The Heiress of Winterwood

What exactly did William Sterling do all day?

Graham lowered the unread letter to his brother’s desk, leaned back, and rubbed his hand over his chin. Silence engulfed the room. He was alone, and William was nowhere to be found.

Outside the library’s only window, Graham’s nameless horse pawed at the earth. The stable boy had saddled the animal and brought him around in anticipation of the ride Graham and William had planned for the afternoon.

Graham chuckled. What the beast lacked in elegance, he made up for in spirit. The animal’s ears twitched. His restless tail swished from side to side.

I really should give the animal a name.

At that notion, he shook his head. He only planned to own the horse until he returned to Plymouth, where he would sell the animal before returning to sea. Or perhaps, once he was master of Winterwood, the animal could stay on there. Either way, the two of them would soon part ways.

He returned his attention to the letter from his first lieutenant. He spread the wrinkled paper flat against the desk’s leather insert and read the account of the ship repairs. Foster had written that everything was progressing according to plan, but that damages exceeded the initial estimations. An extra three weeks would be needed to repair the hull and the first deck before the battered vessel would once again be seaworthy.

Graham leaned his head against his laced fingers, attempting to push the memory of the battle—and the accompanying guilt—from his mind. Oddly, it was not the battle that had crippled his ship that haunted him, but one from well over a year ago. The American frigate had emerged from behind a curtain of misty fog, catching them off guard. Before he and his crew realized the ship was upon them, cannon fire sliced the hull. Water poured into the ship. The mast roared in flames.

Graham forced himself to look at the scar, now purple and tight, crossing the top of his hand and arm. He had been fortunate. Many members of his crew had not. And it had been his fault. All his fault.

He needed to respond to the letter. He glanced around the library, looking for paper. He pulled the top desk drawer open and rummaged through old letters. Nothing. He pushed the drawer shut and pulled open the one beneath it. Inside, a large book rested on top of loose papers.

Graham lifted out the leather-bound volume. The expert embossing adorning the cover reminded him of his father’s ledger book. Memories of his father sitting at this very desk flooded his mind. He placed the book on the desk and lifted the cover. But William’s writing, not his father’s, covered the pages. Numbers. Figures. Names.

He flipped the parchment pages and skimmed the information. Never would he have guessed that such large sums of money flowed in and out of the estate. As he browsed the columns of more recent pages, it appeared that much more was streaming out than came in. He read down the list of names. James Creighton. Ernest Timmer. Who were they?

The nameless horse let out a loud whinny as raucous laughter wafted in from the front drive. Graham jerked his head up and slammed the book closed. William. He stuffed the book in the drawer and within seconds was out of the library and walking into the brisk afternoon air.

“There you are. I thought—”

Graham stopped short. William’s bloodshot eyes glowed against his pale skin. A lopsided smile slid across his unshaven face. The smell of spirits drifted on the wind.

William piped a lazy laugh. He slipped from his horse’s back, stumbling as his boots hit the ground. He patted at the horse. The animal sidestepped as William leaned his weight against the saddle.

Two mounted men accompanied William. They snickered, as if amused at their comrade’s difficulty in the simple task of dismounting. From their slack posture and the disheveled state of their attire, Graham assumed they were involved in whatever his brother had been up to.

Graham grabbed the horse’s bridle to steady the animal and waited for an explanation.

William giggled like a child as he found his footing and then straightened in an obvious attempt to hide the extent of his altered state.

“Gentlemen, meet my esteemed brother, Captain Graham Canton Sterling.” William flung a wobbly arm in Graham’s general direction. “He is the man defending the Crown while you and I keep commerce afloat on this hallowed isle.” Then, in a sudden burst of amusement, he thrust his fist into the air in mock triumph. “Hail, the conquering hero!”

The men dissolved in laughter. William crumpled to the ground, still chortling hysterically.

Graham’s nostrils flared at the blatant disrespect. On more than one occasion he’d come close to losing his life, and dozens of times he’d watched while men perished—all in pursuit of “defending the Crown.”

Graham pitched William’s horse’s reins to the stable boy who had come round. He stepped into No-Name’s stirrup and swung his leg over the saddle. He would not stay and watch this ridiculous display of intemperance. He didn’t tolerate it in his crew, and he certainly wouldn’t stand by and watch it in his own brother.

By the time William noticed his brother wasn’t laughing, Graham had already circled No-Name around and was headed in the opposite direction. “Where you going?” William bellowed.

Graham ignored the jeers but did not attempt to hide his anger. How exactly was William keeping “commerce afloat”? He would reprimand his brother if he thought it would do any good. He’d pull him down from the horse and force him to listen, but to what end?

Graham clenched his jaw. He’d spent too many years in similar fashion. The price had been significant. By God’s grace he had been able to conquer the vice of drink, but it appeared that William followed their father’s footsteps in more ways than one.

He urged the horse into a canter and followed the tree line of Eastmore Wood. What he would give to be at sea again. The seafaring life held danger, true, especially in times of war, but at least on a ship he knew his place. His role. He knew who he was and where he belonged.

Being in Darbury reminded him of his childhood, which he wanted to forget, and Katherine, who would never be his again. Why would he ever want to stay here?

But as quickly as the thought entered his head, another thought, equally as persuasive, accompanied it.

Now the shore held Lucy. His Lucy. And Miss Amelia Barrett.





Amelia awoke with a start to the sound of shouting.

She threw off the thick quilt and paused, allowing her eyes a moment to adjust to the dying fire’s faint light. She held her breath and listened.

Deep voices sounded from somewhere inside Winterwood’s stone walls. She stood up and grabbed her dressing gown from the end of her bed.

Every sense tingled as she scurried across her chamber. Now fully awake, she cracked the paneled door to better hear the conversation’s echo.

“Do you expect me to believe that?”

“Upon my honor, I had no idea, sir.”

“Where is she?”

The words registered. Dread seized her and refused to allow her heart to beat. Her feet stayed fixed to the ground.

Edward!

She tried to force her mind into action, but her thoughts sputtered. The patting of Helena’s bare feet coming down the hallway snapped her from her trance.

“Whatever is going on?” Helena rubbed her arms over her shawl. “It’s the middle of the night. Who is here?”

Now wasn’t the time for secrets. All would be made known within hours—maybe minutes. “It’s Edward. Who else could it be? Help me, Helena!” Amelia flew to her wardrobe and pulled out a gown. “Button this for me, will you?”

Before Helena could even respond, Amelia found her stays and draped her dress over her arm. Helena stared at her in rare silence.

“Helena, please! I can’t lace this myself.” She turned her back toward Helena and waited for her assistance.

Helena squeaked in protest, but as the yelling intensified, she complied. When Helena finished, Amelia flew to her writing desk and stood so her body blocked Helena’s view. Her hand shook as she wrote.





Edward Littleton is here. I think he knows. Please come quickly. —AB





“What are you doing?”

Amelia barely heard Helena’s words over her own thoughts. She folded the note, tucked it up her sleeve, and headed toward her chamber door. But Helena stepped in front of her, blocking the exit.

“I said, what are you doing?”

Amelia’s shoulders tensed. “Very well. You might as well know. Captain Sterling and I are going to be wed. Apparently Edward has found out.”

Amelia braced herself for Helena’s dramatic retort, but one did not come. Instead, her cousin’s voice sounded almost sad. “This is a mistake. You know it is. But maybe it’s not too late. Mr. Littleton is not an unreasonable man, and—”

“No. I am resolved.” Amelia reached for her shawl and turned to face her cousin. “You would not happen to know how he learned of the engagement, would you?”

Helena tightened her shawl around her shoulders, eyes wide. “How could you insinuate such a thing? Of course not. Where are you going?”

Amelia did not answer. She flew down the servants’ stairs, leaving Helena standing in the hall. Blackness shrouded the lock of the servants’ entrance. Her fingers shook and she fumbled with the key. Eventually the door opened, and Amelia sprinted toward the stables.

The lawn had never seemed so wide. Her bare feet slipped several times on the dewy grass. As she rounded the back corner of the mansion, she lost her footing and fell hard on her stomach, sliding over the wet turf. She ignored the pain, pushed herself up, and continued.

She arrived at the stables, gasping for air. A lantern lit the front half of the stable, where two stable boys were tending a gray gelding. Edward’s horse.

“Peter!” She needed someone who was fast, and the younger of the two stable boys seemed the best choice. Obviously shocked at seeing his mistress in the middle of the night, he swept his hat from his head and stepped forward. “Yes, miss?”

She held the note out to the boy. “Take this as fast as you can to Eastmore Hall. Give it to Captain Sterling. Do not leave until you place it in his hand yourself. Do you hear me?”

The boy nodded his head emphatically. “Yes. Yes, miss.”

She shooed him on. “Go. Go quickly, and be smart about it!”

Without another word, the boy pulled a horse from a nearby stall. Flinging himself on the animal’s bare back, he disappeared into the black night.

She turned back to the house. From where she stood, she could barely see into the drawing room window. Faint light trickled from the opening, and a black figure moved across the space. Her heart thudded as she ran back across the lawn to the servants’ entrance.

As soon as she opened the door, animated chatter reached her ears. She didn’t see anyone, but it was clear the commotion had awakened the staff as well. She took the stairs at a very unladylike two-at-a-time pace until she reached her landing.

What she heard made her heart freeze. Footsteps stomped on the main stairs.

As if in a race, she bolted to her chamber. She dropped her wet shawl and grabbed a dry one, only now noticing the wet mud smeared across her front from her fall.

She didn’t even have time to groan, for a knock on the door demanded her attention. “Amelia Barrett, open this door this instant.”

Only Aunt Augusta. Amelia forced her breathing to slow before opening the chamber door. Her aunt pushed her way inside and grabbed Amelia’s arm.

Amelia yanked free. “Let go of me!”

“Edward is downstairs. What have you done, you foolish girl?” Aunt Augusta pinched her lips together, waiting for Amelia’s response.

Amelia straightened her spine, determined to stand her ground. “From your demeanor, I believe you already know the answer to that question.”

Her aunt’s rheumy eyes narrowed on her. “I do not know what you are trying to accomplish, but you listen to me. I will not allow you to ruin the future of this family. Of all the insolence! You will marry Edward.”

Amelia bristled at the words. Of course her aunt had every right to be surprised and even angry, but the accusation in her tone only fueled Amelia’s determination. “I’ve made no decision out of spite, Aunt. Lucy is my top priority, and I’ve made that clear since the moment she was born. I apologize for the effect that this has on you and Uncle and Helena, but I must consider my future. Lucy’s future. And if you knew Edward as I do, you and Uncle would think twice before trusting him with any matter of significance.”

Aunt Augusta’s lips quivered with anger. “I am grateful for one thing and one thing alone. Praise the Almighty that your father is not alive to see the type of person you have become.”

Those words stung more than Amelia cared to admit. What would her father think of this?

Her aunt’s rant continued. “Regardless of whom you have so recklessly decided to marry, the sooner you are no longer a part of the Barrett family, the better.”

Amelia forced her expression to remain stoic. She would not allow Aunt Augusta the satisfaction of seeing any emotion. If she allowed herself to become flustered, she might lose her composure when speaking with Edward.

“And look at the state of you, Amelia.” Her aunt’s gaze raked down the front of Amelia’s gown. “What have you been doing?”

Amelia searched for an excuse, but none came. How could she admit that she had slipped in the mud to beg assistance of the stable boy?

Her aunt didn’t wait for an explanation. “Well, you can’t see Edward dressed like that. Heaven already knows what the man thinks.” Her voice echoed flat. “Change your gown quickly, then come downstairs. You have some explaining to do.”

A welcome silence settled over the room with her aunt’s departure, and Amelia turned to the wardrobe to get a clean dress. When she turned back around, Helena stood in the empty space where her mother had been. Without a word, the younger cousin stepped forward to unbutton Amelia’s soiled dress. Even with only the light from a single flickering candle, Amelia interpreted the sorrow on Helena’s face.

As girls, Helena and Amelia had been inseparable. They had shared a governess, shared secrets, shared each other’s company. Only in the last year had their relationship changed, for reasons Amelia still did not completely understand. “Please, Helena,” she whispered, “don’t hate me.”

Helena buttoned the last button and rested her hand on Amelia’s trembling shoulders. “I don’t hate you.” Emotion hung in her voice. “I don’t understand you, but I could never hate you. Just remember, Cousin, that what we think we want may not always be best.”

Helena offered a weak smile and stepped toward the door. Not convinced it would help ease the situation, Amelia breathed a desperate prayer, hoping that by some miracle she would find the right words to say to Edward.

“Fear not. I am with you.”

Amelia’s head jerked up. “What did you say?”

Confusion clouded Helena’s features. “I didn’t say anything. You’d better hurry. Mother is furious.”

Amelia smoothed her dress and ran shaky fingers through her tangled hair. Her gaze landed on the Bible on her bedside table. Could it be?

“I am with you.”




Helena squeezed Amelia’s hand as they descended the wide staircase. Below them, Amelia could hear her uncle and Edward speaking, but at least they were no longer shouting.

Amelia willed herself not to buckle under her mounting fear of what Edward was capable of. She was resolved in her decision and would not waver, but confidence in her ability to convince anyone in her family had waned. She could no longer rely on their support.

She breathed a prayer, then repeated it, desperate to believe God would answer. And in spite of her uncertainty, she felt her tense muscles relax. She lifted her chin, feeling stronger and more determined than she had in days.

Flickering light spilled from her uncle’s study. Moving figures within the room cast animated shadows on the oak floor of the vestibule. She paused and listened.

Edward’s voice reached her ear first. “What of Winterwood, then? Surely there is something to be done.”

Her uncle’s hushed response echoed from the stone walls. “Legally, everything—the land, the assets—will all be in her husband’s name once she marries. Up until now I’ve barely been able to buy a horse without running it through Carrington.”

“But Carrington’s gone now. Remember?”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s an issue of how the will was written. My brother may have been an impudent fool, but he rarely missed a trick where business was concerned. How do you think he amassed all this property?”

“That notwithstanding, we need the funds. Surely something can be done.”

“If she decides to marry someone else, there is nothing that I—we—can do to prevent her from doing so.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Something can always be done. We just need to make certain that she doesn’t marry anyone else. Then our problems are solved. Am I correct?”

Helena and Amelia exchanged glances and tiptoed to the threshold. Helena whispered in her ear, “What are they talking about?”

“My inheritance.”

“Your inheritance? But I thought . . .” Helena’s voice trailed off.

Helena’s naïveté baffled Amelia. How could such a clever woman not see the clearest deception right in front of her? “I have been trying to tell you. Edward does not love me, Helena. He desires only Winterwood and the fortune that accompanies it.”

“I think—” Helena’s foot caught the leg of a side table and scooted it across the floor. The resulting sound ricocheted, and the voices inside the study halted. Helena’s eyes grew wide, and her hand slapped over her mouth.

In a split second Uncle George appeared in the doorway, wrapped in a crimson dressing gown. His angry eyes flicked from his niece to his daughter, then back to his niece.

“I’ve underestimated you, Niece.” He nodded toward the library, his voice devoid of any fatherly affection. “There is someone here who wishes to speak with you.”

The room’s stifling heat slapped her as she stepped in.

Edward stood in front of the roaring fireplace, broad shoulders silhouetted against the flames. His dark eyes locked on hers.

Amelia drew closer and prepared herself for battle. The scent of damp horse and the outdoors clung to Edward’s person and prickled her nostrils. She mustered every ounce of energy to combat the desire to shrink away. She knew Edward’s game of intimidation all too well, but this would be the last time she’d have to endure it.

His deep voice pierced the silence, and he pulled at his disheveled cravat as if it were a noose. “I’m desperately waiting for you, dear Amelia, to tell me there’s been some mistake.”

Amelia lowered her chin but refused to break eye contact. “I cannot.”

Edward’s face reddened. “When exactly were you planning to inform me of your change of heart? After all, our wedding is—should have been—just weeks away. So when? A week before? The day before?”

His tone sliced her confidence. She squared her shoulders and straightened as tall as her frame would allow. “This happened suddenly. I did not intend to deceive you.”

A snide chuckle escaped him before he released his words through gritted teeth. “Imagine my surprise, my utter humiliation, when I went to apply for the license, only to be told by the snit of a clerk that my intended’s name is already on a license.” His words climbed to a shout. “With another man’s name!”

Amelia’s chest burned. Every breath felt shallower than the last. She cast a nervous glance at her aunt and uncle, for once grateful for their presence. “You must know within yourself that this marriage would have been a mistake, and I—”

His cry cut her off. “A mistake? I love you, Amelia. There is no mistaking that. My love has not wavered. What a fool I must be! All this time, these many months, I believed you returned my affection. And now I find you have deceived me in the most debased manner!”

Amelia squelched a stirring of guilt. She had given Edward repeated opportunities. His utter disregard for her concerns had left her no choice. She would not apologize for her actions. “I have told you from Lucy’s birth that I intended to raise her. I made this abundantly clear, have I not? I will not allow that child, whom I love like my own, to be raised without a mother. Furthermore, it has become evident that your interest is in Winterwood, not me. I could never be happy married to a man who used me for my father’s fortune.”

“And you think this sea captain person has any other designs on you besides your fortune?” Edward’s shouts echoed from the plastered walls. “Wake up, Amelia! He is using you in a most obvious fashion.” He rushed forward, grabbed her hands, and pulled her to him with such fervor she almost lost her footing. “I want to protect you, Amelia. To give you my love. Why are you turning it away?”

His hands threatened to crush hers. He stood so close that his breath, laced with the ever-present scent of alcohol, grazed her cheek. Her strength faltered under Edward’s overwhelming presence, and she fought the overwhelming urge to flee. She needed to stay calm, to fight the runaway beating of her heart, to remember why she was doing this.

Lucy.

A wild, frantic prayer raced through her mind. Days ago she’d felt God’s presence. Mere minutes ago she’d thought she heard him speak. Would he help her now?

And where was Captain Sterling?





Graham climbed the stairs to Winterwood Manor with one goal: to rid it of Edward Littleton.

He should have arrived earlier. But dark clouds blotted out the moon’s faint light, forcing him to rely on a newly sober William to show him the shortcut through Sterling Wood. Graham hated to rely on anyone. But his brother’s help would make it possible for him to deal with Edward Littleton once and for all.

Graham reached the top of the stairs and grabbed for the iron handle on the massive wooden door.

“Wait!”

Annoyed with the further delay, Graham stopped at the sound of William’s voice. His brother was fumbling with the horses’ reins, attempting to tether the animals to a post. “You want this beast of yours to wander off? Where are the stable boys, anyway?”

“I’ve no idea. Hurry it up, will you?”

William tested the tether on No-Name before jumping up the stairs. “You have a plan, I assume?”

“No.” Graham stepped through the main entrance into the darkened vestibule. Heated voices echoed on the stone walls and plaster ceilings. James and a footman hovered in a corner as if unsure what their duties were in such a circumstance. Littleton’s angry shouts thundered above all.

William grabbed Graham’s arm and pulled it back. “Whoa, whoa. Will you stop? Listen to him. He’s mad as blazes!”

Graham returned the whisper. “Just stay quiet.” He swept his hat from his head, tossed it in James’s direction, and stepped through the library’s threshold. William trailed closely.

A red-faced George Barrett came into view first, then his wife and daughter. Graham scanned the room for Miss Barrett and found her standing too close to Littleton. His breath caught at the sight of her. Never before had he seen Miss Barrett with her golden hair loose, blanketing her shoulders. He did not like the fearful expression on his intended’s—Amelia’s—face.

Graham forced his eyes away from her and onto Littleton. He assessed him as one preparing for a skirmish. Same height. Similar build. Graham flexed his hand at his side. He prepared his mind, just as he did before any battle.

Perspiration trickled down Littleton’s face. His disheveled hair fell in damp clumps on his forehead, and his eyes boasted wild rage. “Well, there he is—Captain Sterling,” he mocked. “Come to claim your bride, did you?”

Graham cast a glance at Amelia. Her face blanched as white as the wool shawl around her slender shoulders. “Take your leave, Littleton.”

Littleton’s lip lifted in a sneer. “Ah, he already speaks as if he is Winterwood’s master. It didn’t take long to assume that role, did it, Captain?”

“She’s broken no law. You will respect her decision.”

“She’s broken a vow.”

“She is entitled to change her mind.”

“Change her mind? Women change their minds about what gown to wear. What novel to read or what bowl of fruit to paint.” Saliva sprayed from Edward’s mouth with each pointed word. “What exactly did you do, I wonder? Enlighten me. Did you bribe her?”

Amelia stepped forward as if preparing to say something, but Graham stepped in front of her. “Accept it, Littleton. I daresay you shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Oh, should I not?” Littleton’s voice climbed. “You are here for a few days, and you think you know how my betrothed should think and act?”

“I saw enough.” Graham didn’t like the desperation in Littleton’s expression. Desperate men were capable of desperate things. Graham squared his stance. “You can leave on your own, or William and I will show you off the estate. Take your choice.”

George Barrett stepped forward, outrage in his voice. “You’ve no right to throw anyone out of Winterwood, Sterling. I am master here. I should be ordering you off the property.”

Just as Graham opened his mouth in response, Littleton flung himself at Graham and swung a fist toward his jaw. Graham ducked, but not quickly enough. He staggered back from the blow, warm blood trickling from his lip.

Like a shot from a cannon, fire surged through his veins. Without hesitation he rammed his full weight into Littleton, hurling him against the wall. He thrust one forearm against the man’s throat and the other across his chest, pinning his foe against the cold plaster.

Littleton flailed, throwing angry blows and spewing curses. Behind him, George Barrett clawed at Graham’s shoulder. With a sharp jab of his arm, he freed himself from the older man’s grasp, relieved when William finally stepped in and pulled Barrett from his back. He pressed harder, consumed by rage. All he could think about was dominating Littleton and keeping him away from Miss Barrett. Away from Lucy. Away from Winterwood.

Someone screamed, but Graham paid no attention. All his force and concentration was required to keep Littleton against the wall. He braced his feet and tightened every muscle and waited until the other man expended his energy and began to slow.

Littleton finally slumped in surrender. Both men huffed. Sweat dripped from Graham’s forehead and rolled to his chin. He leaned in close to his opponent, his face just inches away. “I’ll not repeat myself. Leave now.” Then he stepped back.

Littleton’s dark eyes raged with fire, but the man’s physical strength did not match his passion. His chest heaved, and his stare moved from Graham to Amelia. He pointed at her. “Is this what you want? Then you shall have it.”

Graham didn’t dare break his stare. “Are you quite finished?”

Littleton snatched his hat from a nearby table, jammed it on his head, and hissed a warning through clenched teeth. “If you think for a moment I will give up easily, you, sir, are sadly mistaken.”

The man stormed from the library, clipping William with his shoulder as he passed.

The room stood silent. Graham wiped the blood from his chin, noting idly that crimson stained his sleeve. He looked up to see Amelia by his arm, tears welling in her eyes.

George Barrett rushed toward him, his jowls trembling with rage. “Are you pleased?”

Graham pressed his lips together. One altercation was enough for tonight.

Barrett’s face had gone purple. “What kind of a man preys on a young girl the way you have? Look at what you have done. And why? Because of her money? Because you needed her to care for your daughter so you can return to your ship?”

Amelia hurried over to them. “But it’s not like that at all. I—”

“Quiet, girl!” Barrett pushed her away and addressed Graham. “You’ll receive the punishment you deserve for bringing such scandal to our family.” He spun around and took his wife’s arm. “Helena, Augusta, return to your beds. We are finished here.”

Helena jumped forward. “But what about Amelia?”

Barrett turned to stare at Amelia as if he had forgotten she was in the room. “You. You agree with this? You agree to marry this man and go against the solid guidance your aunt and I have given you all these years?”

All eyes were now on Amelia. She met Graham’s eyes, then jutted her chin in the air. “I do.”

Barrett slammed his palm on a round side table, sending the urn atop it crashing to the ground. “So be it. Then you are no longer a niece of mine.”

She flinched as if struck. “I hope in time, Uncle, you will understand why I have made this choice.”

Barrett made no answer, just grabbed his wife and daughter by their arms and yanked them from the library, glaring at Graham all the while. Graham let them go. Now was not the time to talk with the man. Maybe he could explain himself sometime in the future, but not tonight.

Graham rubbed his jaw and wiped his face, vaguely aware of his brother and betrothed walking toward him.

“You’re bleeding.” Amelia’s voice trembled. She reached out to touch his wound but hesitated, letting her hand land briefly on his shoulder before falling to her side.

Graham didn’t want her to withdraw her hand. He wanted to feel her touch. His chest still heaved with the effects of exertion and his jaw ached, but he refused to look away from her. She was beautiful, like an angel, with her untamed tresses and her gentle voice. Her very presence soothed him like a balm. His breathing slowed, and he wiped his chin again. “I’m fine.”

Amelia pushed her hair out of her eyes, the firelight dancing on each long strand. It looked like gold. “Thank you for coming,” she said softly. “If you hadn’t arrived when you did, I . . .”

Graham nodded but said nothing. He prided himself on being a wise enough sailor to know when he’d entered uncharted waters. This woman touched something deep in him. Be it from the blow he received or the adrenaline from the fight, he didn’t trust his words. Not just yet.

He had almost forgotten William was in the room. His brother hurried to the window, pressed himself against the wall, and lifted the curtain just enough to see outside. “Littleton’s gone. Good riddance.” He dropped the curtain and walked over to study Graham’s bloody lip. “You should have ducked.”

Graham nodded, grateful for the attempt at humor. “Thank you for your advice. I’ll keep that in mind next time.” He met Amelia’s eyes and a look of triumph passed between them. Littleton was gone—for now. But how long would he stay away?

William slapped Graham’s shoulder, sending sharp pains up his neck and through his injured jaw. “My little brother, master of Winterwood Manor. Impressive.” He stared dramatically at the ceiling. “Does this mean you will be keeping your feet firmly planted on land now that you have a beautiful bride to cherish and love?”

The words cherish and love hung awkwardly between them. Amelia looked down at the floor. Graham straightened his jacket. “I’ll return to the war as soon as the ship repairs are done, as planned.”

“Seems a shame.” William moved toward the door and then turned back to Amelia. “It’s late. Miss Barrett, it was a pleasure to see you, even under these peculiar circumstances.” He bowed. “Graham, are you coming?”

“I’ll be there straightaway.”

“Then I’ll get the horses. That is, if your beast of an animal hasn’t managed to wander off.”

Graham shifted his weight as the heavy front door closed behind William. “Will you be all right?”

The trembling in Amelia’s lips belied the confidence in her voice. “I should think so. Winterwood is my home, after all.”

“I doubt you shall see any more of Littleton tonight, but perhaps it would be more prudent for you to stay at Eastmore Hall for the time being.”

Amelia raised a blond eyebrow. “Me? At Eastmore Hall? Thank you, no. What would people say?”

“I would think it is a little late to consider the opinions of others.”

She flinched at his comment but said nothing. She gathered her hair and absently wrapped her hand around the thick locks.

“Your cousin would be welcome to accompany you, of course.”

She shook her head no, so Graham headed for the doorway, where James had appeared with his hat. He didn’t want to leave her, not just yet, but he could hear William with the horses on the front drive and weary shadows smudged Amelia’s smooth cheeks. “It’s been a long night. You need rest. I will be by first thing in the morning and attempt to settle things with your uncle.”

“Thank you, Captain Sterling.”

He tucked his hat under his arm, bowed slightly, then lingered in the doorway for a moment, memorizing the look of her—the long, lustrous hair, the gentle mouth, the sapphire eyes. He suspected those eyes would haunt him from that moment forth.




Graham didn’t know if his throbbing jaw or the awkwardness of his position awakened him. With slow, deliberate movements, he pushed himself off the brocade cushion. Every muscle ached, and salty dried blood lingered on his lip.

When had he finally slept? Last he remembered, he’d returned from Winterwood in the black of night, opened Eastmore Hall’s library window for some air, and sat on the plush settee to nurse his wounds. Now the sun’s long morning rays reached into the room, bathing the space in a yellow glow.

Graham shook sleep from his limbs. He distinctly recalled explaining his and Amelia’s engagement to William, careful to withhold any indication that she had proposed to him. He must have dozed off after that, and apparently his brother had done the same, for William’s lanky frame slumped in an overstuffed wingback chair across the room.

Graham was like that too—able to sleep anywhere. Hammock or wooden deck, inside his cabin or under the stars, it didn’t matter. His old captain, Stephen Sulter, always said that easy sleep was a sign of a clear conscience. Graham wasn’t so sure.

He yanked off his boot and flung it in William’s direction. It bounced off his brother’s knee and thudded to the oriental rug. William didn’t budge.

Graham removed his other boot and stood, grimacing as he stretched the kinks in his back and shoulders. He walked over to the open window, where heavy emerald drapes billowed in the wind, and closed it. Then he stepped over one of William’s sleeping hunting dogs to stoke the pitiful fire. His muscles protested the movements, and he rubbed a protective hand over his ribs. Judging by the sensitivity, he must have taken more blows than he remembered.

It had been awhile since he’d engaged in a fight like that—many years, in fact. In his youth, however, a fiery temper and love of drink had plopped him right in the middle of brawl after brawl. Then Stephen Sulter led him to the Lord and helped Graham put an end to his dissolute ways. But now, after years of loss and disappointment, he found himself wondering about the God who rescued him from a life of rebellion. He did not actually doubt the Father’s presence, but he hadn’t felt it in a long time.

He rubbed his hands together and blew warm air against his cold palms. He needed a hot drink to dull the effects of the chill in the room. Graham turned from the fireplace and looked for the bell to call the servants.

He shuffled through the strewn papers and letters on his brother’s desk in search of the elusive bell. How could William ever find a thing with this mess? He had begun to pile the papers when words scrawled across the top of a parchment caught his eye. Receipt of sale. He picked up the paper and read further. He glanced over at William, who still snored in the corner chair, then returned his attention to the document. At the bottom were two signatures: William Sterling and Edward Littleton.

The sight of Littleton’s name hit with the power of another fist to the jaw. Hungry for the meaning, he skimmed the document, unable to read it fast enough. He forced himself to read it again. Could this be true? Had William sold part of Eastmore to that scoundrel?

The room’s chill vanished. His arms and chest burned with exasperating intensity, and a million thoughts bombarded him. Did Miss Barrett know about this purchase? When had it happened? Was there a way to revoke it?

He stepped over to William and nudged his foot. “Wake up.”

At the gesture, William drew a deep breath and opened his eyes, squinting in the sun’s light. He covered his eyes with his hand and frowned. “Go away.”

“What’s this?”

William’s face scrunched. “What’s what?”

Graham held the document in the air. “It says ‘receipt of sale.’ It’s signed by Edward Littleton.”

William groaned and scratched his scalp as he pulled himself up to a seated position. “I sold the west fields to Littleton about a week ago. Leave my personal affairs alone.” He lay his head back and closed his eyes. “Now go away and let me sleep.”

Graham kicked his brother’s foot again. “Were you going to mention this? Or just let me wake one day to find Edward Littleton practically in my lap?”

William opened his eyes again. With a sudden burst of energy he jumped up from his chair and grabbed the document from Graham’s grip. “Yes, I was going to tell you,” he spat. “Call me inconsiderate, but I didn’t think last night would be the most opportune time to enlighten you, what with all of the yelling and punching.”

“You told me you had no intention of dividing Eastmore.”

“Of course I didn’t want to. What fool would? But I did what I had to do. I needed the money, and Littleton wanted to buy the land. So I sold it to him.”

The snippet of conversation from a few days ago about William selling his horse flickered in his mind. “Why do you need money, anyway? What happened to all of it?”

“Do you mean Father’s money,” William huffed, “or mine?” He stuffed the document in a desk drawer. “Either way, it is none of your business. I did what I needed to do.”

“Why didn’t you come to me?”

“What, go crawling to my baby brother? I can handle the affairs here on my own.”

“That’s preposterous.”

William slammed the drawer shut. “You think it’s easy, managing an estate this size?”

“I think it’s easy to make foolish decisions.”

“Ah, I see. Any financial trouble that has befallen the great Eastmore Hall must be of my own doing. Perhaps you forget that I inherited this monstrosity and all the worries that accompany it. You, on the other hand, have been conveniently absent from any family issue, small or great.”

William’s sharp retort sounded suspiciously like an accusation. Graham squared his stance. “It was not my choice to leave. Or have you forgotten?”

William whirled to face his brother. Gone was his customary lighthearted nature. His response was one of a cornered animal, ready for battle. “You think you could have done better? I did the best I could with what I had, and I’ll not apologize for it. When someone wanted to buy some of my land—my land—especially the man I thought was to be my neighbor, I was well within my rights to do so. How was I to know you were going to sweep his betrothed out from underneath him?”

Graham shifted his weight as he contemplated his response. A million retorts fired in his head about responsibility and discipline. But now wasn’t the time. “Eastmore, and what you do with it, is your business. I have no say in it. What matters to me now is keeping Littleton away from Winterwood.”

William leaned against his desk. The hunting dog rose and trotted to her master, and William scratched her ear. “You know, there is a very simple solution.”

Graham snatched up his boot. “And what is that?”

William shrugged. “You will soon be marrying the answer to both our problems.”

Graham glared at his brother. “What are you suggesting?”

“Oh, come on.” William rolled his eyes. “Toss a little money at Littleton and buy the land for yourself. Make Littleton an offer he cannot turn down, and he’ll sell you the land.” A twinkle shimmered in his pale eyes. “And as for Eastmore, when you marry, we can use Winterwood’s money to set Eastmore’s finances right. All of our problems will be solved.”

Graham didn’t need time to consider his response. “No.”

William’s eyes widened in shock. “No? Why?”

“It’s not my money to give. I promised Amelia I’d not touch Winterwood’s money.”

A short laugh burst from William. “What are you, a fool? Well then, buy the land yourself. Your prize money is no secret. Surely you have such funds. And while you’re at it, perhaps you can help me a little.”

Graham snatched up his other boot and tailcoat. The dark blue wool wrinkled under his grip. “How significant is your debt?”

“Significant enough that I had to sell the west fields. That I am selling my best horse. Who knows what’s next?”

Graham paused and looked out the window. “If you want me to help, then I need to know a number, William. How much do you owe?”

William’s face blanched, but he set his jaw. “Seventeen thousand pounds.”

“Egad, William, how did you get yourself into such incredible debt?”

William’s eyebrows twitched. “You don’t know how it’s been. I—”

Graham shot his hand into the air to silence William, but he lowered it immediately. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know, and quite honestly, I don’t care.”

An awkward silence hovered between the men. Graham tucked his coat under his arm. “I’m going to Winterwood to talk to George Barrett. We’ll discuss this later.”

William stepped forward, blocking the threshold. “Like it or not, this is your family home too.”

Brother stared at brother. Unspoken words balanced in the empty space between them.

“I’ll help you if I can,” Graham finally said. “But Winterwood’s funds are off the table.”