by Decca Price
“I said, I will see you in the library a half-hour from hence,” Sir Henry said with deliberation. He levered his imposing bulk from the table and loomed over her. “I have a serious matter to discuss with you.”
“Serious!” Mama fluttered like a startled peahen. “Whatever can you mean?”
“Nothing you need trouble yourself with, MaryAnn. It involves only Claire.”
“Oh, Claire!” her sister Cat exclaimed in a low voice. “What have you done now!” Frances giggled nervously.
“It doesn’t concern you, miss,” Sir Henry said sternly. “Look to the log in your own eye before fussing over the speck in your sister’s.”
“Yes, Papa,” the two younger girls said in unison as they rustled from the room with their mother.
Claire’s stomach clenched. Could he have heard about the incident with Annie Parsons already? Or was it that he knew about her apology? Which would be worse in his eyes, she wondered. She resigned herself to another lecture on Woman’s Domestic Duties and how to conduct herself with inferiors.
But she said simply, “Yes, Papa. In an hour.”
Chapter 2
Claire was surprised to see three men standing by the fireplace—to her father’s left was a gray-haired man of medium height in a well-cut dark suit and, to his right, her brother, a tall ruddy-haired man who could have been her twin.
“Cameron, it’s good to see you down from London,” she said, brushing a fleet kiss across his cheek. “How are Delilah and the boys?”
“They are well, thank you,” he replied. “I had some urgent business to discuss with Father and saw no reason to pretend an interest in damp gardens when Mr. Chambers here arrived.”
“Ahem, yes,” the man Chambers said, eyeing Sir Henry with poorly masked distaste. “I do apologize for the interruption of my appointment, sir, but I trust the lady will find my information worthwhile.”
Was that sarcasm the man was using? This was not going to go well. Papa was bristling already, she could see.
“This is my daughter, Miss Burton, sir,” Papa barked.
“Miss Burton,” the lawyer said, advancing toward her with a bow. “I am very pleased to meet you at last. Mr. Carter told me so much about you, but words failed even that great author when describing your beauty.”
“There is no need for false pleasantries with my daughter,” Papa said. “Please say what you’ve come to say.”
The man was making her Papa uncomfortable, Claire could see, but she found herself at ease with Mr. Chambers’ kind manner. He knew Josiah! She sat on the edge of one of the big leather wing chairs ranged before the fireplace, where burning coals failed to keep the chill off the room, and watched as he produced a sheaf of documents from a portfolio case.
“I have here the last will and testament of Mr. Josiah Colby Carter, late of Oak Grove Hall, County of Herefordshire, signed by his own hand on 12 March in the year of our Lord 1873, and duly witnessed. Mr. Carter being deceased on 29 March this year extant, I hereby discharge the duties entrusted to me as executor.”
He paused and looked directly at her.
“Ordinarily, Miss Burton, I would read the will line by line to the gathered heirs, but in this case, it hardly seems necessary, since there is only you, and the minor bequests to former servants and charities don’t signify. I have a copy that we can review together later, when you are ready, and I would advise you to obtain legal counsel of your own to keep matters above board. I don’t hold with executors having absolute power in an estate of this size, though I hope Josiah Carter’s faith in me was not misplaced.”
Not sure she had heard correctly, Claire scanned the faces of the three men arrayed before her. Mr. Chambers looked grave. Cameron made no effort to conceal his awakened interest. Papa looked like a hound that had just scented a fox.
“What do you mean, Mr. Chambers?” she asked with rising alarm. Papa’s expression hinted toward what the lawyer said next.
“It’s only this, Miss Burton. You are an extremely wealthy woman. Mr. Carter names you as principal heir to all his estates, holdings, furnishing and chattel, copyrights, the lot. You are both his heir in property and his literary executor. The land and house at Oak Grove alone are valued at about £100,000 pounds and produce about £3,000 a year clear. Investments currently are yielding another £5,000 per annum”
Papa exploded.
“Impossible! She cannot accept. That man was determined to ruin my daughter from the day he met her. If word of this gets out, she won’t be able to mingle in decent society. We refuse this insult!”
“You mistake the matter, Sir Henry. You cannot refuse. Miss Burton is the legatee,” Chambers explained calmly. “What she chooses to do with her inheritance is up to her. She can sell Oak Grove, lease it, give it away or let it fall into ruin. She may allow the income to accumulate at her bankers untouched for her lifetime or squander it at all at Monte Carlo. But in the end, whatever remains will go to her heirs, whether she lifts a finger to direct its disposal or not. It is hers.”
“There must be some way to refuse this,” Papa blustered. “There wasn’t so much as an engagement announced between them to give this a cover of respectability!”
“Father, think,” Cameron interjected. “We’re talking thousands and thousands of pounds here. People will gossip about my sister, yes, and there will be a few who snub her. But times have changed. The way we in society live now, her wealth will buy a lot of forgiveness. With this, she may even be able to look as high as a peer for a husband. Nobody flinches at these American girls coming over here and marrying into the best families. At least Claire is an Englishwoman.”
“What about her sisters? This will be a terrible reflection on them as well,” Sir Henry replied. “Frances is all but engaged to Lady Hapwell’s son. This could ruin everything!”
“I’m sure Claire would not be close fisted, Father. You would make provision for them, wouldn’t you?” Cameron addressed this last to her but did not wait for her response. “Besides, this money couldn’t come at a better time for me.”
Claire flinched. Cameron was becoming more like Papa every day.
“There’s no question the property will have to be sold. Herefordshire!” Sir Henry spat. “That’s practically in Wales. That damnable Carter couldn’t even buy an estate in a civilized part of the country. It’s not as though it was family land and he had to make the best of it.”
“Papa!” Claire was standing now, too.
“Pardon my language, Claire. I ask your pardon as well, Chambers. This is most vexing, but that’s no reason I should forget myself.”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it, Papa. You must stop disparaging Mr. Carter—at least to my face. And what will Mr. Chambers think of us?”
“I think I know what Mr. Chambers should think of us,” Cameron said with a snort. “I’m sure men in Mr. Chambers’ line see all sorts of families at their best.”
“I am not paid to have opinions about my clients,” Chambers replied. “I am paid to advise them to the best of my ability—and my advice to you, though you are not my clients, is to stop bullying Miss Burton. She is of age, and I heartily hope that she will follow her own dictates in this matter, as Josiah Carter desired. He wished to make her independent.” He stopped short of saying “of you,” but the unspoken words hung in the air.
“Mr. Chambers,” Claire said to him, “why did he do this? He must have known how this would look to the outside world and that it would anger my father terribly.”
“Josiah had great faith in you, Miss Burton. I have handled his legal affairs for a decade. Before he left for America, he wanted to be sure his legacy would be in the hands of one who truly loved him, should anything untoward happen to him, so he signed this will in the event he did not return.”
“But he did return,” Claire said half to herself. “He was coming back to me!”
An awkward silence filled the room.
“What happens next?” Claire asked fin
ally.
“There are some papers to be signed, Miss Burton, and some formalities in the courts. But Mr. Carter has no living relatives and there are no claims on the estate, so I am authorized to advance any reasonable amounts to you, should you require. In essence, you are now mistress of Oak Grove. The house is but ten years old, with many modern conveniences, and well situated with fine views of the Wye Valley. A wire will give the household a day’s notice of your arrival whenever you choose.
“And, Sir Henry,” he added pointedly. “The Great Western Railroad has offered regular train service to Hereford for some time now. The journey is but four hours from Paddington station.”
Sir Henry coughed. “You are correct, sir, that this estate should be looked to sooner rather than later. I am sure my daughter will take my advice and sell. It is too remote, and depending on servants to manage a property in absentia is foolhardy. I shall make arrangements to inspect it with my man of business. Perhaps you would work with him to find a buyer?”
“There would be no problem, there, Sir Henry. The present Lord Montfort has been anxious to bring the land back into his hands since his late brother sold it to Mr. Carter to raise cash. Of course, it is considerably improved since then, but Lord Montfort can afford a handsome price thanks to his advantageous marriage.”
“I don’t want to sell, Papa.”
“Nobody is asking you, Claire. Neither your mother nor I wish to be tied to a country house we have no desire to visit.”
“Listen to Father, Claire,” Cameron urged. “Think of the good you could do with the money.”
“Pardon me, Cameron, but you seem overly concerned about how I can spend Josiah’s money on other people. If you are in difficulties, we can discuss that before Mr. Chambers goes back to London. Mr. Chambers, I may give my brother money now, mayn’t I?”
“Yes, Miss Burton. Depending on the amount and the circumstances, you may give, invest—or lend.”
Cameron Burton shot Chambers a look.
“You see, Papa?” Claire appealed to her father. “I have no need to sell and I don’t want to sell. Josiah loved Oak Grove. He grew up in the neighborhood. He wrote his best books there.”
“You haven’t even seen the place, girl! Didn’t you hear what the man said—the house is ‘modern,’—it’s shoddy construction, no doubt, and lacking any sense of refined taste.”
“I would at least like to see the place before making a judgment. I hope you would accompany me. You said there was paperwork, Mr. Chambers—shall we get to it? I’m sure Papa will allow us to use his desk. If you’ll just excuse me a moment…”
Claire rose quickly and went into the entry hall, where Miss Simms was adjusting a large arrangement of dried flowers for the umpteenth time.
“Simmie, I need your help. Have someone send a wire to Aunt Maud. Tell her my visit has been unavoidably delayed and that I’ll write to her tonight.”
“Are you all right, Claire? You seem a bit feverish. What’s happened?”
“I’m fine, Simmie. But the most extraordinary thing has happened. Prepare yourself for a journey to the West Country. We must go to Herefordshire.”
Claire swept back into the library, head high and eyes a touch too bright. The documents could have been dealt with more swiftly, had not Papa continually paused to read and exclaim over the contents. With a few pen strokes, his eldest daughter was richer than he had ever hoped to be in his wildest dreams. The Burton family would rise in the world—if Claire remained obedient and if society, as his son stated, would overlook the stain on her reputation. He had no doubts about the former.
With the last paper signed, Claire put down Papa’s pen.
“Is that it then?” she asked Mr. Chambers.
“There is one more thing, Miss Burton.” He reached into his portfolio and produced a small packet. “Mr. Carter left this, to be opened only by you should this sad day arrive. I believe it is a letter.”
Claire accepted the packet with trepidation. Perhaps here was the answer to her question. Why, Josiah? Why make this strange gift to me?
She handled the packet almost reverently, then felt a hard lump in one corner. She opened the envelope carefully and shook. A heavy gold ring rolled onto the desk.
She picked it up gingerly and held it to the light.
About a quarter-inch wide, the chased gold band was set in the center with three dark, equally sized amethysts. A motif of intricately carved vines and leaves, encircled above and below by single raised rows of black enamel, encompassed the diameter. The outer circumference of the ring was plain gold.
Without thinking, she slowly slipped the ring onto the third finger of her left hand. Her love had been a dream, Josiah a fantasy lover whose whispered promise lingered like a ghost as the dreary days followed one after the other for the past two years. The weight of the ring on her hand broke the lovely spell.
It fit perfectly.
She broke down and sobbed.
The night found Claire searching her heart and mind in a way that meant no sleep. The sensation of putting herself under a microscope, like one of the butterflies her brother Cameron used to bring into the schoolroom, was uncomfortable. She rose earlier than usual and was already going through her things when Simmie brought in her morning tea, listing for the maid she shared with her sisters what she wanted to have packed for London.
Miss Simms tried to help, but Claire gently rebuffed her.
“I am putting away girlish things, Simmie. I never understood that before—what it means to ‘see through a glass darkly,’ but now I think I do. I think you do, too.”
“Tell me what you mean, dear.”
“It’s just this. Everyone—even Mama and Papa once—started life believing the world was created just for their enjoyment. We hear every Sunday about the ‘vale of tears’ we live in, but we all think that means somebody else. Look at Francie and Cat. All they think about is their next party invitation and when Papa will let them buy a new dress.”
“Be fair to your sisters, Claire. They’re just girls. Cat is barely 16.”
“Exactly, Simmie. They are still girls. I am not. It’s time I accepted that and got on with making myself useful to others rather than dwelling on my disappointments.”
She picked up a lace scarf. “I won’t need this at Aunt Maud’s, for example. But Francie has always admired it, so I shall give it to her. I’ll keep the garnet set Papa gave me for my 21st birthday, but I think Cat would look well in my diamante parure.”
“Heavens, Claire! You sound as though you’re planning to enter a nunnery!”
“I suppose I do.” She picked up a bright cerise morning dress. “This would suit Francie’s coloring very well. I can’t wear merry things like this anymore.”
“Claire! It’s true you are no longer a debutante, but you are still young. You have plenty of time to meet a nice gentleman and settle into a home of your own. The queen was 38 when she was blessed with Princess Beatrice. Why, your own mother was 30 when Catherine was born.”
“Yes, and she was 20 when I ‘blessed’ her, as you put it. And now that you mention Queen Victoria, I can think of nothing more noble than her devotion to the late prince consort.”
“There are many good reasons why a widow chooses not to remarry, Claire. Her Majesty bore nine children in 17 years. When you marry, you will understand.”
“No, Simmie, I shall never marry now. I gave myself heart and soul to Josiah. A woman can love that way only once, and not every woman is as lucky as I have been. The memory of our love will be enough to sustain me.”
“And what in your girl’s experience has taught you that?”
“Nothing, Simmie.” She smiled sadly. “I just know it in my heart. Josiah believed it, too. You’ve read his novels. Remember, in “Lady Jacinta,” where the antiquarian explains why her spirit continues to haunt the abbey ruins? ‘Love seeks its own through all time.’ Of course, she was in agony because Lord Thomas betrayed her. But Josiah and I, our hearts are
connected in truth, Simmie. The ceremonies of men may not have united us on this earth as we wished, but nothing can break the bond between our souls.”
“That novel was not one of his best efforts, Claire. ‘Lady Jacinta’ and her ghostly history were a little too sensational for me. I much prefer “Lord Morden.” Mr. Carter’s portrait of the girl Mary who marries her scholarly friend from childhood instead of the dashing lord who woos her is much more true to life.”
“Is there any romance in you?” Claire asked as she gave Simmie a quick hug to soften the criticism.
Claire’s mother displayed a gentleness toward her seldom seen since Claire had left the schoolroom and put up her hair. Whether it was anxiety to see her daughters settled well or a sense that they were becoming rivals as her youth faded, Lady Henry adopted an attitude of criticism toward her female offspring that was in sharp contrast to her fawning indulgence toward her son.
She entered Claire’s sitting room that evening without waiting for Claire to respond to her knock.
“I don’t like thinking of you brooding here alone,” she said without preamble, “though goodness knows, the atmosphere downstairs is less uncomfortable with you up here. Your Papa is very good at putting out of mind anything disagreeable as long as it is out of sight. I’m sure he exaggerates, but you never should speak to him in a way that even hints that you disagree with him. Open defiance is unpardonable in a girl.”
“Mama, he insulted Mr. Carter. He as much as said I had disgraced him and the family when I’ve done no such thing. And I spoke only the truth when I said that if my parents thought Mr. Carter was unsuitable as a husband, you should never have brought us together.”
“Don’t be blaming your blunder on your Papa and me, young lady. You were raised to know your place—and the place of others. Your sisters understand. If we mingled only with those of our station, society would be a dull affair. Look at your Aunt Maud.”
“Because she spends her time with men of the cloth and ladies from the missionary aide societies?” Claire asked blandly.