“It is very big, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” He said it quietly, but she heard a criticism. Too big. Too much. Vulgar in its mass, especially for a newly minted baronet. Nouveau riche from its foundations to its cornices. He must have been Adam’s friend or her grandfather would have never made him guardian, but that did not spare the old financier from the judgment of this aristocrat who dated his lineage back to Norman times.
She did not resent that censure. In fact, she welcomed it. Adam Kenwood may have left her a fortune, but she hated him anyway. If he had bequeathed this house to her, she would have burned it to the ground. He had committed one great sin that she knew of, and she did not doubt that others shadowed his entire life.
She cantered down the hill and over the fields. Vergil pulled up alongside her when she stopped in front of the house.
“Help me to dismount, please.”
“Miss Kenwood, your cousin inherited this property, and he has not returned from France yet. You should wait until he has taken up residence before you visit. The house has been closed for months, and there are only a few servants tending the property now.”
“Actually, my cousin returned a week ago, but has gone up to London for a few days. Either help me down or I will jump and be ungraceful.”
He helped her off the horse. “You intend to go in, don’t you?”
“My cousin, Nigel, may have gotten the house and lands, but I was left my grandfather’s private effects. I want to see what they are. Once you explain who I am and what my rights are, the servants will allow me to do so.”
He accepted her plan more quickly than she expected, and talked their way in. He accompanied her to Adam Kenwood’s study.
Bianca stood in the chamber’s center and breathed in the scent of her grandfather’s presence. Wainscoting covered the lower walls, and a huge desk angled off one corner. Some shelves held folios and ledgers, but other records had been heaped into wooden crates that lined one wall and surrounded a small trunk.
She felt Vergil watching her from the threshold.
“Did you know him well?” she asked.
“After he built Woodleigh, he formed a friendship with my older brother, Milton. With Milton’s death, I came to know him fairly well.”
“You have the advantage on me there. I knew there was the grandfather in England, but my parents never spoke of him. As I grew older I realized that this old man had left my father to live in poverty while he himself amassed this.” She swept her arm to indicate the luxurious house.
Vergil strolled into the chamber and peered at the crates. “Your grandfather built a lot of wealth in shipping and other trade. During the early Napoleonic Wars, his ships were of great service to the government, and the king gave him his title of baronet. Like most such men, he planned for his son to be a gentleman and gave him the education for that. I gather that your father had other ideas and went to America.”
“I think that his decision to go to America did not create their estrangement, but rather his decision to marry my mother. She was not a suitable wife for the son of a man clawing his way up in your society.”
He pulled a folio out of a crate and flipped through it. “As I explained, such a profession carries a certain taint here.”
“I suspect that it does everywhere. My mother was less tainted than most, in part because of her relationship to Aunt Edith. She stopped once she married my father. He served as a tutor, and she kept a proper house despite our circumstances. That was not good enough for this old man.”
That folio went back, and after further inspection he lifted out another. “Well, he remembered you in the end.”
“Unfortunately, the end came a little late.”
“You sound bitter.”
She did sound bitter. She could hear the resentment in her voice. “A tiny fraction of this inheritance would have spared my mother much grief, and probably saved her life. She died from a fever contracted while we traveled.”
He looked up from the folio as if she had said something of singular interest. “I see. So now you will take revenge on Adam for her death by using his fortune to become a performer like the woman he repudiated.”
His accusation made a little fury spin in her head. “You trivialize my purpose. I set my sights on an operatic career long before I heard of the inheritance.” She surveyed the chamber again. “However, now that you point it out, there is a certain justice in using his money to become what he despised.”
“It sounds more like a great joke than it does justice. Before you enjoy it too much, I should explain that one part of your knowledge about your grandfather is wrong.”
“What is that?”
“From what he said to me, I am sure that he did not break with your father. Your father broke with him.”
“I do not believe that.”
“Believe what you choose, but that was Adam’s memory of it.”
It did ruin the joke, and the justice. It fractured the soul-chilling resentment that had formed in her heart while she watched her mother cough her life away in that rented lodging on the edge of the world.
“He only told you that so you would not think him cold and heartless.”
“My opinion was not of great concern to him.”
“Then he lied to himself, so he could die without guilt.”
“Perhaps.”
She looked at the records in the chamber. The truth was probably in them somewhere. She might find letters from her father. There could even be some from her mother, asking for help when she was widowed.
It should not really matter how it had been, but it did. If she was going to build a life on this man’s wealth, she wanted to know whether she should be grateful or laughing while she did so.
“Is there any way to know what in here is mine?”
“His solicitor separated his papers. These crates contain the personal ones, while the estate accounts are on the shelves.” He pointed to the small trunk. “I assume that the contents of his desk and anything of value are locked in there.”
“I want to read these personal records. I will ask my cousin if I can visit and do so.”
“It would be more convenient to move it all to Laclere Park. Then you could peruse the materials at your leisure. I will arrange for that.”
“I am sure that my cousin will not mind if I do it here.”
“I will mind.”
She looked him right in the eyes. “There is no point in moving it twice. I will wait until I can send it all to my private lodgings in London.”
He looked straight back. “You have no London lodgings, nor will you for a long time.”
She did not expect it to be very long at all, but he hadn’t realized that yet. “Fine, as a start, let us bring it to Laclere Park.”
As they left the house, she noticed that he still carried a folio. He saw her glance curiously at it.
“There are some letters from my brother in this one. I hope you do not mind if I borrow it so I can read them.”
“Not at all.” It touched her that he wanted to do that. It was more sentimental than she expected of him. “When did your brother pass away?”
He helped her to mount her horse. “Just under a year ago.”
“Perhaps there are other letters. When we get it all to Laclere Park, we can see.”
As they paced their horses toward the fields, a fair-haired young man galloped toward them, hailing with his arm. He looked like a figure out of a fashion plate, with his elaborately tied cravat and beaver high hat and fashionable coat.
The young man pulled up his horse and whipped off his hat. “Miss Kenwood! A happy coincidence to see you again. To think that if I stayed in London another day as I had planned, I would have missed you.”
Vergil didn’t turn a hair at the again. “You must be Nigel Kenwood, my ward’s cousin. I am Laclere.”
“A pleasure to finally meet you, Lord Laclere.”
“I would have called if I knew that you were in residence at Woodleigh.
I thought that you were still in France. My apologies.”
Nigel smiled at Bianca. They resembled each other a little. His eyes were the same blue and his hair the same gold. A nice-looking man, she had decided, except that his expressions hinted at a tendency toward moodiness.
“I have only been back a week. Just sorting through Woodleigh’s affairs has occupied me, but life is settling down now.”
“Then you must call at Laclere Park soon. I am sure that the ladies would be grateful. There are so few new faces in the country.”
“Thank you. I shall do so.”
Nigel smiled appreciatively at her again. Bianca smiled sweetly back. Vergil smiled thinly at the two of them.
She gave Nigel her rapt attention longer than necessary.
Thank goodness Vergil was an intelligent man. She had no intention of lying, just planting enough concern for him to decide not to risk sweet Charlotte to her influence.
They declined Nigel’s offer of refreshments and took their leave. Vergil pulled up beside her. “You have met the new baronet before. You did not mention that.”
“Didn’t I? Several mornings ago I rode down to take a closer look at Woodleigh and he was out. It seemed only polite to stop and speak since he is my relative.”
“Did he show you Woodleigh itself?”
Did you enter the house? Were you alone with him in his domicile? His expression remained so carefully impassive that she wanted to laugh. “Yes, he did. It was my grandfather’s property, so of course I am curious.” In fact she had only surveyed the gardens, but she felt rather smug at leaving another ambiguity for the viscount to chew on.
“It was your intention all along to visit Woodleigh and investigate Adam’s study this morning, I think. I am happy that I could accommodate you.”
She did not think he was happy at all. He appeared to be contemplating the implications of her visiting Woodleigh in breeches and shirt on a day when perhaps she knew Nigel was not in London after all.
On the whole, she decided that this had been a very successful morning ride.
They took a more direct route back. Feeling more secure on the sidesaddle now, she galloped through the park and did not slow when they entered the woods. Rosy sunlight dappled through the branches, creating marvelous blurred blotches while she sped along. The visual effect distracted her and she was unprepared when suddenly, inexplicably, her horse violently reared.
A different blur now, of trees and ground swirling while she struggled to control the animal. It acted berserk, and twisted on its hind legs. The sidesaddle could not hold her. She landed on her stomach with an impact that dazed her senses.
More shocking was the weight immediately pressing her back, and the forearms bracing the ground on either side of her head. Vergil was on top of her, covering her back and head with his body. She struggled against him with indignation and opened her mouth to protest.
A crack split the morning quiet. Vergil pressed firmly between her shoulders and pushed her back down into the dirt.
“Watch your fire,” he shouted angrily in the direction of the sound. His right hand grasped the ends of reins and both horses whinnied and pranced.
She suddenly did not care that they must look ridiculous, sprawled together like this. “Who would be shooting?”
“Poachers, most likely after fowl. Very bold of them to use guns instead of traps. They would only dare it in early morning. We are several miles from the house and they expect the family to still be abed.”
Another crack rang. This time she heard a little thump as the ball landed in a tree to their left. The horses reared and almost broke loose. Vergil cursed and shouted again.
He still pressed against her, his weight all along her back. His breath tickled her nape. The cloth of his sleeves flanked her cheeks, brushing them softly.
She did not feel in danger at all, but secure and protected in the warmest way. The intimate proximity kindled a glowing response in her. She inhaled his scent of soap and leather, and a strange little flutter scurried from her heart to her stomach.
“Now you see why you should not ride at this hour. It is dangerous,” he said.
“You were going to ride.”
“That is different.” The words were spoken near her ear, as if he had moved his head closer. He had her hugging the ground, her chin crushed in the leaves and soil. The warm breeze of his breath caressed her temple, making that flutter beat its wings furiously.
He rose up but he did not move away completely. He still hovered. Something she could not name poured out of him and into her. It frightened her. The flutter rose and filled her chest.
She rolled onto her back and looked up at him, right into his eyes. No one in her life had ever looked at her so . . . specifically. At least not from this close. That gaze seemed to penetrate right into her mind and explore at will.
She did not feel protected and secure anymore. Rather the opposite. The flutters multiplied and beat a frantic, humming rhythm, taking over her body and limbs. Wings of warning. And excitement.
His tight expression made him astonishingly handsome. He pushed away from the ground and knelt to offer his hand, to help her to a sitting position. “Did the fall hurt you?”
She moved her limbs gingerly. “It just knocked the breath out of me. I was not really thrown, but I will be a little sore in the morning.” She scrambled to rise. “As guardians go, you are superior, Uncle Vergil. Not many men would throw their bodies between a musket ball and a woman whom they barely know.”
“All honorable Englishmen would do so, Miss Kenwood.”
They walked the horses for a while to get them calm, then rode the last miles back to the house. His silent company unsettled her and that strange excitement still hummed. At the stables, he swung down and walked over to help her dismount. She paused when his arms reached up to guide her.
He noticed her hesitation. His blue eyes met hers in a most startling manner. She became breathless and incapable of looking away.
Strong fingers closed around her waist and lifted her down. It seemed to take a long time for him to release her, a stretched moment when he held her mere inches from himself. The subtle pressure of his hands and the closeness of his tall body shook her.
“Thank you. I enjoyed the ride very much.” She collected her composure and turned away.
“I am glad that you did, especially since it will be your last one.”
She whirled around to face him. “Are you saying I can never ride while I am here?”
“Of course you can, with company and later in the day. However, I will inform the grooms that you are not to be given a horse this early again, nor any time when you plan to go alone.” He acted as imperious and calm as ever, but a tense power surged across the ground at her. “Nor are you to arrange any more morning assignations with your cousin Nigel. You may see him when he calls here, or if Penelope decides to call on him.”
Assignations? His imagination had explored those ambiguities more thoroughly than she had intended.
She walked away without correcting him.
Let him think the worst.
Vergil pulled a chair next to the bed, sat in it, and raised his boot to give his brother’s hip a good nudge.
Dante groaned and threw an arm over his eyes. He peered out below it, saw Vergil, and groaned again in resignation. With an irritated sigh, he pushed himself up against the headboard. “Morning, Vergil.”
Vergil took in his brother’s naked chest and noted the two glasses and empty wine bottle on a nearby table. “Up most the night with Marian, I gather. I have told you to leave the servants alone, Dante. I will not have them molested.”
“A man does not molest Marian; he fights for his life. But then, you wouldn’t know, even though she fancies you. Not discreet enough.”
“Not discreet enough for you, either. Your intended is in the house.”
Dante rested his head against the board and smiled. “Ah, yes, the fair Bianca. Your description did he
r a disservice. She is really a sweet young thing, just a bit naive is all. It is charming to watch her grapple with our ways.”
A bit naive? “I just took a long ride with your sweet young thing.”
“From the condition of your coat, it looks more as if you took a crawl with her.”
“Some poachers were shooting and we ended up unhorsed.” Not exactly how it had happened, but there was no point in inviting detailed queries about it. “I am glad to hear that Miss Kenwood suits you. However, I should warn you that you have competition.”
“Nothing serious,” Dante said as he yawned.
“You haven’t even heard who it is yet.”
“Not you, I trust.”
Vergil shot him a scathing look that hid an uncomfortable spike of guilt.
“Just joking, Verg.” Dante laughed. “It is so clear that you two don’t rub well together, that she all but despises you, that I could not resist.”
Unless he had misread things entirely there on the ground, they rubbed together disturbingly well. “Not me, but a title.”
That checked his brother’s mirth. Dante may have supreme confidence in his ability to attract women, but as a younger son, that did not translate into the ability to marry anyone he chose.
“Which title?”
“Her cousin, Nigel Kenwood.”
“The second baronet of Woodleigh? All but newly patented, and very minor a title at that.”
“She does not care about the finer points of birth and rank, and they are related, which gives them a natural bond. I thought him safely in France, running through whatever old Adam left him, but I fear he ran through it faster than I calculated. He has returned and taken residence as our neighbor. I suspect he did so hoping to find her with us. She got most of what wasn’t left to charity, after all. To his mind he is practically entitled to her, I would guess.”
Dante didn’t exactly look concerned, but Vergil had his attention. “What do you know about this cousin?”
“He is the grandson of Adam’s brother. They had started in business together, but the brother got into some financial scrape and Adam bought out his share. Nigel’s father would not touch the trade, although Adam offered to take him in. Nigel fancies himself an artist and has lived in Paris since he attained his majority.”
The Saint Page 5