The Third heiress

by Brenda Joyce

  Like now.

  He rubbed the sleeve of his hacking coat across his eyes, regained his composure, and started after his son. He had not been to Stainesmore in over a year, but affairs of the estate demanded his attention, and the earl had insisted he go. He had expected this, hadn't he? The sorrow, the angst, the memories of Kate. What he had not expected was for Anne to insist that she would accompany him to the north, or for the

  grief to be stronger than ever, the memories more msistent, more haunting, than in the past.

  She was at the house right now, wait^g for him to join her for tea, pretending not to be livid that he was with his son. His son—Kate's son.

  Peter had wandered past the house and was ambling toward the tower. "Peter! No!" Edward called after him, lengthening his strides.

  But Peter, who was a very happy boy, only laughed and ran faster, his arms flailing like windmills at his side. His cap fell off. Edward wished he could smile at his child's antics. He no longer knew how to do so. He had not smiled in what felt like an endless lifetime. He watched his son swaying precariously from side to side. It was only a matter of moments, really, before he fell. And just as Edward finished the thought, Peter went face down in the grass and dirt.

  Edward reached him instantly, lifting him into his embrace. But Peter was grinning from ear to ear, in delight. "Run, run," he shouted, squirming enthusiastically. "Peter want run!"

  He was exactly like Kate. Kate, whose will knew no force greater than her own, who had cherished and loved every moment life had offered her. Kate, who had disappeared without a trace, who had, perhaps, left him for another man.

  Edward patted Peter's head awkwardly, hardly seeing him. Damn it, but who could live this way, not knowing what had really happened?

  He had no choice but to release his overenergetic child, and he did so, dutifully watching him again as he staggered enthusiastically off. To this day his cloying, annoying wife, whom he had no interest in, insisted that Kate had run off with a lover. In the beginning, shocked, angry, betrayed, it had been easier to believe Anne than not. The anger had enabled him to go through with his wedding. And now, how he regretted that.

  Had Kate run off with another man? His heart shrieked a No! at him. But he did not know what to think, dear God.

  And he never would. Somehow, he must be resigned to that. For try as he might to will the truth to come to him in a

  flash of insight, he could not comprehend what had really happened to Kate, or why she had left him.

  His mind had spun a thousand circles in the year since she had disappeared. Round and round and round, like a mouse on a treadmill, with no way to get off. Had Kate run away with a new lover? Or had some terrible tragedy befallen her? Or had she, being the Kate he had so thoroughly known and loved, run away in an ultimate act of self-sacrifice, refusing to stand in the way of the title and the fortune that he had been prepared to give up for her, for them?

  He had finally ruled out the notion that Kate had been the victim of tragic circumstance. Because she had left Peter with his mother before disappearing, so that disappearance had to have been an act of her free will, a premeditated act of her free will.

  "Oh, Kate," he whispered, a moan. How could she have done this to him? And the worst part of it was, he would never know if she had left him for someone else or if she had left him because she loved him so selflessly.

  Edward suddenly realized that Peter was about to stumble into the tower. The tower, which had always terrified and repelled Kate. Seized with an unreasonable fear, almost a panic, Edward shot to his feet and ran after his son. "Peter! No! Do not go inside!" he shouted.

  But Peter disappeared into the ruins.

  His fear spiraled to terror. He had lost Kate, he could not lose Peter, too. Edward rushed inside the tower, only to find Peter sitting in the dirt, making mud pies. He relaxed, closed his eyes, and realized that he was shaking like a leaf.

  His reaction had been absurd. He could not understand it.

  Peter suddenly pushed up to his feet and toddled over to the wall, talking in gibberish, falling against it. For one more moment, Edward watched Peter, who was beaming, who looked just like Kate. He suddenly shivered and glanced warily around the tower, feeling as if he were not alone. As if he were being watched.

  But no one was about.

  Chilled and uneasy, finally understanding why Kate had always hated this place, Edward strode to Peter, lifted him

  up, and quickly left the tower. Outside, he began to breathe easier as he put Peter down. If anything had happened to his son, he knew he could not have borne it.

  And suddenly a searing realization struck him. He had been so caught up in his grief and misery, in his confusion, that he had not only been neglecting the affairs of the estate, he had been failing his son.

  Edward was stunned.

  "Papa, down," Peter demanded. "Down!"

  Edward slid him to the ground, staring at him as if seeing him for the first time. Peter toddled off to inspect a fallen tree branch. He quickly became interested in a nest of ants.

  Edward stared, his life passing before his eyes, every wonderful, painful moment of it. He felt a hundred years old, but he wasn't even thirty—^he was still a young man. A young man with a young son and a bride and a vast earldom to run. He had responsibilities, and this past year he had thoroughly shirked his duty to his family and the earldom.

  "Papa, Papa, look, look," Peter chanted happily, pointing at the ants.

  "Yes, I see," Edward said quietly. He might not be able to demonstrate his affection as he had once been able to, but there were other ways to care for one's family. "Peter, it's time to go home. I have much to do."

  Duty. It was a terribly comforting thought, and Edward clung to it for the rest of his life.

  Gov Av^^^'i^oul

  "Oh, my God," Jill whispered, her hand on the stone. Alex knelt beside her, shining his penlight on the coarse wall. "Anne killed me God save her soul." Goose bumps covered her entire body. Jill met Alex's gaze.

  **Christ," he said quietly.

  Jill's heart was pounding as she stood. "She was here. She died here. She wrote this message before she died. God." And Jill could see Kate, dirty and bloody, frightened and terrified, there in the tower, begging for her life. Tears filled her eyes.

  Alex slipped his arm around her and Jill leaned into him without thinking. "I wonder if this would have held up in a court back then. I don't think so."

  They stared at one another. "Anne was insane," Jill finally said.

  "That's putting it kindly, don't you think?" Alex returned.

  "And she's not buried here. And she wasn't buried in the grave. Anne must have erected that stone, don't you think?"

  "Unless she had an accomplice."

  Jill's eyes widened.

  "You think she had an accomplice?" Jill cried.

  "Honey, I don't want you to get started. But how did Anne get Kate up here? Maybe it was the hired coachman, but she had to have had help. Let's go."

  Jill bit her lip. "She deserves a proper burial."

  "We'll never find the body, Jill."

  She hated accepting that. Jill walked past him, outside. The mist had evaporated. The sun was, miraculously, trying to shine through the overhead clouds. A gull wheeled above her head.

  Alex was probably right, she thought grimly, staring blindly toward the house. Kate had been murdered by her best friend, she had died in the tower, but God only knew where she was right now. It was sad. Kate deserved a real burial, a real grave.

  Jill paused, absorbed in her sorrow, her hands in the pockets of her anorak. A breeze was sweeping past her, causing tendrils of hair to tickle her nape. Suddenly Jill felt a tension settling over her. Suddenly she feh as if she were being watched.

  Jill stiffened. The sensation of eyes trained upon her increased. She glanced first at the manor, then at the driveway and road. Silver bark and pale leaves were shifting and

  shimmering in the glade ahead
of her, by the cemetery. No one was present.

  Her imagination was running wild again, Jill thought. But the hairs were now raised on her entire body, and she had forgotten to breathe. Abruptly she whirled, to see if someone was watching her from behind. It was only Alex, pausing beside her.

  "You look like you just saw a ghost," he joked.

  She faced him. "I just had the strongest feeling of being watched."

  Their gazes held. "Kate?"

  "Maybe." Jill realized how much she wished that she had seen her—and this time, clearly, so there would not be* any doubt whether it was her imagination or not. "I think I saw her once, in town, at my flat."

  Alex nodded "I think it's time to let her go, Jill."

  "Yeah," Jill said roughly.

  "Are you about ready to go back to town?" he asked.

  Jill looked around—^at the tower, at the manor, and then at him. Alex was right. They weren't ever going to find Kate, but they had found the truth. And that was going to have to be enough—^it was time to let go.

  She met his gaze. "Should I take a train? So you can drive William back?"

  "Would you mind?" he asked. "I really need to take care of him right now."

  Suddenly Jill felt like an outsider all over again—even with Alex. But she was an outsider, wasn't she? She forced a smile. "No problem. I need to think, anyway, and the ride will give me a chance to do that" Abruptly she started toward the Land Rov^, leaving him behind.

  But she only took one st^. Alex caught her by the arm, halting her in her tracks. "What do you need to think about, Jill?" he asked very quietly, his gaze boring into hers.

  Jill stared. Did she dare be honest? How could she not? So much was at stake! She wet her lips, choosing her words with care—not being quite as brave and open as she could be. "I guess I need to think about going back home and getting

  back to work," she said slowly. When what she really needed to think about was her future, and him.

  His face tightened. "What about us?"

  Jill didn't breathe. "I didn't know there was an us," she finally said.

  He rolled his eyes. But it wasn't comical. "If there isn't an 'us' then I don't know what the hell there is."

  Her heart began to race. He had said "us." Which meant that a relationship was on his mind, too. But Jill was so afraid. "Maybe we both need to think, and carefully, Alex."

  "Why are you being so cautious? Usually you don't mince words."

  Jill hesitated. "All right. I care about you. I admit it. Maybe a lot. But God, look at what's happened—and it will always be between us."

  "Why?" He stared.

  Jill just stared back and then she had to smile briefly. "You can be succinct, Alex. Don't you think a foundation of lies just stacks the odds against us?"

  "I think it can bring us closer together, if you want it to."

  Jill froze. A long moment stretched between them. "I'm afraid," she finally said. "I don't want to be hurt again."

  "Maybe I'm afraid, too. Maybe I've never felt this way before and I'm not sure of what to do or when to do it or even how."

  She gazed into his soft blue eyes and realized he was as scared as she was. "There are no crystal balls," she whispered.

  "Maybe we can find one."

  Jill smiled.

  He smiled, too. "You know, being as you are such a romantic, you can always look at this as Kate h&ving brought us together.'*

  Jill froze.

  "In a way, it feels like she did bring us together," Alex said. And he flushed.

  Jill couldn't needle him about his romanticism now. But her search for her great-grandmother had brought her to Alex. "Maybe we can finally end a terrible, destructive

  cycle of the CoUinsworth men falling for women they can't have."

  His gaze slammed to her. "I don't want you to go back to New York, Jill."

  Jill inhaled. "I don't want to go back."

  Their gazes remained locked.

  He moved first, smiling a little, then a bit more, and then he touched her cheek briefly. "I believe you've got another two months at Barrows's flat before he comes back."

  "I do." She knew where he was leading. In two months, she had plenty of time to find another apartment. "But I'm dead broke, remember?"

  And Alex started to laugh.

  "What's so funny?"

  Tears of mirth slid from his eyes. "The trust," he said. "I hate to tell you, Jill, but you are now an heiress."

  Jill stared. And slowly, she did smile. "My God, and to think I never thought I'd see the day where I could pay my rent in advance." It began to dawn on her what the financial freedom could mean. "Oh, God, I could even buy a flat."

  He laughed again, the sound warm, sliding his arm around her. "Damn right you can. But I think you should wait." His eyes were intent. "To see what happens. With us."

  Us. She was liking the way he said it, the sound of it on his lips. "Okay. I won't be rash."

  He Ufted both brows in skepticism, then said, "Why don't we start over with an old-fashioned dinner date? Say, tonight?"

  She warmed, all over. "That sounds really good, Alex," she said, meaning it.

  He smiled at her, and gestured toward the car.

  Jill and Alex walked around the side of the house, arm in arm, not speaking, not needing to, and not noticing as they passed the barely visible door of the root cellar in the ground by their feet.

  And behind them, maybe, just maybe, amid the scrubby trees, back-lit by the sun and the sea, Kate stood, watching, and "as the cumulus clouds shifted, opening, the sun grew

  i

  stronger, brighter, bathing the rough cliffs in its light. Kate turned, fading, becoming weaker and weaker still as she walked slowly away, past the cliffs, past the sea, until nothing was left but an old ruined tower that had once been haunted.

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  House of Dreams —

  THE EXCITING NEW NOVEL FROM BRENDA JOYCE, AVAILABLE IN HARDCOVER FROM ST. MARTIN'S

  PRESS!

  1

  One

  Belford House, East Sussex — the Present

  J UST WHERE THE HELL WAS HER SISTER?

  Cass had spent most of her life in her sister's shadow— Tracey was one of the most beautiful and glamorous women Cass knew, and unfortunately, she had a tendency to run late. Cass was a wreck. Surely today, of all days, Tracey could be on time. Just this once.

  In another two hours the house would be filled with Tracey's guests. With Forbes 400 types, their fashion-plate wives, the odd Silicon Valley millionaire, celebrities, dignitaries, the press, two Japanese bankers, a couple of rock stars, an Israeli shipping tycoon, an ambassador, and a sprinkling of dukes, duchesses, and earls. The very thought caused Cass's heart to lurch unpleasantly.

  But mostly, Tracey should be on time because she hadn't seen her own daughter in three months even if they did speak on the phone twice a week.

  Cass stood nervously by the window, staring past the crisply white shell drive and across the green rolling hills of the East Sussex countryside. She was perspiring. Dairy cows dotted the fields spanning the distance between the house and the small village of Belford, which she could just make out as a jumble of pale stone rooftops. The day was gray, the threat of rain imminent, reducing visibihty. Even so, she

  could see the nearest town—Romney, famous for its tourist attraction, an intact castle dating back five full centuries—as it sat on one of the surrounding hills. Cass could also see a thin strip of highway meandering through the countryside. No car was in sight.

  "Where's Mother? Why isn't she here yet?" a small voice asked.

  Cass's stomach was in knots as she turned to face her seven-year-old niece. "Your mom will be here at any moment, I'm sure of it," she lied. And she thought. Please, Trace. For Alyssa, for me, just get here!

  Alyssa sat on her pristine pink-and-white bed, against numerous fluffy pillows, all beautifully embroidered and mostly pink, white, and red like the bedr
oom, wearing her newest clothes—a short, pale blue dress from Harrods, navy blue stockings, and chunky black suede shoes. Her raven black hair was pulled back with a tortoiseshell barrette, and her face was scrubbed and glowing. She was so pretty, but nothing like her mother—not in any way. "She was supposed to arrive an hour ago," Alyssa said glumly. "What if she doesn't come?"

  Cass started and rushed to her niece, who had just verbalized Cass's own worst fears. "She is coming, sweetie. You can bet on that. This is Tracey's black-tie supper, even if Aunt Catherine is hosting the event. You know that. She has to show up."

  Alyssa nodded, but did not seem convinced.

  Cass knew that her younger sister was wild and irresponsible, but she wasn't that wild, or that irresponsible. The evening affair was on account of Tracey's new job with Sotheby's in London. The moment Tracey had asked Catherine if she could hold an event in order to display a very rare necklace to three dozen potential buyers—the creme de la creme of international society—Catherine had agreed; Their aunt rarely refused either one of the nieces. Cass's temples began to throb dully. Tracey would show up—wouldn't she?

  Cass could not imagine helping Aunt Catherine to host this event. She was not a jet-setter like her sister. She did not frequent five-star hotels, fly first class, juggle playboys and

  polo players, or even own more than a single evening gown. She did not go to the weddings of supermodels. Cass's last boyfriend had been a journalist, not a rock star.

  "Some people just can't help being late," Cass finally said, forcing a lightness into her tone that she did not feel. "It's a terrible habit," she added. And that much was true. Cass knew that Tracey did not mean to keep people waiting. It just happened. It was less about self-absorption than it was about disorganization and time management. No one lived life the way her sister did.

  Still, Cass had been filled with a growing sense of dread all that day. The evening—or her sister's visit—was going to be a disaster. Cass had never felt more certain of anything, even if she could not pinpoint why.