Whatever do you mean?”

He could not look her in the eyes when he spoke the words. “I think it would be best for all involved if we make other living arrangements for Lucy.”

She cried out and took hold of his arm. “If this is because of Mr. Littleton, please, do not give it another thought. I will talk to him. I can get him to change his mind. Please, I—”

He raised his hand to silence her. “Please, Miss Barrett, do not misunderstand. I am grateful for your generosity, but all things considered, I believe this is for the best.”

She circled him, blocking the path to the stable with her small frame. Her rosy complexion had drained to white. “Captain, this is Lucy’s home. Please, I beg you, sir, don’t take her away.”

He had no desire to hurt her, but he wasn’t about to apologize for intruding on her conversation or removing Lucy. He cleared his throat, not accustomed to explaining his actions. “To my knowledge, there is no nursery at Eastmore Hall. So if you would be so kind as to allow her to stay on with you until further arrangements can be made, I would be in your debt.” He hesitated, then looked down at his daughter sleeping in the carriage. Emotion tightened his chest, and he drew a deep breath. “Good day, ladies.”

He bowed, tipped his hat, and moved past the women. The sooner he could free himself from Winterwood and the insanity brewing within its walls, the better he and Lucy would be.