An understatement, but it nevertheless brought a pretty blush to her ivory cheeks. “Merci. It is the new dress.” She released his hands and did a pirouette worthy of the stage. “From Paris. Grand-père had it commissioned.”
“I told her she would be the envy of all the ladies in England.” Prince Albert stood with an indulgent smile. Justin didn’t miss the sorrow around its edges.
“Indeed.” Yet it wasn’t the gown that would set her apart—it was her spirit. No other lady he’d met in England laughed with such abandon, moved with such grace, put such passion into her every pursuit.
He prayed that spirit, and the faith beneath it, would be enough to sustain her through the transition ahead.
As if the same thought had possessed her, her smile dimmed, as did the diamond gleam in her emerald eyes. “You’ll join us for dinner, oui?”
“I would be delighted.” For now, he led her to the settee and took the cushion beside her. “Has it sunk in yet?”
Her fingers toyed with the dual pearls dangling from her necklace. If there were a surer sign of her perplexity … “What if I am not this baroness? What if they turn me away?”
The prince huffed. “That is simple. Then you will come home.” He came to them and sat on the settee, resting a hand on Brook’s shoulders. He had fought for her, fought to move her into the palace after Collette’s death, though the rest of the family thought it a mistake. Because by then Brook had already been his fifille—his little girl. Prince Albert would always be her grandfather.
Although even if she were not the baroness, Justin had no intentions of bringing her back to Monaco. He would convince her to stay, somehow or another. The thought of not seeing her for years wasn’t to be borne. “We are not mistaken, Brooklet. Had I not been sure about this, I never would have said anything.”
“But—”
“There is no reason to doubt, and every reason to believe this is who you are.” He held out his hand until she put hers in it, then covered her slender fingers with his. “You have a father eager to love you. An aunt to usher you into society. Cousins near you in age waiting to become your friends. The Lord has prepared your place. There is no need to fear.”
He could see the trust returning to her eyes, the sparkle that brought light to the flecks of amber around her pupils, to the rings of sapphire around the emerald.
His chest went tight. What would it be like to gaze into her eyes every day? To hear her laugh, her voice, to share stories whenever they pleased? To have the right to draw her into his arms and see if her lips were as soft as they looked?
Maybe he wouldn’t wait to declare himself. Maybe he could win her heart now and deliver her to Whitby as his fiancée—and use the wedding to lure Father home.
Hurried footsteps intruded, startling enough to warrant the frown on the prince’s face. When a footman charged into the room, the look of horror he wore brought Justin to his feet, Brook along with him. If some crisis of state were about to be announced—and with the revolt of a few months ago still fresh in their memories, he wouldn’t discount it—he would take his leave so the prince could attend to business.
But the servant looked to him. “Excusez-moi, Lord Harlow. Forgive me for bringing such news, my lord, but … your father. There has been an accident on the mountain road.”
His fingers went lax within Brook’s tightened grip. Clouds gathered before his eyes. “What kind of accident?”
Three
WHITBY PARK, NORTH YORKSHIRE, ENGLAND
Deirdre O’Malley held the fresh sheets to her chest and sent an amused look toward the housekeeper. How much longer could his lordship’s sister keep pacing the halls like a caged beast? Lady Ramsey had intercepted Deirdre nearly half an hour past to keep her from carrying out Lord Whitby’s command to ready the Blue Room, but she had yet to decide which one ought to be prepared in its stead.
Though Mrs. Doyle pressed her lips tight to suppress a smile, she sent Deirdre a wide-eyed, cautionary look. “The Rose Room, my lady? Is that one far enough from Lady Regan and Lady Melissa?”
The marchioness sighed and pressed a hand to her brow. “It is too far. If we put the girl in there, my brother will know exactly what we’re about. I don’t want her near my daughters, but we can’t put her at the opposite end of the wing.”
“It would show her plain as day what we think of her,” Deirdre murmured into the sheets, though she knew she ought to keep the thought to herself.
But her ladyship smiled and let her jet-clad wrist fall to her side again. “Ah, but my brother is convinced this one is real.”
“As he hoped the last three times.” Mrs. Doyle started back toward the end of the hall nearer the stairs. “We all know how those ended.”
That they did—in each pretender being kicked to the drive. And with the earl becoming more a recluse than ever.
“What about the Green Room?” Mrs. Doyle opened a door halfway down the hall.
Lady Ramsey peered in. “It is awfully grand.”
The way the housekeeper’s spine snapped even straighter than usual would have been more amusing had Deirdre not caught a glimpse of the clock on the chamber’s mantel. Her half-day off duty would begin in another fifteen minutes, but she could hardly leave in the middle of a task without getting a scolding. Though, if she didn’t make it into the village by two …
“My lady, of course it is grand—they all are. This is Whitby Park, after all.”
“So I am aware.” Her ladyship chuckled and touched a hand briefly to Mrs. Doyle’s arm. “Very well, then—the Green Room it is. I will let my brother know I have changed his arrangements.”
Much as she liked Lady Ramsey, Deirdre breathed more easily once the lady had gone back down the stairs. She followed Mrs. Doyle into the bedchamber and set the sheets down. When she turned, the older woman was pulling off the coverlet. “Oh, you needn’t trouble yourself, ma’am!”
Mrs. Doyle didn’t so much as pause. “Nonsense, Deirdre. Beatrix is putting the drawing room to rights, and making the bed yourself would take too long. With the earl’s nieces here, you must be back from the village in time for the dressing gong.”
“Then I thank you.” She unfolded the first of the sheets and handed one side to the housekeeper. “He swore after the last one that he wouldn’t entertain any more pretenders.”
A long sigh accompanied her superior’s brisk movements. “This one comes on the recommendation of Lord Harlow, a future duke. It is hard not to make an exception, given that.” She tucked a corner with precision Deirdre had learned from her years ago. “Wish as we may that his lordship wouldn’t have to go through this again, it is already set. The girl is coming. All we can do now is pray she leaves the earl’s heart intact when she is dismissed.”
“Aye.” They worked in silence for a moment, but Deirdre met the woman’s eye again when they shook out the top sheet. “I have always wondered why his lordship didn’t just remarry and hope for a son.”
A wistful smile settled on Mrs. Doyle’s lips. “You would understand had you seen him with Lady Whitby. He’ll mourn her for the rest of his life.”
“I suppose it’s never easy, losing one’s spouse.”
Mrs. Doyle fluffed a pillow and put it in place. “How is your mother faring these days?”
“Getting on.” As best as to be expected, anyway. Mum couldn’t move past Da any more than the earl could his long-gone countess. She helped pull the coverlet back up, smooth it out, position the decorative pillows. “There we are.”
“And off you go. Remember—back by the dressing gong.”
Not wasting time on anything more than a curtsy and a smile, Deirdre hurried out and up the back stairs, untying her apron as she went. The sparse room she shared with Beatrix was silent and empty, so Deirdre laid the white apron carefully upon her bed and took up her coat, hat, and handbag. Inside the last she’d already tucked the letters she needed to post—one for Uncle Seamus in India and another for Mum and her siblings, incl
uding the pound notes.
Half past one already. Heavens, but she had better hurry. Praying she didn’t meet with Mrs. Doyle or Mr. Graham, the butler, to be scolded for her too-quick step, she flew belowstairs and headed for the back door.
“Deirdre, wait! I’ll walk with you to the village.”
She oughtn’t to have to stifle a groan, not over Hiram. And any other day she would welcome the company of the second footman. Just not today.
Still, she paused a step away from escape. Noise from the kitchen filled her ears, and its scents reminded her that she would miss tea—and she hadn’t put aside any of her pay for frivolities like a biscuit from the baker in town, not this month. It would all head to Kilkeel. Little Molly would need a new coat for the coming winter, Mum had said.
Hiram tugged a hat onto his head as he joined her. “Shall we, then?”
“Aye.” Though as soon as they were out in the cool air, she reached up to straighten his hat for him. “Much better.”
He laughed and skewed it again. “Stop your fussing, Dee. I’m not expected to look as polished as the silver when on my own time in the village.”
“Mr. Graham would disagree.” A grin tugged at her lips.
“I don’t see him about, do you?” He checked over each shoulder to be sure, though, as they headed around the drive. “Safe and free. Have you any big plans this afternoon?”
Her fingers tightened around the frayed strap of her handbag. “Letters to post, a bit of this and that by way of errands. You?”
“As it happens, my cousin is on his way through the area, and we’re grabbing a bite at the pub.”
Praise be to heaven—he’d be paying no mind to her, then. “Oh, won’t that be a treat for you.”
“Aye.” Hiram shot her a grin that faded to a comfortable silence. He took up a whistle as the long drive went round a bend.
His ditty proved lighter than the sunshine flitting in and out of the clouds, warmer than the autumn air. She fussed with her jacket’s buttons and tried not to sigh. How did he do it? Stay so bright and cheerful all the time, as if his parents were still alive, as if his brothers hadn’t all been scattered, as if he hadn’t been passed over for first footman when Mr. Graham’s nephew arrived?
As if life were fair?
But she couldn’t recall ever seeing Hiram frown for more than a minute, and they had both been working at Whitby Park for nigh onto seven years now. Made her wonder if there weren’t a screw loose somewhere in that pleasant-looking head of his.
His whistle came to a halt. “Hold up a moment, Dee. I’ve a lace untied here.”
She let her feet carry her a step farther while he bent down, let her eyes sweep across the moors that had never felt quite like home. Maybe one of these days she’d be able to return to Ireland. Settle down with a farmer or merchant who wouldn’t mind that her best years had been spent in a lord’s house in England, see that Mum passed her later years without working her fingers to the very bone.
Assuming she could ever get ahead of the debt Da had taken on when the crops failed back in 1902. It wouldn’t happen on a maid’s salary, for sure and certain, though the extra she made as head housemaid certainly helped.
“Dee!”
The panic in Hiram’s tone snapped her back to the present. Hooves thundered—and she had wandered into the crossroads. She hadn’t any time to realize where the horses were coming from before she was yanked backward. Her feet tangled with Hiram’s, and they both tumbled into the ditch. Pain shot through her bottom as she landed.
At the loud whinny directly before her, she looked up to see that the two horses had reined in and one of the riders had dismounted.
Hiram muttered something unintelligible and helped her to her feet as the rider strode their way. A mere glance showed her why her friend had been so quick to pull her up—Deirdre dropped into a wobbly curtsy. “Lord Cayton, my apologies.”
The young earl frowned and halted a few steps away. “We are the ones who must apologize for such a careless race. Are you injured?”
“I am well, my lord.” Deirdre smoothed her grey skirt and directed her gaze to the ground. No doubt Lord Cayton wouldn’t recognize her from the times he’d come to Whitby Park, but it would take no great logic to realize from where they’d come. And his lordship may decide later it was their fault rather than his.
“And you, man?”
Hiram cleared his throat. “No worse for the wear, my lord.”
“Leave them to their outing, Cayton, and let’s be on our way.”
The second voice brought Deirdre’s gaze up, but only for a moment. A moment was sufficient to reveal the chiseled features and ebon hair that matched the smooth baritone.
“Coming, Pratt. You’re both certain you are well?”
Deirdre nodded along with Hiram as Lord Cayton remounted his horse. They held their place until the riders had continued past and then stepped back onto the road toward Eden Dale.
Hiram let out a whisper of breath and brushed something from Deirdre’s shoulder. “Are you hurt, DeeDee?”
“Nothing that hasn’t passed already.” She grinned to let him know she meant it. “And you?”
“Fine.” But he sent a rare frown after the gentlemen before he shook himself and smiled again. “We have an adventure to tell now. And some folks claim village life is too quiet.”
She had little choice but to laugh.
The rest of the walk into town was uneventful, and they parted ways at the pub. Deirdre first posted her letters and then paused outside for a fortifying breath. A look around proved no one paid her any undue mind, so she headed for the church.
Silence embraced her inside the sanctuary, and light slanted in with all the colors of the stained glass. It ought to have brought peace, reverence, but instead her pulse picked up as she slid into the next-to-last pew. Only then did she check her watch—two minutes to spare.
No footsteps sounded, but she felt it when he came in, and she held her breath until he slipped into the pew behind her. Held it until, as always, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her jaw. “You nearly frightened me to death back there in the lane.”
Her eyes slid shut. “Nothing frightens you, Lord Pratt.” Least of all the thought of her being harmed.
“You think me such an ogre?”
“I think you … too far above me to be disturbed by my stumbling.” She slid away a few inches and turned to see his profile. The first time he had approached her, she had been struck dumb by his beauty. But it was the beauty of a dark angel—that she had learned quickly enough.
His chuckle made no pretense of mirth. Much like the fingers he trailed down her neck never pretended they wouldn’t as soon strangle as caress. “Tell me, my lovely Deirdre—how is it you know Lord Cayton?”
Though she wanted to swallow, she didn’t dare. Those fingers would note it and mark it against her. “He … he came to Whitby Park with his cousin last month. Lord Harlow. About the girl.”
“And that is the only time you’ve seen him? He hasn’t come another time to call on Whitby’s nieces?” He lifted a brow, his black gaze promising to know if she lied.
“He came to dine once since. But he seemed more taken with Lady Melissa than Lady Regan.”
“Good. Good.” Lord Pratt rested his arm on the back of the pew. “And Lady Regan—of whom has she been speaking lately?”
Not him, though she wished she didn’t have to admit that. “Her preference isn’t clear, my lord. Though her sister teases her most about Lord Worthing.”
“Hmm.” No one else she had ever met could pack so much displeasure into a hum. “You, of course, put in a word wherever you can.”
“Of course.”
“And Whitby—I heard he succeeded in breaking the entail on the estate.”
That, at least, should appease him. “Aye. With no possible heir through paternal lineage, they granted it. The estate will go wherever he wills it, and the title will go extinct when he passes on.”
She wasn’t sure why so distant a maternal cousin as Pratt had any thought his lordship might name him heir—but then, he knew it was unlikely. That was why he was so determined to court Lady Regan.
Lord Pratt leaned in until their noses all but touched. “And where will he will the estate?”
“I … Mr. Graham thinks it certain Lady Regan will inherit, but Lord Whitby never speaks of such things in my presence.”
“Of course not.” His smile did nothing to soften the steel in his eyes. “But he speaks of it to someone, and someone else overhears. Then that someone no doubt bandies it about in the kitchen later. I ask only that you keep your ears open, my sweet.”
Her nod was slight, lest it put her face any closer to his. “I do.”
“I know you do. After all, you realize my funds are not unlimited. I cannot keep supporting your family forever, not without—”
“I know.” She squeezed her eyes shut.
“Unless, of course, you are willing to—”
“Please. I understand.”
He laughed. “Very well, my lovely, cling to your so-called respectability a bit longer.” The crinkling of paper drew her eyes open again, and she saw a banknote dangling before her.
Eyes wide, she looked past the note and to him. “Why is it more than we agreed?”
“Incentive.” He reached over the pew back and slid it into the handbag she’d set at her side.
There was nothing she could do but say thank-you. Even though she knew the devil never made a gift without demanding something in return.
Four
Rain pelted the window, and the wind howled about the railway carriage. Brook pulled her coat tighter and wished for a blanket.
Across from her, Justin pressed his lips together, but a smile still winked. “Cold, Brooklet?”
Perhaps she ought not to have teased him so mercilessly over the years about his inability to adjust to the Mediterranean heat in the summers. Turnabout was fair play, after all. She crossed her arms and dug up a grin. “It is invigorating.”
The Lost Heiress Page 3