“Ah, there you are at last!” The owner of the rumbling male voice levered himself from the wall against which he had been sprawled. “I was beginning to think you must have taken a wrong path.”
Estelle gasped, her heart pounding against her rib cage. This was simply too much for her fragile grasp on reality to cope with. She had defied her father; overcome her fear of the dark and her repulsion for rodents, only to be challenged by some nameless male figure of authority before she had even escaped the confines of Crawley Hall. Her head was swimming and she staggered backwards a few paces, dizziness rendering her actions ungainly, as she struggled to come to terms with her spectacular failure.
Her last memory before her world went completely black was of a strong pair of arms catching her, preventing her from crumpling to the floor in a dead faint.
Chapter Eight
Alex cradled the unconscious Estelle against his chest and carried her back through the passageway into his study. All the while he cursed his stupidity. He should have kept his temper in check and devised a less dramatic means by which to challenge her contention that she was a stranger to Winthrop. He should also have realized that these passageways would be a daunting enough test for any lady’s sensibilities, and that one weakened by illness was bound to be especially susceptible to their terrors. His confronting her in such a crass manner could have resulted in her injuring herself.
She weighed nothing at all. Carrying her and her bags, Alex was not even out of breath when he regained his study and laid her gently on the settee in front of the fire. Rekindling the flames, he was soon rewarded by the sight of them chasing one another up the chimney. He removed her bonnet and loosened her pelisse, gently tracing the line of her deathly pale face with his palm. Opening her valise he found what he was searching for almost immediately and placed her beautifully embroidered shawl across her knee. Perhaps the sight of it would soothe her when she opened her eyes. He sat on the edge of the settee and removed her fine kid gloves, taking her hands and rubbing them together to infuse some warmth into her.
Alex felt great admiration for her courage. She was heartrendingly beautiful yet virtually defenceless against her brute of a father who treated her more as a possession than a person. The man terrified her to such a degree that she was prepared to venture alone into an uncertain future rather than live beneath his roof. Her vulnerability brought out his protective instincts in spades.
But there was more to her dilemma than a domineering parent, he would wager his fortune on that, and would not be satisfied until he knew precisely what she sought to evade. If he was to make recompense for his boorish behaviour by being of service to her, he must first persuade her to place her trust in him and reveal the precise nature of her difficulties.
Alex cursed himself for being the cause of her current anguish and would have given much to be able to relive the evening. How differently he would have managed matters then. He had been angry with Estelle and had wanted to teach her a lesson for doubting his integrity. But he could now appreciate the situation from her perspective. The growing attraction he entertained towards her had made his offer of assistance sound clumsy, open to misinterpretation. In retrospect he could scarce blame her for all but accusing him of dishonourable intentions. It was an insult of the first order for a gentleman of his ilk—one which rankled, causing him to temporarily lose his grip on reason and making him desirous for a modicum of revenge. He had deliberately mentioned the other passageway, knowing by her haphazard attempts to pack her belongings that she was intent upon escape and that she would swallow the bait.
“It was you!”
The sound of her voice jolted Alex out of his introspection. He looked down into eyes which were clouded with confusion, her lashes sweeping repeatedly across her translucent cheeks as she struggled to reclaim her senses.
“I apologize for startling you. How do you feel?”
She ignored his restraining hand and sat up, carefully twisting her head from side to side. “I have a mild headache, which is hardly to be wondered at. Still, having survived your juvenile prank, I ought to be thankful that I am still in possession of a head at all, I suppose. Whatever did you imagine you were about?”
“Here.” He handed her a glass of water.
“Thank you.” She took several sips. “Where did this come from?” She fingered her shawl and cast a suspicious glance at him.
“I thought you might find it comforting.”
“That was thoughtful but would not have been necessary if you had not scared me half out of my wits. And you still have not explained why you acted in such a manner.”
“I apologize once again.” He bowed his apology, to which she made a derisive sound at the back of her throat. “Shall we start again, Mrs. Travis?”
“Please do not call me that.”
“I doubt, having witnessed your father’s unconscionable behaviour, you would find Winthrop any more acceptable.”
She inclined her head, a ghost of a smile playing about her lips. He could not tear his eyes away from them and stared, mesmerized, wondering how they would taste if he were to kiss them. “True.”
“Then I shall simply address you as Estelle,” he said, relieved to see that her temper was subsiding and she had ceased pressing him for explanations. She clearly was not one to bear grudges, a discovery which heartened him.
“As you wish.”
Distant haughtiness had returned to her tone, reminding him that he would likely have to undertake a vast amount more grovelling before she would even consider trusting him. And since being of service to this indescribably endearing creature was currently of vital importance to him, grovelling it would have to be.
“I think it is time you told me what is going on, Estelle, so that I might make recompense for my behaviour by helping you out of your difficulties.” He held up his hand when she made to interrupt him. “And the truth this time, all of it, if you please.”
She was quiet for a long time, staring into the fire as though seeking inspiration in its embers. Alex did not speak again, knowing this time that whatever she chose to tell him would indeed be the truth. The only question was, how much of the truth would she be prepared to reveal?
“Susanna Cleethorpe and I are not strangers to one another. In face we have been friends for years,” she said at last.
“You met at school?”
“You knew that?”
“I surmised it. You gave yourself away when you first arrived by almost referring to Mrs. Cleethorpe as Susanna.”
“I did not think that anyone noticed the slip.”
“I did.”
“And then my father arrived and confirmed the fact.”
“Your father made a great many assertions, none of which I was prepared to take at face value.”
“I daresay that he did, and I thank you for not being taken in by his bluster.” She paused. “I should have admitted to the truth when we spoke of his visit earlier. I can see that now, but I thought, well, you know…” Her words trailed to an embarrassed halt. Then she turned her remarkable eyes upon him, all artifice gone from their expression. The naked vulnerability they now displayed fired his passionate desire to act as her protector. More significantly, they fired his passions as a man. Never before had a woman affected him so comprehensively. He hid the discomfort of his reaction by shifting his position and inclining his head, an invitation for her to continue speaking. “I apologize for dissembling but I was not sure, that is to say…”
“Do not distress yourself, my dear. We have neither of us behaved as we ought but it is not too late to right that situation, if you could just bring yourself to trust me.”
“I do trust you, sir—now.” She smiled briefly, a gesture which lit up her whole face and enhanced her aesthetic beauty. “But I have learned, through necessity, to be cautious about whom I place my trust in.”
“I knew of your late husband by reputation,” he said when her words appeared to have stalled again, “b
ut I collect he did not make your happy.”
“He had to be persuaded to marry me, apparently. My father will tell anyone who asks that it cost him a fortune to marry me well. Mr. Travis only reluctantly took me even then, not because he was desirous of another wife but because he so badly needed the blunt.”
“Good God!” said Alex, surprise taking precedence over good manners.
“I did not actually know that until my father was kind enough to inform me when he called on me a week ago. But it should have been obvious by the way my husband treated me. I was never made to feel a part of his world, and it was clear that he resented my presence in his house. He did little to ease my path into society and nothing at all to abuse his acquaintances of their belief that he had married beneath his station. I have never been more lonely in my entire life.”
Her quiet dignity made him want to dispel the hurt in her eyes by pulling her into his arms and kissing her witless. “Iniquitous behaviour!” Travis clearly had not resented her sufficiently to exclude her from his bed, any more than it had prevented him from impregnating her. Alex clenched his fists. He would like to bring the bounder back to life. Then he could enjoy the satisfaction of inflicting excessive physical damage upon him before dispatching him back to his grave.
“Indeed, and my father filled the house with his spies. My maid has always reported my every activity to him—”
“You should have dismissed her.”
“It would not have served. He would have found another way to keep abreast of my activities. That much became apparent as soon as Mr. Travis died and he sent others to keep watch over me.”
“But why?”
“That is what I did not understand at first but since my father’s visit last week it has all become so much clearer. He did not trust me, you see, to keep faith with Mr. Travis or to resist…well, to resist…”
“I perfectly understand, Estelle. Please continue.”
“My sister Marianne also knew she would not be permitted to follow her heart when it came to matrimony. When my father told her she was to be engaged to a business acquaintance of his, a Mr. Cowper, she agreed at first but then took fright and ran away.”
“And you fear for her safety as a consequence.”
“Yes, you see my brother also escaped from Papa’s tyranny. My father comes originally from the north of England, from Leeds. His father was a bricklayer who set himself up in business by winning contracts to construct cheap cottages for mill workers. My father inherited that business but cast his net wider, making a vast amount of money through his construction projects. But he was always ambitious and never intended to remain a member of the lower classes.” Estelle paused to take a sip of water. “His most obvious means of bettering himself was to use his money to marry well. My mother is the youngest child of the Earl of Dorchester and he thought that by marrying her, society’s doors would be opened to him as a matter of course.”
“But they were not?”
“No. My father is not without intelligence but he has a northerner’s blunt manner of expressing himself deeply ingrained. He sees nothing wrong with the fact that he has achieved his wealth through hard work and his own ingenuity, and discusses the particulars with anyone who will lend him an ear. That sort of language, as you can imagine, does not go down well in the best salons.”
“To have made his money through trade is one thing but to even hint at it, much less flaunt the fact, is simply not done.”
“Precisely. My mother hides her disappointments at the direction her life has taken by being totally self-absorbed. She only sees that which she wishes to see and accepts my father’s complete dominance without question.” Estelle sighed. “I do not know how things were between them when they were first married, but I have not known her to strive for any sort of independence.”
“I see.” And Alex rather suspected that he did. He had been wondering why Estelle’s mother had not come to her daughters’ aid. Now he understood. The mother was clearly as cold and disinterested in her family as the father was determined to exploit its members for his own ends. “Pray continue.”
“Well, when society proved to be less than enamoured with my father he chose another path. By using his wealth he developed a reputation as a patron of the arts. He holds regular soirees in Hampshire, encouraging all up-and-coming artists, writers and musicians to attend his salons, and offers patronage to those whom he considers to have the most potential. He has an uncanny knack of knowing what the latest trend will be before it has become fashionable and exploits the appropriate protégées in order to be seen as a forward-thinking philanthropist.”
“Which is why he encouraged your musical ability, presumably.”
“Yes. I was made to play at all of his gatherings, simply to show him in a good light and make it appear as though he knew what he was about.”
“And your brother’s role in this?”
“Well, papa’s ultimate aim was, of course, to enhance his reputation by exploiting Matthew’s artistic knowledge. He did not entirely trust anyone else to advise him.”
“And your brother fell in with that scheme?”
“Yes, he was miserable but had no choice, other than to be cut off without a penny. But no sooner had he graduated than Papa told him he was arranging for him to marry a Lady Isobel Bruton—”
“Lord Bruton’s daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Ahh, I see!”
“You know her?”
“Indeed.” Alex shuddered at the memory of the outspoken woman whom he had met on several occasions. She made little effort to make the best of herself, or conform to the dictates of society. “And I suspect that was when Matthew decided he had been pushed too far.”
“Yes, it was. Lady Isobel had nothing whatsoever to recommend her. She had no personality, no accomplishments, not even a passing beauty or a pleasing figure. But of course it was her title that interested my father. Because her family were not only in such straightened circumstances but also despairing of ever getting Isobel off their hands, he knew they would eventually accept an offer from Matthew.”
“The offer was made?”
“Negotiations had commenced and I had never seen Matthew so distraught. He came to me one night, the last occasion upon which I spoke to him,” she said, her voice filled with a combination of guilt and regret, “telling me he simply could not do it and would run away rather than endure marriage to such a girl. He had such romantic notions, you see, but to my eternal regret I told him not to be so melodramatic. I knew he had little choice in the matter and suggested that Father would let up on him if he did what he wanted. I assured him it would all work out for the best in the end.” She sighed. “The next time I heard from him was a letter sent from Jamaica. He had a close friend at school whose family has a plantation out there and he accepted a position as a bookkeeper.”
“And he is still there?”
“I thought so, but apparently he wrote just before my husband died and the letter was sent from Dover.”
“Do you think your missing sister might be with him now?”
“If it were so, it would be the answer to my most fervent prayer.”
“Have you any idea where they might be?”
“No, Susanna and I were to search for them together. But that is no longer possible because of her condition.”
“Her condition?”
Estelle smiled. “She has only just found out.”
“Ah, I see.” Alex too was now smiling. “Michael has not wasted any time.”
“Indeed, but Susanna is disgusted that he will not now let her out of his sight.”
“I daresay.” Alex doubted his friend would have taken too kindly to his new wife traipsing all over the country in a well-meaning search for displaced siblings. It was just as well that she was now confined to Fairlands. “But tell me, who is this Cowper whom your sister took such violent exception to?”
“Well, that is the strangest thing. Lady Isobel and M
r. Travis were both of the upper classes. I did not approve of either of them but understood why my father was so desirous to ally our family to theirs. But Mr. Cowper is just an agent of my father’s, employed to oversee his business dealings in Leeds.”
“He still handles construction work in that county?”
“Yes, it is still the bedrock of his business empire.”
“Then I do not understand why he wished for your sister to marry such a man.”
“No more do I. But then I had always been the dutiful sibling who never questioned his decisions. I told Marianne that at least Mr. Cowper was young and that she ought to count her blessings.” She dropped her voice to a hoarse whisper. “That is the last time I saw her and I fear more and more for her safety as each day passes.”
“But you do not feel able to return to your father’s establishment and persuade him to instigate a search for your missing siblings?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Well, since I am being so frank, there is more you should be made aware of.” She paused for so long that he was on the verge of prompting her when she spoke again. As her tale slowly unfolded he was obliged to conceal his abhorrence at her father’s callous attempt to manipulate her. She blushed as she related the problems inherent to living beneath the same roof as Travis Junior. That blush told him a great deal, not least why she had misinterpreted his earlier offer of assistance. A fresh surge of anger ricocheted through him as he contemplated the number of inappropriate proposals she must have received since her unlikely union with Travis.
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