A Most Noble Heir

by Susan Anne Mason

  A shiver went through him. No, he’d be wiser to spend his energy on managing the present heir, on trying to groom Orville for his future duties. If Edward impressed upon him the significance of the family history, the importance of the earldom, and the necessity to keep the Stainsby property in the family, surely he could make Orville understand the magnitude of the responsibility he would carry.

  Perhaps the time had come for Edward to move back to his London house and keep a closer eye on his son-in-law. Renew acquaintances with some old friends and business associates who could help mentor Orville. The weather had turned nice at last after a long, dreary winter. The hustle and bustle of London might be just the thing to change Edward’s bleak outlook—at least until he grew bored of the endless social engagements.

  Yes, he’d make the arrangements tomorrow.

  Slightly cheered by his decision, Edward pushed his chair back, nodding to another footman who hovered nearby. “I’ll have brandy in my study now.”

  “Very good, my lord.” The young man bowed and hurried to uncap the decanter as soon as Edward stepped away from the table.

  With a purposeful stride, Edward exited into the main hallway. Halfway to his study, he became aware of footsteps behind him—footsteps that were decidedly feminine, and not the staid footfall of his butler, Dobson, who usually lurked about the halls.

  “Excuse me, my lord.”

  Edward pushed back a wave of annoyance and turned to see one of his senior housemaids come to a halt, her breathing ragged as though she’d been running a race.

  “What is it, Miss Hatterley?” Edward tugged the sleeve of his dinner jacket in place.

  “I’m sorry to bother your lordship.” The normally composed woman appeared flustered. “As you know, Mrs. Price is very ill.”

  “So I understand.” Impatience crawled over his skin. The blasted woman was always under the weather. If she could not perform her duties, he would have to consider someone else for the head housekeeper position.

  “Mrs. Price has requested to speak with you, my lord. In her bedchamber, since she’s too weak to make it downstairs.” Miss Hatterley clasped her thin hands together.

  Edward frowned. “This is highly unusual. Did she indicate the reason?”

  “No, sir. But from all accounts, she’s not expected to last much longer. Maybe she wishes to make arrangements . . .”

  Edward raised a brow. “It’s that serious then?”

  “It is, my lord.”

  Guilt pinched like an uncomfortable cravat. He hadn’t realized the woman’s illness was so severe. Edward huffed out a sigh. His staff might accuse him of being a hard taskmaster, but to deny his housekeeper’s dying request—well, even he couldn’t be that unfeeling. His brandy would have to wait. “Fine. Lead the way.”

  After climbing to the third story, where he hadn’t set foot since childhood, Edward followed Miss Hatterley down the corridor.

  She knocked once on the last door and opened it, nodding for Edward to enter.

  The stench of the room enveloped him the moment he crossed the threshold. He paused until his senses adjusted to the onslaught, aware of the soft click of the door behind him. His nerves jumped as though a guard had just locked him in a jail cell.

  With dread roiling in his stomach, he approached the bed. The barely recognizable form of his housekeeper stared back at him.

  “Thank you for coming, my lord,” she whispered.

  Edward shifted, an unwelcome sensation of guilt seeping through his system. How had he failed to notice this woman’s dire condition? “I’m sorry to hear of your indisposition, Mrs. Price. What can I do for you?”

  The pale eyes, sunken in a gaunt face, shone with what looked like fear. Emaciated hands clutched the faded quilt. “You may wish to sit down for this, my lord. I expect what I have to say will come as quite a shock.”

  Nolan seethed with frustration as he made his way to his mother’s bedchamber at last. His earlier attempt to see the doctor had been thwarted by an emergency with a lame horse that needed new shoes. And then, once he and Bert had taken care of the animal, Mr. Dobson had asked for his assistance moving some furniture. Now he’d sacrificed his dinner to finally get to speak with the doctor, a fact his stomach seemed determined to scold him for. At least he knew Dr. Hutton hadn’t left, since his horse was still safely stowed in the barn.

  Halfway down the long corridor that led to his mother’s room, he spied the man seated on a chair, medical bag in hand. He rose as he spotted Nolan.

  “Mr. Price. I’m glad you’re here.” The doctor’s face was grim.

  “How is she?”

  The flame in the wall sconce flickered, casting eerie shadows over the floor.

  Dr. Hutton shook his head. “I wish I had better news. It appears your mother has developed pneumonia.”

  Alarm shot through Nolan’s system. Pneumonia was decidedly worse than bronchitis. “What can you do for her?”

  “I’m afraid there’s not much anyone can do . . . except pray.” He patted Nolan’s arm, his words weighted with sadness.

  Pray? This was the man’s best medical advice? “We must get her to the infirmary. I’ll ask his lordship for use of—”

  “It won’t do any good, son. Her lungs and heart are too weak to withstand the journey.” Sympathy swamped the older man’s features. “I’m sorry to say it’s only a matter of time. You may wish to call a clergyman, if your mother is so inclined. It might bring her comfort in her final hours.”

  An invading coldness seeped through Nolan’s chest, spreading outward until his whole body seemed encased in ice. His mother was dying? How could this be possible?

  “I’ll be in the parlor if you need me.” The doctor shot a glance down the hall. “You may wish to wait before you go in. Your mother has a visitor.”

  As soon as Dr. Hutton disappeared, Nolan sagged against the stone wall. Tears burned his eyes, blurring his vision. His mother couldn’t die. He wouldn’t allow it. He gulped in a few breaths, determination giving him purpose. They’d seek another opinion, a specialist perhaps. He’d do whatever it took, whatever it cost, to save his mother’s life.

  As he approached the room, a loud male voice breached the heavy wooden door. What on earth was Lord Stainsby doing up here? Had he doubted Nolan’s claim about his mother’s health and come to see for himself?

  Harsh anger laced the earl’s words, and though Nolan couldn’t make out what he was saying, the man was obviously berating her. Pressure built in Nolan’s chest. How dare he yell at an incapacitated woman? Without knocking, Nolan pushed open the door and strode inside. “What is going on here?”

  Lord Stainsby whipped around, his features pinched, eyes hard. He held himself as rigid as the statues in his garden, yet outrage quivered in the air around him. In his hand, he clenched the Bible that belonged to Nolan’s mother.

  “Surely you’re not reprimanding my mother. Can you not see how ill she is?”

  “It’s all right, Nolan.” His mother’s eyes appeared huge in her gaunt face, darting from the earl and back to him.

  “No, it is not. I won’t allow him to bully you.” Nolan glared at the man, for once not intimidated by his position, not even caring if he got sacked.

  The earl’s nostrils flared. “You have no idea what you’ve interrupted.”

  “I don’t care. Leave us now. My mother needs peace and quiet.”

  A muscle in the earl’s jaw flexed. He leveled a long look at Nolan and then turned to address his mother. “Very well. But we will talk again.” He set the book on the nightstand and marched from the room.

  Nolan waited until the door closed, and then crossed to the bed. With extreme willpower, he pushed down the toxic swirl of emotions rioting through him. His mother needed calmness and strength, and that’s what he would give her.

  She lay against the pillows, deathly still, all the energy drained from her.

  “Mum, I want to take you to the infirmary in Derby. They’ll have better
medicines there. Ones that can cure—”

  She shook her head. “There’s nothing to be done. I’ve suspected for a while now that my health had gotten worse, but I didn’t want to burden you.” She gave a weak smile and lifted her hand.

  He caught it between both of his and squeezed as though he could infuse her with his own vitality.

  “All I’ve ever wanted is your happiness,” she whispered through blue-tinged lips. “Promise me you’ll go on with your plans. Buy your farm and marry Hannah. Live a good life.”

  His throat seized, rendering him mute. How could she just give up like this? Why wouldn’t she fight to stay alive?

  She gripped his fingers. “I need to tell you why his lordship was here.”

  “I don’t care why. He had no business yelling like that—”

  “Nolan.” The authority in her voice silenced him.

  Icy chills invaded his heart. He knew without a doubt he did not want to hear what was to come.

  She waited until his gaze met hers. “Nolan, Lord Stainsby is your father.”

  Chapter

  4

  Hannah wiped the last trace of moisture from the work surfaces with a rough towel. All the chores were done for the moment, yet she couldn’t bring herself to leave the kitchen. Truth be told, she was waiting for Nolan to come down from his mother’s room.

  Her heart squeezed at the anguish he must be facing. Word had spread throughout the house that Mrs. Price was dying, and Hannah knew her demise would devastate Nolan. She pushed the stray wisps of hair off her damp forehead. How she wished she could do something to ease his pain.

  “You’re still here? I thought you’d be done by now.” Mrs. Edna Bridges shuffled into the kitchen. Without her apron and cap, she appeared more like a grandmother than a cook.

  Warmth curled through Hannah at the sight of her. Edna had certainly been both a mother and grandmother to her. Her dearest champion since Hannah’s first days at Stainsby.

  “You’re supposed to be resting,” she scolded the older woman.

  Edna took out the small copper kettle, placed it on the range, and stoked the fire. “My mind is stewing over things I can’t control.”

  Hannah hung the towel on a hook near the oven to dry. “I know. I’m trying to keep busy so I don’t worry about Nolan and his mother.” She swooped in to take the kettle from Edna. “Let me do that. You sit and put your feet up for a few minutes.”

  Edna nodded, and with a long sigh, pulled out a chair at the table.

  A wave of sympathy hit Hannah as she watched the older woman sag onto her seat. Nolan might be losing his mother, but Edna was losing her best friend. Elizabeth Price had touched many lives during her time here.

  “Would you like me to help you upstairs?” Hannah asked softly. “To see Mrs. Price?”

  Edna pulled a square of cotton from her pocket and dabbed her moist eyes. “You’re a good child. Always thinking of everyone else.” She patted Hannah’s arm. “I’d like that very much.”

  Hannah moved to take the kettle off the heat. “We’ll have our tea later.”

  The older woman leaned heavily on Hannah as the pair climbed the back staircase with slow and steady steps. On the second level, they stopped for a rest.

  Edna mopped her brow with the handkerchief. “These old knees can’t take the stairs anymore.” She huffed and puffed for a few minutes until she motioned for Hannah to help her continue. “Good thing my quarters are off the kitchen. I’d never make it to bed at night.”

  As they ascended, Hannah strained her ears for any approaching footsteps, hoping she might see Nolan on his way down. When they finally made it to the top story, Hannah led Edna to a bench before tackling the long hallway.

  “You rest here a moment. I’ll go and see if Mrs. Price is alone.”

  Edna nodded and waved her off, still struggling for air. As Hannah made her way down the long corridor, her shoes made little noise on the carpeted floor. She paused outside Elizabeth’s door, listening for any voices inside. All appeared quiet. She’d raised her fist to knock when the door burst open before her.

  Nolan stopped short of barreling into her. He said not a word, but stared wide-eyed, like someone who’d just received a terrible shock.

  Hannah’s hand flew to her throat. Surely his mother hadn’t passed away? “Nolan. What’s happened?”

  He blinked and focused on her, as if suddenly realizing her presence. His hands curled into fists at his side. The veins stood out in his neck.

  Hannah recoiled as comprehension seeped through her. He wasn’t sad—he was filled with rage.

  In all the years she’d known him, Hannah had never seen Nolan in such a state.

  He didn’t answer her, merely shook his head and pushed by her, boots pounding the floor in his haste.

  Hannah bit down on her bottom lip to keep from calling after him. What could possibly have made him so angry?

  She turned back to the door of the bedroom and peered inside. Mrs. Price held a fist to her mouth, silent tears coursing down her cheeks. She didn’t even notice Hannah in the doorway.

  For a moment, Hannah wavered on what to do. Then with grim determination, she headed back to where she’d left Edna. If anyone could comfort the distraught woman, it would be her best friend.

  Hours later, Hannah slipped through the silent night, across the damp grass that separated the barn from the main house. The light of her lantern bobbed with each step until she reached the stable entrance. Once inside, she paused to allow her eyes to adjust to the dim interior and to make sure no one lurked in the darkness. The powerful scent of manure and hay filled her nostrils.

  Her heart beat hard against her ribs. Whether Nolan realized it or not, he needed her, and if he wouldn’t come to her, she had no choice but to seek him out.

  On noiseless feet, she moved toward Nolan’s quarters at the back of the stable. A thin beam of light shone under the crack in his door. Hannah hung her lantern on a nail by the last stall and pressed a palm to her stomach to squelch the butterflies fluttering there.

  Please, Lord, let Nolan allow me to help him through this troubled time. Give me words of wisdom to comfort him and ease his pain.

  After one more deep breath, she knocked lightly on his door.

  “Go away, Mickey. I’m in no mood to talk.” Nolan’s deep voice pierced the silence of the barn.

  Hannah licked her dry lips. With determination, she rapped again.

  Footsteps clattered across the floor and the door flung open.

  “I told you—” Nolan stopped dead, his mouth agape. He wore trousers and an unbuttoned shirt, suspenders hanging loosely at his sides. His eyes brightened for a brief second, replaced almost instantly with a deep frown. “Hannah. You shouldn’t be here. ’Tisn’t proper.”

  Proper or not, Hannah refused to be deterred. But she averted her gaze from his hastily donned shirt, still open at the chest, and brushed by him into the small room. A candle flickered wildly on its stand. Wrinkled blankets on the cot told her Nolan had been lying there moments ago. “I need to speak with you.”

  Nolan raked a hand through his tousled hair, releasing dark curls that sprang across his forehead. “It’s too great a risk. If anyone sees you in here, your reputation will be ruined.”

  “This is too important to worry about such trivialities.” She crossed her arms and waited.

  Nolan blew out an exasperated breath, then grabbed his worn jacket from a hook. “If you must talk, we’ll do it outdoors where it won’t be as scandalous to be discovered.” He eyed the bed with a meaningful glare.

  Hannah was grateful for the faint light to hide the blush on her cheeks. “Very well.”

  Nolan took her by the hand and led her out the back door. “We can sit out here.”

  The moonlight provided enough illumination to see each other clearly as they took a seat on the rough wooden bench. Hannah pulled her shawl more firmly around her shoulders. In the spring chill, goosebumps rose on her arms.

>   “Now, tell me what’s so important that you came out in the middle of the night? It’s not more news about Molly, is it?”

  The gentleness of Nolan’s tone brought a lump to her throat. He thought she had some problem of her own—not even considering that his pain would keep her awake.

  “I’m worried about you. Something is wrong—more than your mother’s illness, I mean. Won’t you tell me what it is?”

  His eyes turned dark. His mouth tightened into a grim line.

  Fearing he would turn her away, she forged on. “Nolan, if we are to share a future, you must learn to trust me. To confide in me when you have a problem. Wouldn’t you want me to do the same?”

  A blast of air escaped him. “Yes, of course I want to share your troubles.”

  “Then allow me to do the same for you.” She laid a tentative hand on the sleeve of his thin jacket. Even through the material, the heat of his skin warmed her palm.

  He hesitated for a moment as though weighing his options. “If I tell you, you mustn’t breathe a word of it to anyone. Not even Edna.”

  “I swear it.” Hannah kept no secrets from Edna, but for Nolan she would.

  He grasped one of her hands in his. The rough calluses on his thumb caressed her skin like a kiss. “My mother gave me some distressing news. I haven’t even had time to determine the meaning of it yet.” He paused to look directly into her eyes and lowered his voice. “She told me that Lord Stainsby is my father.”

  Hannah’s free hand flew to her mouth, but it couldn’t hide her gasp. “Oh, Nolan. How is that possible?” Tears welled as she tried to grasp the enormity of what he was telling her. No wonder he’d been so distraught. “Surely he hasn’t known all along, has he?”

  “No. Apparently he’s as shocked and angry as I am.” Nolan leaned his arms on his knees, head bent.

  “Why would your mother keep this secret so long?”

  He sighed. “That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. Perhaps she’d planned to tell him someday, but kept putting it off—until the illness forced her hand.” He got to his feet and paced in front of the bench. “I’ve always longed to know the identity of my father, but I never dreamed . . .”