Lord Avery's Legacy

by Allison Lane

  So saying, he threw himself out of the room with even more energy than when he had entered.

  Damnation! What a day. Richard’s head swirled, threatening his balance. Lady Avery was showing signs of reviving. Turning craven, he summoned a maid and escaped.

  He tried to hold thought at bay while he washed and changed, concentrating instead on his old-fashioned room. Deep red velvet hangings and dark furniture gave it a glowering look that fit his current mood. Fate had bounced him from crisis to crisis, hardly allowing him time to react, let alone consider his options. And his reactions left him feeling exceedingly uncomfortable. He had not shown to advantage this day.

  A giggling girl raced past in the hallway – his other ward, the sixteen-year-old Millicent. Another prick of uneasiness tickled his chest.

  Chapter Four

  Richard’s curricle swept through Tallgrove’s gates and turned toward Winter House. Waiting until morning to visit the scheming Miss Wingrave had given him time to repair his appearance, but it had done nothing to improve his mood – or his discomfort at the coming confrontation. He deflected his tension by recalling the previous evening.

  Dinner had been another harrowing experience. The footmen clattered utensils and dripped sauces on both table and floor. The food was cold, tasteless, and mushy. He recognized barely half of the offerings, but his companions seemed neither surprised nor distressed. He could only conclude that the meal was normal, raising questions about his aunt’s supervision of the household. Despite poor lighting, he could see dust on the sideboard, tarnished silver, and a spider crawling lazily on the chandelier. Neither Terrence nor Millicent could be ready for society after being raised in such an environment. And their manners were execrable.

  Terrence pouted through the entire two-hour meal, responding only when directly addressed, and then in a sullen monotone. His scowl changed to blazing hatred whenever their eyes met. With every passing minute the lad’s immaturity was more apparent.

  Millicent was worse. She chattered enthusiastically, pressing him for details of the London Season, society leaders, the latest fashions, and every ball he had ever attended. Her questions masked Terrence’s silence, but he did not enjoy the scheming flirtations of London and had no wish to describe them. Yet his evasions merely brought out her petulance.

  “Why can’t I wear gowns like those in La Belle Assemblée?” she demanded. “I am so tired of black! It makes me look ancient – at least five-and-twenty.”

  “Color has nothing to do with it,” he explained with a sigh. “Nor does mourning. You must wait until you are older because the styles depicted in fashion magazines are unsuited to the schoolroom.”

  “But I am no longer in the schoolroom,” she protested. “I am more than ready for parties and balls and pretty clothes.”

  “Don’t flaunt your disrespect,” Lady Avery admonished her. “How dare you speak of such things when your father is hardly cold?”

  “Be reasonable, Mother,” she begged. “He has been dead for three months, and I rarely saw him before that. You know as well as I that he ignored us. Pretend all you want for yourself, but custom allows me to abandon deep mourning next week, and I fully intend to do so. The next assembly will be the perfect place to resume life. Everyone will be there. How I wish I could wear a stylish gown – something blue to match my eyes, or perhaps pink.”

  “Unnatural child!” gasped her mother.

  “Hardly. I know custom restricts me to dreary gray or lavender for another three months, but nothing can stop me from thinking about pretty clothes. Or about silly rules. Why is wearing hideous dresses thought to show respect for the dead? Unless knowing one looks like a hag makes the pretense of grief easier to carry off. But I will contrive. Even lavender can be persuaded to appear fashionable. I am determined to be the belle of the ball. Gentlemen will vie for my favors.”

  “Hah!” snorted Terrence.

  “You are just envious,” she retorted. “When word of your infatuation sweeps the neighborhood, you will be a laughingstock. I must build enough credit to overcome your reputation. How else am I to have London at my feet.”

  “Fustian! You are no diamond, Millie,” said Terrence dampingly.

  “What do you know? Every gentleman I meet tells me I am beautiful. Watch me at the assembly. You’ll see!”

  “Conduct is as important as appearance,” Richard reminded her, cursing the new problems she represented. “High spirits are not tolerated in town. Nor is contradicting a gentleman, even if he is your brother. Well-bred young ladies approach the Season with ennui.”

  “This subject is too distressing,” said Lady Avery before Millicent could respond. “All this talk of assemblies and Seasons is absurd, for she has no chaperon. I will not emerge from mourning for months, if then. Dear Gareth! How can your own children turn from your memory? And you, my lord, are worse. How dare you encourage impious frivolity by expounding on London fashion?”

  “It is a guardian’s duty to look to the future,” he reminded her. “Girls must prepare for their come-outs with care lest they ruin their chances with unacceptable behavior.”

  “She has plenty of time to consider the future, for it will be at least two years before I am sufficiently recovered to present her to society,” she countered. “In the meantime, she can engage in a proper period of mourning. These past weeks should not count, for she had not grieved.”

  “You wish me to support your hypocrisy, madam?” snapped a white-faced Millicent. “I would rather be honest. You know very well that Papa cared not a whit for any of us – not even you. Rather than mourn his passing, I intend to get on with my life.”

  Lady Avery erupted into a tirade that put her earlier hysterics to shame. Richard tried to ignore the resulting brangle by signaling the servants to leave and concentrating on the unappetizing food. But when ten minutes had passed with no abatement, he changed his mind.

  “Enough!” His fist slammed onto the table. “Never have I been treated to such rank vulgarity,” he continued when three openmouthed faces turned to him in astonishment. “If this is your idea of proper conduct, I can allow none of you within a hundred miles of London. You would call censure upon the entire family.”

  Millicent paled. Terrence glared. Lady Avery dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her napkin. “Pardon me, my lord. You are right, of course, but if you knew what insults I have endured from such unfeeling chil—”

  “Not another word, madam,” he interrupted coldly. “If you raise this subject at the table again, you will eat from a tray in your room for the remainder of my visit.”

  Lady Avery gasped, but lapsed into silence. Millicent took one look at his icy face and followed suit. As soon as the ladies withdrew to the drawing room, Richard excused himself from a seething Terrence and retired for the night.

  But sleep did not come easily. Though he occupied the best guest chamber, the bed was uncomfortable, its thin coverlet doing little to keep out the chill and damp. Dust tickled his nose from the hangings. Yet it was his encounter with Miss Wingrave that kept him awake. The woman was a menace. Flaming red hair, a temper to match, and clothes that blatantly flaunted her charms. Again those stiff-tipped breasts floated before his eyes, fighting to burst free. Voluptuous. Enticing. Begging to be stroked and fondled and kissed. His breathing quickened. The temperature no longer bothered him. If Alice was like her sister, he could understand how Terrence had been trapped. The lad had not yet learned to distinguish lust from the finer emotions.

  He tossed and turned, rising at dawn to pace the floor while he considered his next step. It would be best to confront the schemers immediately, to let them know that he was wise to their game, and to demonstrate that they were now dealing with a man of the world who was impervious to charm and adept at recognizing lies. And so he had called for his curricle the moment he’d broken his fast.

  Winter House was ancient, built of weathered gray stone with a slate roof that showed significant sagging. It was larger than h
e would have expected for a farmer, but its condition explained why no one of better breeding would keep it. Though it was not quite the hovel described by his aunt – being a little too good for housing pigs – he doubted that it had seen any significant repairs in many a year. One window was boarded up. Another was cracked. The trim had remained unpainted for so long that he was hard-pressed to discern its color. No servant appeared to take his horses, so he tied them to a post.

  A disheveled maid accepted his card and showed him into a shabby drawing room. It had originally been decorated in the French style, but its elegant design had long since been adulterated by a pair of heavy chairs, a Chinese vase, an Egyptian claw-foot table, and other anomalies. Ill-fitting chintz covers and threadbare draperies proclaimed the poverty that must have prompted their scheme.

  A portrait of a man dressed in the manner of thirty years before hung above the fireplace, his cheap good looks belying his aristocratic pose. It must have been painted by one of the itinerant artists that drifted about the countryside – and one of the less-talented at that. Did the father have ambitions to become a country squire?

  His fury revived.

  The entire merchant class was becoming a plague and a nuisance. When would they learn that nothing would make them acceptable to polite society? Only last year a coal dealer had actually tried to buy a membership in White’s, even going so far as to marry his daughter to an impoverished baron in a vain attempt to improve his standing. It wasn’t the first time that an ambitious tradesman had tried to cross that sacred portal. People had no respect for their betters these days. And now he must depress the pretensions of yet another upstart.

  * * * *

  Penelope glanced at the calling card Mary brought to the breakfast room and sighed. Though the name meant nothing, she knew who was waiting in the drawing room. Memories of his attack had kept her awake for much of the night, assisted by her growing bruises.

  Lord Carrington was a perfect example of aristocratic arrogance. She could deduce his character all too easily – conceited, uncaring, and determined; a man who relentlessly pursued his every desire with no thought for those he crushed in the process; an ignorant wastrel who ruthlessly exploited his dependents to support an idle life; a flagrant lecher who callously appeased his appetites on the nearest female. She would have to make sure that Alice never left the house unaccompanied while the marquess was in residence. If he could vent his lust on a bedraggled spinster whose own father had disdained her appearance, what would he do when he beheld the delectable Alice?

  But that did not matter at the moment. He had come to discuss Terrence’s infatuation. Surely they could ignore their antagonism long enough to decide how to end their wards’ attachment. At least that was one topic on which they must agree. The sooner they accomplished that goal, the sooner he would leave Devon in peace.

  “My lord,” she stated coolly from the doorway of the drawing room.

  He was every inch the aristocrat today, from his fashionably short black hair, impeccable cravat, and form-fitting blue coat, to the tasseled Hessians that graced muscular legs encased in tight gray pantaloons. He had cleaned up better than she had expected. While not handsome, he was compelling, with a craggy face, broad shoulders, and slender hips. The cut of his clothes and his obvious fitness proclaimed him a sportsman even without his boasts in the lane. But his temper had not improved one iota. Stormy gray eyes glared at her greeting. His long fingers curled into claws.

  “Good morning,” he snapped.

  “Rather early for calls,” she commented, gracefully seating herself on a settee and motioning him to a chair.

  “Only in the polite world.” He ignored her gesture, remaining in stiff solitude before the fireplace. “I will not prolong this visit. Your game is herewith canceled. Lord Avery may be an impressionable youth, but you are no longer dealing with him. I am his guardian and would never, under any circumstances, permit an alliance with a girl of inferior breeding. Don’t try to claim a compromise, either. No one would accept the lies of a farm wench over the word of a gentleman born. I would not even bother to pay you off, for the only reputation you could hurt would be your own. And forget about talking him into an elopement. I have sole control of his inheritance for another five years. If you expect him to forego his allowance, think again.”

  She was so furious that she had been unable to utter a word during his incredible diatribe. But she finally found her voice. Rising to her full height, she glared at him. “You are insufferable!” she snarled. “And incredibly stupid – as I should have deduced after your conduct yesterday. Anyone with an ounce of brains would at least discover the facts before making accusations that trumpet his ignorance. Do you want to be a laughingstock?”

  “How dare you!”

  “I cannot ignore what stands before me. But here is a dare for you, my lord. I dare you to emulate Diogenes. Are you man enough to seek the truth? Talk to Sir Francis or Squire Jacobson. Or anyone in the village, for that matter. Even the most cursory investigation will expose your charges for the foolishness they are.”

  “I learned everything I need to know from my aunt,” he declared. “Why should I waste time talking to your dupes?”

  “As I thought.” She glared. “You are a coward, my lord. A craven coward so afraid to discover that dishonor resides in your own family that you blind yourself. You are more in need of Diogenes’s lantern than I thought. If you persist in your delusions, you will have to rusticate for years to hide your embarrassment. People will howl in scorn at the sound of your name.” She was so angry she hardly knew what she was saying, wanting nothing more than to lash out. “Alice is the perfect wife for Terrence, and I will do everything in my power to assure that they find the happiness they deserve. He needs her guidance and common sense after so many years of living with incompetent relatives. Frankly, I am amazed that he has grown into a personable young man. It proves his strong character, so if you think your opinions will deter him, you are even more stupid than I suspected. As for money, Terrence will always be welcome here. I expect he would starve before accepting a groat from so despicable a guardian. I cannot understand how Lord Avery came to name you to such a post, unless he truly did despise his children. You are the farthest thing from an acceptable trustee that I can imagine! Or did you coerce him into appointing you so that you can loot his estate to support your dissipated revels in town?”

  “I should have expected such accusations from a scheming redhead.” Carrington glowered through eyes that had turned nearly black. His hands clenched into fists as they had done in the lane. “Fortune hunters always try to drag the honorable down to their own level. Either give up your plotting, or I swear I will break you.”

  “Break me? What a mature reaction. So very gentlemanly!” She made her voice as goading as possible. “Is that your answer to opposition? Ride roughshod over those who thwart your current whim?”

  “Your vulgarity is showing.”

  “You dare to call me vulgar?” She pulled herself even taller. “You knock me into a ditch by speeding down the wrong side of the road. You assault and insult me. You improvise all manner of false charges, then threaten me if I do not agree with them. Your behavior is worse than vulgar, sirrah. It is mad.”

  “Quit trying to change the subject,” he snapped. “Your game is up. Abandon your schemes, or I will expose you and your sluttish sister to ridicule by every man, woman, and child in England. You picked the wrong target to finance your dreams of indolence.” Without another word, he slammed out of the room.

  She collapsed onto the settee, shaking like a leaf. What had come over her? She could not afford to antagonize anyone in a position to destroy Michael’s inheritance. Lord Carrington had the power to do just that – to say nothing of bottomless coffers – and she had now given him ample reason to try. She dropped her head into her hands, cursing herself for losing her temper.

  How could she have claimed to support a match between Alice and Terrence? Alice wo
uld be miserable tied to such a family. Aside from Lady Avery’s antagonism, the late Lord Avery’s obsession, and Lord Carrington’s arrogance, Terrence was too young, too immature, and too unreliable to provide the security that Alice needed.

  Yet she had just vowed to promote it. If she did not do so, the insufferable marquess would know that she had been lying. But how could she jeopardize Alice’s happiness?

  The drawing room door banged open. Skirts akilter, Alice rushed in, her mouth stretched by a wide smile.

  “I knew you approved!” she exclaimed.

  This was all the day needed. She sighed. “You overheard?”

  “I was in the dining room. Thank you! I can hardly wait to tell Terry. He will be ecstatic.”

  “Not so fast, Allie,” she begged. This was going to require some tricky backtracking if the situation was not to tumble out of all control. “Don’t do anything rash. My earlier comments still hold. Terrence is young and has not yet finished school. And I will have little to say in the matter. Lord Carrington thinks you beneath contempt. You must have heard his vow to cut off Terrence’s allowance. How would a penniless husband support you? Even if you lived here, we would be hard-pressed to cover the extra food and clothing.”

  Alice sighed. “In fact, the situation is nearly hopeless.”

  “For the time being. I should not have lost my temper, but his charges were so base that I could not remain silent.” Just thinking about them sent fire racing through her blood. And they cast further doubts on Terrence’s character. If his own guardian believed him to be a weak-willed pawn easily exploited by schemers, how could she even consider consigning Alice to his care?

  Alice laid a hand on her shoulder. “Do not take the blame, Penny. I doubt he listened to a word you said. He began his diatribe before you even opened your mouth. But it is all of a piece. Terry warned me that Lord Carrington is impossible to please. And now we see the truth of it. But I will not despair. Somehow we will find a way.” Smiling, she left the room.