“But I am in shipping. I don’t have the time or the funds to maintain an estate. When and if I eventually inherit the place, I won’t have the money to repair it. Your daughter might well end up living in poverty anyway.”
The earl shook his head while the look in his eyes hardened.
“There is no if about it. I will not take another wife before I die. Make no mistake. You will inherit Claiborne. There is a small amount of money set aside for the house’s upkeep, but I wish you to marry my daughter. I want her to be able to remain in her own home, ruin or not. I have drawn up my will accordingly. Obviously I can do nothing about the entailment, but I can do something about my personal wealth, such as it is. My daughter has a substantial dowry. Enough to take care of much of the house should that be what you wish to spend it on. It will be released on her marriage to the person of my choice. You are that choice.” He stopped and pinned Ash with a hard gaze. There was clearly no swaying the man. Derwent carried on. “If you will not marry her, then the money goes to a charity for disabled soldiers. God knows there are enough of them. You will become the owner of a crumbling ruin. If my daughter refuses to marry you, she loses all but the clothes she stands in. It is in both of your interests to agree to the arrangement.”
Ash stood quickly. Did the man think him so shallow that he would marry simply for money? His chest suddenly tightened. Jane had. The Duke of Kent’s deep pockets had lured her in and she had taken the bait so easily. Perhaps it wasn’t that unusual, but to threaten to leave your own daughter destitute... The man must think he knew Ash well enough that he wouldn’t let that happen. The image of the young beauty wearing rags and begging for a crust from the gutter clouded every thought.
And then the image of something a lot worse flared. The white frock was not only soiled but ripped, that tempting hint of luscious cleavage openly on display. A smile that didn’t reach her now dull emerald eyes as she held out her hand to a man. A man with nothing but lust in his eyes.
Sweat broke out on Ash’s brow. Dear Lord! She might end up on the streets hawking the only thing that might make her some money. Herself. Rage boiled in his guts. While he knew that there were brothels aplenty and women willing to sell their bodies to a needy man, no woman should be forced into such a career for fear of starvation or simply a bed for the night. Her father was right. Ash would never willingly let a woman bear that fate. He frowned down at the old earl, realizing that he had been backed into a corner. One that he might not easily escape.
“You have researched me well, but while you present a cunning bargain, you presume too much. I’ll not marry her if she is unwilling. If we are incompatible in any way or if she has her own objections, I will not bind her to me. Claiborne can fall down and rot before I do such a thing.”
The earl’s features softened and a half smile lit his lips.
“Then you will be responsible for the downfall of not only the house and my daughter, but also of the ten or more people who live and work at the house. While I admire your principals, I know you take pride in the ships that you own. Think what you could do with several more. It is entirely possible if you take control of Claiborne and make it successful once again. You could add to your line, make the estate what it should be. You would be a man of rank and standing, welcomed into any social sphere,” he encouraged.
Ash hesitated again. His small shipping line was already flourishing, but becoming an earl and gaining influence and position certainly wouldn’t hurt. He paced around the room while the Earl of Claiborne and his wife watched him. At the woman’s exhausted sigh, Ash stopped and leaned over the desk.
“I know what you are doing. You mean to blackmail me over this. But I can see that I will have responsibilities regardless of the decision I make.” He took a deep breath. “Perhaps you should know that after my experience with Jane Fairbanks I vowed to never enter any kind of relationship ever again. There is always my younger brother to leave Claiborne to after me, but he is already wed and I understand your worries about your daughter.” He took a few deep breaths. “A bargain then.” He held up his hand as Richard Derwent began to smile. “I’ll marry her, but only if we are compatible. I will not destroy either hers or my own chances of happiness for the sake of a title and a crumbling ruin. If you will agree to leaving her a small sum, enough to keep a roof over her head if our relationship comes to nothing, then I will agree to support her until such time as she finds herself a worthy husband or place of employ. I can do no more than that.”
Richard Derwent glanced at his wife.
“Does this settle your mind, my dear? I think it is as much as we can ask, and this way Madeleine will not be alone in the world no matter what happens to us.”
Eloise Derwent studied the younger man for a few seconds. She noticed his hand thrust in his coat pocket. Her eyelids flickered and a smile came to her lips. She nodded, content at last. The miniature had disappeared from the table.
Three years later, Ash’s fingertips brushed the gold frame in his pocket as he neared the house. If the likeness were a true one, something he still doubted, would she still look as alluring, as fresh? Or would she have aged badly. Not that looks were everything. He only had to see his own reflection to know that.
He had never regarded himself as handsome. His jaw too square and his face too angular. But women apparently found him reasonably attractive. Though that might have been something to do with his increasing wealth and five, successful ships more than his looks.
He was not a small man. In fact he was considerably taller than average, his shoulders broader too. His tailor often mentioned that he was fortunate not to need his jackets padded. However, being tall and broad was not always an advantage. Especially not when invited to a ball. He no longer danced. Experience had taught him that men of his size were not appreciated on the dance floor. His long-legged steps always upset the pattern of the square. And he had discovered that ladies didn’t like to leave the dance floor damp with perspiration after they had tried, and failed, to keep up with his enthusiastic pace. A pace which, though completely normal to him, required them to take two steps to his one. Many a partner had left the floor with an abnormally flushed face and none pretended to want a second dance. Word spread quickly about a ballroom. Don’t dance with Derwent if you want to remain sweet smelling and inviting to the next man on your card. Debutants hid behind their mother’s skirts and quickly drawn fans made an effective barrier to any further involvement with his unfortunate partners.
Not that he wanted any further involvement with any he had so far met, but in the three years since hearing of his inheritance, something had shifted within him. His brother’s son was a delight. The apple of his father’s indulgent eye. Seeing August so happy and content gave Ash a twinge of envy. Made him wonder about his own decisions in life. Could Ash carry on the family line even if he didn’t love his wife? He thought of the picture in his pocket. His body heated instantly, proving that love wasn’t a necessary ingredient in performing the act, but did that make it right when children were involved? Marriage might make a family possible but indifference between parents might render it an unhappy one. He looked along the drive. Not normally a nervous man, his stomach surprised him by squirming uncomfortably. Was he walking into more than he had bargained for?
As if reading his mind, Titan, his Goliath of a horse, shook his head and took a couple of quick, nervous sidesteps before trotting on again. Ash slid a calming hand down the horse’s neck.
“Don’t worry, old fellow. No need to be shy. It is not you who is putting his head into a parson’s noose.” His voice faded as he looked towards the vast house. Some kind of commotion was occurring. People ran this way and that, buzzing around a central spot. The crowd suddenly parted and Ash could see someone pointing and apparently issuing orders from their position on a straight backed chair standing outside the front door. Another man standing beside the first and wearing a well fitting dark coat, bobbed from one foot to the other, agitation writt
en plain on his face. A middle aged woman suddenly let out a cry as she noticed their visitor and came rushing down the steps towards him, skirts and aprons flapping in the breeze. Ash dismounted to greet her.
“Oh my Lord. We are all of a pother! A dreadful morning, to be sure. I cannot even begin to wonder how it has happened.” She lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the sunlight glowing behind his head before blinking in surprise when she had to look even higher to meet his eyes. She bobbed him a quick curtsey as she carried on speaking. “The shock, you understand. I am afraid that your horse will have to remain tied here for the moment what with young Aiden being so occupied. None of us have a clue as to where the stable master is. And with Mr. Flack being injured...”
Ash raised his hand to stop the woman as he tried to make sense of the apparently never-ending tirade.
“And you are?”
“Oh, dear me! I am Mrs. Grenfell, the housekeeper. I do beg your pardon. I should have introduced myself immediately, my Lord, but I am not usually in this position. Mr. Flack would have normally greeted our guests.” She curtseyed again.
Ash shook his head.
“It’s Mr. Derwent, I beg of you. And Mr. Flack is?” He tilted his head towards the front door and enquired politely.
“Mr. Flack is the butler, my Lord.” She nodded towards the man on the straight backed chair who Ash could now see had his foot resting on a short-legged stool.
Ash regarded the man’s doughy face. A deep frown lay heavy on his brow, though if it were his usual demeanour or due to the apparent injury, Ash couldn’t tell.
“I see, but please, I insist. I am merely Mr. Derwent.”
The woman made a tusking sound.
“But my Lord, I do beg your pardon, I must use your title. The other staff, you understand. We cannot let standards slack. Especially as you be the new earl as of an hour ago. Well, more ‘n’ an hour, if the truth be told. Probably since last night, but as his Lordship was alone at the fateful time, no one knows exactly when it happened.”
Fateful time? Even more confused, Ash narrowed his eyes at the woman.
“When what happened? Is there something amiss?”
Mrs. Grenfell dabbed her eyes with a hastily retrieved handkerchief.
“Begging your pardon, my Lord I forgot, but of course you couldn’t have known. His Lordship was murdered last night! Someone stole in through the terrace windows and took the master’s life! Dreadful! Phillips had the devil of a fright this morning. Poor man is always as nervous as a bride on her wedding night, and that was even before discovering his master’s mutilated body, stone cold and stiff at his study desk.”
Ash felt his stomach lurch at the graphic description. He had seen bodies before, with owning a shipping line there was nothing unusual in that. Accidents happened. Fights broke out. Illness struck. Men fell overboard and drowned. All of the situations had consequences that he had seen before, but the lady’s description seemed a little macabre even for him. Mutilated, stone cold, and stiff? Good grief!
He glanced up. The buildings elegant and charming exterior mocked the obvious agitation of the staff gathered on the steps of Claiborne Hall.
“Murdered! How, and by whom?”
Mrs. Grenfell shook her head.
“Stabbed he was. Drove a knife right through the man’s heart! But we do not know who did it, though we suspect the stable master. Thomas Leyman! Now there’s a name to remember. Always was a surly fellow. It has been such a shock, I can tell you, my Lord. Mr. Phillips near passed out when he discovered the body this morning.”
Ash cast his eyes across the building’s facade again as he strode ahead. Was that a curtain on the upper floor that he saw twitch? Nothing else moved and he dismissed the thought from his head as he surveyed the chaotic scene in front of him again.
“Phillips is standing by the chair?” He enquired as he tried to put names to faces.
The woman nodded as she ran to keep up with his long strides.
“Yes. Mr. Phillips is the master’s valet. Er, I mean, was the master’s valet. Good Lord! He looks as if he is about to faint!” She exclaimed.
Confused again, Ash attempted to clarify.
“So it is Mr. Phillips who is injured?” The man was certainly pale enough, but the housekeeper shook her head.
“No, that’s Mr. Flack, the butler. The great fool slipped over on the newly polished floor last night. Twisted his ankle something awful and can barely stand. That’s why I had to take in the earl’s supper last night and why Mr. Flack never checked on the master later in the evening. He had already taken to his bed. Phillips, the master’s valet, promised to look in but apparently fell to sleep while reading his book and didn’t stir again until this morning. He is the pale one dancing about like a showman’s puppet.” She rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed by the valet’s antics at the entrance. “An unfortunate case of nerves. He was bad enough before but it has been a lot worse since he swears he saw a ghost in the hall a few weeks ago. Rubbish of course. I’ve been here years and I never saw any such thing before. Blame it on the drink.” She added as an aside. “We all do.”
Drink? Ash increased his pace towards the front door and dismissed the talk of ghosts as he noticed the valet’s red veined nose. There were more important things to consider than brandy conjured spectres walking Claiborne’s halls.
“You are sure the earl is dead? Has anyone called for a doctor, and the constable?” He took the steps two at a time with the woman lifting her skirts and puffing along behind him.
“Oh yes, my Lord. Dead as dead can be. Stiff and all! Doctor Finch has been here a while. He is in the study with Mathews, the constable, who is trying to assess the facts even now.” She reached the top step and caught her breath as Ash nodded at the man in the chair.
“Flack?” He waved the butler down as he winced while attempting to rise. “Has the doctor attended you?” Ash enquired at the man’s grimace of pain.
Flack took a glance up and down Ash’s huge frame before he shook his head.
“I think he is a little preoccupied, but Mrs. Grenfell has done her best, my Lord. I think rest is the only remedy now, thank you for asking, though I don’t think my ankle is of much importance today. Dreadful morning. Awful!”
Ash’s eyes wandered over the other curious staff. They stared back at him in wide-eyed terror as if fearing what he might do. Odd. It wasn’t as if he had murdered anyone. He looked back at the housekeeper as it became obvious that someone was missing from the gathering.
“Lady Madeleine? Is she being cared for?” Concern filled him even though he had never met the woman. He remembered how dreadful he had felt when his own father passed away so suddenly. And he hadn’t the added trauma of his father being murdered.
Mrs. Grenfell nodded.
“Gertrude is with her as we speak, my Lord, though I am not sure who is comforting whom. ‘Twas an awful thing. The maid came upon Phillips when he had only just discovered the body. Fairly screamed the house down when she saw the paperknife protruding from his chest, she did. And then there was Flack hobbling about and getting in everyone’s way. He caused nearly as much mayhem as Phillips by almost falling onto the body when his ankle would no longer support him. That’s when I insisted he sit on a chair out on the steps and wait for you to arrive.” Now over the initial shock, the woman appeared more excited than horrified.
Ash became even more alarmed.
“Good God! But who would do such a thing? And where is Lady Madeleine now?” He waited while Mrs. Grenfell walked briskly ahead of him, their footsteps echoing as they crossed the hall’s polished floor.
She stopped outside a heavy looking oak door.
“The doctor took Gertrude and the mistress to her room. I believe he gave both of them a sedative.” She placed her hand on the door knob and lowered her voice to a whisper. “As to who would do such a thing, well, let’s just put it like this. Thomas Leyman has disappeared. The stable master hasn’t been seen since he had a
n argument with the master early yesterday evening.” She cleared her throat, gave a quick knock, and opened the door. “Dr. Finch, Constable Mathews, may I present Benjamin Asher Derwent, the Sixth Earl of Claiborne,” she announced before letting Ash walk inside.
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A Fragile Chain of Daisies: Flowers of the Aristocracy (Untamed Regency Book 4) Page 35