‘I’m only just getting used to it myself. Christopher will do nicely.’
‘And one day you will be a duke?’
‘I will on my grandfather’s demise—which I hope is many years away. And what of you? Do you have any other names?’
‘As a matter of fact Lucy is short for Luciana. As you know my mother was Spanish. I was baptised Luciana Gabriella. I prefer to be called Lucy. And since you have appointed yourself as my protector, may I ask where you are taking me?’
Christopher went to sit on the bed, facing her. He dearly wanted to protect her, but he knew that despite all his best intentions, there was a danger that he would do her harm. After a moment’s thought he said, ‘I will take you to stay at Rockwood Park in Surrey—my grandfather lives there. I have to go there shortly and you will accompany me—at least until your godmother returns. You will be perfectly safe there.’
‘Won’t your grandfather mind?’
‘Not when I explain the circumstances. I’ll leave a message at Lady Sutton’s house telling her where you are. I also thought we would call at the academy on the way down to take a look at that letter from your father—if indeed it was sent by your father. You would recognise his handwriting?’
‘Yes, of course I would. Do you think it might have forged by Mr Barrington or Sofia?’
‘It is highly probable. Although Miss Brody obviously didn’t think there was anything suspicious about the letter.’
‘If the letter had been written on a piece of my father’s personal stationary, she would have no way of knowing he hadn’t penned it himself.’ Lucy rested back on the pillow, her hair a dark halo about her face. ‘Do you have other members of your family in England?’
‘I’m the last in the line of Wildings—which is why my grandfather was keen for me not to turn my back on my heritage.’
‘What would happen if you did?’
‘The estate and title would pass on to some watered-down member of the family—a far-flung cousin that no one has heard of.’
‘Did your grandfather have reason to think you would turn your back on it?’
‘My father did—when he married my mother. She wasn’t suitable, you see.’
‘I’m sorry. Why wasn’t she suitable?’
‘The Wildings are a family of aristocratic lineage—until my father married my mother, Grace Tully, the daughter of a poor clergyman. It was a union my grandfather didn’t approve of.’
‘I see. Do you have other siblings?’
His eyes darkened and his mouth tightened when he thought of his sister. ‘I have a sister, Amelia.’
‘Is she here—in England?’
He nodded. ‘She is at Rockwood Park—with my grandfather.’
‘Tell me about her. What’s she like?’
‘Seven years younger than me and she is adorable.’ His voice was low and husky with emotion as he directed his gaze beyond Lucy. ‘Everyone loves her. She has dark hair and brown eyes. She is beautiful and quietly spoken with a big, generous heart and a large capacity for love.’ Reaching out and taking Lucy’s hand, he looked down, studying it as if it was something very precious. ‘Like you, Lucy, just over three years ago she became involved with Barrington.’
Lucy stared at him. Her mind was stunned by his revelation. ‘How? I—I mean, how could she?’
‘My mother died. I was in the West Indies but set sail as soon as I got the message. Amelia was without a woman’s guidance and my father was distracted by his work. She met Barrington in Charleston and became besotted. My father died of a fever a few months after my mother, which meant she was alone for a whole month before I could get there. Barrington took advantage of her lonely state and her grief and ruined her. As soon as I arrived on the scene and saw what he was doing, knowing of his reputation as a gambler and given to every kind of indulgence known to man, I ordered him off the premises, threatening to shoot him if he as much as came anywhere near Amelia again. He hotfooted it out of Charleston.’
There was a note in his voice Lucy had not heard before. Gazing at him through the thick fringe of her lashes, she met the piercing eyes. Inwardly she shivered, seeing something ruthless in that controlled, hard silver gaze. She kept perfectly still and tense. ‘What happened to her?’
‘Amelia tried to take her own life,’ he answered quietly, ‘in the lake close to our home.’
He fell silent, looking ahead, wrestling with his troubled thoughts.
‘Please don’t feel you have to explain anything to me.’
‘I want to. It’s just that it’s difficult to know where to begin. I managed to get to her in time. A gently bred young woman without a care in the world doesn’t suddenly decide to kill herself. She was with child—Barrington’s child. I was relieved my parents were no longer alive to see what had happened to her. I knew that one day when I got my hands on Barrington I would make him wish he had never been born.’
Looking at his proud, lean face, moved by the pain that edged his voice, feeling momentarily at a loss to know what to say, how to comfort this suffering man, Lucy said, ‘I’m so sorry, Christopher. What a dreadful thing to have happened to her. It must have been awful for you. What happened to her and the child.?
‘What she did that day caused her to lose the child. She has never forgiven herself. I often think that if I hadn’t sent Barrington away she would never have tried to take her life.’
‘You mustn’t torture yourself. Considering Mr Barrington’s reputation, you did what you thought was right. But what would you have done had you known Amelia was with child before ordering Mr Barrington to leave? Would you then have insisted that he do the right thing and marry her?’
‘I’ve asked myself that many times. It was all such a mess at the time. The answer is I suppose I would have done—if that’s what she wanted—despite the fact that he would have made her miserable and no doubt left her when he found out there was no money. Although had she come into a fortune he would have married her and rid himself of her once he’d got his hands on it. It was seeing Amelia’s fragile state that persuaded me to come to England to take up my inheritance. I was responsible for her. I knew she would recover here. Sadly, what happened to her could not be healed overnight. Three years on and she still can’t forget what happened.’
‘Did Amelia blame you?’
‘No. She isn’t like that. Until she met Barrington she had gone through life happy because she could not see the unpleasantness all around her. She always believed in the goodness of others. She saw no evil and therefore there was no evil.’
‘I can see you have carried the hurt and bitterness round your neck like a millstone since it happened.’
Christopher’s smile was one of cynicism. ‘Does it show all that much?’
‘Sometimes. But you cannot go back through the years and change what has come to pass.’
‘I know, but there are some things, Lucy, that cannot easily be put aside. Amelia is still traumatised by what happened to her. Later, I came to realise the deep love she felt for Barrington—a love that was not reciprocated. He saw her as a means to an end and nothing more.’
‘You must think of your life now—and Amelia. Don’t throw it away in trying to repay someone for what happened a long time ago.’
‘After what you have been through recently you, more than any other person I know, should understand how difficult that would be.’
‘Yes, I do. I’m not afraid of Mr Barrington, only of what he might do.’
‘It is sensible to remain wary. Hopefully after what occurred at the ball and the wound to his head following your assault with the candlestick, with any luck he will realise nothing can come of his plans to marry you and will move on to someone else.’
‘I hope not. I hate to think of someone else having to go through what I—and your sister—suffered at his hands. I can’t think why he woul
d want me, never having set eyes on me.’
‘Can’t you?’ Christopher said softly. ‘I can. You have spirit and you’re very lovely, Lucy—and clever—like a beautiful jewel he wanted to own.’
‘He won’t—not ever. I hate him and I hope never to set eyes on him again. Thank you for telling me about Amelia. I suspect it’s not something you are comfortable speaking about, that it is still too raw and painful. Among the many emotions you must be feeling I know how angry and hurt you must feel. I cannot blame you for that. I understand perfectly.’
Christopher’s eyes searched her face with something like wonder in his silver eyes. ‘What a wise young woman you are.’
‘If I were wise, I would have come to terms with everything that has happened to me since Mr Barrington entered my life, but I am finding it difficult. That is a millstone round my neck I have to bear.’ Lucy shook her head and sighed with sympathy for their mutual plight. ‘So apart from your grandfather, you don’t have any family either.’
He shook his head, meeting her candid gaze. ‘That’s right. At least we have that in common.’
‘What will happen to Sofia?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘I think she is in love with Mr Barrington—but I also believe she is afraid of him. I—would like to see her, talk to her.’
‘If you think anything can be achieved in doing so, then of course.’
* * *
Christopher was far less concerned with Lucy’s stepmother’s fate than with protecting the woman who had been brutally attacked. Lucy had endured enough. He would not have her become the subject of unpleasant rumours if it were discovered Barrington had attempted to rape her.
As much as he was against Lucy visiting her stepmother, he knew she would not be content until she had seen her.
* * *
Sofia admitted them to the house herself. It was clear she was expecting them. Lucy looked at her without affection or kindness. She could not forgive her for turning a deaf ear when Mr Barrington had entered her room to rape her.
‘I could not let this pass without seeing you, Sofia. You must see that what you have done is beyond all forms of decency.’
Sofia took a deep breath and nodded. ‘I understand how angry and abused you must feel, Lucy, and for what it’s worth I am sorry.’
‘You should be. No doubt you thought I was too young and simple to fight you, that without Aunt Caroline I would be at your mercy. You sent the letter to the academy, didn’t you, Sofia?’
She nodded. ‘Mark insisted on it.’
‘And—and my father?’
Clearly emotional suddenly, Sofia looked at Lucy then down at her lap. ‘I’m sorry, Lucy. Your father is dead. He—he died three months ago. I should have told you but—but Mark...’
Lucy stared at her, unable to comprehend what she had said. ‘Dead? But—but he can’t be. How...?’ She stopped a gasp with her hand, unable to take in what she said. ‘But—how? Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I—Mark—we were playing for time. I already knew Mark—had done for some time—but I was never unfaithful to your father.’
That was some consolation, at least, but the disgust Lucy was feeling and the heartbreak that would come later on from losing her beloved father showed clearly on her face. ‘But why was I not informed? His lawyers would surely have written.’
‘I told them that being so far away, with no one close, I didn’t want you to be upset, that it would be better if I came to London to tell you myself.’
‘But I had Aunt Caroline.’
‘Who, according to your father before he died, was on an extensive tour of the Continent.’
Lucy looked at her with loathing. ‘You had it all planned out, didn’t you, Sofia? With Aunt Caroline not expected to arrive back in London for at least six weeks, it was enough time for the wedding to take place and to return to America, secure in the knowledge that Mark Barrington was the new owner of Aspendale and my wealth—as is the custom. You began the affair with Mr Barrington soon after Father died,’ she accused angrily. ‘How could you do that?’
‘Your father became ill all of a sudden—his heart, the doctor said.’
Bright tears filled Lucy’s eyes. She swallowed and held herself very erect. ‘I wish I had known. You should have told me. I would have gone to him.’
Sofia shook her head. ‘It wouldn’t have done any good. His passing was quick. You couldn’t have got to Aspendale in time. You must write to his lawyer. He will explain your father’s last will and testament to you. He left me a small allowance. Everything else he left to you.’
‘Which you and Mr Barrington colluded to get for yourselves by forcing me into a marriage with him. He wanted to marry me to get his hands on the ranch.’
‘It was Mark’s idea. Everything he had lost at the gaming tables he could get back if he married you.’
‘And much more besides. You thought I would be truly at your mercy when you devised a clever plan to get your hands on my inheritance. How could you do that?’
Sofia raised her head and looked directly at her. ‘Because I loved him. I still do, so nothing is changed. There, it’s as simple as that.’
As the full implication of what Sofia was telling her began to sink in, Lucy saw the truth at last, along with the full horror if it. ‘And what would you have done had I married him? Would you have been content seeing me as his wife—or did you plan to have me removed permanently?’
Sofia blanched. ‘No, Lucy. You must never think that. I might be many things, but I am not a murderer.’
‘You might not be, but I wouldn’t put it past Mr Barrington.’
‘I’m sorry for what he did to you. After losing so much money to you, sir,’ Sofia said, glancing at Christopher, who stood rigid, his face expressionless, ‘he had to find a way to recoup his losses, which meant bringing forward his marriage you, Lucy—’
‘And getting his hands on my fortune,’ Lucy retorted. ‘Which was why he decided to compromise me.’ Sofia hung her head. In a strange way Lucy felt sorry for her. All her arrogance had been wiped away. There was only fear, and no one to turn to for help. ‘After the Skeffington ball he became desperate, didn’t he? So he thought to force the issue by seducing me, leaving me with little choice but to marry him or endure the shame of it. You thought he loved you, didn’t you, Sofia? When all the time he treated you no better than me. He saw you as a means to an end and nothing more.’ She would have liked to say more, but there was something more than ordinarily pathetic about the arrogant when they are brought low. Lucy was looking at a worried woman as well she might be. ‘So, what are your plans? Do you know where he is?’
‘No, and that is the truth. I intend to return to Louisiana for the time being. Should you need to contact me your father’s lawyer will inform you where I can be reached.’
Not until they were in the carriage taking them back to Hanover Square did Lucy give way to her grief and anguish in a sea of tears and emotion. Christopher gathered her in his arms and let her weep, silently and sorrowfully, as though her heart was breaking, hoping that by doing so it would help to ease her loss and would cleanse her soul of all the ugliness that had defiled it by her association with Mark Barrington.
CHAPTER SIX
Rockwood Park, three storeys high, was a house of peace and dignity. Set in a vast deer park, it was built of stone, which had mellowed into a beauty that was ethereal. Ancient trees stood about the house and the lawned gardens which produced an explosion of colour in the summer. Dotted here and there were stone sculptures and rockeries and a fountain spouting water into the air. The house overlooked a lake with a boat house at one end, almost hidden in the trees.
Christopher felt an odd sensation of unreality as the carriage passed through the wrought-iron gates. The drive wound through the neatly tended park, crossing an ornate stone bridge that
spanned the upper reaches of the lake and offered a splendid view of the grand and impressive sprawling mansion. When the carriage came to a halt they stepped out, then entered the house. The hall was large, the ceiling high and vaulted, and long-dead Wildings hung on the walls. Over the huge stone fireplace the family tree stretched out in all directions.
A small army of green and gold liveried footmen and housemaids seemed to be lurking about, ostensibly going about their work. As Christopher looked around him, with his mind on getting cleaned up before his meeting with his grandfather, he was oblivious to the searching scrutiny he was receiving.
Lambert, the butler, a lean, dignified man with a shock of white hair and a poker face, stepped forward. ‘Good afternoon, my lord,’ he intoned formally. ‘And might I say how good it is to have you home at Rockwood Park.’
‘Good afternoon, Lambert. It’s good to be back. This is Miss Walsh. I sent word ahead to have rooms made ready for her. She will be staying with us for a while.’
‘Of course. A maid has been appointed to her.’
Christopher turned to Lucy, aware of the effect the house was having on her. ‘You like the house, Lucy?’
‘It—it’s quite splendid.’
‘That’s exactly how I felt when I first arrived. I suppose those who live here are inclined to take it all for granted. Mrs Edwards will show you to your room. I will see you at dinner.’
‘If you would prefer to dine with your grandfather and sister alone, I can eat in my room. I have no wish to intrude.’
‘I wouldn’t hear of it. You are a guest in this house. You must feel that you can come and go as you please. Besides, I know my grandfather will be delighted to meet you—as will Amelia. She spends her days quietly with her maid as her companion. She spends time with Grandfather. They get on very well—which is a relief.’
* * *
Nothing had prepared Lucy for the exquisite splendour of Rockwood Park. Her godmother had told her about the grand country houses the English nobility lived in, but never had she envisaged anything as lovely as this. Rockwood Park was certainly not a house of modest proportions. At a glance as the housekeeper escorted her to her room up the ornately carved oak staircase, she became aware of the rich trappings of the interior, the sumptuous carpets and wainscoted walls. The opulence and elegance of the muted cream and green room into which she was shown took her breath away. The bed was huge over which was a dome upheld by four columns, the hangings of green velvet.
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