by Kruger, Mary
She wasn’t quite certain where Gillian had gone, but she went in the same direction, knowing where she would go if she were a frightened little girl. In the garden, against one of the old brick walls, was a trellis so overgrown with roses that it had created a bower of sorts. It was there that she found Gillian, huddled and shivering, and her heart went out to her. “Gillian?” she said softly, crouching down, and Gillian raised a tear-stained face to her.
“I don’t want to look at horses,” she said, and Thea thought that she sounded more mature than Evadne sometimes did.
“You don’t have to,” Thea said, sitting down with her back to the wall. “May I sit?”
Gillian stared. “You’ll get your gown all dirty.”
“It will wash.”
“Miss Powell thought you looked funny wearing breeches.” She sighed. “I wish I could dress like that all the time.”
“So do I.” Thea leaned back against the wall, her arms wrapped around her legs. “I’ve always thought this would be a good secret place. Do you have a secret place, Gillian?”
“Yes,” Gillian said, looking down and plucking at her skirt, “but I don’t want to tell you about it.”
“Of course not, because then it wouldn’t be secret. I remember, when I was about your age, I used to sit under an enormous azalea in our garden. I’d bring my dolls out and have wonderful tea parties with them. And sometimes my stuffed pony, and I would pretend I was riding, just like Mama.”
Gillian’s face went white. “No! No horses.”
Odd. This was more than mere dislike. “Gillian?” she said, and Gillian raised her head. “I’ve something to show you that’s lot better than horses. Will you come with me?”
Gillian looked at Thea’s outstretched hand with suspicion. “Will I have to go back in the stables?”
“Well, yes, but we can go in by the side door and you needn’t see any horses. I promise.”
Gillian gazed a moment longer at Thea’s hand and then scrambled to her feet. “All right,” she said, and placed her hand in Thea’s.
Thea was surprised to feel a lump in her throat at the trust implied in that gesture. “Very well. We’ll go this way,” she said, and led the way through the stable yard to another door, at the end of the stables. There was no one in sight, and so Gillian didn’t hesitate, until they were inside and the sound of a horse whinnying made her freeze, whimpering a little bit. Thea laid her hand briefly on her head. “It’s all right, Gillian. Nothing’s going to hurt you.”
Gillian looked up. “I don’t like horses.”
“I know. But I think you’ll like this. Look.”
“Kittens!” Gillian dropped to her knees in the straw lining the empty stall and reached out to touch a tiny ball of fur. “May I touch them?”
“No, they’re too little yet, their eyes haven’t even opened. See? Mother cat isn’t too happy we’re here.”
“She looks mad.” Gillian tentatively held out her hand to the cat, who sniffed, and then turned away, apparently deciding her brood wasn’t threatened. “I wish I could have a kitten, but Daddy says no. And Miss Powell has one.”
“A kitten?” Thea said in surprise.
“No, a big, ugly cat. He scratched me. See?” She held out her hand, and Thea made the proper commiserative noises about the tiny scratch.
“Do you like Miss Powell?” she asked, carefully.
Gillian shrugged. “She’ll do, I suppose.”
“I see.” Thea knelt back on her heels, her hands on her thighs. She did see, a great deal. Beneath Gillian’s apparent acceptance of her father’s fiancée lay a world of resentment, she thought. Dear Lord, she thought. What is Jeremy doing to this child?
“Thea?” a voice called from the other end of the corridor, and Thea rose, turning.
“Yes, Jeremy,” she said. “We’re here.”
“I can’t find Gillian—oh.” He stopped as Gillian scrambled to her feet, her face shining.
“Daddy, kittens! May I have one?”
“I’m afraid not, poppet.” He laid his hand briefly on her head. “They’re not old enough.”
“But when they are? Daddy, please?”
“No, Gillian. You know cats make me sneeze.”
“But Miss Powell has one.”
“Miss Powell is a guest.”
“Daddy—”
“No, Gillian. That’s enough.” Gillian subsided, her lower lip thrust out much like Evadne’s, and he turned to see Thea regarding him oddly. “We’d best be leaving. We have a long ride ahead.”
“I’d like to speak with you, Jeremy,” Thea said.
“Yes, well?”
“Not here. Gillian, I’m afraid we’d best leave mother cat alone.”
Gillian took Thea’s hand, swinging back and forth on it. “May I come back?”
“If your father agrees.” Thea looked down at her, the lump in her throat threatening to choke her. “Come, kitten. Let’s go back out and let the kittens sleep.”
“All right.” Gillian skipped beside her, now that the threat of horses was past, chattering about Moulton. Jeremy followed, absurdly hurt at her defection.
Evadne came up to them as they emerged into the sunshine, Francis behind her. Gillian’s step slowed, and she backed away from them, going to stand with her father. Again Thea’s anger rose, at the thought of that child with this foolish, selfish girl as her stepmother. “Mrs. Jameson?” Evadne said, her voice breathless. “I’d just like to say—”
“Go on,” Francis prodded gently, smiling at her, when she paused.
“I’d just like to say I’m sorry,” she said in a rush. “For the way I acted, I mean. It was wrong of me, I know.”
“No harm done,” Thea said, startled not so much by Evadne’s words as by the sincerity in her eyes. She glanced past Evadne to Francis, and then looked again, closer this time. Heavens! “I hope you’re able to find a team you like.”
“Oh, yes.” Evadne turned to Francis, her face anxious, and smiled when she saw him nod in approval. Thea glanced over at Jeremy, who was watching the others with his brows slightly raised.
“Well,” he said. “If we’re to make Moulton by dinner we’d best be going.”
“I’ll have your team brought ‘round,” Thea murmured, turning.
“I’ll come with you. I’m a bit concerned about the off-leader’s hindquarter.”
“You should have said something,” Thea said, keeping up the fiction of polite conversation as they walked together back into the stable. “Mr. Keenan is a genius with horses.”
“I did.” He paused by the stall where the horse had been placed. “What did you think of that?”
“Hm? What?”
“Your brother made Evadne apologize. Amazing.” He shook his head. “And what is more, she meant it!”
Thea took a deep breath. This time she was not going to rein herself in. “Jeremy, I swore I wouldn’t meddle, but—”
“You’re going to.”
“Someone has to! Can’t you see what a mistake you’re making?”
“It’s a mistake you could help me prevent, Thea.”
“Ooh!” Thea pulled back from his outstretched hand. “I never though you could be so selfish! You’ll escape to London when you can, but what of Gillian?”
“We’ll leave Gillian out of it, thank you. And speaking of Gillian, why did you encourage her dislike of horses?”
“Jeremy, the child is terrified! Can’t you see that?”
“She’ll have to grow out of it.”
“She won’t. It goes so much deeper than you think. But then, you’re never with her enough to realize things like that, are you?”
“What do you know about it?” he retorted, stung. “I’m a damn sight better parent than my own father was. He never realized any of us were alive.”
“But do you know anything else about her, Jeremy? Do you know why she fears horses, or that she doesn’t like Evadne—”
“We won’t discuss this,” he said,
biting off the words.
“Oh, yes, we will, because if you marry Evadne, you’ll have an unhappy little girl. And I seem to remember your telling me once about how your mother neglected you.”
“I don’t neglect Gillian! She has a governess, and there are servants—”
“But not you.”
“Damn it, I can’t be there all the time. I make sure she’s cared for.”
“Oh, certainly! By servants. She’ll grow up just like you, selfish and lonely and not knowing why. And who will take care of Evadne? Oh, I know why you’re marrying her. A child bride you can ignore, just like your own child.”
Jeremy went very still. “I will pretend you didn’t say that,” he said, his voice very quiet and very cold. Without another word he turned and strode away. Thea stared after him for a moment and then whirled, fleeing out the side door toward the house. If she had to face any more of them, Evadne or Mrs. Powell or Jeremy, she would scream.
She was in the parlor, pacing angrily back and forth, when the sound of hoofbeats announced that her guests were leaving. She wanted to cry, she wanted to scream. Instead, she picked up a crewel pillow and flung it across the room.
Francis chose that moment to come in. “I thought that went well—hey!” he exclaimed, as the pillow caught him on the chest. “What did I do?”
And Thea sank down upon the sofa and promptly burst into tears.
Three days he had been waiting for the wind to change, allowing the Dover packets to cross to France, and Roger was getting restless. Three days of imagining that his creditors would catch up with him and call him to account for all his debts, though he hoped they would have a hard time finding him. He was staying in a humble inn just outside of Dover, rather than the more well-known Ship Inn in the town itself. It went against everything he had been brought up to, to abandon his estate and flee to the Continent, but he had little choice. His debts were too high ever for him to pay. He would have to go, if only he could take ship on time.
He rode, this afternoon, aimlessly down some of the lanes near the inn, brooding on his damnable luck. He had hoped, this season, to mend his fortunes by marrying an heiress, but all the matchmaking mamas were too well aware of his reputation to allow of that happening. He had even thought, for a little time there at Rochester Castle, that he might have the heady experience of taking another girl away from Stanton, this time permanently, but that hadn’t occurred. Miss Powell had apparently preferred Stanton’s title to his own brooding, mysterious features. In her place, he would probably have done the same thing.
The scent of the sea, mixed with those of freshly-mown grass and wild roses, came to him as he reached the top of the hill. Below him and to his right he could just see the roof and chimneys of a great house. Perhaps the home belonged to someone he knew and he could visit, to pass the long hours, he thought, walking his mount toward the iron gates, standing open. But the name on the plaque set into the pillar, Moulton Hall, meant nothing to him. Not at first. Then a memory came to him, of Stanton telling the Duke of Rochester that he would be returning to Moulton with Miss Powell.
Stanton’s home! The horse danced beneath Roger as a surge of energy went through him. Of all the luck! Perhaps, he mused as he rode away, a devilish smile upon his face, matters weren’t so bleak as they seemed. For if Stanton were still there with his fiancée, then perhaps he would have another chance. Roger let out a laugh. Damn, but he would have his heiress, after all!
Chapter Thirteen
“And so, my lord, when you spoke of selling the Wales estate, I took the liberty of having an engineer look over it,” Mr. Tuttle, Jeremy’s solicitor and man of affairs, finished. He leaned back, placing his hands on his plump knees with an air of smug self-satisfaction. “As well I did. You won’t be wishing to sell now, my lord?”
Jeremy lifted dazed eyes from the figures on the paper before him. “How much did you say it would bring in a year?” he asked, unable yet to believe what he had just heard.
“About fifty thousand pounds worth of coal, my lord, at market value. It’s a rich vein, the engineer said. And with more and more factories demanding coal every day, why, it might even bring more than that. You’ll be a wealthy man, my lord.”
“Yes.” Jeremy leaned back, his fingers drumming on the desktop. A wealthy man. A man who no longer needed to marry money. “Thank you, Mr. Tuttle,” he said, rising and extending his hand. “I assume that is all?”
“Yes, my lord, but you’ll be wanting to hire a surveyor, I’m sure, and another engineer—”
“Without a doubt. See to it, Tuttle, and notify me when you do.” Jeremy opened his study door. “Good day, sir.”
The solicitor bowed and left, clapping his hat on his head. Jeremy returned immediately to his desk, sinking down into the comfortable leather chair, staring ahead without seeing anything. A coal mine. Jeremy shuddered at the image that conjured up, of being trapped, confined. Smothered. Ironic, the tricks life played on one. Here he had once considered selling the estate in Wales, one of his few pieces of property that wasn’t entailed and thus was his to dispose of as he wished. To save the estate, he had instead engaged himself to Evadne, something that was no longer necessary, something he no longer desired in the least. Now that he’d found what he really wanted, it was too late. He was trapped, indeed. “Good God, Stanton,” he muttered. “You are a fool.”
Loud noises in the hall made him look up, distracted from his thoughts. He flinched at the sound of an anguished howl. That damned cat. No matter what he said, Evadne refused to send the animal away. He could hear her, too, sounding shrill and angry, and someone protesting. Gillian, he realized with surprise, and rose just as the door to his study burst open.
“Stanton!” Evadne cried, hurling herself inside so fast that he barely avoided colliding with her. Her curls were disordered, her cheeks were red, and in her arms she held her cat, which was struggling and yowling. And that was the strangest sight of all, because the cat was dressed in what he could swear was the Stanton christening gown, with a baby’s bonnet tied upon its head. Unholy glee rose within him, mixed with brief, reluctant sympathy for the creature. “You must do something! Look what that dreadful girl has done to my precious!”
“Daddy, I was only playing!” Gillian protested.
Jeremy looked at her, his lips twitching. “Did you, ah, attire the cat in those clothes?” he asked, mildly enough.
“I was just playing, Daddy. I was pretending Fluffy was a baby. He liked it,” she added.
“He does not!” Evadne exclaimed. “Look at him, Stanton! He hates it, poor little kitty.”
Jeremy’s lips twitched again. Fluffy struggled in Evadne’s death-grip, the bonnet tilted at a rakish angle that displayed his notched ears and made him look more disreputable than ever. “I admit that it doesn’t suit him,” he said. “But has the creature actually suffered any harm, Evadne?”
“Fluffy is not a creature, sir!”
“Um, no, of course not. Is, um, Fluffy hurt?”
“Well, no,” Evadne conceded, reluctantly. “But think of the damage to his pride, sir!”
“Er, precisely.” This time both sides of Jeremy’s mouth twitched. “If he is unharmed—”
“It’s no thanks to that daughter of yours that he isn’t! Something must be done about her, sir, and—”
“And I will be the one to do it, Evadne,” he said, his voice gentle, but so underlaid with steel that even Evadne couldn’t miss it. He glanced over at Gillian, standing half-behind a chair near the door, her eyes huge and one foot crossed over the other, and repressed the urge to wink at her. “I will speak to Gillian.”
Evadne glanced up at him and then looked hastily away, at the look in his eyes. “Yes, of course,” she muttered. “But, Stanton, I can’t have this happening to Fluffy—”
“It won’t happen again,” Jeremy said soothingly, leading her toward the door. “Will it, Gillian?”
“No, Daddy,” Gillian whispered.
T
his time Jeremy did wink at her. “Fluffy will be fine.”
Evadne looked at him uncertainly. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Don’t you think you’d best get him out of those clothes before he strangles?”
“What? Oh, yes, of course!” Evadne looked down at the struggling cat, who now had the bonnet strings between his teeth. “Come on, my pretty little kitty,” she crooned. “Mommy will take care of you.”
“Good God,” Jeremy muttered, closing the door behind her. Already he could feel the onset of a sneeze. He devoutly hoped that his study would not now prove to be uninhabitable.
Gillian edged out from behind the chair. “Daddy, I’m late for lessons. May I go?”
“No, you may not. Come here.” He sat in a chair facing his desk. “Now. What was that all about?”
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she whispered, standing before him on the carpet, her eyes down. “I was only playing. Honest.”
Jeremy allowed the smile he had been holding back to spread across his face. “I know that, poppet. Come up here.” He lifted her onto his lap and she threw her arms about his neck, holding on for dear life. “Hey.” He loosened her clinging hands. “What is this, poppet?”
“Miss Powell said you’d beat me.”
Jeremy winced at the look in her eyes, the same way he knew he had once looked at his father. “Gillian. Have I ever beat you?” he demanded.
“No, Daddy.”
“All right, then. You know better than to think such a thing.” But the truth was, he thought, as he curled his arm around her trusting little body, that she really didn’t know him all that well, nor he her. “I suggest in the future, however, that you leave Miss Powell’s cat alone.”
“Yes, Daddy. He’s really quite ugly,” she said, and giggled. “He looked so funny with that bonnet on!”
Jeremy grinned. “Yes, poppet, he did.”
“I thought he’d look like a baby, but he didn’t.”
Jeremy’s smile faded. “Gillian, would you like a baby brother?”
“No.” She swung her legs back and forth, kicking the chair. “Girls are better than boys.”