by Lara Temple
‘I have one last try, don’t I? Just like that fairy tale with the spinning wheel, no?’
She laughed and nudged the mace with one pale yellow kid shoe. An expensive one, he noted. He should know, he had paid for enough female garments.
‘That’s true,’ she conceded. ‘I’m nothing like that silly woman, though. Who on earth would barter with their unborn child’s life? I would have either thought of some better way out of that fix or something less valuable to bargain with. Well? One last try, sir.’
He moved towards her, ignoring the movement behind him. Her head lowered and she looked more wary now than when they had been alone in the room together. At first glance he had thought her pretty but unexceptional, but either closer examination or her peculiar chatter had affected his judgement. Her warm hazel-brown eyes, like honeyed wood, captivated him, and when she smiled, her mouth was practically an invitation to explore the soft coral-pink curve. She would taste sweet and sultry, honey and a hint of spice, he thought. It was a pity she was one of the most despised subcategories of the already despised species known as respectable young women. His only consolation was that they usually feared him almost as much as he wished to avoid them.
‘Very well,’ he replied. ‘My last chance at Aurelius. You’re a member of that dreaded breed of females who believe themselves deserving of all forms of homage and adoration for qualities that they have done nothing to deserve. You are, in short, an heiress.’
He had expected outrage, not amusement. She might be respectable, but she was not predictable. That at least might be a point in his favour when it came to negotiating the purchase of Hollywell House.
‘How do you know I have done nothing to deserve it? I’ll have you know being an heiress is hard work and not just for me as Jackson here will attest.’
‘Does this bruiser keep fortune hunters at bay, then?’
‘In a manner of speaking. Well, you have earned your Aurelius. Goodbye, sir.’
‘In a moment. We still have the matter of the sale of the house to discuss. We will offer you the same price as we did your cousin. It is quite generous, I assure you.’
‘As you pointed out, until after probate is granted, there is no point in discussing anything. Who is “we”, by the way? I thought you said you merely represented the prospective buyers. The use of the pronoun “we” seems to indicate otherwise.’
For a moment he debated telling her the truth about Hope House. She was just unconventional enough that she might not see it as a disadvantage, but he and his friends had long ago learned to keep their involvement in the Hope House foundation for war veterans private. It was no one’s business and certainly not the business of a pert and overly perceptive heiress he was still not convinced wasn’t also a little unhinged. Intelligence and madness often went hand in hand.
‘Does it matter, as long as we offer you fair price? You can’t possibly live here.’
Her mouth flattened and a light entered her eyes that in a man would have conveyed a distinct physical menace. Perhaps he had misstepped.
‘Do you hear that, Jackson? Here is another man who has an opinion about what I can and cannot do.’
The giant clucked his tongue.
‘I heard, miss. Shame.’
Alan tried not to smile.
‘I dare say now you are going to tell me the last fool who dared do so is buried under the floorboards?’
‘No, but I am very tempted to be able to tell the next fool precisely that. The door is behind you, sir.’
‘Do you really think you could carry out that threat? Or is it just a variation on the age-old cry of the spoilt heiress when her will is thwarted?’
‘You keep a civil tongue in your head around Miss Lily,’ the giant rumbled behind him.
‘Jackson, no!’ she cried out as a bulky hand settled on Alan’s shoulder.
Alan turned in time to intercept the anvil-sized fist heading his way. It wasn’t hard to dodge and the counterblow he delivered to the giant’s solar plexus was more by way of a warning than an attempt to do damage. But clearly this Jackson was in no mood to heed warnings. Even less did he appear to appreciate being tripped and sent sprawling on to the pile of books.
‘Careful of the books,’ the girl cried out with a great deal more concern for them than for her protector. The giant grunted, stood up, dusted himself off, smiled and lunged.
Alan did not in the least mind brawling. He and his friends often indulged in sparring either in the accepted mode at Jackson’s Boxing Saloon or in the much less respectable tavern yards and village greens occasionally set aside for such sport. This giant clearly also appreciated the fancy, but despite, or perhaps because of, his size, he was used to winning by force majeure rather than by skill and it was no great stretch of Alan’s skill to avoid or deflect most of his blows. He was just beginning to enjoy himself and was even considering offering the giant a pause so they could both take off their coats and make the most of this opportunity for some sport when the door opened and an elderly woman entered the library. But her shriek, either of shock or outrage, wasn’t enough to stop Alan’s fist from making contact with the giant’s face.
‘Alan Piers Cavendish Rothwell! What on earth is the meaning of this?’
Luckily the giant fell back under the blow and conveniently tripped over the books again, because the sight of his grandmother dealt Alan the stunning blow his opponent had failed to deliver.
Though they were a mere mile from his childhood home, the last person he had expected to see in the doorway of Hollywell’s library was Lady Jezebel Ravenscar, the only woman on earth he could safely say he despised and who fully reciprocated his disdain and had done so ever since he could remember. The only person whom he disliked more was her thankfully defunct husband, his grandfather and the late and most unlamented Lord Ravenscar.
Before he could absorb and adjust to this ill-fated turn of events, the girl spoke.
‘You needn’t have come, Lady Ravenscar. I merely wanted to see the place before returning to the Hall. Here, Jackson, put your head back and hold this to your nose.’ She wadded up a handkerchief and handed it to the giant.
Alan had no idea what connection existed between his grandmother and this young woman, but he could have told her there was no possible way his grandmother would let her off so lightly. He was right. Lady Ravenscar turned her unsympathetic dark eyes to the young woman.
‘When George Coachman told me you had directed your groom to stop at Hollywell on your way back from Keynsham, I instructed him to come here immediately. While you are a guest in my home, Miss Wallace, you are under my care and that means you cannot dash about the countryside unaccompanied as your departed parents clearly allowed. At the very least you should have taken your maid. You are no longer in the wilds of Brazil or Zanzibar or Timbuktu or wherever—’
‘You were right the first time. Brazil,’ the girl interrupted, her hands clasped in front of her in a parody of the obedient schoolgirl.
‘Brazil. Yes. Well, this is England and young women do not...’
‘Breathe without permission. Yes, I know. My schoolmistresses were very clear about what young women can and cannot do in English society and the latter list is leagues longer than the former. I even started writing them down in a journal. It is a marvel that any of our beleaguered species can still place one foot before the other of our own volition. My parents did me a grave disservice by raising me to be independent and an even graver disservice by dying before I was old enough for people to no longer care that I was.’
She bent to pick up the book Alan had dropped during the brawl and handed it to him.
‘This is yours, I believe. I would have given it to you anyway. There was no need to break poor Jackson’s nose.’
He shoved the book into his coat pocket, keeping a wary eye on his grandmother.
‘It isn’t broke
n.’
‘Just drew my cork, miss,’ Jackson mumbled behind the handkerchief. ‘Thought you were a toff. You’ll not get over my guard so easy a second time.’
The girl correctly interpreted Alan’s expression.
‘Don’t encourage him, Jackson. This is my house now and I won’t have you silly men brawling in it. There is enough disarray here as it is. If you want to beat each other senseless, kindly step outside.’
‘It’s not your house till after probate,’ Alan couldn’t resist pointing out. ‘We will contact you presently about the sale.’
‘Enough of this,’ Lady Ravenscar announced, ramming her cane into the floor with as much force as the girl had smashed the mace into the worn floorboards. ‘What is all this about a sale? And where are you going, Alan?’
‘Back to Hades, Jezebel. You needn’t worry I was thinking of contaminating the hallowed grounds of the Hall with my presence. That’s the beauty of your husband forcing my father to break the entail. Believe me, I am as glad to be shot of the Hall as you are of me.’
‘Nanny Brisbane is ill. I dare say if you are already in the vicinity, she would be grateful if you would show a modicum of respect and visit her.’ Lady Ravenscar’s tones were dismissive, but she didn’t move from her position in the doorway. She didn’t have to because he stopped in his tracks. Once again she had dealt him a very effective blow.
‘Nanny Brisbane is ill?’
The girl glanced from him to his grandmother, her brow furrowed.
‘Are you the rakehell?’
‘Lily Wallace!’ Lady Ravenscar all but bellowed and the girl shrugged.
‘Sorry, the black sheep. Mrs Brisbane contracted the fever as well, but she is mending. Still, she would likely be happy for a visit, unless you mean to scowl at her like that and go around bashing things. You can’t possibly be her Master Alan, you don’t look in the least like the miniature of you and Catherine she keeps on her mantel, but then those are never very good likenesses.’
Alan abandoned the effort to determine if she was mad or not and moved towards the door again.
‘I will see Nanny before I continue to Bristol.’
Lady Ravenscar hesitated and then moved aside to let him pass.
‘Catherine and Nicola would no doubt expect you to pay your respects as well.’
He didn’t stop.
‘I don’t need lessons from you on family loyalty, Jezebel. Though it is very typical of you to preach what you don’t practise.’
As he climbed on to the curricle and took the reins from Jem, he cast a last look at the classical façade of Hollywell House with its pillared portico. He hated the burning resentment and anger his grandmother always dragged out of him, but it was his fault. It served him right for trying to exact a very petty revenge on her by trying to acquire Hollywell. In fact, he should have continued to avoid this particular corner of England like the plague just as he had for the past dozen years. Nothing good came of tempting the fates.
Chapter Two
‘Lily, might I have a word with you for a moment?’
‘Of course, Catherine.’
‘Don’t hover in the doorway, Catherine!’ Lady Ravenscar snapped from the great winged armchair placed near the Rose Room’s fireplace but angled so she could survey her domain. ‘There is no call for secrets. If this is about your brother, you may share your information with the rest of us.’
Since Lady Ravenscar was the only other occupant of the room, her words were less a polite invitation than a command. Poor Catherine wavered and Lily stood, moving towards her.
‘Is Nicky faring any better this morning, Catherine?’
Catherine met her eyes with a clear expression of gratitude.
‘Her fever has diminished a little, but she is still restless. That is what I wanted to ask you. I have a basket to take to Nanny Brisbane, but I don’t wish to leave Nicky with only a maid. Would you mind sitting with her until my return?’
‘Of course,’ Lily replied, ushering Catherine out of the room before Lady Ravenscar could react. Poor Catherine had no stomach for opposition to her imperious grandmother and it was not merely because she and her twelve-year-old daughter were financially dependent on Lady Ravenscar. Lily wondered if Catherine had always been this way or whether marriage to an impecunious parson, widowhood and now almost a decade under her grandmother’s thumb had leached her will away. Looking at her reminded Lily why she had returned to England after her father’s death in the first place.
Like the intrepid traveller Lady Hester Stanhope, Lily had discovered that life as her wealthy father’s hostess was vastly different now that he was gone, but she had no ambition to end her life an indebted recluse like Lady Hester. She had spent her year of mourning in the house of an aged and distant cousin, which had been even more stultifying than the weeks since her arrival in England. Even after she had come out of mourning, she had discovered there was no role to be played by a young woman of marriageable age unless she handed herself over body and soul to some respectable duenna while society tutted over her advancing years. She didn’t even have the freedom to manage her own inheritance—the lawyers managing the trust, who had obeyed her every word while her father lived, now balked and held her to the rigid letter of the trust. Her father’s death had been a shock on so many levels Lily was still reeling from the loss of everything she valued.
‘It has been three days since Mr Marston has been to visit you. Is he travelling?’ Catherine asked as they climbed the curving staircase.
‘Yes, on business to Birmingham and then he is bringing his daughter back to Bristol to prepare for her debut in the spring.’ The words were stiff and she tried to smile.
‘Are you worried whether she will like you?’
Lily almost wished she had not been tempted to share some of her story with Catherine. It made it so much more inescapable.
‘Mr Marston said she is as lovely as an angel, but that is the least of my worries. I know his offer makes good sense. I had no idea how restrictive life could be when my father passed and it is even worse now I am out of mourning. Everything the Kingston gossipmongers didn’t say while he was alive, they happily whispered over his grave. The only thing that kept them from saying it to my face was the hope I will marry one of their sons. I cannot even carry on with my business concerns because Papa tied it up in a ridiculous trust when I was born and never thought to change it, because he believed he was indestructible. Right now the only thing I have any control over is Hollywell House, or at least I will after probate. I must marry or I shall go mad. Sometimes I wish Papa had left me on Isla Padrones in Brazil when my mother died instead of bringing me to Jamaica and forcing me to enter society. At least on the island I had become accustomed to being alone and having few expectations.’
‘You could always stay here with us if you don’t wish to marry. I know my grandmother isn’t an easy person, but she is not quite as bad as she seems. When Nicola returns to school, it is just the two of us and it can be rather...lonely. I am certain she will agree.’
They stopped at the top of the stairs.
‘That is very generous of you, but I already feel I have encroached too much on our very distant relation. It is only because Mr Marston’s home is in Bristol...’
She touched the little gold pendant at her throat. She knew this feeling. The same one that would catch at her breath every time her father sailed away, leaving her and her mother on tiny Isla Padrones. The world closing on her, shutting her in, but also a sense of safety, of the world reduced to the familiar once more. The move to Jamaica when she had been fourteen had taken away that safety without really opening the world any wider. Her school and then Kingston society had been even more oppressive than the isolation of the island where she had run wild. She had not known how rare the freedom of being alone was until she had lost it.
‘Perhaps I should
remove to Hollywell House...’
Catherine’s blue eyes widened.
‘But, Lily, you could not live there on your own!’
‘I could find someone to lend me countenance. My pin money is still generous enough to support a companion. Surely there must be an impecunious relative somewhere on the family tree who would be willing to...’ She pulled herself to a halt at her selfishness. She might be scared of her future, but there were many women whose fates were indescribably worse than hers, or even than Catherine’s.
She had seen that only too clearly the day she had walked into the brothel near the Kingston docks that her lawyers had tried to prevent her from visiting after her father’s death. Any one of those eight women would have traded places with her at the bat of an eyelid. The worst was that the lawyers had made it clear that though she could evict the women from the structure her father had bought, under the trust she could not sign over the house to them. She had done the only thing she could think of—at least her mother’s jewellery was hers outright and she had sold the most expensive necklace and given an equal share to each of the women, much to the lawyers’ shock and dismay.
‘You would do better to marry him, you know,’ Catherine said in her quiet voice. ‘He is handsome and intelligent and I can see you are fond of him and he is very fond of you and he respects you, which is just as important. Otherwise he would not be so very patient and accommodating. Believe me, waiting for a...for a perfect solution usually means waiting for ever.’
‘I know. I probably shall. You should go to Nanny Brisbane before it begins raining again.
Catherine smiled. ‘Grandmama was right, you know. I do want to take a basket to Nanny, but it is true I received a note from my brother. He is coming to visit Nanny and I would like to see him, but I didn’t want to tell Grandmama.’
‘Well, since she is the one who mentioned Mrs Brisbane’s ill health to him at Hollywell House in the first place, she wouldn’t be surprised.’