A Wealthy Widow

by Anne Herries

  And of course Arabella had found her and now she was living up at that huge house with no money worries, and he had nothing. His own fortune had been insignificant, compared with all that Arabella had inherited, and soon spent. His cousin had so much money! If she were not so damned selfish, she might have made a part of it over to him. And yet if he could get his hands on the whole…Ralph’s eyes gleamed with greed. Why not? She hadn’t made a will yet, which meant that everything would go to his mother—and she would be easy to persuade once Arabella was gone.

  The thing was—how could he get rid of her? She was an excellent horsewoman. He had watched her through his spyglass that morning, and he knew that she was in good health, confident and assured in all she did. If he wanted her dead, he would have to kill her. The idea made him shiver all over. He had thought of his attempts to kill his mother as just a little help in the right direction—after all, she couldn’t have much longer, could she? But his cousin was another matter.

  Ralph knew that he hadn’t the guts to do it himself. He would have to pay someone to do the thing for him—but where would he find someone willing to murder for money? He had some guineas in his pocket and a few items of value that were still left to him. He needed to find a cut-throat who would do it for a handful of gold—but where?

  A little smile touched his mouth as he realised there was only one person he could turn to for help. Sir Courtney wanted his money—well, he would tell him of his plans and ask him to point him in the right direction. Yes, yes, it was a good plan, he thought, eyes lighting with excitement. Sir Courtney would know that he was trying to get the money and he would be willing to wait a little longer if he believed that Ralph was going to inherit what must amount to almost three hundred thousand pounds—maybe more, for all he knew. It was a huge fortune and wasted on his cousin, who spent her time rescuing people in distress and repairing cottages on her estate for the benefit of her labourers. Ralph could find a better use for a fortune like that!

  He would go back to London at once and seek out the man who could help him get his hands on what was, after all, his by rights.

  Chapter Seven

  Arabella stood looking out of the back parlour window. Her aunt and Tilda had settled with some needlework and were chatting contentedly about something they had done together in London. Arabella wasn’t listening. In the garden Charles and Sarah were walking together. Sarah had consented to her brother’s request to be private with him for a while, though she was keeping a little distance between them and she had gone no further than the oak tree, which could be seen from the house. Clearly she was not yet ready to trust him completely.

  ‘Shall I ring for tea?’ Lady Tate asked as the clock chimed half past the hour of three. ‘Do you suppose Mr Hunter intends to stay?’

  ‘Please do ring,’ Arabella said. ‘I shall go out and ask.’

  She opened the French window and walked down the steps of the terrace. A few sweet-scented roses still scrambled over the old stone balustrade, spreading their perfume on the air.

  Sarah turned to look at Arabella as she approached, a slightly hesitant expression in her eyes.

  ‘Charles was saying that I should go into York with you and order some new gowns. I told him that you had bought me several while you were in London. He says that you must give him the account, Belle.’

  ‘I shall do no such thing.’ Arabella’s eyes sparked with pride. ‘They were my gift to you, Sarah. If your brother wishes to buy more for you, that is his own affair. However, I shall accept nothing, either for your clothes or board. You are my guest for as long as you wish to stay.’

  Charles gave her a frowning look. ‘Sarah is my responsibility. I have been telling her that she may have or do whatever she wishes. I am at her disposal.’

  ‘You have been most considerate,’ Sarah said, looking at Charles. She was still uncertain, a little anxious, as if she did not quite feel comfortable with her brother’s protestations of undying devotion. ‘Perhaps if Belle will allow me I shall go to York with her to buy some things—but my mother will be here by then, I imagine.’

  ‘I shall put off my visit for a few days and then we may all go together,’ Arabella said. ‘But your mama will want to rest after her journey, Sarah. She will be overcome when she sees you. You must get to know one another in private for a while.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I would not want to distress her. I fear I must have caused everyone so much trouble and grief.’ Sarah’s eyes misted with tears. ‘Excuse me, I think I shall go up to my room for a little. Please do not wait tea for me, Belle.’

  ‘I shall come again tomorrow,’ Charles said as she walked quickly away. He looked ruefully at Arabella. ‘Is it my fault? I did not intend to upset her. I wanted her to know that her family still loves her—and that we shall do whatever she asks of us. I would die rather than cause her one moment’s distress, believe me.’

  ‘I think she is overcome with it all,’ Arabella said. ‘For months she has suffered from the loss of her memory. Neither of us can properly understand how bewildering that must be. She did not know whether she had a family or not. To suddenly discover that she has caused so much grief to you and her mother must distress her. She is not sure how to behave towards you, sir.’

  ‘I do understand her reticence towards myself,’ Charles said and frowned. ‘I must seem impatient to you, Arabella. I want so much for Sarah to be as she was, to be happy again!’

  ‘You must not expect it, sir. At least, not for some time yet. Now that she knows she was abducted, she will wonder what happened to her before she escaped from her captors. She may fear that she is ruined—that you will censure her for it.’

  ‘Never! Even if she—’ He broke off, his face working as he struggled to control his emotions. ‘Sarah is my sister. I love her and I shall never blame her, whatever the truth. That is what I was trying to tell her. She is not to be hidden away in shame. She will be a part of our family as always, loved and spoiled, but if she does not wish to meet people she once knew, we shall take her away—perhaps abroad. I am sure that in time she will learn to trust us and be happy again.’

  ‘Yes, in time,’ Arabella agreed. ‘But you must be patient. She is not yet ready to leave us. She feels safe here with me, Charles. You must not force her to do things she finds too difficult. Perhaps she would rather live quietly than be forced to live as you suggest?’

  ‘You think that I would force her?’ His eyes met hers in a challenge. ‘Do you really believe I am so cruel?’

  ‘Not intentionally cruel,’ Arabella replied, a half-smile on her lips. ‘I think you are not naturally a patient man, Mr Hunter. I think you have a quick temper and sometimes you are harsh when you do not mean to be. I think that some people might find your manner intimidating.’

  For a moment his expression vacillated between indignation and disbelief, and then he laughed. ‘I dare say I deserved that,’ he said and now his eyes were warm with amusement. ‘I have not been at my best of late. I assure you that I used not to be this way. I was perhaps too easy going…too careless…’ Something flickered in his eyes that made her wonder. ‘My fear and grief at knowing my sister lost have taken a bitter toll on me.’

  ‘But she is restored to you,’ Arabella reminded him. ‘She is well and I believe she will come to trust and love you again.’

  ‘Do you? I fear that I have lost her for ever.’

  Arabella hesitated and then reached out to touch his cheek, her eyes warm with sympathy. ‘You must not chastise yourself like this, Charles. You were not to blame for Sarah’s abduction, and you have done all you could to find her.’

  ‘It was not enough! She would have died if it were not for Nana. She has told me of Nana’s kindness—and of yours. I cannot thank Nana, but…’ He suddenly seized her hand in a fit of passion, turning it to his lips to kiss the palm. ‘I can never thank you sufficiently, never tell you what it means to me.’

  Arabella trembled inwardly. The touch of his lips against h
er skin was enough to make her knees feel as if they would give way, and her heart was racing. ‘I only did what anyone would do for a young girl in distress.’

  ‘No, that is not so,’ Charles said, a fervent light in his eyes. ‘You are a great lady, Arabella. Everyone speaks of you with respect and I…’He let go of her hand, staring at her strangely. ‘No, I have no right, forgive me. Excuse me, please. I shall call to see Sarah tomorrow.’

  ‘Charles…’ Arabella was not sure if she spoke his name aloud. It was a sigh on her breath, a hopeless cry. He was a man tormented by his grief and he had thoughts for only one person. He could not give his heart because it had been broken.

  Arabella spent a restless night, finding it difficult to sleep. She could no longer hide her love for Charles Hunter from herself. She suspected that he was attracted to her, that he felt something—but not enough. He was determined to spend his life caring for his sister, and his guilt over her disappearance was so strong that he would not allow himself to think of his own happiness.

  Would he never turn to her? Perhaps if he could let go of his guilt they might be happy together. Sarah was dear to them both. There was no real need for Charles to sacrifice himself as he seemed determined to do. If they were married, they could care for Sarah between them, but he had not considered such an outcome—perhaps because he did not want Arabella as his wife. He might feel something for her, but it might not be the kind of love she felt for him. Or maybe it was simply that he was overcome with grief and self-blame.

  Why? Why was he so tormented? Sarah was safe now. Had he done something that he believed made him responsible for her suffering? Grief and anger against those who had taken her were understandable, but why guilt?

  Arabella got up and went to gaze out of her window at the moon, which was casting its silvery glow over trees and bushes alike, giving the garden a mysterious, magical atmosphere. Why was Charles willing to cut himself off from personal happiness because of what had happened to Sarah? Had he done something for which he could not forgive himself?

  Charles stared out of the inn window. It was impossible to sleep when his body was tight with tension and his mind seethed with too many doubts and regrets. He knew that the feeling he had for Arabella was not just mindless lust, even though he had wanted her so badly as they stood together in the garden. He had found it difficult to keep from catching her in his arms and kissing her until they both succumbed to the desire that swirled between them. When she had touched his cheek it was as if a fire had been lit inside him. He had wanted to hold her, to tell her that he loved her, to know her intimately—but he had no right.

  He owed Sarah a lifetime of care and devotion, because it was his fault that she had been abducted. At last, after all these months, Charles faced the monster that had lurked in his subconscious mind. It was because he had thrashed Sir Montague Forsythe at the card table that Sarah had been snatched from her family. He had seen anger in the rogue’s face that night, anger and a thirst for revenge, and it had amused him. He had smiled as he took the gold he had won and stuffed it into his pockets, careless of any danger to himself—but he had not understood that something much worse than his own death could happen.

  He had not wanted to play cards that night, drawn into the game by Barton and Sir Courtney Welch, who had insisted that he join them. Charles had been a little drunk. He was at that time often a little drunk by that hour of the evening, and against his better judgement he had taken up the invitation.

  However, he was perhaps not as foxed as they had thought, for he had won. Not at first, for they had been cheating him, but he had understood what they were doing after going down badly on the second hand. He had waited his chance, losing small amounts to them until the last game—and then he had started to bet large sums, which they had had to match to keep with him. First Sir Courtney had dropped out and then Barton. Forsythe held on to the bitter end—losing two thousand guineas to Charles when he finally laid his winning hand.

  The disappointment and anger, the realisation that he had played them at their own game, had made Forsythe furiously angry. He had said little, but he did not need to—it was in his eyes. Charles had laughed, thinking that it would teach them a lesson, leaving the table to join some of his friends to tell them of his conquest. He had done to Forsythe and his friends what they so often did to others, but without cheating as they did. It was just three days later that Sarah had been abducted from the gardens of her home.

  Charles had not imagined that Forsythe and his cronies could have done it. He had confidently awaited the ransom note that would restore her to her family unharmed, but as the days and then weeks passed without word hope began to fade. Yet it was not until Elworthy’s young sister-in-law had fought off a similar attack that it began to dawn on them that the culprits might be Forsythe and his cronies. Daniel had seen it first and he had forced Forsythe to a desperate act, which had resulted in his death. In his anger, Charles had thought only of finding his sister and destroying his enemies. It was only now that he understood what had driven him so desperately.

  If he had not deliberately set out to antagonise Forsythe that night, Sarah might never have been taken. She might never have suffered all these months. How could he ever make up to her for what he had done? There was only one way and that was to dedicate this life to making sure that she was safe and happy.

  ‘Tilda, I want a word with you,’ Arabella said as she came downstairs the next morning. ‘I am sorry that I have not managed it before this, but there has been so much to do with one thing and another.’

  ‘Oh…’ Tilda looked like a startled rabbit caught by a stoat. ‘I was just going to see Cook about the menus for the week. I know you said that you would do it, Arabella, but you are always so busy.’

  ‘I can find time for that,’ Arabella said. ‘Come into my private sitting room, Tilda. I do not want to be overheard.’

  Tilda hesitated, but did as she was asked, standing defensively just inside the door as Arabella went over to her desk. She watched as Arabella began to write something, her heart thumping.

  ‘Are you angry with me?’ she asked at last. What was Arabella writing—was it her dismissal? She did not want to leave, for it would mean that she must seek a post elsewhere, and no one would be as kind to her as Arabella. ‘I know that I irritate you sometimes, but I do try to please you, Arabella.’

  ‘It might be better if you did not try to please me so much,’ Arabella said and frowned as she finished what she was doing and sanded her letter. ‘In particular, I would prefer it if you let Sarah do a few small tasks. She is new to the house and you could help her rather than hinder her, Tilda.’

  ‘I thought that you would take her side.’ The companion looked sulky. ‘I can do things so much faster because I know how you like them.’

  ‘But Sarah wants to help, and actually you do not always know how I like things, Tilda. I do not tell you, but I prefer to speak to Cook myself—and sometimes I should like to pick my own flowers.’

  ‘Oh, but…’ Tilda blinked as tears pricked her eyes. Defiantly, she tried to face it out with pride. ‘Perhaps you would like me to leave?’

  ‘I have not said so,’ Arabella replied. ‘I have been grateful for your company often enough, Tilda—but my aunt lives with us now and for the moment Sarah is my guest. I will not have you say spiteful things to her. She has not complained, but I have heard and seen you.’

  ‘If you were in my position, you might feel uneasy too,’ Tilda said with a little burst of spirit. ‘I know that you prefer her company to mine—and you like to be private with Lady Tate.’

  ‘Yes, I do sometimes,’ Arabella admitted. ‘But you are welcome to join us most of the time. If you let yourself be one of us, it would be better, Tilda. You are not an outsider, but you do not have to prove to Sarah that she is—she knows it only too well. If I make more fuss of her, it is because she needs it. After what she has been through, we should all be kind to her.’

  ‘I
did not mean to offend you.’ Tilda looked upset. ‘When do you wish me to go?’

  ‘There is no need for you to leave, unless you are unhappy here?’ She looked at Tilda inquiringly, her brows raised. Tilda flushed and shook her head. ‘My house is big enough for all of us and there are still enough rooms to spare for guests. However, I do understand your position better than you may think, Tilda. What I have written here is a draft on my bank for ten thousand pounds. It is for you, to give you your independence. I had considered leaving it to you in my will, which I shall make when I go into York—but I thought you should have it now. It does not mean I wish you to leave, but if you feel out of place here it will help you to make a life of your own.’ She stood up and held out the piece of paper to Tilda. ‘Come, take it, my dear, and let us have no more of this sulking.’

  Tilda stared at her, eyes filling with tears that began to trickle down her cheeks. She took the bank draft, staring at it in disbelief—she had never owned more than fifty guineas in her life, though she had received many generous gifts from Arabella previously, but nothing like this. Invested wisely, she could quite easily live on the income from this money, if she chose not to work.