by Jo Beverley
Silverton had come to the conclusion long ago that he was by nature a cold person or, at the very least, lacking in strong feelings. He enjoyed many things—his horses, his dogs, and his friends. He was fond of his mother and adored his Aunt Georgina. But he could never seem to muster any real attraction toward the fluttering girls paraded before him and honestly had no desire to feel otherwise.
When he thought of marriage at all—which wasn’t often—it invariably left a dull, faintly sour taste in his mouth. But Silverton knew it was only a matter of time before he must resign himself to a suitable alliance. Duty required him to marry, and marry he would, but he had no expectations for his own happiness.
Silverton listened absently while his uncle berated Robert. Since it didn’t really seem to matter whom he married, he had compiled a list of eligible candidates in his head to present to the general for discussion and approval. Now seemed as good a time as any to make the decision.
He was about to open his mouth when he heard a commotion out in the hallway and the raised voice of Tolliver, his uncle’s excruciatingly correct butler. The door to the library flew open and Tolliver exclaimed, “No, no, miss. Wait! You cannot go in there!”
All three men turned their heads toward the door and were met with the astonishing sight of an unknown young woman striding into the room. When she found herself confronted by their shocked gazes, she stopped in her tracks. Tolliver followed closely behind and only just managed to avoid barreling into her.
Silverton rose slowly to his feet. Robert seemed paralyzed, but he finally remembered his manners and sprang to attention. For one long moment, they all remained trapped in a stunned silence before the general finally found his voice.
“Who the devil are you?”
The intruder’s eyes quickly surveyed the room, skipping Robert and coming to rest on Silverton. Their gazes locked on each other. He felt as if he had been nailed to the floor, so captivated was he by the sight of the feminine whirlwind who had swept into their midst.
A tall, long-limbed creature, her shiny black hair curled out from under a sturdy country bonnet. Although she seemed no more than twenty-one or twenty-two, her self-assurance in confronting a roomful of strangers suggested she could be older.
But more than anything, her eyes captured him by surprise. They were extraordinary: large under straight, determined brows and framed by thick black lashes. It was their color, however, that had caught his attention so forcefully. They were gray, but not the insipid, neutral color one associated with the term. No, they reminded him of a winter rainstorm—turbulent, untamed, and full of secret depths.
He stared at her, dimly aware he was probably making an ass of himself, but it seemed impossible to look elsewhere. She, too, seemed unable to break away, her eyes widening as a faint flush bronzed her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. For just a second, he thought the darkness in her gaze transmuted into something lighter, a brief flash of silver in the deep. Silverton could not seem to assemble his thoughts into a coherent order, but it occurred to him that she looked like a young goddess, magnificent and full of righteous anger.
Then she blinked, the spell broke, and she turned to face his uncle.
“I am most sorry, General Stanton,” said Tolliver, who wrung his hands in distress over this astounding breach of etiquette. “I tried to tell this young…woman that she could not disturb you, but she waited until my back was turned and then…”
He trailed off into silence, too distraught to even finish his sentence.
The general impatiently waved his hand at the butler. “Yes, yes, well, you may go, Tolliver. I’ll deal with this situation.”
“Yes, sir.” The butler tottered out of the room, clearly shattered by the disturbance to his well-ordered household.
General Stanton focused his gaze on the young woman standing before him.
“Now, miss,” he said, “perhaps you will be so good as to explain your extraordinary behavior.”
Silverton again saw the faint flush color the woman’s pale complexion, but it was apparent by the way she held her ground that the general’s irascible demeanor failed to intimidate her.
“I am Meredith Burnley, sir,” she replied in a quiet voice. “My stepmother was your daughter, Elizabeth, and your granddaughter, Annabel, is my half sister.”
Another stunned silence fell over the library. If she had shot a cannonball through the room, the shock could not have been any greater. Silverton grimaced, bracing himself for the inevitable explosion as General Stanton confronted the stepdaughter of his bitterly estranged and long-dead child.
The old man was, indeed, turning an alarming shade of red as he rose from his chair to contend with this obviously unwelcome spectre from the past. In fact, he appeared on the verge of an apoplectic fit. Silverton cast about for a way to divert his uncle’s attention, but his mind at the moment felt approximately as agile as a snail crawling through two feet of mud.
“How…how dare you enter this house?” General Stanton finally managed to blurt out. “By God, woman, what right do you have to disturb my peace after your father ruined my daughter’s reputation and her life? A tradesman’s son to marry my child! Her mother and I have spent many years trying to forget our loss. And now, after all this time, you dare come here…to my home!”
The general shook with rage, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. “He ruined her life, I tell you, and it broke her mother’s heart!”
For a few seconds, General Stanton glared at the silent young woman before turning his back on her. Miss Burnley staggered under the impact of the old man’s wrath, swaying a bit as if she might faint. Repressing a curse, Silverton moved quietly across the thick Aubusson carpet until he stood behind her. He could think of no other response to his uncle’s shocking outburst, but at least he could catch her if she swooned.
Fortunately, Miss Burnley remained on her feet.
“I am here, sir,” she replied in an unexpectedly sharp voice, “because I have no choice. I wrote to you after our father died, hoping you would realize how much your granddaughter needed the protection of her family. You chose to ignore us, and she has been forced to submit to the direction and guardianship of a man who does not have her best interests at heart. I have imposed myself only to implore that you intervene on Annabel’s behalf to prevent a most unhappy fate from befalling her.”
Miss Burnley struggled to maintain her composure. She clamped her arms tightly against her sides, attempting to subdue the tremors shaking her body. Silverton felt an oddly powerful impulse to take her in his arms and soothe her. He fought the unfamiliar urge as the young woman deliberately straightened her spine and cocked her elegant chin. Instead of retreating, she stepped closer to the desk, leaned into it, and fixed her implacable gaze on his uncle.
“General Stanton, I must insist that you listen to me. If you do not, Annabel likely will not survive this threat to her well-being. She is very fragile.”
The general finally looked at her, hostility etched in every line of his face.
“You must help her,” she implored again. A note of faint panic seemed to thread her voice. “I would not have disturbed you if there had been any other way to save Annabel. I cannot lose her. She is all I have.”
Her voice caught, and she fell silent. Miss Burnley clutched her reticule in a tight fist and turned away from the general as if embarrassed by her loss of control. She gasped when she discovered Silverton standing so closely behind her, taking a hasty step back to regain her balance.
Grasping her elbow, he gently steered her to one of the leather club chairs to the side of his uncle’s desk. “Miss Burnley, won’t you sit down? You may tell us everything you need to regarding your sister, but I insist you have some refreshment first.”
Silverton glanced at his cousin, who was glued to the spot, mouth hanging open and eyes popping from their sockets. “Robert,” he admonished, “do stop catching flies and ring the bell for some tea.”
The la
d snapped his mouth shut and hurried over to yank vigorously on the bell cord.
Silverton returned his gaze to Miss Burnley, who sat bolt upright on the edge of her chair, eyes lowered as she grasped her handkerchief in a death grip. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she looked up to meet his eyes.
“Thank you, sir. I should be most grateful for a cup of tea.” Her soft mouth trembled into a tentative smile.
He blinked as the force of that shy smile lanced through him. The unexpected jolt of emotion was both surprising and irritating.
General Stanton forcefully cleared his throat, jerking Silverton out of his momentary reverie. After briefly examining Miss Burnley’s pallid complexion, he crossed to a mahogany sideboard holding a collection of decanters and crystal glassware. Silverton poured a small glass of sherry and returned to her side.
“Yes, tea will be just the thing, but I fancy you could use something a bit more fortifying while we wait.”
“No, I’m fine,” she protested. “I don’t need that.” She took another deep breath, folding her hands carefully in her lap.
“Yes, you do,” he replied in a firm voice, willing her with his eyes to take the drink. “Come, Miss Burnley, I insist.”
She looked at him doubtfully. He nodded his encouragement, and she again offered him that painfully sweet and tentative smile. Miss Burnley took the glass and sipped, casting her gaze up as if seeking his approval. Silverton found himself riveted by the luscious tremor of her full pink lips and the burnished silver of her amazing eyes.
Under the circumstances, his reaction was obviously most inappropriate.
He mentally shook his head at the day’s unexpected turn of events. He had reluctantly dragged himself to Stanton House this morning to meet his uncle. Completely unawares, he had been pitched right into the middle of what his mother called the Great Family Scandal. No one spoke of the estrangement between the general and his daughter. It had always seemed like ancient history to Silverton, especially since Elizabeth Burnley had died so many years ago. But part of that ancient history had come back to life today, and with a vengeance.
He looked thoughtfully at the striking young woman perched on the edge of her seat, cautiously drinking her small glass of sherry. In spite of the obvious distress of all the parties in the library, Silverton had to admit this was much more fun than talking about his impending immolation on the matrimonial altar.
Especially when one of the parties involved was Miss Meredith Burnley.
Several minutes passed in silence as the anxious Miss Burnley sipped her sherry. His uncle continued to fume behind his desk, and Robert fidgeted in the corner. Silverton, however, decided to disregard his relatives until she recovered herself. He was pleased to see the color finally returning to her cheeks.
“Miss Burnley, if you are quite recovered,” he said, moving to stand over her, “perhaps you might explain to us why you need the general’s help.”
Her brows drew together in a worried frown. “I would be happy to, sir, but it is a private family matter and I don’t know…” Her cheeks turned bright pink as her voice trailed off.
Silverton nodded his head in sudden understanding. “Of course. You don’t know who we are. I am the Marquess of Silverton. General Stanton is my uncle. The unnaturally silent young man in the corner is Robert Stanton, the general’s grandson and your sister’s cousin.”
Unfortunately, this information did not appear to assuage her doubts. Her eyes earnestly searched his, and from the expression on her face, he could tell she was trying to decide what to do.
“Come, Miss Burnley.” He arched his eyebrows at her hesitation. “I assure you, my cousin and I are quite able to keep our own counsel. We cannot possibly assist you until we know the nature of the problem.”
Silverton ignored the murderous look cast his way from behind the massive desk. He also decided to ignore the desperate-sounding squeak that came from Robert’s corner.
Miss Burnley paused a moment longer before bowing her head in agreement. She placed her sherry on the red lacquered side table next to her chair and began to speak, hesitantly at first but more strongly as she went along.
“As you may or may not know, my lord, my sister and I have been almost alone in the world since the death of our father three years ago. I achieved independence a few years before that, but Annabel was only fourteen when our father died. Because of the estrangement between our families”—she paused and cast a wary glance at the general—“my father’s will stipulated that Annabel fall under the guardianship of his brother, Isaac Burnley. That guardianship also includes control of her fortune, which she inherited on the death of her mother, Elizabeth Stanton Burnley.”
“Aye, and that money was the cause of all this misfortune and trouble in the first place!” General Stanton burst out. “Without it she would never have been able to run off and leave her own family.”
Miss Burnley’s cheeks turned an even brighter shade of pink than before. She and the old man glared at each other, and it seemed that open warfare would break out any moment between the combatants.
“Uncle!” Silverton uttered only the one word, but the warning in his voice was clear.
The old man grumbled something under his breath before settling into his chair.
Silverton turned back to the young woman. “Please continue, Miss Burnley.”
She nodded. “As I was saying, this guardianship includes control of the fortune bequeathed to Annabel by her mother.” She paused to glance cautiously at the general before continuing. “Which also includes the management of our estate at Swallow Hill. Until quite recently, my uncle was content to leave Annabel’s welfare to me, as he and my aunt live in Bristol and were much occupied with their own affairs.”
Her features were suddenly infused with a look of anguish as her eyes glittered with unshed tears. Silverton wondered what the devil could plague her to bring such despair so easily to the surface. She looked so beautiful and so lonely that his heart, not easily touched by the emotion of others, began to feel a reluctant tug of empathy.
“Annabel has always been frail,” she said, looking at him earnestly, as if willing him to understand. “When my father died, she suffered greatly, and I have been forced to safeguard her carefully ever since. Last year her health was improving. But lately, well, her spirits are much depressed again.”
She stopped, and Silverton watched with dread as tears began to well from her eyes. He wasn’t really afraid of weeping females, but this situation was so bizarre he was uncertain how to respond to her.
Fortunately, she blinked away the offending moisture and resolutely carried on.
“A few months ago, my aunt and uncle decided to join us at Swallow Hill. Uncle Isaac has finally asserted his guardianship over Annabel, which has included decisions about her illness. These decisions, I believe, have been very detrimental to her well-being. I’m convinced that her recent decline is the result of this interference, but I’m powerless to stop it.”
Miss Burnley paused again, as if collecting herself for what came next.
“Just a few days ago,” she explained, staring at Silverton as if her life depended on it, “my uncle made what could surely be called a threat to Annabel, a threat I fear will destroy her completely. We had no choice but to flee our home and throw ourselves on the mercy of Annabel’s family.”
She twisted in her chair to face the general.
“Please, General Stanton,” she implored, “if you have any charity in your heart toward Annabel or toward the memory of her mother, you must help her. I believe you are the only person who can defy my uncle and prevent him from doing what he clearly intends, and which I am certain will be the death of her!”
Miss Burnley’s eyes blazed with a desperate determination as she pleaded with the general. The old man looked stunned, shifting uncomfortably in his leather chair.
Silverton had always prided himself on his understanding, but he couldn’t imagine what could lead an obviou
sly well-bred young lady to make such an impassioned statement. He was used to his mother’s domestic dramas and occasional histrionics, but Miss Burnley did not strike him as a woman given to hysterics. Quite the contrary, he was willing to bet she would be as levelheaded a woman as one could meet.
The situation was rapidly spinning out of control. His uncle was struck dumb, and Miss Burnley seemed unwilling to provide any more clarity to a story positively gothic in nature. Obviously, he had to try and get to the bottom of this before it got any murkier.
“Miss Burnley.” Silverton forced his voice to remain gentle. “If you could reveal the exact nature of this threat, it would help us to better understand your sister’s predicament.”
Her shoulders slumped in weary resignation against the back of the club chair. “My uncle wishes to confine her in a private lunatic asylum.”
Silverton felt his temples begin to throb as he realized what would happen next. He bit back a curse as he looked at his uncle, who was doing a passable imitation of one of Congreve’s rockets about to explode. Any amusement he had felt toward the day’s proceedings had just gone up in a puff of smoke.
“A madhouse?” The general practically levitated out of his chair. “Do you mean to tell me the girl is insane?” His face mottled with fury as he pointed a shaking finger at Miss Burnley. “This is what comes from marrying inferior blood! I won’t have it, I tell you. I won’t have a madwoman in my family. Your family obviously carries the taint, and your uncle must deal with it as he sees fit. You will leave the Stantons out of it.”
Silverton, dimly aware of Robert gulping like a stranded fish in the corner, felt paralyzed both by Miss Burnley’s words and by his uncle’s furious outburst. If she didn’t swoon now, it would be a miracle.
She did appear stunned, but her shock was rapidly displaced by a growing wrath. Her hands clenched into fists, and her face turned ghostly pale but for two patches of red flying high on her cheekbones. Silverton watched, reluctantly fascinated as she flexed her hands and wrestled her anger under control. She stood, drawing herself up to her full and imposing height. In spite of the awfulness of the situation, he couldn’t help but think that Miss Burnley looked absolutely magnificent, with her generous bosom heaving and her silver eyes luminescent with fury.