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by Jo Beverley

  “General Stanton,” she said in an icy but surprisingly well-modulated voice, “you will note the only person in this room lacking control is you. Your behavior is, I think, quite mad! I must conclude that if there is a taint of insanity, it resides in your branch of the family, not mine. As you can see, I am perfectly rational and in control.”

  As if to prove her point, she folded her hands in a ladylike clasp and sat primly back down in her seat.

  “Perfectly rational, perfectly rational!” roared the general. “By God, I’ll have you thrown out into the street before you insult this family again.”

  Silverton managed to recover the movement of his limbs, stepping hastily forward to stand between Miss Burnley and his uncle’s desk.

  “You’ll excuse me, sir, but I hardly think this discussion will benefit either you or Miss Burnley. I urge you to sit down. You do not look well.”

  The general opened his mouth as if to argue the point, but he looked truly overcome by the events. He bobbed his head once and sank back into his chair.

  “Miss Burnley,” Silverton said, swiveling his head to capture her attention, “I would take it as a great favor if you would refrain from insulting my uncle any further.”

  “But…,” she began to protest.

  “No, Miss Burnley,” he said in a quietly lethal voice.

  She glared at him, but he simply returned her torrid gaze with a cool and steady regard. Somewhat to his surprise, she gave a stiff nod and dropped her eyes. She sat with her back ramrod straight, staring at the floor as she struggled to rein in her temper.

  Silverton turned to his uncle and lifted an eyebrow. The general was muttering to himself again but did not seem inclined to launch back into the fray.

  “Thank you,” Silverton responded to no one in particular.

  Now that he had established a fragile peace, he took a moment to study the two angry faces before him. The thought crossed his mind that Miss Burnley and his uncle were remarkably alike. How odd that they weren’t even related, Silverton reflected. They might have been taken for father and daughter.

  He shook his head, crossing to the mahogany sideboard to pour himself a glass of port. Robert sidled up to him and hissed in his ear, “Damn it, Stephen, what do we do now?”

  As Silverton pondered the answer to that question, the door to the library opened behind him.

  “My goodness!” exclaimed a gentle, feminine voice. “What is happening in here? Arthur, what are you yelling about now?”

  Silverton repressed the inclination to roll his eyes up to the ceiling. God only knew how his Aunt Georgina would react to the unexpected resurrection of the Great Family Scandal.

  Chapter Two

  Meredith almost collapsed with relief as she followed Lady Stanton from the library. Her legs were shaking so badly she wondered if she could walk at all.

  She had been so angry with the general she’d been tempted to slap him. That was mortifying enough, but her response to Lord Silverton had been even more appalling. One kind word from him and she’d practically melted into a sticky puddle at his feet.

  Never in her life had she reacted that way to a man, and Meredith had the awful impression he’d sensed exactly how she felt. Even worse, she suspected he’d found the entire horrid scene more annoying than anything else. She groaned inwardly, recalling the arrogant arch of his brows when he’d practically ordered her to tell him about Annabel. Having to reveal her darkest family secrets to a man like him made her want to crawl into a closet and never come out.

  Lord Silverton was, quite simply, the most perfect man she had ever seen in her life. When Meredith had stormed into the library, she hadn’t noticed anyone but the general, so intent was she on her mission. But then she turned and saw him and thought she had stepped into a fairy tale or an ancient legend. Her overactive imagination had decided on the spot that the golden-haired man looked exactly like a valiant knight of old.

  He was tall, broad shouldered, and had the powerful physique of a sportsman. But it was his classically handsome face that had stopped her in her tracks. Her artistic sensibilities had compelled her to mentally trace the sharply defined cheekbones, aquiline nose, firm mouth, and strong chin. His eyes were incredibly blue—cobalt set against the faint bronze of his tanned complexion. His thick, wheat-colored hair had reflected the sunlight shafting through the library windows, brushed back from a widow’s peak before falling in soft waves to his collar.

  And although she had been too upset to notice many details of his attire, she had been aware that he carried himself with a masculine power and grace she had never encountered before.

  Most disturbing of all, when he had finally allowed himself to smile, her knees had actually wobbled.

  Meredith shrugged her shoulders impatiently, irritated by her own foolishness. Then again, she reflected, perhaps it was the strain of the last few weeks that had made her so susceptible to his potent male charm. She had been very anxious about meeting the general and the rest of Annabel’s family, which might explain her odd reaction to the situation.

  That and the fact that Silverton was the most dazzling man she had ever met, she thought dryly. In all fairness to herself, however, handsome London noblemen were actually rather thin on the ground in her part of rural Wiltshire.

  Meredith studied the back of Lady Stanton’s upright figure as she climbed the imposing central staircase behind the older woman. Glancing around, she noted the high ceilings and marble columns gracing the front hallway of the Palladian-inspired townhouse. The footman who had opened the front door stood impassively at the foot of the stairs, but she had little doubt he too thought her a lunatic for pushing her way into General Stanton’s inner sanctum.

  What a commotion she had caused! She had gambled everything on her ability to convince her sister’s family they must come to Annabel’s rescue. If the general’s response was any indication, their future seemed increasingly dependent on the goodwill of her cousin Jacob. Her heart shriveled at the thought, and she gave a despondent sigh as she trudged behind Lady Stanton. Her ladyship cast a look over her shoulder, her lips parting in a generous smile.

  “Not much farther, my dear. Then you will be able to have a nice cup of tea and explain how I can help you.”

  At those gentle words, Meredith’s heart began to lift, and for the first time in days she allowed herself to hope she had found an ally in her battle to keep Annabel safe.

  The butler, who had preceded them up the stairs, now opened the door to Lady Stanton’s sitting room, bowing to his mistress and then escorting Meredith through it. A footman carrying a large silver tea service followed them through the doorway. He placed the tray on a low table in front of a divan at the far end of the room.

  “Thank you, Tolliver,” said Lady Stanton. “That will be all.”

  The butler bowed once more before he and the footman left the room.

  Meredith inhaled deeply, pausing to take stock of her surroundings. In truth, she needed a few moments to compose herself, and looking around the room gave her that much needed opportunity. As she gazed at Lady Stanton’s particular retreat, she suddenly experienced a disorienting wave of longing for Swallow Hill.

  They were in a smallish, narrow room that ended in a set of graceful bay windows overlooking the gardens at the back of the house. The walls were a delicate shade of pale blue, set off by gray trim and elaborately detailed white plastered ceilings. Floral-patterned Oriental carpets covered the polished floorboards. The furniture looked both comfortable and cheery, upholstered in soft fabrics that matched the gold and cerulean shades in the carpets.

  In spite of the small space, the effect was one of airiness and light. Although it looked completely different, the colors and sense of calm that pervaded the room reminded Meredith of her stepmother’s bedchamber. She found herself blinking back tears at the unexpected, bittersweet memory.

  Lady Stanton examined her with a look that managed to be both shrewd and kind. Seating herself on the
richly padded silk divan, the older woman indicated the matching armchair placed on the other side of the low, deeply polished table.

  “Come, Miss Burnley, do sit down. You have nothing to fear from me.” She smiled invitingly at Meredith. “You see, I have been expecting your visit for quite some time.”

  Meredith was about to sink into the chair, but she froze, stunned by Lady Stanton’s remark. “I don’t understand,” she replied slowly. “None of your family has been in communication with mine since my father and stepmother were married.”

  Lady Stanton again waved her hand at the chair. Meredith sank down into the soft cushions as the older woman prepared two cups of tea. She was taken aback by her ladyship’s comments but squashed the impulse to demand an immediate explanation, not wanting to offend the one person who seemed most willing to help her—even after Lord Silverton’s terse explanation of events in the library a few minutes ago. So Meredith waited, trying not to fidget, as she studied the woman across from her.

  Her ladyship was slight of figure, but had a graceful, upright carriage. Her hair was silvery white, and something about her suggested frailty, but her fine-boned face was un-lined and her kind blue eyes, though faded, were sharply observant. Those eyes watched her now with a combination of acumen and sympathy that made Meredith want to squirm in her seat. Her patience finally ran out.

  “Pardon my impertinence, your ladyship, but could you please tell me why you’ve been expecting my visit? The general”—she hesitated, not wanting to offend Lady Stanton—“the general certainly did not appear to be anticipating my call.”

  “My husband does not know I was in regular communication with my daughter from the time of her marriage to the time of her death.”

  Meredith almost dropped her teacup.

  “Everyone supposes that all contact between us ceased after your father and my Elizabeth were married,” Lady Stanton continued calmly. “I would not allow that to be so. I knew, however, that the general would not countenance a correspondence between us. As much as it pained me to deceive him, I kept it secret. It was my impression Elizabeth did not want to appear disloyal to your father, either, so she kept our correspondence secret from him as well.”

  Lady Stanton smiled wryly at Meredith, who knew she looked as stunned as she felt.

  “You are, perhaps, shocked by this. We knew the situation was not ideal, but my daughter and I were very close. The thought of never communicating again was not something either of us could bear.”

  Suddenly, Lady Stanton looked very weary and much older than she had a few minutes ago. She closed her eyes and took a sip of tea, as if to revive herself.

  Meredith reached over and fleetingly touched her hand. “I can only imagine the grief the separation must have caused you.”

  Lady Stanton carefully set her teacup into its saucer, the look of melancholy on her face gradually softening with relief. “Thank you, my dear. She loved you very much, you know. My Elizabeth took just as much pride in your accomplishments as she did in Annabel’s. And you, I believe, were very close to her as well.”

  There was a hint of a question in Lady Stanton’s voice. Meredith’s throat tightened as she recalled those long-ago days when she had felt safe and loved.

  “Yes, my lady. She was the best of mothers. You must understand that I was quite wild when she took me in hand. My own mother died in childbirth, and Papa was a very indulgent father.”

  Meredith shook her head as she thought of how defiant she had been when Elizabeth Stanton had exerted her gentle control over her errant stepdaughter. “I owe everything to your daughter, ma’am, and I revere and miss her every day of my life.”

  “She would be happy to know that,” replied Lady Stanton. “I know she would be very proud of you for taking such good care of your sister. When we have time, you must tell me about your life together.”

  Her ladyship set her teacup on the table with a little clatter.

  “Now to the business at hand. The reason I have been expecting you is that I wrote to your father after Elizabeth’s death, offering him any assistance he might need for you and Annabel. He never replied, but I have always held out hope that you or my granddaughter would someday find your way to me.”

  Meredith thought for a moment she had not heard correctly. How on earth could Papa have neglected to tell her something this important! Immediately she felt guilty. Her father had been so broken by his wife’s death, he had barely been able to care for his own children.

  “I wrote General Stanton after my father died,” Meredith replied slowly. “I thought he would want to know. I was sure you both would want to see Annabel—perhaps ask me to bring her to London. But he never replied.”

  A shadow of bitter regret flitted across the older woman’s face. “I’m sorry, my dear. I never knew. My greatest fear has always been that you and your sister resented the estrangement and had no desire to ever contact me. If I had only known.” She shook her head in exasperation, obviously frustrated by so many lost opportunities.

  The tension that had gripped Meredith since entering Stanton House began to ease. It seemed she had an ally after all. The only question remaining was whether Lady Stanton would defy her husband and agree to help her granddaughter.

  “You know we need your help.” Meredith’s heart pounded erratically. “Annabel will be lost unless your family intervenes. I have no rights of guardianship, either to her person or her fortune. My uncle is a determined man, and I know that only someone more powerful will be able to stop him from confining Annabel to an asylum.”

  Meredith could hear her voice starting to tremble. The other woman reached across the table and took her hand.

  “There is no question, my dear. Annabel is safe now. Her family will take care of her, and you may rest assured I will never let her uncle harm her, or you.”

  It was too much for Meredith. All the pent-up emotion could no longer be contained. She broke down and wept as Lady Stanton rose from the divan and hugged her. For the first time in years, she had someone older and wiser to lean on.

  Lady Stanton stroked Meredith’s face with a soft hand and dried her eyes with a napkin.

  “Come, my child. There is no need for any more tears. My granddaughter has finally come home, and we must see what we can do to help her.”

  Meredith struggled to regain her composure, taking a sip of tea in an effort to clear her throat. It was rather tiresome, she admitted to herself, to act so continuously like a watering pot.

  Lady Stanton swished gracefully back to her seat, an engaging twinkle lighting up her eyes. “I suspect you already have a plan, and you simply need me to put it into motion.”

  “Yes, my lady. I have given the matter much thought,” said Meredith, dabbing at her runny nose with a napkin. “What Annabel needs is a Season. In fact, what she really needs is a husband.”

  For just a second, Lady Stanton looked astonished. Then she began to laugh with delight. Meredith felt dizzy with relief at the other woman’s evident approval.

  “Brilliant, my dear! I wish I had thought of it myself. If Annabel marries, then her guardianship and control of her fortune passes to her husband. Your uncle will never be able to touch her.”

  Meredith nodded thoughtfully, relieved Lady Stanton’s thinking confirmed her own. There was, however, one thing still troubling her. “My greatest fear is that we will never be able to get my uncle to agree to her marriage,” she confided. “I would hate for Annabel to have to elope to Scotland.”

  Lady Stanton waved her concern away with an airy gesture. “Special license,” she said succinctly.

  Meredith hesitated, unwilling to disagree with her ladyship, but her doubts must have been clearly written on her face.

  “Don’t worry, my dear,” Lady Stanton said dryly. “We know the archbishop.”

  The crushing fear that had weighed so heavily on Meredith began to dissipate. Elation replaced despair as she realized all the risks she and Annabel had taken just might have bee
n worth it.

  Lady Stanton rose from the divan, her quick movements belying her age. She walked briskly to the bell pull and tugged on the cord. “Now, my dear Miss Burnley, with your permission I should like to visit my grandchild.” An exultant expression suffused the older woman’s features. “I have been waiting a very long time for this day to arrive.”

  The door to the sitting room quietly opened and Tolliver stepped in. Lady Stanton swung around to face him.

  “Tolliver,” she exclaimed in a commanding voice, “my carriage. Immediately!”

  Chapter Three

  Meredith sat bolt upright in the elegant, burgundy-colored landau, trying to ignore the assault on her senses as the carriage threaded its way along the busy street. The midday chaos that surrounded them gave her a headache—an unwelcome distraction as she struggled to compose her turbulent emotions. Much to her surprise, she hated London. The noise, the dust and dirt, the myriad of smells that to her were mostly unpleasant, made every trip from their small set of rooms an experience to be endured rather than enjoyed.

  Her sister’s reaction to the city had been completely the opposite. Annabel reveled in the events that, to her, seemed an adventure rather than an escape. The girl was more animated and healthier than Meredith had seen her in months.

  Annabel had eagerly accompanied her on the few errands that had been necessary since their unexpected arrival four days ago on the doorstep of Miss Noyes, their former governess. Meredith, unfortunately, struggled to contain her fears every time they left the sanctuary of the house. She constantly looked over her shoulder, expecting any minute that Uncle Isaac would track them down and drag them back to Swallow Hill.