A Most Noble Heir

by Susan Anne Mason

  “That doesn’t excuse him trying to manipulate me.” Nolan blasted out a loud breath. “I don’t know what to do, Bert. I don’t think I’m cut out for this life. And if it means I’ll turn out like him, then I want no part of it.” He threw the spike back onto the table. “But where am I going to find another property I can afford within the next few weeks?”

  Bert moved to the brick hearth, where several pieces of metal glowed in the fire. “Running away might be the easiest thing to do. But staying and figuring this thing out, now that takes real courage.”

  “Are you calling me a coward?”

  “Nae. Just a mite hot-tempered and quick to jump to conclusions.” Bert wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “Have you considered the bigger picture of what being the earl’s son could mean?” Using the tongs, he repositioned the metal, and then set the tool down to fix Nolan with a pointed stare. “Think of the good you could do for the servants and the tenant farmers. What better advocate could we have than someone who’s lived in our shoes?”

  “An advocate? To improve the conditions of the workers, you mean?”

  “Aye. Not that Stainsby is a bad place to work. But there are always improvements that could be made.” A sheen of sweat shone on Bert’s flushed face. “For instance, it seems to me that staff members who spend their whole lives here should be rewarded for their service. I’ve asked his lordship several times about starting a collection for us older workers—a retirement fund, if you will—but he’s never taken the request seriously.”

  “Haven’t you saved for the future, Bert?” In the past, Nolan had questioned Bert as to when he planned to stop working, but the man had always avoided answering.

  Bert shook his head. “Not enough. Not with having to help support Franny’s widowed sister and her crippled niece. The truth is I’ll probably have to work till I die—if I’m able. Speaking of which, I’d better get back to it while I still have a job.” He bent to pick up the hammer. When he straightened, a look of alarm leapt into his eyes. He swayed and clutched the workbench.

  “Bert!” Nolan rushed to steady him.

  “I’m all right, lad. Just stood up too quick is all.” He waved off Nolan’s help. “Think about what I said before you burn any bridges with his lordship. Bridges you might need one day.” He turned back to retrieve a piece of metal from the fire.

  Nolan glanced around the meticulous smithy, the place Bert had made his own for over thirty years. Perhaps Bert was right. Perhaps Nolan hadn’t considered the bigger picture, too focused on his own selfish desires. As the earl’s son, he would have the opportunity to affect many lives here. Not only his and Hannah’s, but Bert and Franny’s, as well as all the servants and the tenant farmers who relied on Stainsby for their livelihood. If he could manage to put aside his resentment, he might be able to use his influence with his father to affect some positive changes for the people he’d grown up with.

  With a quick wave to Bert, Nolan left the smithy and made his way back to the main house. For the first time, he forced himself to consider that losing the farm might have been part of God’s plan to show him his true path. A path he hadn’t intended to take.

  Perhaps Nolan owed it to himself—and to God—to put his best effort into seeing if this was where his destiny truly lay.

  Hannah paced the grass beneath the elm tree, trying to quell her growing apprehension. More than twenty-four hours had passed since Nolan’s meeting with Mr. Simpson, and she hadn’t seen or heard anything from her husband. She couldn’t shake the sensation that something had gone horribly wrong.

  Had the earl discovered their secret meetings and put a stop to them? It wouldn’t surprise Hannah if he had sent some of the servants to spy on them.

  Perhaps that was it. But then why did Nolan not get word to her somehow?

  A rustling in the bushes beyond the tree had Hannah’s heart leaping with breathless anticipation. He’d come after all. Finally she would be wrapped in his arms, receive his intoxicating kisses, and find out exactly what was going on.

  The bushes parted, and Mickey Gilbert stepped out.

  Hannah’s stomach swooped. She grasped the base of the elm tree to support her.

  “Sorry, Hannah. It’s only me.” Mickey gave a shrug. “Nolan asked me to tell you he’s sorry he couldn’t come and to give you this.” He held out a folded piece of paper.

  She took it from him with shaking hands. It contained bad news, she was certain.

  “I’ve got to get back. If you want to send a reply, leave it in the barn. I’ll see that Nolan gets it.” He tipped his cap and bounded off through the foliage.

  Hannah lowered herself to the chicken crate and bit her bottom lip. Lord, please help me accept whatever Nolan has to tell me.

  With trembling fingers, she opened the paper.

  Dearest Hannah,

  I’m afraid I have some unpleasant news. Mr. Simpson has sold the farm to someone else for a higher price. Words cannot express how disappointed I am, as I’m sure you are too.

  I also have to tell you that Edward has somehow discovered our meetings and has put a stop to them. He claims it’s in violation of our agreement. So, for Molly’s sake, I will abide by his wishes.

  Have faith, my love, and try not to worry. Once the ball is over, if Edward does not accept our marriage, I promise I will come up with another way for us to be together.

  Until then, remember how much I love you.

  Yours, Nolan

  A tear dropped onto the paper. Hannah sniffed and took out a handkerchief. She wiped her cheeks and then blotted the page lest it ruin Nolan’s words.

  Poor Nolan. His dearest dream of owning the farm—gone. How could Mr. Simpson go back on his word like that?

  Hannah swallowed the sour taste on her tongue as the bitter truth became apparent. She’d bet a month’s wages that Lord Stainsby was behind the loss of the farm. How had he discovered Nolan’s intention? Did the man have spies everywhere? And if so, how could she and Nolan ever fight such relentless efforts to control their lives?

  Hannah folded Nolan’s letter and shoved it deep into the pocket of her apron with the firm resolve not to allow fear to overcome her. Tonight she would write a note of encouragement to Nolan, reminding him of her faith in him, and drop it off at the barn for Mickey to deliver tomorrow.

  No matter how dire things seemed, she needed to trust that God was on their side and that everything would work out according to His plan.

  Chapter

  16

  Nolan grumbled under his breath as the tailor fitted the side of his jacket. He did not enjoy being used as an oversized pincushion.

  “One more and we should be through, sir,” the short, stout man mumbled through a sea of pins held between his lips. Nolan wondered how he managed not to swallow them.

  It had been a little more than four weeks now since he’d begun learning his new role. Four weeks of constant attention to the most trivial of details—which fork to use, which tie to wear, when to bow, when to shake hands, the names of all the earl’s acquaintances, their wives, their children. Constant fittings were only some of the many annoyances men of the nobility were forced to endure. The ball tonight was another.

  Nolan’s brain swam with the mundaneness of it all. And his heart ached for Hannah.

  “These few alterations won’t take long, sir. The jacket will be ready for this evening.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Smithers.” Nolan shrugged out of the offending piece of clothing, only scraping his arm twice on the pins. He bit back an oath and donned his everyday gray jacket from the new wardrobe the tailor had already fashioned for him. It took some getting used to, all the starched shirts, the cravats, and the obligatory coat. Would he ever stop wishing for the freedom of his stable clothes?

  His valet hovered at his elbow, brushing imaginary lint from Nolan’s sleeve. “The earl would like you to join him in his study as soon as you’re able, sir.”

  Nolan sighed. He’d hoped to have a few minute
s of peace before any more last-minute instructions on how to behave tonight. He was still having a hard time forgiving his father for the loss of the farm, though Bert’s advice, as well as a sweet note from Hannah, had helped lessen his wrath. Hannah had figured out that Edward was behind Mr. Simpson’s change of heart, yet she hadn’t given in to despair, and had instead declared her faith in Nolan to find the right solution.

  Nolan pressed his lips into a tight line. Would she feel the same when she learned that Nolan may have decided to accept his role as a member of the aristocracy?

  Over the last two weeks, Bert’s advice had taken root, and Nolan had begun to see how he could be an advocate for the less fortunate, and for the servants and farmers in the area. Didn’t he have an obligation not to squander the opportunity he’d been given?

  “Thank you, Jeffrey,” he said to the valet. “Tell his lordship I’ll be right down.”

  As Nolan descended the main staircase a few minutes later, he prayed that if the ball was a success and his father’s peers accepted him, Edward would see fit to return the favor and recognize Hannah as his daughter-in-law. Nolan had kept to the terms of their agreement and hadn’t seen Hannah in two weeks. Surely that deserved some kind of reward. And if Edward didn’t see it that way, Nolan was prepared to insist he endorse their marriage as a stipulation for continuing in the role as his son. Edward wasn’t the only one who could use manipulation to get what he wanted.

  Nolan knocked on the study door, and the earl bade him enter. As he stepped in, Edward rose from his chair, as did the man seated in front of the desk.

  “Nolan, please meet Mr. Wallace Grayson, our family solicitor.”

  Mr. Grayson was a hefty man of average height with bushy sideburns. A hint of suspicion hovered on the edge of Nolan’s mind as he shook the man’s hand.

  “It’s a great pleasure to meet the son of my dear friend.” Mr. Grayson’s jowls wobbled with the force of his handshake.

  Nolan inclined his head in what he hoped was a noble manner.

  “Please have a seat,” Edward said. “I’ve asked Mr. Grayson to draw up some papers for us.”

  Nolan sank into the leather chair, eyes narrowed. “What type of papers?”

  “Don’t look so worried. These are a mere formality to name you as my son and heir. They require both our signatures to make it legal.” He gave a small, somewhat nervous gesture with his hand.

  Legal? Was Nolan ready for such a permanent step without discussing it with Hannah? He leaned forward. “May I read them over?”

  “Of course.” Edward passed him a small stack of papers. “Might I take this opportunity to mention how relieved I am your mother taught you to read and write? This whole business would have been so much harder if she hadn’t.”

  Nolan looked at the pile and cringed. It would take him hours to read every word. He scanned the first few paragraphs, dismayed to note that much of the legal terminology escaped him. “Is this a document to change my name?”

  “Yes. A mere formality since your birth certificate already bears the name Fairchild. However Elizabeth did give you her surname when she became your guardian, so this will serve to clarify the issue.”

  An uncomfortable sensation banded Nolan’s chest. He’d always gone by Nolan Price. How could he give up the name he’d had all his life, the last tie to his beloved mother? “I—I’d like some time to think about this.”

  The earl inclined his head. “It is also customary for an earl’s eldest son to receive a courtesy title. I’ve chosen Viscount Price for you, in deference to your present surname. You will be known as Lord Price.”

  Nolan swallowed, unsure what that meant and too embarrassed to ask for further clarification. Apparently he still had a lot to learn about the nobility.

  “The Fairchild family name is what you’ll be inheriting and all that comes with it.” Edward flattened his palms on the desktop. “I would hate to think I’ve wasted Mr. Grayson’s time coming here today—all the way from London.”

  Nolan recognized Edward’s bullying tactics. Still, his argument made logical sense. After all, these papers only stated an already documented fact—that Nolan was Edward’s son. “I will agree,” he said slowly, “to a hyphenated surname. I cannot reject the good name I’ve had all my life.”

  “Very well. I will concede to Nolan Edward Price-Fairchild.” Edward turned to the solicitor. “That will satisfy all legal requirements, will it not?”

  Mr. Grayson cleared his throat. “I believe it will.”

  “Excellent. We have compromised and come to an agreement. That seems to be the way our relationship is destined to be.” Though he smiled, Edward’s eyes glittered with a hardness that matched the slick wood beneath his hands. “Now if you would be so good as to add your signature to mine on the last page of the document, I’m sure Mr. Grayson would like to rest up before the festivities tonight.”

  Trying to ignore the tightening of his gut, Nolan took the pen that Edward gave him. He leaned forward and flipped a few pages, scanning random words as he went, yet nowhere did he see any mention of his marriage or of Hannah’s name. Surely he was being overly suspicious, thinking something more sinister was afoot. Yet after the farm fiasco, who could blame him?

  He turned to the last page, signed his name, and laid the pen down. “Is that all?” Nolan straightened his jacket as he rose.

  “For now, yes. Don’t forget to be on time for our first guest’s arrival this evening.”

  How could he forget?

  “I’ll be there.” Nolan shook Mr. Grayson’s hand, bowed to his father, and left the room.

  If only he could leave the unsettled feeling behind him as easily.

  It was well past midnight before Mrs. Bridges released Hannah and Molly from their duties for the evening. A few of the more senior maids had been kept on hand in the event that the master needed something else from the kitchen, but Hannah was relieved to be able to escape to her quarters. After seeing Molly settled, Hannah retired to her own room, but remained dressed, knowing sleep would be impossible. How could she sleep, consumed as she was with thoughts of the event taking place downstairs? The whole house buzzed with the energy of the hundreds of guests at the ball.

  A ball in honor of her husband from which she was banned.

  In an effort to quell her resentment toward her father-in-law, who seemed bent on keeping Nolan from her, Hannah fell to her knees on the worn rag mat beside her bed, as she did every night, and bowed her head in prayer. Prayer for help in accepting these circumstances and prayer for assistance in becoming a patient, loving wife to Nolan no matter what direction their lives took.

  A small measure of calm ensued once she had run out of petitions to the Almighty. Still, a niggling sense of unease and curiosity wore her nerves to a fine thread. She couldn’t help but wonder what was happening below. After what felt like an eternity of pacing, she gave in to temptation. She told herself she only wanted a glimpse of Nolan in his finery—that she would then be satisfied and come straight back to her room.

  But deep down, she knew better.

  Hannah moved on soundless feet down the corridors to the west wing where the ballroom was located. Keeping in the shadows of the hallway, she made her way around to the rear entrance, the one staff used discreetly when serving. The muffled combination of voices and music wafted through the air. Hannah waited to make sure she would not be seen before advancing to the door and nudging it open a crack. The moment she broke the seal to the room, the roar of the music almost overpowered her.

  Her heart beat a painful thump against her ribs as she scanned the sea of colors and frenzied movement. Dresses of all shades and materials whirled by on the dance floor, interspersed with the black of the men’s formal attire. How would she ever spot Nolan in this crowd?

  She focused her attention on the center of the room where a dark head gleamed under the chandeliers. The man turned, smiling widely at the lady by his side, and Hannah’s breath caught in a gasp. Could t
hat dashing gentleman be Nolan?

  She almost didn’t recognize him in such formal attire. He wore a black tailcoat, a striped waistcoat, and a white ascot tied in an intricate manner. His hair had been slicked back in some dandyish style instead of being allowed to fall over his forehead as usual.

  She forced her gaze away from Nolan to examine his female companions—all stylish, well-to-do young women garbed in the most elaborate gowns and hairstyles. Jewels gleamed around every throat and wrist. One dark-haired beauty grasped Nolan by the arm and twirled him onto the dance floor. Hannah watched them spin in circles until Nolan threw his head back and laughed with unrestrained abandon.

  A sob rose in her throat. Hand to her mouth, she retreated and closed the door, leaning her back against the cold stone wall.

  The very thing she’d dreaded all along, she’d now witnessed with her own eyes. Her husband had changed, and she no longer fit into his world. How could he ever be satisfied with a mere maid, when in that room alone, he could choose from any number of rich, fashionable beauties?

  In a haze of pain, she stumbled down the carpeted hallway, heedless of her surroundings until the murmur of male voices met her ears. Quickly she ducked behind a large potted tree in a corner alcove.

  Two men, one of whom she recognized as Lord Stainsby himself, strolled into view. The man with him wore a loud striped suit that matched his outrageous sideburns.

  “It’s all set then?” the earl said in a low tone.

  “Yes. The documents are legal and binding. Your son’s marriage will be dissolved as soon as I file them.”

  Hannah bit her lip to keep from crying out, sinking farther into the shadows.

  “I was afraid the boy wouldn’t sign,” the stout man continued. “Thank goodness your logic swayed him.”

  The earl chuckled. “I knew Nolan would come around. It was only a matter of time.”