by Howe, Cheryl
And then it occurred to him she must have no idea he’d seen her in the mirror watching him. At his extended scrutiny, she flushed and glanced to Wesley.
Wesley Hutton jumped to his feet, probably sensing the widow’s distress. “You two have not been formerly introduced. Forgive me.”
“Please, Wesley, we shouldn’t expect Lord Keane to know our customs. His forwardness is quite appropriate considering the circumstances,” she said, obviously dismissing some major blunder on James’s part. There was so much to learn about this country and how its people acted, and what was expected of him. For an instant he wondered if he was truly up to the challenge. He took a deep breath, hoping for inspiration and perseverance. Perhaps his father left his mercantile business to his sisters, with his brother-in-law to run it, instead of James, for a good reason.
“Be that as it may,” Wesley cleared his throat. “Lord Keane, may I present the lovely Lady Astra Seabrook Keane. Like her name implies, Astra is the shining star at Eastlan Manor.”
“Pleased to meet you, Lady Keane.” He extended his hand across the desk and she gently took it. In contrast to her prudish demeanor the warmth of her soft skin made James imagine her as an additional challenge, one that could be sweet or impossible. Though her identity was no longer a question, he had a feeling this woman had plenty of mysteries about her.
“We are cousins by marriage, after all,” she said with what he perceived as a somewhat false injection of warmth. “Perhaps we can dispense with the strictest formality.”
“Whatever makes you most comfortable.”
“Welcome to Eastlan. Again, forgive me for not doing so earlier, but you seemed to be indisposed for most of the day.” He was happy to see her blush at that. At least he was not the only one aware of the extreme awkwardness of the situation. “If I may be of assistance in making your transition as Eastlan’s new master more agreeable, it would be my honor.”
“I am sure you’re aware there will be changes in your situation,” James said a little too abruptly. Her sudden hospitality seemed worse than feeling like the crude American who’d soiled her pristine life with his vulgar ways. Better that she found him a little distasteful.
“Indeed, Cousin. How soon would you like us to vacate your home?” She glared at him with a surprising amount of anger that colored her cheeks and brought out the green in her eyes.
He searched for the right mix of denial and encouragement, but wasn’t quick enough. His heavy pause gave him away. The fact that he found her desirable as hell would not benefit either of them. Better for her to leave sooner than later. Better for both of them.
“Eastlan would fall into chaos if not for Astra.” Wesley turned toward Astra. “Our new lord is sure to be taken aback by the magnitude of orchestrating such a grand estate. I’m certain he will be in need of your counsel on the intricacies of directing the household staff.”
“Thank you, Wesley, but I am quite capable of speaking for myself.” James directed a warning stare at the steward. Wesley’s assumption that James was completely incompetent was beginning to seriously annoy him. After all, Wesley was the one who had personally directed the maid in question to show James to a room where he could change out of his traveling clothes, and that particular member of the staff had needed no instruction whatsoever. In fact, James had learned a thing or two.
“I am sure Lord Keane will have no trouble familiarizing himself with the staff.” Astra Keane lifted her chin with a show of haughty superiority. Was she also thinking of the chambermaid?
“If there is something you’d like to say, Lady Keane, please feel free to speak your mind.” There was something in her defiance that made her even more appealing. He met her direct gaze, and to his surprise, she didn’t flinch, just directed more of her hot anger his way. Why was she so damned mad? Yes, his behavior had been questionable, but she’d walked into a situation where she hadn’t been invited. He hadn’t ravished the maid, rather it was the other way around. Before he’d barely walked into the room she had him backed against a bureau and he’d found it impossible not to indulge in what she so generously offered. And perhaps that was the problem. Had the sweet little maid provided the same services for Astra’s late husband? James studied her, looking for a clue.
He watched as Wesley glanced between them. By the wide-eyed look on his face the man was obviously feeling a little panicked.
“Lady Keane is of gentle breeding, my lord,” Wesley sputtered. “She is unaccustomed to unschooled manners. Please have a care for her delicate nature.”
Instead of correcting Wesley, she lowered her gaze and pressed her fingertips to her mouth. Apparently not everyone had been privy to the living, breathing woman under her touch-me-not exterior, but James had, and he was tired of pretending not to know otherwise.
“Would you mind excusing us, Mr. Hutton? I think it would be best if I speak to Lady Keane alone. I’ll do my best to rein in my uncivilized nature.”
Astra Keane jerked her gaze to his, but pressed her lips together, silencing the alarm James glimpsed in her eyes.
“I did not intend to imply such.” Wesley stood. “Forgive me, Lord Keane.” He bowed then strode toward the door. With his hand on the knob he paused and said, “All will be well, Astra. I promise.” He cast a half-guilty, half-apologetic glance at James, then silently slipped from the room.
Interesting. One overly friendly housemaid. One covetous steward. One under-sexed and voyeuristic mistress he longed to know more about, even though he knew he shouldn’t go down that path considering the circumstances.
James tried to ignore the tightening in his groin at that last thought. He glanced up at Astra, keenly aware that they were now alone. The sordid implication proved better than the bawdy novels he’d read the last time he’d been detained in England. Now he had an inkling where Defoe and Fielding got their inspiration.
“I’m sure Wesley didn’t intend to offend you, my lord” she said. “He is only trying to protect me. My husband’s illness has made these last few years difficult.” She had bowed her head, speaking the words to her once again clasped hands, then suddenly lifted her chin as if mustering her courage. “My daughter has not adjusted well to the loss of her father. She has nightmares and—”
As if realizing she was speaking with the enemy instead of her compatriot Wesley, she squared her shoulders. “Of course, this is none of your concern. I appreciate your directness and shall face whatever changes must be undertaken. I am quite ready to be settled.”
“Again, I am sorry for both your loss.” James plunged ahead to stop himself from contemplating the shadows under her eyes. If she’d been awakened at night with a crying child, well, that would certainly explain it. He really was the villain here, he reminded himself, not Astra. Pushing aside any other distracting thoughts, he also reminded himself he had a task at hand to complete.
“In his will, your husband spoke of you both with great affection.”
Her shoulders slumped in obvious relief, her reaction raising James’s suspicions once again. Even so, it would be unfair to let her become too relaxed, even though it might work to his advantage. No, he needed and wanted to be fair. It was the kind of lord he imagined he could be once he got the hang of things. But now, now he had an obligation to just tell her the truth she deserved.
“However,” he began, “he failed to purchase the bonds for the generous income he wished for you.” James picked up the paper that outlined the legal ramblings and held it out to her hoping to soften the blow. The naked truth about her situation was not his invention or doing.
She stared at the offering before slowly reaching for the document. A slice of grief tightened her pretty features. Instead of discovering the details of her fortune, she carefully folded the pages, her left hand resting gently atop them on her lap.
“Is this the only copy of the document?” she said quietly.
“No, there is a duplicate. Also written by your late husband.”
“He was
…quite weak at the end. I had no idea he had the strength to inscribe such a detailed letter. It must have taken him days.” She spoke to her lap, and James toyed with the idea that he should offer her some sherry, some kind of appropriate condolences even though it would not help his argument. Abruptly, she lifted her head. “Surely you don’t intend to withhold what is due me because an ill man was unable to execute the final arrangements of his last wishes?”
“Things are more complicated than that. I’d be more than willing to provide for your inheritance from Eastlan’s surplus, if there were such a thing.” James paused, stopping himself from blaming the sickly Lowell for the ruin of the estate, though if he’d interpreted properly, the books certainly pointed to that. He wondered if some part of her knew. Perhaps that was the mystery she exuded. “Eastlan is in serious danger of collapsing under its own debt.” If she didn’t know, now she did and part of him winced at the fact that the bad news had to come from him.
For a moment, she stared at him in wide-eyed silence. “My lord,” she finally said with a touch of crisp contempt, “I have lived in the shadow of Eastlan’s grandeur my entire life. That I’ve had the honor to be her mistress for these last years is a sacred trust, not only to the Keane family, but to the people who live from her bounty.”
She took a shaky breath. “Perhaps you should lift your head from the balance sheets and look around you. Stroll the grounds. Visit the holdings. Eastlan is thriving.” She abruptly stood, clutching the folded papers to her chest. “If you think for a moment I’ll let you disregard Lowell’s last wishes and deprive Lark and I, as many a new lord is wont to do, you are mistaken.” Her whole body trembled, but she raised her chin and met his gaze.
This woman was indeed an unexpected element in the challenge being presented to him, and he admired her mustered strength. Still, he needed to keep his focus on what must be done to prevent bankruptcy, somehow manage to care for everyone at the estate, then decide how he might secure the future of Eastlan. He hoped he could gather his own strength, and a resistance to her appeal. Surely it would only distract him from the duty and decisions that lay ahead.
The one thing she did need from him was the truth. By her demeanor, he decided she could handle it. Though part of him hated the fact that he was the one to bring her the sad truth of the state of affairs.
He took a deep breath, hoping he could deliver the facts in the best possible way. “Maybe if someone had looked at the balance sheets, Eastlan wouldn’t have thirty thousand pounds in unpaid bills. And that’s just from this year.”
“That’s not possible.” She gripped the back of the red brocade chair with one hand. James couldn’t help wondering how much he could get for the intricately carved piece of furniture.
“Perhaps you should take a look around you, Lady Keane.” James picked up the crystal goblet, glanced at the red velvet drapes that perfectly matched the color of the chairs. Perhaps she didn’t understand how different her world was from his. “I’ve never seen such luxury. A single bill from your dressmaker for that dress is probably more than many men earn in a year in America.”
“We have been in mourning. The cost of new gowns was hardly a luxury but a show of respect.” Her tone was part defiance, part surprise.
“And what of the beeswax candles?” James blew out all but one of the candles on his desk just to make his point. He then went around the room extinguishing the candles on the mantle and the standing candelabrum that dripped with sparkling hand-cut crystals in the corner. “If you love Eastlan as much as you say, you’ll have no problem actually living off her fruit, and lessening the opulence in order to do so. Or are mutton, wool and tallow not to your liking?”
“Do you expect Lady Phillina, the daughter of a duke, a woman who has buried a husband and two sons, to end her days living like a pauper so you can fatten your purse? Are you that much of a selfish miser, my American cousin? And what of Lark, Lowell’s only offspring?”
“There is no money to fatten anyone’s purse. Eastlan is broke.” He ground his jaw at her insults but didn’t blame her for her conclusion. Apparently she’d been sheltered from the state of Eastlan’s affairs. He meant to change that. “Ask Wesley if you don’t believe me.”
The shadows cast by the lone candle intensified the hollows under her eyes, draining the spark from her fierce gaze. He expected a great deal from her and of course she was empathetic about the others who would be affected by his decisions.
“I have no wish for you or your daughter to suffer,” he said, deliberately softening his tone, “but the truth is that there are no funds for your settlement. And that is a fact I can’t change.” James stared into her eyes, watching for the recognition she understood the dire straits they all were in, then strode back to his chair.
“I cannot imagine what the wilds of America must be like, but here in England, we have laws. You may not withhold my inheritance and toss your predecessor’s family to the wolves.”
“I never said I was tossing anyone out.” James sank into his chair weary from the strain of the conversation.
“No, you just intend to treat us all like indentured servants, prisoners to your will, starve us of our creature comforts, humiliate us until we flee for our lives.” She remained standing, stiff as a statue, but her face had paled considerably. He wondered if she were in shock.
Clearly, her fear was winning out. Perhaps he’d said too much. “The hour is late.” Her reference to prisons, starvation and humiliation returned him to cool yet polite detachment, a skill he had mastered to survive the harshest of circumstances when no more than a teen. Perhaps those lessons would serve him well with the challenges before him. Especially Astra. He’d grown very used to wanting things he couldn’t have and biding his time.
“We can discuss this further another day,” he said. “I just thought you should know the particulars of your situation as soon as possible so you may make decisions regarding your future.”
“You won’t be allowed to deprive Lark her due.” She said the words with a breathy determination that even seemed to surprise herself. “I will retain an attorney and we will let the courts decide my fate. I have no doubt I’ll fare far better with a jury of my peers than I ever would with you. Good evening, Lord Keane.” She strode to the door without a backwards glance.
“Astra! Lady Keane, please let’s—” He jumped to his feet, not liking how the exchange had ended. He’d only made her angry with the truth. In hindsight, he probably should have waited, or at least not told her everything at once.
The door slammed on his plea for reason. James hung his head between his braced arms and considered her threat. Her peers, no doubt, were the House of Lords. He’d been warned that any dispute involving his inheritance would be heard by them. James sank in his chair and reached for the brandy he’d kept on the desk once he’d done his first assessment of Eastlan’s ledgers. An image of the wronged widow railing in front of a stuffy, white-wigged tribunal blurred his vision.
He filled his glass with brandy and took a swallow, focusing on the burn it trailed down his throat. At least discovering the mysterious woman in black’s identity cooled his lust so he could better focus on the financial recovery of his estate. James rubbed his eyes.
Unfortunately, in this case, fact proved so much more fascinating than mere fantasy. He had to admit she intrigued him. Telling her the truth had been difficult, but learning of her dire financial situation had to be devastating. If only she wasn’t who she was…the bereaved widow. If only she was an ally, someone who could collaborate with him, rather than oppose him.
Lady Astra Keane was a complicated mix, shrouded in secrets that he would dearly love to unveil. Or undress. The very image he wished to banish only increased his lust with bold detail.
CHAPTER TWO
Astra tugged on the oleander’s thick trunk with both hands. Despite the poorly drained soil that had turned the sapling leaves a sickly yellow, the roots had wrapped around the stone border, holdin
g onto a home that would surely kill it. The prospects for her own future hardly proved better.
She needed to consider the worst case. Her empty threat of legal action had been just that. She needed to face the truth, and the truth was that leaving Eastlan would be painful enough for both her and Lark, but with no funds, how would they survive? She certainly couldn’t rely on her mother for help. Her mother hadn’t had a permanent residence in years, preferring to exist as social flotsam and jetsam. Always eager for the next entertainment or invitation. Astra had hated being forced to live in constant insecurity after her father had passed away, always waiting for a distant relative to invite them for an extended stay. The very idea that Lark would have to grow up so unmoored squeezed Astra’s heart painfully.
No, she must think of something, anything to prevent it.
“The estate’s records show that we employ a gardener by the name of Jack Morton, if I remember correctly. Is Mr. Morton not doing his job?”
Astra jolted at James’s voice, landing her squarely on her behind as she let go of the plant’s trunk. The chill from the stone path seeped through her threadbare gown, reminding her that she was dressed in her worst. She stared at James Keane in stunned silence.
His coarse wool jacket and tan breeches tucked into scuffed riding boots were better suited to a common laborer. Unfortunately, his distressed attire did little to put them on any kind of equal footing. He was still the new lord of Eastlan, and she needed to remember that.
He offered his hand to help her to her feet, saying, “I didn’t expect you to start digging around in the dirt after our disagreement last night. I wasn’t at my best. Maybe I said some things I shouldn’t have.”