The General's Granddaughter

by Dorothy Mack

  Brave words, but she felt her colour rise under his searching regard, and she was unable to carry out a short-lived resolution to make him speak first, though she held her ground in the teeth of a great desire to put more distance between herself and this man. “You said you had questions you wished to ask, sir?” she began, furious that her voice should sound so breathless.

  “Yes, your name for a start.”

  “You heard my name,” she said with a fair assumption of surprise.

  “I heard the name you gave General Ridgemont, but I doubt it is your real name.”

  “I’m afraid I cannot help your doubts, sir.”

  “Do not be pert with me, young woman. I know you are not the person hired for this position and I intend to discover who you are. There is a fortune in portable treasures in this house.”

  For the moment she ignored the implication in his last statement. “How can you possibly know I am not the housekeeper hired by your agent? You did not personally conduct the interviews.”

  “You gave yourself away earlier when you did not correct me when I said my agent’s name was Maxwell. It isn’t. Can you supply the correct name?”

  Sarah bit her lip. “The name has slipped my mind for the moment. I had interviews for several positions and cannot be expected to recall —”

  “Stubble it! The name of the woman my agent hired for this post was Glamorgan.” The tight control Lord Eversley had imposed on his simmering temper showed definite signs of cracking. “I intend to find out who you are if I have to shake it out of you,” he said very softly, taking a step forward as if to put this threat into action.

  Sarah’s puny defences crumbled. “How fortunate to be born masculine and thus be always able to bring brute strength to bear in any contest with a female,” she cried with some bitterness.

  For a second there was a flicker of something that might have been regret in his eyes, and his voice lost some of its former hardness as he said with a faint touch of humour, “You women have your weapons too. Do not begrudge us our brute strength.”

  “But I do,” she said forlornly. “It makes life so unfair.”

  Lord Eversley’s hand lifted in an involuntary gesture toward her cheek, but he checked it before she noticed the movement as she was staring rather blindly at the shelves beyond his shoulder. His lips tightened. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Sarah Ridgemont,” she said simply, holding his gaze while he registered incredulity.

  “Sarah … Ridgemont? Gerald Ridgemont’s daughter?”

  “Yes. Did you know my father?”

  Lord Eversley shook his head. “I was too young when he left to remember him,” he said rather absently, obviously busy dealing with the implications of her disclosure. “Do you have some proof of your identity? I assume the general is not yet aware of who you claim to be. And why should you conceal your identity in the first place and attempt to pass yourself off as a housekeeper?” His gaze had sharpened again by the time he rapped out his last question.

  “What would constitute proof of identity?” Sarah asked, anxiously fastening on to the vital word. “I have some of my father’s papers and my mother’s marriage lines, but not with me.” Somehow she had never considered that her grandfather might choose not to believe in her existence when confronted with it.

  “You speak of your father’s papers. Where is your father?”

  “He died over a year ago, just about a year after we returned from America.”

  “Does your grandfather know this?” Those straight black brows drew together.

  “I wrote to him at the time, but he never acknowledged my letter, just as he never acknowledged any other communication over the years.” A shade of weariness had crept into the soft voice, and Lord Eversley put a hand under her arm again.

  “Come, sit over here and tell me the whole story of how you came to be here today in such unlikely circumstances.”

  Sarah did as requested, touching lightly on their years in America, her brother’s birth and her mother’s death, coming at last to her recent illness with its aftermath of doubt that she and Lottie could provide a secure future for Richard. He heard her out in silence, his aspect growing steadily grimmer as her tale unfolded, until she spoke of their initial hopes and subsequent disappointment in the hat shop, whereupon he uttered an explosive, “My God” that caused her to falter and look up at him with stricken eyes.

  “Is it so very bad?” she whispered. “I know that in England people of the upper class do not engage in trade, but it is not so in America, and we have to live,” she finished defensively. “There is not much point in starving to death for the sake of remaining true to one’s origins.”

  “No, no, forgive me. I meant no criticism. What about your mother’s family?”

  “My mother was the only child of elderly parents. We did not go to America until after my grandparents died. Mother had a small annuity, which came to me, but it is barely adequate to feed and house us.”

  “I see. So you came very recently to a decision to ask your grandfather for help. Have I that correctly?”

  “Yes, but only for Richard’s education, so that he will have a trade or profession in which to support himself.”

  “Then, why the masquerade? Having taken the decision to appeal to your grandfather, why are you in this house under an assumed name, pretending to be a housekeeper?”

  Sarah hung her head. “I don’t know if I can make you understand what went into such an impulsive and — I see now — foolish decision. I’m not entirely certain I perfectly understand myself, but I was dreadfully afraid that I would be turned away at the door when I gave my name, like the last time. That thought had been with me, torturing me throughout the long ride on the stagecoach. Also, I was still feeling very unwell from the migraine and… Well, when the servant opened the door and assumed I was the new housekeeper, I seized on this as a way in. Of course, I wish now that I had not done it but…” Her words trailed off and she lifted a hand and let it fall in a little gesture of helplessness.

  “You must tell your grandfather the truth without delay.”

  “You need not look so sternly at me. I have every intention of doing so. I tried to tell him at our first meeting last night, but he did not give me a chance. I shall certainly tell him today because the real housekeeper is expected tomorrow.”

  “She’s not the only person arriving tomorrow,” Lord Eversley said grimly. “Thanks to a newly developed talent for meddling, I took it upon myself to write to your Uncle Horace advising him of his father’s poor state of health, with the result that he is coming for a visit with his entire family, a wife and two sons. Not only that,” he continued in the face of her appalled exclamation, “but he tells me it is more than likely that his sister, your Aunt Adelaide, Lady Townsend, will also descend on Beech Hill with offspring in tow.”

  “Oh, dear,” gasped Sarah, “how disconcerting!”

  He smiled without mirth. “To say the least. This is going to be a very well-attended deathbed scene.”

  “Is my grandfather dying?”

  Her expression was serious but not unduly concerned, and Eversley had to remind himself that the young woman facing him across the length of a fireside sofa had no cause to mourn the passing of the man who had denied her and her brother their birthright. “His doctor and I feared so last week, but I must say that I thought him somewhat improved today. Unless your little surprise should give him a relapse,” he added dryly.

  The colour drained out of Sarah’s face and she stared at him in mounting horror. “Do you mean that it will be my fault if he dies? That I should not, after all, tell him who I am?”

  “No, no,” he said hastily. “That was a poor attempt at a joke. The general survived my announcement of his children’s pending visit; in fact, he seemed pleased in a strange sort of way. He even made a ghoulish remark about a flock of vultures coming in for the kill.”

  A shiver passed through Sarah’s delicate frame. “Of which
I am another,” she said on a sigh. Her chin firmed and she looked him straight in the eye. “I may not be very proud of myself, Lord Eversley, but I intend that my brother shall have a fair chance in life and I shall do everything in my power to see that he gets it.” She stood up, indicating that the meeting was at an end. “Are you satisfied that I am telling the truth, Lord Eversley?”

  “I’ll soon find out if you’re not,” he replied ungallantly, noting the spark of anger in soft amber eyes, though she made no retort. As he got to his feet, she bethought herself of something. He could see the indecision in her face, and her hands had clasped each other again. “Yes?” he asked in unencouraging accents.

  “I know I have no right to beg a favour from a stranger, sir, but I wonder if you would be so kind as to frank a letter for me. Lottie and Richard will be expecting me back today or tomorrow at the latest, and I do not wish them to worry. May I —?”

  “Of course,” he said gruffly. “Write it now. I’ll take it with me.”

  Lord Eversley never took his eyes off Sarah’s lithe figure as she spun about and headed toward the large desk in search of paper. His thoughts defied description as he watched her accomplish her task without self-consciousness or wasted effort. To himself he owned to a rare disinclination to leave a woman’s company. To Miss Ridgemont he made a stiff bow as part of a spare and formal leave-taking some few minutes later.

  Lord Eversley’s mind was occupied with the events of his visit to Beech Hill all the way home, and each and every thought originated in the person of Sarah Ridgemont or arrived at her shortly thereafter. There was work to be done that he had postponed in order to obey the general’s request. He spent a busy afternoon going about estate business, but Sarah’s pale face intruded between his eyes and whatever he was reading more often than was acceptable to his peace of mind.

  That the situation brewing at Beech Hill was piquant went without saying, and he had the satisfaction of seeing his mother rendered nearly speechless with astonishment as he gave her the bare bones of the story when they were at last alone in the family parlour after dinner.

  “Gerald’s daughter at Beech Hill as a housekeeper — I cannot believe it!”

  “That never should have happened. As best I can understand, she simply funked the telling of her name — too afraid of being turned away. Did you know that when she was twelve years old Gerald brought her to meet her grandfather before taking his family to America, and the general refused to see them?”

  “No, I never even knew Gerald went to America or that there was a son. Did the general not tell you of Gerald’s death? You have grown closer to him than anyone these past few years.”

  “Not a word.”

  “Then it is possible that Horace and Adelaide are also unaware that they no longer have a brother. How very sad, to be sure.”

  “From what Sarah told me, I don’t believe Gerald ever had any further communication with either of them after his father disowned him.”

  Lady Eversley shook her head at the folly and sadness of it all. “Tell me about Sarah,” she begged eagerly. “I knew of her existence because Lady Ridgemont told me Gerald had written to his parents of the child’s birth. She found the letter quite by accident. The general actually intended to keep the news from her. I was very fond of Lady Ridgemont. My own mother being dead, she had been like a substitute mother to me from the time I arrived at Eversley as a bride. I have always felt that that final cruelty took away her will to live. She was dead within the year, and any chance at a reconciliation between father and son died with her. That was about twenty-five years ago, so Sarah must be six-and-twenty by now.”

  “She looks younger despite her disguise.”

  “Does she favour the Ridgemonts?”

  “She certainly doesn’t have the Ridgemont nose. She is of moderate height with a light and graceful figure, though she’s too thin. She has a creamy complexion, a little too pale, but that may be because she has been ill lately. Her features have the serene classical perfection of a Renaissance Madonna, except for an incongruous dimple in the centre of her chin. She was wearing a cap of some sort, but her hair, which is an incredible variety of colours — basically bronze, but overlaid with gold and copper — is not styled in today’s fashion. She wore it bundled up in a knot at the back of her head.”

  Seeing that her son had apparently gone off in a reverie, Lady Eversley prompted, “Her eyes?”

  “Large and solemn and again of a golden brown spectrum.”

  “She sounds quite lovely. Is she a lady?”

  “Of course she’s a lady!” The viscount looked slightly affronted.

  His mother hastened to add, “Well, dearest, after the life she has led, going off to America and running a hat shop in London, it is a natural question. I do not know a thing about her mother’s family except that the general had had another bride lined up for Gerald and refused to accept the marriage.”

  “Was that the cause of the estrangement? I was under the impression that the general disowned his son because Gerald left the army. Did he leave under a cloud?”

  “I have never known the details,” Lady Eversley said vaguely. “The runaway marriage was the last straw. Gerald actually jilted the girl his father picked, you know. The marriage had been arranged and the notices sent to all the newspapers. It was a terrible scandal at the time.”

  “Gerald Ridgemont is beginning to sound more like the proverbial black sheep every moment. The fault wasn’t all on the general’s side.”

  “Oh, by no means. Gerald was a weak sort of a strong father — the worst possible combination — but I don’t hold with disowning one’s children and never will. And so I told the general once, which was why I was never his favourite person.”

  “You relieve my mind, anyway, Mama.” She looked up expectantly at the over-solemn tone. “I mean about not being in favour of disowning one’s own flesh and blood.”

  Lady Eversley’s still-pretty face broke up into laughter. “As if that worry had ever crossed your mind!”

  “Well, I also have the dubious distinction of bringing scandal upon my family,” her son said, all humour dying out of his face.

  “Don’t, Mark! None of that business was your fault. It’s time you put it behind you and married again. I am longing to cuddle some grandchildren.”

  “You know you may cuddle Anthea’s brood whenever you choose to visit her in Kent or invite them here, Mama.”

  “Yes, dearest, but I have a particular desire to cuddle a little boy with the Eversley black hair and dark-brown eyes.”

  Mark gave a shout of laughter. “What a fraud you are, Mama. It’s just as likely that my brats would all have red hair and freckles, especially if I weakened and married the Calderby girl you have been oh-so-subtly thrusting across my path of late.”

  “But her hair is really quite pretty and she is a charming girl, do you not agree, Mark?”

  “Yes, my dear. I agree she is a charming girl, but I am thirty-five years old and I am not interested in charming young girls of eighteen or nineteen.”

  Mark’s voice was very gentle, but his mother, recalling snippets of gossip she had heard concerning a dazzling female in Marshfield who was a good deal older than eighteen and had no need to consider a reputation long since lost, was not comforted by his patience with her attempts at matchmaking. She sighed and allowed him to change the subject.

  CHAPTER 5

  Sarah had every intention of making her explanations to her grandfather as soon as Lord Eversley departed, but she had scarcely left the library when she came upon Grace Medlark in the corridor. The generally calm Grace was in a state bordering on agitation as she stopped short in front of Sarah.

  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Sir Hector has just sent word by Somers that his son, Mr. Horace Ridgemont, and his whole family are coming for a visit tomorrow; and Lady Townsend — that’s his daughter — is due shortly also, with her son and daughter. The cook is having a spasm in the kitchen — La
dy Townsend is nearly impossible to please, she finds fault with almost every dish — and we have to get all the bedchambers ready, and it’s almost noon already.”

  “Stop and get your breath, Grace; you are looking nearly distracted. I’ve begun an inventory of the linens, so I have a fair notion of which are most presentable. We’ll light a fire in one of the bedchambers and air them for a few hours today and then make up the beds later. The maids can do all the necessary sweeping and polishing first.”

  Grace scarcely seemed to be listening. “Lady Townsend likes her sheets changed daily, and that toplofty dresser of hers always causes ructions in the servants’ hall. Cook says she’ll be blowed if she’ll take orders from someone with the appetite of a hummingbird and —”

  “We’ll come back to Cook directly, Grace. What I would like to know at the moment is which bedrooms customarily get assigned to whom. You are probably the person who would remember best.” Sarah smiled encouragingly.

  After a moment, Grace smiled back and continued in a calmer vein, “Mr. and Mrs. Horace Ridgemont always have the south-eastern suite. We make up a bed in the servant’s room there for Mr. Horace. Their servants are housed in the main servants’ quarters. Lady Townsend prefers the north-eastern apartment adjacent to the dining saloon, and her dresser always sleeps in the small room there.”

  “That’s fine. Now, what about the grandchildren? Tell me about them — names, ages, and so forth. Are any still children? Should we prepare the nursery?”

  “Oh, no. I believe Miss Arabella is the youngest. She must be nearly twenty now. She has already had a London season. Master Vincent is the oldest — Lord Townsend, I should say. The baron, his father, died two years ago. Let me think now. He is about three years older than his cousin William, Master William must be seven-and-twenty now and Master Cecil is two-and-twenty,” she finished, pleased with her feat of memory.