chapter Two
The maid Betsy, assigned to help Mary dress, arrived at nine the next morning.
Mary didn’t needed help dressing. Just as always, she’d been awake and dressed by six, before light touched the grey wintery sky. At school, it was her task to see that the girls were washed and dressed before they came to breakfast. The maid had to content herself with drawing back the curtains and putting coal on the fire. ‘This room is always cold,’ the girl announced cheerfully. ‘Will there be anything else, miss?’
‘I would like a carriage to take me to St Ives.’
‘You will need to speak to Mr Manners,’ the girl said, her Cornish vowels hard to decipher.
Of course. The butler. He would be in charge of such things. ‘Where will I find him?’
The small brown-eyed girl raised her brows. ‘In the breakfast room. Serving the family.’
The grieving family. She wanted nothing to do with any of them, especially the new earl. But since she needed to order the carriage, she straightened her shoulders and smiled. ‘Perhaps you would be good enough to guide me there?’
Betsy bobbed a curtsy. ‘Follow me, miss.’
It wasn’t long before she was deposited in front of a large oak door off the entrance hall. ‘In there, miss.’
‘Thank you.’ Mary sailed through the door as if she had been making grand entrances all her life. Or at least she hoped she gave that impression.
What a relief. No brooding earl awaited her in the oak-panelled room with its polished furniture and gleaming silver. Only his cousins sat at the table. Blond and handsome, they rose to their feet as she entered.
‘Good morning,’ she said.
‘Good morning, Miss Wilding,’ they replied gravely.
The older one, Mr Jeffrey Beresford, gave her a swift perusal. A slightly pained expression entered his vivid-blue eyes. No doubt he thought her dreadfully shabby in her Sunday-best dress, but it was grey and she’d thought it the most appropriate under the circumstances. The younger one nodded morosely.
Both young men wore dark coats and black armbands. Of Mrs Hampton there was no sign. No doubt she preferred to breakfast in her room on such a sorrowful day.
‘Miss Wilding,’ the butler said, pulling out a chair opposite the Beresford cousins. She sat.
They followed suit.
‘Did you sleep well, Miss Wilding?’ Mr Beresford asked, assuming the duty of host in the earl’s absence.
‘Yes, thank you.’ She certainly wasn’t going to admit to her mind replaying the scene with the earl outside her chamber door over and over as she restlessly tossed and turned.
‘Really?’ Mr Hampton said, looking up, his face angelic in a shaft of sunlight that at that moment had broken through the clouds and found its way into the dining room to rest on him.
‘Is there some reason why I should not?’ she asked a little stiffly, surprised by his sudden interest.
He looked at her moodily. ‘They do say as how the White Lady’s ghost haunts the north tower.’
‘You are an idiot, Ger,’ the other cousin said. ‘Don’t listen to him, Miss Wilding. It is an old wives’ tale.’
‘’Tis not,’ Gerald said, his lips twisting. ‘One of the servants saw her last week.’
‘And that is a bouncer,’ his cousin replied repressively. ‘One servant saw her fifty years ago.’
The younger man scowled.
Mary felt sorry for him. Boys liked their ghost stories as much as foolish young girls did, no doubt. ‘It would take more than a ghost to scare me,’ she said calmly, ‘if I actually believed in them.’ It would take a tall dark earl with a sinful mouth to make her quiver in fear. Or quiver with something.
The young man looked a little insulted. ‘If you see her, you will tell me, won’t you? I’ve been keeping track of her sightings.’ He pushed his food around with his fork. ‘They say she appears when there is to be a death in the house.’ The utter belief in his voice gave her a strange slithery sensation in her stomach. It also reminded her of last night’s events with a pang of guilt.
‘Although I had never met your grandfather before last night, I hope you will accept my deepest sympathy for your loss.’
Both young men nodded their acceptance of her condolence.
‘Coffee, miss?’ the butler asked.
She usually had tea in the morning. And only one cup. But there was another scent floating in the air, making her mouth water and her stomach give little hops of pleasure. ‘Chocolate, please, Manners.’ She’d had her first taste of chocolate this morning when Betsy had brought her tray and really couldn’t resist having it one last time.
The man poured a cup from the silver chocolate pot on the sideboard and added a generous dollop of cream. Such luxury. Wait until she told Sally. Her friend and employer would be so envious. Chocolate was one of those luxuries they dreamt of on a cold winter’s night.
The butler brought her toast on a plate and offered her a selection of platters. Deciding to make the most of what was offered—after all, she was an invited guest—she took some shirred eggs and ham and sausage and tucked in with relish. Breakfast at Ladbrook’s rarely consisted of more than toast and jam and porridge in the winter months. Ladbrook’s School for Young Ladies was rarely full to capacity and the best food always went to the paying pupils. As a charity case, she had managed on leftovers. Since becoming employed as a teacher things had improved, but not by much.
Hope of improving the school was why she had agreed to travel all the way from Wiltshire to meet the late earl. If he had proved to be a distant relation, she had thought to convince him to provide funds for improvements, to make it more fashionable and therefore profitable, as well as enable the taking in of one or two more charity boarders like herself.
She let go of a sigh. The earl’s death had put paid to all her hopes, including any hope of some family connection. She ought to speak of the school’s needs to the new earl, she supposed, but his behaviour so far had led her to the conclusion that, rather than a man of charitable bent, he was likely to be one of the scandalous rakes one read about in broadsheets and romantic novels.
‘What do you think of the Abbey, Miss Wilding?’ Mr Hampton asked.
‘It’s a dreadful pile,’ his cousin put in before she could answer. ‘Don’t you think?’
Tact seemed to be the best course between two extremes. ‘I have seen very little, so would find it hard to form an opinion, Mr Hampton.’
‘Call me Gerald. Mr Hampton was my father. That pink of the ton is Jeffrey.’
His older cousin inclined his head, clearly accepting the description with aplomb. Mary smiled her thanks, not quite sure what lay behind this courtesy for a virtual stranger.
‘What shall we call you?’ he asked. ‘Cousin?’
She stiffened. Had they also formed the mistaken impression they were related, or had they heard the earl’s mocking reply to her question and thought to follow suit? Heat rushed to her cheeks. ‘You may call me Miss Wilding.’
Gerald frowned. ‘You sound like my old governess.’
‘I am a schoolteacher.’
Jeffrey leaned back in his chair and cast an impatient glance at Gerald. ‘Miss Wilding it is then, ma’am. At least you are not claiming to be a Beresford.’
Mary caught her breath at this obvious jibe at his absent older cousin. She had heard some of his conversation with the old earl and gathered there was some doubt about the legitimacy of his birth. She hadn’t expected the issue addressed so openly.
Last night she’d had the sense that the old man’s barbs had found their mark with the heir. Not that he’d had shown any reaction. But there had been something running beneath the surface. Anger. Perhaps resentment. And a sense of aloneness, as if he too had hoped for acceptance from this family.
She certainly did not approve of sniping at a person behind their back and their family quarrels were certainly none of her business, so she ignored the comment and buttered her toast. She had more important matters on her mind. Getting back to school. Preparing her lessons. Helping Sally find ways to reduce expenses still further if the earl’s munificence was indeed ended.
She smiled at the butler as he added chocolate to her cup. ‘Manners, may I request the carriage take me to St Ives after breakfast? I would like to catch the stage back to Wiltshire.’
‘I can’t do that, miss,’ Manners replied stone-faced.
Startled, she stared at him.
Gerald frowned. ‘Why not?’
‘His lordship’s orders. You will have to apply to him, miss.’
The heat in her cheeks turned to fire at the thought of asking his lordship for anything.
‘Damn him,’ Jeffrey said with more heat than he seemed wont to display. ‘He hasn’t been here five minutes and already he’s acting...’ His voice tailed off and he reddened as he realised Gerald’s avid gaze was fixed on his face.
‘It isn’t fair,’ Gerald said. ‘You should be the heir. He should have the decency to withdraw his claim.’
‘He can’t,’ Jeffrey said. ‘The heir is the heir. The proof is irrefutable.’
‘It still isn’t right,’ Gerald muttered.
Jeffrey gave Mary an apologetic smile. ‘Gerald takes things too much to heart. And I am sorry about the carriage, Miss Wilding. Would you like me to speak to...to his lordship?’ He stumbled on the last word as if he was not quite as sanguine as he made out.
‘I would certainly hate to inconvenience anyone,’ Mary said. ‘Perhaps I shall walk.’
‘There’s a path along the cliffs,’ Gerald said. ‘I’ve walked it often. Take you a good while, though.’
‘I advise you not to try it, Miss Wilding,’ Jeffrey drawled. ‘The Cornish coast is dangerous for those who do not know it.’
Another roadblock. Her spine stiffened. She gave him a tight smile ‘Thank you for the warning. Perhaps I should seek the earl’s permission to take the carriage, after all.’
Or not. How difficult could it be to walk along the coast? Sea on one side, land on the other and no earthly chance of getting lost. Unlike her experience in this house. And she had absolutely no intention of asking his lordship for anything. The thought of doing so made her heart race.
‘Where is the new lordship,’ Gerald asked, his lip curling with distaste.
‘I believe he rode out, sir,’ the butler said. ‘More coffee?’
Gerald waved him off.
‘I wonder what he is riding?’ Jeffrey said. ‘A man like him probably has no idea of good horseflesh.’
Like him? Now that was pure snobbery. She wondered what they said about a woman like her, a penniless schoolteacher, behind her back. No doubt they had thought she had come to ingratiate herself. How mortifying that they were very nearly right. She felt her shoulders rise in that old defensive posture and forced them to relax, keeping her expression neutral. These young noblemen were nowhere near as vicious as schoolgirls, nothing to fear at all.
‘Aye,’ Gerald said. ‘A man like him will be all show and no go.’
Jeffrey raised a brow. ‘As if you would know, cuz. Isn’t it time your mother let you have a decent mount of your own?’
Gerald hunched a shoulder. ‘I’m to get one on my birthday. And a phaeton.’
‘God help us all,’ Jeff said sotto voce.
The door swung back and the earl strode in. His silver gaze swept the room, taking in the occupants in one swift glance before he made for the empty place at the head of the table.
The new earl was just as impressive in the grey of morning as he had been in the glow of lamplight. Perhaps more so. His black coat hugged his broad shoulders and his cravat was neatly tied. He was not wearing an armband. Perhaps he considered the black coat quite enough, though the rich fabric of his cream waistcoat, embroidered with blue sprigs, suggested he hadn’t given mourning a thought when he dressed.
The shadowed jaw of the previous night was gone, his face smooth and recently shaved. He was, as her girls would say when they thought she could not hear, devilishly handsome. Devilish being the most apt word she could think of in respect to the earl, since his face was set in the granite-hard lines of a fallen angel who found his fate grim.
Oh, jumping Jehosophat, did it matter how he looked? After today, she would never see him again.
‘Good morning,’ he said to the room at large.
The two young men mumbled grudging greetings.
‘Good morning, my lord,’ Mary said with a polite calm. It wasn’t right to treat him like some sort of pariah in his own house. She wouldn’t do it. She would be civil. Even if it was hard to breathe now he took up so much of the air in the room.
His eyes widened a fraction. ‘Miss Wilding. Up and about so early?’
‘As is my usual wont,’ she replied, sipping her chocolate, not tasting it at all any more, because all she was aware of was him.
Heat rushed to her cheeks and she hoped he did not notice.
After responding to Manners’s enquiries about his preferences for breakfast, he picked up the newspaper beside his plate and disappeared behind it.
A strained silence filled the room. It demanded that someone break it. It was just too obvious that they had stopped talking the moment he entered. He would think they were talking about him. They weren’t. At least, not all of the time. It made her feel very uncomfortable, as if her skin was stretched too tight.
She waited until he had eaten most of his breakfast. Sally, widowed by two husbands and therefore an expert, always said men were not worth talking to until they had filled their stomachs. ‘My lord?’
He looked up, frowning.
Perhaps he hadn’t eaten enough. Well, it was too late to draw back. ‘May I request that your coachman drive me to St Ives this morning? It is time I returned home.’
He frowned. ‘Not today. Your presence is required in two hours’ time for the reading of the will.’
The will? What did that have to do with her? ‘That is not necessary, surely?’
He gave her a look that froze her to the spot. ‘Would I ask it, if it were not?’
She dragged her gaze from his and put down her cup. A tiny hope unfurled in her chest. Perhaps the earl had left something for the school after all. Had she been too hasty in thinking her quest unsuccessful?
The earl was watching her face with a cynical twist to his lips, as if she was some sort of carrion crow picking over a carcase. Guilt twisted in her stomach. She had no reason to feel guilty. The school was a worthy cause, even if it did also benefit her. And if she had previously hoped the earl’s summons had signified something more, something of a familial nature, those expectations had been summarily disabused and were no one’s concern but her own. ‘If it is required, then I will attend.’
The earl pushed his plate aside and pushed to his feet. ‘Eleven o’clock in the library, Miss Wilding. Try not to be late.’
She bristled, but managed to hang on to her aplomb. ‘I am never late, my lord.’
He gazed at her for a long moment and she was sure she saw a gleam of amusement in his eyes, but it was gone too fast for her to be certain. ‘Unless you become lost, I assume.’
Once more heat flooded her face at the memory of his rescue the previous evening and her shocking responses to his closeness. Her incomprehensible longings, which must not recur. It was ungentlemanly of him to remind her.
He departed without waiting for a reply, no doubt assuming his orders would be carried out. And if they weren’t then no doubt the autocratic man would find a way to rectify the matter.
‘I’m for the stables,’ Jeffrey said. ‘I want to take a look at his horseflesh.’
He wanted to mock.
‘Can I come?’ Gerald asked, his expression pleading.
‘If you wish,’ his cousin said, kindly, which made Mary think a great deal more of him. He bowed to Mary and the two of them strolled away.
Now what should she do? Go back to her room and risk getting lost? Sally hadn’t expected her to spend more than one night here at the Abbey, no matter what hopes Mary had secretly held. What she should do was despatch a letter to Sally telling her what was happening and why her return might be delayed by another day. She could while away the two hours before the appointed time in writing and reading more enjoyably than spending the time wandering the chilly corridors of this rambling mansion looking for her room.
‘Will you direct me to the library, Manners? I assume there is paper and pen there?’
The butler bowed. ‘Yes, miss. It is located further along this hallway. You cannot miss it.’
If anyone could miss anything when it came to directions, she could and would. But that was her own personal cross to bear. ‘Thank you.’
He gave her a kind smile. ‘There is a footman going to the village this afternoon, if you would like a letter posted, miss. Ring the bell when you are finished and he’ll come and collect it. You will find sealing wax and paper in the desk drawer, and ink on the inkstand.’
She smiled her thanks and made her escape.
* * *
The library proved to be exactly where the butler had said and she found it without difficulty.
Nirvana could not have looked any more inviting. Shelves, packed with leather-bound books in shades of blue, red and green, rose from floor to ceiling on three dark-panelled walls. Wooden chairs strategically placed beside tables of just the right height encouraged a person to spread books out at will. Deep overstuffed sofas and chairs upholstered in fabrics faded to soft brown tempted the reader who liked to curl up with a novel. Cushioned window seats offered comfort and light on dark winter days. All was overseen by a large oak desk at one end.
The delights on offer tested her determination to write to Sally first and read afterwards. But she managed it, sitting at the heavy desk, putting out of her mind what she could not say about the new earl as she wrote of the demise of their donor.
She flicked the feather end of her quill across her chin. Should she mention a possibility of some small sum in the will? It seemed a bit presumptuous. She decided to write only of her delayed return. A mere day or two, she said.
Having rung the bell and sent off her missive, she turned her attention to the feast of books. She selected a book of poems by Wordsworth and settled into one of the window seats.
* * *
She didn’t have long to indulge because, within the half-hour, Mr Savary, the solicitor who had been at the earl’s bedside, arrived with a box full of papers and began fussing with them on the desk.
Mary decided she would remain where she was, at the furthest point in the room from where the family would conduct its business.
At a few minutes past eleven, the family members straggled in. First Gerald with his mother. Mrs Hampton looked very becoming in black. It suited her air of delicacy. She would have been an extraordinarily beautiful woman in her youth. She and her son, who took after her in the beauty department, sat beside the blazing hearth not far from the desk.
Jeffrey, his saunter as pronounced as any Bond Street beau, came next. Not that Mary had ever seen a Bond Street beau, but she’d seen cartoons in the paper, read descriptions of their antics and could use her imagination. He struck a languid pose at the fireplace, one arm resting on the mantel while he gazed pensively into the flames. Regretting being cut out of the title? He didn’t seem to care much about anything. Perhaps it was the idea of the earl holding the purse-strings that had him looking so thoughtful.
The upper servants gathered just inside the doorway: the butler, the housekeeper and a gentleman in a sombre suit who could have been anything from a parson to a land steward. They must all have expectations. The old earl had proved generous to her over the past many years, so why not to his servants? Though, in truth, on meeting him, she had not liked him one little bit. There had been an air of maliciousness about him.
She was relieved they were not related. She really was.
But if he left the school a small sum of money, an annuity, or a lump sum, it would be a blessing for which she would be suitably grateful, no matter her personal feelings. She put her book on the table at her elbow and folded her hands in her lap, trying not to look hopeful.
But where was the earl?
Ah, here he came, last but definitely not least. He prowled into the room, looking far more sartorially splendid than the dandified Jeffrey. Perhaps it was his size. Or the sheer starkness of a black coat against the white of his cravat. The room certainly seemed much smaller upon his entrance. And even a little airless.
His hard gaze scanned the room, missing nothing. Indeed, she had the feeling his eyes kept on moving until he discovered her whereabouts. He looked almost relieved, as if he feared she might have loped off, as Sally’s cockney coachman would have said.
Ignoring the group at the hearth, he swung one of the plain wooden chairs near her window seat around and sat astride it. Arms across the back, he fixed the solicitor with a grim stare. ‘Get on with it, then, man.’
The fussy little solicitor tugged at his neckcloth, then broke the seal on a rolled document. He spread it out on the desk. ‘This being the last—’
‘No need to read all the curlicues and periods,’ the earl interrupted. ‘Just give us the details.’
‘Yes, my lord.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Basically, the title goes to you, but all the unentailed income goes to Miss Wilding on condition that she marry within the year.’
The earl’s gaze, steel hard beneath lowered brows, cut to her face. A muscle jumped in his jaw.
What had the solicitor said? No, she knew what he had said. But what did it mean? The unentailed income?
‘There are ten guineas for Manners, five for Mrs Davis and another ten for Ragwell for his excellent stewardship this past many years.’
The servants mumbled and sounded pleased. They shuffled out of the room at the solicitor’s wave of a hand.
Mrs Hampton put a hand to her throat. ‘What about my son? And Jeffrey.’
‘It is my understanding that the late earl passed on any personal trinkets prior to his...his—’
‘His death,’ the earl growled.
‘I got his ring,’ Gerald announced, waving his hand about for everyone to see.
‘The seal of the Beresfords belongs to me,’ the earl said with almost a snarl.
Gerald thumbed his nose. ‘This was my grandmother’s ring.’
The earl scowled. ‘Then where is the seal?’
Gerald shrugged.
‘With the earl’s effects,’ the lawyer said stiffly.
Mrs Hampton’s pallor increased. ‘I thought there was to be some—’ She caught herself.
The earl stood up and looked down at the little solicitor. ‘How much of the income from the estate is unentailed?’ His voice was soft, but no one in the room could possibly doubt his ire.
‘All of it,’ the little man squeaked.
The ensuing pause was charged like air before a storm. The earl’s gaze shifted to her and the heat in their depths flared bright before he turned back to the lawyer. ‘And you permitted this abomination? This dividing of the money from the land? What man in his right mind does such a thing?’
‘The late earl was not always rational when it came to the matter of...’ His breathless voice tailed off.
‘His heir,’ the earl said flatly.
‘I followed instructions,’ the lawyer pleaded.
The earl’s silver gaze found hers again. This time it was colder than ice. ‘Very clever indeed, Miss Wilding.’
She stiffened. Outrage flooding her with heat. ‘I do not understand what this means.’ At least she was hoping that what she understood was not what was really happening.
‘You got the fortune,’ the earl said. ‘And I got the expenses.’
Then she had interpreted the lawyer’s words correctly. How was this possible?
Beresford turned on the solicitor. ‘It can be overturned.’
The man shook his head. ‘If Miss Wilding marries within the year, she gets all income from the estate. If not, the money goes to the Crown.’ He glanced down at his papers. ‘That is, unless she dies before the year is up.’
‘What happens if she dies?’ the earl asked harshly.
Mary froze in her seat. A shudder took hold of her body. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. The man spoke about her death without the slightest emotion. He was positively evil.
‘In that case, it goes to you, or to your heir, currently Mr Jeffrey Beresford, if you predecease him,’ the solicitor said. He smiled apologetically at the young man who was watching the earl with icy blue eyes and a very small smile.
The wretch was enjoying the earl’s shock.
The earl said something under his breath. It sounded suspiciously like a curse. ‘Clearly the man was disordered. What will the courts think of that?’
‘My father was not mad,’ Mrs Hampton said haughtily. ‘Madness does not run in the Beresford family. But you wouldn’t know that, since you have had nothing to do with any of us.’
Mary listened to what they were saying, heard them perfectly well, but it all seemed a great distance off. She didn’t think she’d taken a breath since the earl had explained. She worked a little moisture into her dry mouth. ‘The will requires that I marry in order to inherit?’
The lawyer nodded gravely. ‘Indeed. Within the year.’
‘Marry who?’ she asked.
The earl’s mouth curled in a predatory smile. ‘That is the question, isn’t it?’
Irritated beyond endurance, she rose to her feet. ‘You are hardly helpful, sir.’
Forced to rise also, the earl gave her a mirthless smile. ‘I thought you said you were clever, Miss Wilding.’
She looked at him blankly.
‘He means you must marry him,’ Gerald said, scowling. ‘But you could marry Jeffrey or me. That would put a spoke in his wheels.’
The earl glowered, but said nothing.
She strode over to the solicitor, whose forehead was beaded with sweat. He pulled out a kerchief and mopped his brow. ‘Well, Mr Savary, is it true?’ she asked. ‘Does the late earl’s will require me to marry...’ she waved an arm in the earl’s direction ‘...him?’
‘It is silent on the issue, Miss Wilding.’ He swallowed. ‘Under the law, no one can require your marriage to any particular person. However, if you wish to inherit the money, you must marry someone. Perhaps there is someone....’ His words tailed off at a low growl from the earl.
Someone. She wanted to laugh. And then she wanted to cry. Someone. She was a schoolteacher. A charity case. And a beanpole to boot. Suddenly a very rich beanpole. She glanced over at the earl. ‘No doubt there will be many someones lining up at my door on the morrow.’
The earl glared at her. ‘Over my dead body.’
‘Or over mine,’ she said as the full enormity of it all solidified in her mind.
‘There is that,’ he agreed.
‘Are you saying you intend us to marry?’ she asked.
He looked at her for a long moment and she had the feeling that sympathy lurked somewhere in those flat grey eyes, then they hardened to polished steel and she knew she was mistaken. ‘Marry to suit my grandfather?’ he rasped. ‘Not if I can help it.’
She flinched at the harshness of his reply and was glad that he did not see her reaction as he turned at once to the solicitor.
‘There must be some loophole you have not considered. Bring those papers to my study. I will review them in detail.’
He strode from the room.
Mrs Hampton gave Mary an accusatory glare. ‘Come, Gerald. Jeffrey. We need to talk.’ She departed in what appeared to be high dudgeon for some unknown destination with the two young men in tow.
Unsure what else to do, Mary gathered herself to return to her chamber. She needed time to think about this new development. She could only pray the earl would find a way out of the conundrum. She certainly did not want to, nor would she, marry him. Or anyone else for that matter. She’d put away the hopes for a husband many years before
‘Er, miss?’ Savary said.
‘Yes?’
‘There was one thing I forgot to mention to his lordship.’
She gazed at him askance. Forgetting to mention something to his lordship sounded like a serious mistake given the earl’s present mood. She had not thought the man so stupid. ‘What did you forget?’
‘He should have let me read things in order.’ He fussed with the papers on the desk. ‘You must have his permission. Whoever you choose to marry, he must approve.’
A burst of anger ripped through her at being required to bend to the earl’s wishes on this or any matter. Especially one so altogether personal. Proving herself to be suitable to work as a teacher, to gain her independence, had taken years of hard work. She wasn’t about to give it up on some stranger’s whim. ‘I suggest you hurry and tell his lordship the good news. I expect it will make him feel a great deal more sanguine about what has happened here today.’
‘Do you think so?’
A laugh bubbled up inside her. Hysteria, no doubt. ‘I have not the slightest idea of what goes on in his lordship’s mind.’ That much was certainly true. ‘Please excuse me.’
She stalked out of the room. Whether anger improved her sense of direction, or she was getting used to the Abbey, she found her way back to her room without any problem.
The room was chilly. It was the stone walls, she thought, rubbing her arms with her hands, then wrapping her old woollen shawl around her shoulders. Stone walls needed tapestries and blazing fires. She poked at the glowing embers and added more coal. Then she sat on the edge of the bed and stared through the diamond windowpanes. From here she could see the crumbling walls of what had been the abbey church. And beyond it, the sea pounding on rocks.
Finally, she allowed herself to think about what had happened back there in the library.
Oh, heavens! Marry and inherit a fortune? How could this be?
Not for years had she imagined she would ever be married. She was not the kind of woman men took to wife. They liked little dainty things, simpering girls like the ones she helped train at Ladbrook’s School. Years ago, the idea of being a wife and a mother had made her heart miss a number of beats. How it had raced when she thought that Mr Allerdyce who had been so attentive, walking her home from church, treating her like a lady of importance, would come up to scratch, until Sally had discovered it was all a front. He was currying favour with Mary in order to get close to one of her pupils. An heiress. His parting words had made it very clear just what he thought of her as a woman. As hurtful and mortifying an experience as it had been, it had forced her to realise she would never be a wife.
Instead, she’d decided that her true vocation lay with her girls, being a teacher. That they were her family. She only had them for a short while, it was true, and their departures were always a wrench, but they were planned. It was not as though they abandoned her, but rather that she sent them out into the world with her blessing.
Now, this stranger, this deceased earl, had somehow engineered her into a marriage to a man she knew nothing about. She swallowed. What would it be liked to be married to such a man? He’d want an heir. Children. A family, just as she’d always dreamed. Her heart raced. Her chest tightened at the thought of being a mother.
It wouldn’t be a marriage born of romantic love. It would be for convenience. A practical arrangement such as people from the nobility entered into all of the time. For mutual gain.
He’d hardly been thrilled at the idea of marrying her to obtain what was rightfully his, now had he? He’d looked positively horrified when he realised what the will intended. As if he faced a fate worse than death.
She gripped her hands in her lap to stop them from shaking. Oh, great heavens, please let this all be a bad dream. Please let her wake up and discover it was a nightmare.
But she was awake. And it was horribly real.
What would Sally advise? Don’t trust a man like him an inch. Mary could imagine the hard look in her friend’s eye and the knowing edge to her voice. She’d been right about Allerdyce. And look at how easily her father had abandoned her after her mother’s death. But she couldn’t ask Sally for her opinion. She had to rely on her own judgement. And, so far, nothing the earl had said or done made her want to trust him.
Gradually she became calmer, her breathing less shallow, the trembles less pronounced. One thing she knew, she wasn’t going to force any man to the altar. Especially not a man like the new earl.
Her heart gave an odd little kick. The sort of pang that someone less practical might describe as disappointment. Not her, though. Let other women have their romantic notions. There was no room for them in her life.
There had to be some way out of this dilemma. And no doubt the earl would find it. Once more the uneasy prickles of a ghost walking across her skin rippled across her shoulders.
* * *
The earl did not come down for dinner, nor did any of the other members of the family. Mary dined in splendid solitude in the dining room and felt like an idiot. Three footman and a butler wasting their time serving her. If they had told her, she could have taken a tray in her room. She finished as quickly as she could and waved off an offer of tea in the drawing room.
‘Do you know where the earl is, Manners?’
‘In his study, miss.’
‘And where is that?’
‘In the south wing, miss.’ He bowed and withdrew, leaving her none the wiser, but determined to seek him out and try to come to some agreement with him about the future.
Outside the dining room, she turned right, because left was the direction towards the north tower and her room. It stood to reason the south wing must be in the opposite direction, if the corridors were straight. But they weren’t.
* * *
After a half an hour of criss-crossing various parts of the house, and once arriving back at the dining room, she was ready to give up.
There was one hallway she hadn’t explored yet, because it looked narrow and darker than most of the others. She took a deep breath and gave it a try. It had only one door.
A door that was ajar and throwing a wedge of light into the corridor. She peeped through the crack. Aha. She had found the study and the earl. It was a small room, filled with ledgers on shelves rising to the ceiling behind a battered desk covered in papers. The earl was standing with one foot on the brazier in the hearth and his elbow on the mantel, staring into the flames of a merrily burning log fire. His dog lay prone at his feet.
He wasn’t an elegant man, his physique was too muscular, his shoulders too broad, his features too large and square, but there was nothing about him to displease the female eye, especially not now when his expression was pensive rather than hard and uncompromising. He looked not much older than she was. Early thirties, perhaps. And not really so very overpowering from this distance.
Her heartbeat picked up speed and her mouth dried. All right, he was really intimidating. Afraid that if she dallied longer she would flee, she tapped sharply on the door.
Both he and the dog looked up. Thankfully, the dog’s head dropped back to its paws and its eyes slid closed.
But his lordship was a whole different matter. His whole attention focused on her. She could feel it like a touch on her face. For a moment, a very brief moment, warmth flickered in his eyes as if he was pleased to see her.
His gaze shuttered. His jaw hardened.
Perhaps not, then. Perhaps he had been expecting someone else, for a moment later his lips formed a flat line and his eyes were icy cold. Almost as if he was angry. And yet she did not feel as if his anger was directed at her. It seemed to be turned inwards.
He left the hearth and strode to the middle of the room. ‘Miss Wilding,’ he said with a stiff bow.
She quelled the urge to run and dipped a curtsy. ‘Lord Beresford.’
‘Have you once more lost your way? Did you need an escort back to your chamber? Allow me to ring the bell for Manners.’
The irony in his tone was not lost on her even as his deep voice made her heart jolt, before continuing its rapid knocking against her ribs. Never in her life had she been so nervous around a man. Not that she met very many men in her line of work. Fathers, mostly. In a hurry to depart. Or men pursuing her girls and needing to be kept at bay.
She decided to ignore his jibe and boldly stepped into the room. ‘May I have a word with you, please, your lordship?’
He frowned darkly, but gestured for her to sit in the comfortably stuffed chair in front of the desk. He went around and sat on the other side, clearing a space before him, stacking papers and account books to one side. His face was almost entirely in shadow, while she sat in the full light of the lamp. ‘How may I be of service?’ he asked, politely enough to almost settle her nerves.
‘We must discuss this will.’
She sensed him stiffen, though his hands, linked together on the ink-stained wood, remained completely relaxed. He had strong hands with blunt-tipped fingers. Practical hands, bronzed by wind and weather and scarred across the knuckles. Labourer’s hands rather than those of a gentleman.
After a small pause, he sighed, a small exhale of air, as if he had been holding his breath. As if she had caught him by surprise. ‘I suppose now is as good a time as any.’ His voice was expressionless.
‘Was the lawyer able to provide any advice on how the terms might be broken?’
‘No. You are perfectly safe on that score.’
He thought her a fortune hunter. The desire to bash him over the head with something rose up in her breast.
But how could he not, given the terms of the will?
The chill in the air was palpable. The suspicion. ‘Perhaps you would like to explain why the earl...my grandfather,’ he choked out the last word, ‘would leave the bulk of his fortune to you?’
‘He is the benefactor of the school where I grew up and now work. He supported me there when I was orphaned. That is all I know.’
The earl made a soft sound of derision.
She bridled. ‘It is true. I swear it.’
His hands flattened on the table. ‘Then he was not your lover?’
She gasped. ‘You are jesting.’
The silence said he was not.
‘How dare you suggest such a thing?’ She shot to her feet.
He followed. ‘Sit,’ he said coldly. ‘You wanted to talk. Let us have this out.’
‘Not if you are going to insult me.’
‘Sit of your own volition or by my will.’ His voice was soft but the menace was unmistakable.
She did not doubt for a moment that the brute could overpower her. ‘Touch me and I will scream.’
His face darkened. ‘And who will come to your aid, do you think?’ he asked softly.
No one. She swallowed.
He let go a displeased sigh. ‘Please, Miss Wilding. Take your seat. You are right, we have things we need to discuss.’
For a moment she hesitated, but it was foolish to dash off having worked up the courage to face him. She sat and folded her hands in her lap. ‘Very well, but do not cast aspersions on my character.’
His gaze didn’t waver from her face. ‘Look at this from my perspective. I am trying to understand why my grandfather left you his fortune. Lover is an obvious answer.’
Her hackles rose again. She hung on to her anger. ‘Isn’t it more likely I did him some favour? Perhaps rescued him from danger.’
He snorted. ‘What sort of danger?’
‘He could have ridden past Ladbrook’s School where I teach one day and been set upon by footpads. Seeing him from the classroom window, I might have charged out to save him with my pupils at my heels. As you know, there is nothing more daunting to the male species than the high-pitched squeals of a gaggle of females, particularly when armed with parasols.’
Oh dear, now where had all that ridiculousness come from? Her stomach tightened. Rarely did she let her tongue run away with her these days. It seemed she needed to get a firmer grip on her anger.
He picked up a quill and twirled it in those strong fingers. Fascinated, she watched the only sign she’d ever seen that he was not completely in control. ‘But it didn’t happen that way,’ he said drily.
‘No. But you must admit it is just as plausible as your scenario. He was a very old man.’
‘You think to toy with me, Miss Wilding? I can assure you that is a very dangerous game and not one you are equipped to play.’
‘I have no idea why he left his money to me in this fashion.’
‘Let us hope you do not. If I discover that you are a willing instrument in this plot of his, things will not go well for you.’
The air left her lungs in a rush at the obvious threat. ‘I can assure you...’
‘You need assure me of nothing. There will be no marriage.’
‘You must have done something to deserve so terrible a fate?’
He didn’t seem to notice the irony in her tone. ‘I drew breath when I was born.’ The quill snapped.
She jumped at the sound.
He tossed the two pieces aside.
A shiver ran down her back. She fought her instinct for sympathy. ‘A little melodramatic, isn’t it?’
‘Much like your tale of rescue.’
She frowned. It was time to play the one and only card in her hand and hope it was a trump. ‘Why don’t I just sign over the money to you? I need only a very little for myself.’
‘The perfect solution.’
She let go a sigh of relief. She really had not expected him to see reason so quickly. ‘Then I will leave in the morning, once the papers are signed.’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘It can’t be done. The money only comes to you if you marry. I will put the best legal minds to work on finding a solution, and in the meantime you will remain here.’
‘I can’t stay. I am expected back at the school.’
‘Then tell me what connection you are to the earl.’ His fingers drummed an impatient tattoo. ‘His by-blow, perhaps?’ he said flatly.
‘I beg your pardon?’ She stared into the shadows, trying to see his expression, trying to see if he was jesting, while her mind skittered this way and that. ‘You think me the late earl’s daughter?’
‘You look like a Beresford.’
He thought they were family? Her chest squeezed. Her heart struggled to beat. The air in the room seemed suddenly thick, too dense to breathe. That had been her first thought, also. Her wild hope, but not in the way he was suggesting. Good Lord, did he think the earl was requiring his grandson to marry his aunt? Technically incest, even if he carried not a drop of Beresford blood. ‘That is disgusting.’
‘Exactly.’
She leaped to her feet and made for the door. ‘I will leave first thing in the morning.’
Before she could reach the door, he was there, one hand holding it shut while he gazed down into her face. For a big man, he moved very quickly. And surprisingly quietly.
Judging by the tightness of his mouth and the flash of steel in his eyes, he was not pleased. ‘You, Miss Wilding, are not going anywhere until I say you may.’
She shrank back against the door. ‘You have no authority over me.’
‘Apparently, I do.’
She gasped. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘According to the solicitor, you are my ward.’