Eva went to stand before Moira Wickham’s chair. She knew simply by gazing into Percy Bateman’s astounded expression that he was ready to take on the position being offered. But Miss Wickham’s pride left the success of their endeavor in some doubt. The woman could end matters by walking away, simply to prove a point. Never mind that doing so would destroy her career.
“Miss Wickham,” Eva said, “you are needed in this. I don’t believe Crown Lily will survive without you.” She leaned over and grasped the arms of the chair, bringing her face close to the other woman’s. “And you deserve this. Your talent proves you’re ready for it. Don’t let this opportunity slip away, I beg you.”
Eva released the chair and straightened. The anticipation of the other woman’s answer set her heart racing. She had meant every word, fervently. Despite Moira Wickham’s sometimes-prickly personality, Eva had come to respect her and greatly admire her talents. She wished to see this woman succeed, to take her rightful place among the other professionals in the china industry. It was only fair; it was the only suitable outcome for an otherwise deplorable course of events.
Miss Wickham came to her feet. She extended her hand, reaching for Eva’s. “You’re right, Miss Huntford. Thank you.” Calmly, with so much less emotion than Eva felt coursing through her, they shook hands like two partners in business. “Perhaps someday you’ll come back to Crown Lily and work with me.”
Eva embraced the other woman briefly. “I’m sorry, but no.”
* * *
“I’ll never be so happy to leave a place.” Julia handed her jewelry box to Hetta, who, in turn, placed it in the open trunk at the foot of the bed.
Phoebe, sitting with Amelia near the wide windows overlooking the gardens, raised her eyebrows at her sister, prompting a chuckle.
“All right, yes, I had never been happier than to leave Cowes last spring, but this comes in as a close second.”
“But we were right to stay until everything had been resolved. I’m so happy for Trent.” Amelia took on a dreamy look as she spoke, and suddenly Phoebe suspected her sister might have developed warm sentiments toward a certain young man. She wondered how long those sentiments would last, and whether Trent had the faintest idea.
She sighed and brushed a loose, honey-golden curl off Amelia’s shoulder. “I’m glad we’ll be leaving Crown Lily in good hands. I do hope they’ll be able to replace Gus Abbott with someone from within the company. One of his assistants.”
“Owen will let us know, I suppose,” Julia said. She stared into the open armoire, still holding a few items of clothing yet to be packed. “It’s good of him to stay on and help put the company back together.”
Yes, Phoebe agreed with that wholeheartedly. Owen would ensure the company’s continued success. Although once the news of Mr. Tremaine’s villainy became generally known, it would take some doing to rebuild Crown Lily’s reputation. She hoped the company’s reversion to the descendant of one of the original owners would help in restoring the public’s—and Queen Mary’s—confidence.
A knock at the door drew their attention to Mildred Blair, standing in the doorway. “May I come in?”
“Of course.” Julia beckoned her to take a seat. “Come to see us off, have you?”
“Not exactly.” Mildred combed a hand through her bobbed hair and compressed her rouged lips. Phoebe read nervousness in both gestures, and wondered what had brought Mildred here.
Apparently, Julia noticed, too. “Is something wrong, Mildred?” She propped a hand on her hip and smoothed the other absently over her belly. “Has Ernie been making trouble again?”
“No . . .” Mildred’s hesitation set off yet another warning bell. Something was not right. “The truth is . . . there’s something you should know, Julia.”
Julia came over and lowered herself carefully onto the settee on Amelia’s other side. “You’ve got my attention. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“There’s nothing wrong. Well, nothing but what you’ve been led to believe,” Mildred said. “About the house.”
Julia frowned in puzzlement. “This house?”
“Of course this house,” Mildred snapped. Then, “Sorry. This isn’t easy for me. You see, Gil didn’t want you to know. Or Veronica or Ernie, for that matter.”
Phoebe’s patience with this game slipped away. “Mildred, stop talking in riddles, please, and say what you’ve got to say.”
“This house isn’t entailed to Gil’s estate.” Mildred paused to let that much sink in. As it was, the news sent a shock wave through Phoebe. All these months, they had believed the house and the Annondale title to be linked—with all or nothing going to either Julia’s male child or Ernie. But now . . .
“So you see,” Mildred went on, “even if you have a daughter, it won’t necessarily mean she won’t inherit the house. Yes, the title will go to Ernie, but it remains to be seen to whom Gil left the house.” She gave a half chuckle. “He even might have left it to me. Although I doubt that very much.”
Julia’s hand went to her bosom. “How long have you known this?”
Mildred shrugged. “Since Gil amended his will right before marrying you.”
“And why didn’t you—” Outrage so filled Phoebe, she couldn’t finish the question.
“That was very mean of you, Mildred.” Amelia spoke sternly and pulled herself up taller against the back of the settee.
“I couldn’t tell you. Gil made me promise.” Mildred threw up her hands. “Oh, I suppose I could have, but I didn’t wish to. And I really did promise him I wouldn’t. Anyway, now you know, and it doesn’t change anything. We still have to wait until the baby is born before the will is read. Until then, we won’t know to whom Gil left Lyndale Park.”
Amelia reached for Julia’s hand. “Oh, Julia, I hope he left it to you.”
“Not me, Amelia,” their elder sister said, “but to my son or daughter.” Her smile brought a renewed glow to her face. “I suppose we’ll see in two months’ time.”
The cars were loaded, Fenton and Douglas ready to begin the trip home. An extra passenger had been added—or make that two. Trent and Jester would be accompanying them back to Foxwood Hall, and then Trent would travel on to Eton with Fox, once Grampapa had made the necessary arrangements. Both boys had been groaning over the amount of schoolwork they would have to make up.
Phoebe lingered inside with Owen. “I’d planned to surprise you next month with a visit to Little Barlow,” he said with no small measure of regret. “But now, with Crown Lily added to my other responsibilities back home in Yorkshire . . .” His head hung as he shook it.
Phoebe took the opportunity to rise on her toes and steal a kiss. “Then I’ll have to surprise you, won’t I? Just keep me apprised of where you are, here or there, and I’ll see to the rest.”
He grinned down at her. “I like an independent woman.”
“You’d better, because it isn’t likely I’ll change.”
“I wouldn’t like it if you did.” He kissed her again, then pulled away. “Before you leave, I have something for you. For all of you, really.” He walked briskly to the baize door that led belowstairs and called the name of one of the footmen. Her curiosity piqued, Phoebe craned her neck to see what he was up to. When Owen backed his way out of the doorway, she saw he held something in his arms. Something russet, with patches of snowy white. Something soft and furry. Something squiggly.
With a wide grin he returned to her and transferred the Staffordshire bull terrier pup into her arms. As the chubby body molded against her own, she couldn’t help but let out a squeal of delight. “Fox put you up to this, didn’t he?”
“No, it was Amelia, actually. This is why we went out together in the Runabout.”
A sweet, cherubic face turned up toward hers, and as she felt the graze of a warm tongue against her chin, Phoebe’s heart melted.
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A Sinister Service Page 27