An Heir of Uncertainty (12 page)

Lina hadn’t dared to think that far ahead, and she certainly knew better than to hope that just because they’d kissed the night before, he might change his plans. Such things never meant as much to men as they did to women—a truth her mother had stubbornly refused to face. “Because of your broken arm?”

“If you prefer, I can put it about that I’m staying because my arm is broken, but that’s not the real reason.” In a burst of restless energy, he picked up a stick with his good arm and flung it into the distance. The short length of hazel sailed through the colorless winter sky, disappearing beyond the trees. “No, I’m staying because someone is out to harm you and your baby.”

“And you’re worried suspicion might fix on you if he succeeds?”

He glanced sidelong at her, a glint of humor in his gray eyes. “Are you that determined to think ill of me?”

“No. I simply meant—”

“I’m staying, Lina, because I mean to make sure you’re safe.”

“Oh.” At the warmth in his voice, her heart took such a powerful leap, she was shocked at herself. She was supposed to be in mourning for Edward. Though perhaps it was a bit late to remember that now, when she’d stolen into the colonel’s bedchamber only the night before.

She still wondered what had made her kiss him, especially when she’d spent most of her life judging her mother for making similarly rash choices. True, she hadn’t given in to the most shocking such temptation, but the look Cassandra had given her when she’d come creeping in with her hair tousled and her color high had been enough to make Lina want to sink. She’d ended up inventing a lie about dozing off while rocking the colonel’s little girl to sleep, and Lina hated lying to her sister.

Of course, Win didn’t have to wrestle with regret. For a man, even the greatest liberties meant nothing but a few moments of pleasure. And in this case he had nothing to regret, really, for not only was the kiss of no consequence in his case, but she was the reckless fool who’d gone sneaking into his bedroom and begging for his attentions.

She sighed. No wonder he’d married an heiress. He certainly had bait enough to attract one. She would have to be very, very careful, or she was liable to wind up making even more regrettable decisions.

“With your permission, I’d like to station a pair of footmen—the abbey’s largest and strongest—at the dower house,” Win said. “It should discourage break-ins in the future.”

“Thank you.” It felt strange to have someone fretting over her, when she was used to fretting over others—not just Cassandra, but all her younger siblings, even if Colin, Malcolm and Fiona were gone now. Even Edward had tended to lean on her for reassurance and advice.

“Still, a footman can’t be with you every minute of every day. It’s vital I discover who’s trying to harm you. That’s the only way to keep you safe.” Win rubbed the back of his neck, a pensive frown on his face. “There are some very odd goings-on around here.” She was afraid he was referring to her appearance in his room the night before, but he only said, “I spent Friday evening poring over the account books at the abbey, and I couldn’t make the figures tally. The debits seem straightforward enough, but the credits never carry over properly from one quarter to the next. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about the bookkeeping at Belryth, would you?”

“I’m not even sure I know what debits are, so I’m afraid not.” She wished she could be more help to him, but she’d never felt comfortable inquiring too closely into Edward’s finances. Though she’d happily managed every other aspect of life at the abbey—ordering the household, solving servants’ squabbles, reminding Edward of his appointments and responsibilities—some guilty part of her had always worried that if she showed too much interest in Edward’s money, he might realize why she’d really married him.

“I mean part of the money that was supposed to be deposited at the end of one quarter seems to have disappeared at the beginning of the next. Your husband never mentioned a problem with his books?”

“Edward?” She could almost hear him now, sitting over breakfast, handing her a letter from his bailiff, his banker, or Mr. Niven.
Here, you read this, Lina. You know how I hate all these finicking business matters.
She laughed shortly. “No, I’m quite certain he didn’t.”

“Hmm. Then I must be missing something.”

“Mr. Niven ought to know. He wasn’t just Edward’s solicitor, but also his man of business. He used to go over the books with Edward every quarter—and with Sir John Blessingame too, at least until Edward came of age. Mr. Niven would explain the bailiff’s receipts and whatever expenditures the trustees had approved.”

“Mr. Niven kept the books?”

“Yes, and from the sound of things, it was terribly dry stuff. Edward even pretended to have the grippe once, just to get out of having to sit through one of those quarter-day meetings. He said even spending the afternoon confined to bed as an invalid was more exciting than staring out the window of the study, pretending to listen while Mr. Niven droned on and on.”

She glanced at Win, only to discover the strangest look on his face, as if she’d just announced that Edward had been a drunkard or a libertine. It reminded her of the shocked looks her mother had drawn whenever she’d appeared in public.

What an absurd comparison. Edward had been universally loved, while everyone had disapproved of her mother. Mama had been the impulsive sort who’d always...how had Shakespeare put it? Something about loving
not wisely but too well.
Every charmer who’d come along, every man equipped with a handsome smile and a promise, had seemed to her a knight in shining armor.

How pitilessly Lina had judged her for it, and how guilty she’d felt for that pitilessness when her mother had died of jaundice at the age of thirty-eight. Lina herself had been scarcely twenty at the time, left with Colin, Fiona and Cassie to look after and nothing to support them but the pittance Fiona’s father sent them, coupled with the little Colin had earned scribbling for the newspaper in Malton. When Colin and Fiona died a year later, even those tiny sums dried up. If she hadn’t met Edward less than a month before, she and Cassie would’ve had no option but the workhouse.

Well, now she was justly repaid for having judged her mother so harshly. Here she was, still in mourning for the husband who’d saved her from destitution, and she’d been ready to forget Edward almost the instant Win Vaughan flashed his smile her way.

Ugh.
How could she be so rash, so foolish?

As they drew within view of the dower house, a figure on a bay horse was riding away at an unhurried pace, headed west toward Malton.

“Who’s that?” the colonel said in a tone that clearly meant
Should we be alarmed?

“It’s just Dr. Strickland,” Lina assured him. “He must have been tending a patient nearby and stopped on his way home to see Cassandra. He couldn’t have known I wasn’t there to chaperone, and it’s not unusual for him to call, usually under the pretext of checking on my sister’s health. I suspect he has a
tendre
for her.”

“Does he?” Win’s face turned thoughtful. “And how does she feel about him?”

“Unfortunately, she isn’t interested—romantically, at least.” Lina cast a rueful glance at the departing doctor. “I rather wish she’d give him a chance. He’s a good man, and very steady. I suspect that’s the problem, really. He’s a bit too steady for someone as spirited and fanciful as my sister.”

Win frowned. “That’s reaching rather high for him, isn’t it—a country doctor and the sister of a countess?”

“It might have seemed that way while Edward was alive, but now...? She’s the sister of a near-penniless widow. Besides, he may be only a country doctor, but Cassandra is used to doing without, and with her lung ailment I can’t imagine her in safer hands.” Lina sighed. “She’s always friendly with him, make no mistake, but then, she’s friendly with everyone.”

“In that case, does he realize his prospects aren’t good?”

“Oh, I’m sure he does. He hinted to her once, in a half teasing way, that he thought she would make a fine wife for a doctor, and she hinted back that it wasn’t the life for her. It hasn’t stopped him from hoping, though.”

“Hmm.” The colonel’s gray eyes followed the horse and rider as they disappeared into the distance. “He was rather close-mouthed about his interest in your sister when we spoke yesterday.”

“Well, can you blame him? Would you want everyone to know that the woman you loved was convinced she could do better?”

Win went silent then. He had such a brooding look on his face, Lina couldn’t help wondering just how unhappy his marriage had been.

Chapter Nine

The love of money is the root of all evil.

—1
Timothy
6:10

Lina took care to maintain a seemly distance as they approached the dower house. Her sister was likely watching from the window seat, and she could only imagine what Cassie would think if she appeared too friendly with the colonel. Though she might be shameless enough to steal into his bedroom and kiss him, she wasn’t quite shameless enough to admit such a thing to Cassie.

As they drew closer to the front door, she debated how to handle his leave-taking. Bid him a quick good day and dart into the house? Curtsey, perhaps even give him her hand? Neither seemed right, but somewhere along the way she’d lost the ability to behave in a normal, unselfconscious fashion when she was with him.

They stopped on the doorstep together. Before she could make up her mind, he said, “Might I ask something of you?”

“Yes, of course.” She waited, holding her breath. What if wanted to kiss her?

But he only gave her a thoughtful look. “I was hoping you might advise me on engaging a nursery governess for Julia.”

“Oh.” Lina felt an inexplicable disappointment. It made no sense—of course she hadn’t really been
hoping
he would kiss her. She had no notion what had even brought on such a strange fancy. These odd surges of excitement and plunging spirits must be another of the vagaries of pregnancy. “Of course.”

“It was one thing to press the housemaids into temporary service when I planned to leave soon, but it’s quite another if I mean to stay on. Mrs. Phelps can handle the actual hiring, of course, but I hoped you might be able to suggest a suitable candidate.”

“I’ll give it some—” Lina started in surprise as the front door opened.

Cassie stared out at them, her hand on the doorknob, on her face a matching look of surprise. “Oh! Excuse me, Colonel Vaughan—I didn’t know you were out here. I heard voices and wasn’t sure who it might be.”

“The colonel and I were just discussing engaging a governess for his little girl,” Lina said quickly. It was perfectly true. They’d been doing nothing wrong. So why did she feel so guilty?

Cassie’s eyes darted to the colonel’s. “Here? Does that mean you’re staying?”

“For the present, yes.”

She broke into a dazzling smile. “Oh, I’m so glad! Tell me, would you and your brother care to dine with us this evening?”

“Cassie,” Lina objected in alarm, “you know very well we’re in mourning.” She felt hypocritical, saying such a thing when she’d been in Win’s bedroom—good Lord, she’d had her tongue in his mouth—mere hours before.

“I’m only in half-mourning, and besides, they’re family of a sort—well, connections, anyway.”

“We’d be most happy to come,” Win said before Lina could make any further objection. “Six o’clock?”

“Five,” Cassie said. “We keep country hours.”

“Five it is.” With a flash of those devastating dimples, he bowed and bid them
au revoir.

Lina stared after his departing back with a helpless feeling. How was she supposed to sit across from him at dinner and behave as if nothing had happened, when every time she looked at him, she remembered the thrill of that forbidden kiss?

* * *

Walking back to Belryth, reflecting on his conversation with Lina, Win had the oddest sensation—as if someone was watching him. He stopped and looked about him, searching the trees, but there was no one there.

He gave a small shake of his head. He was letting his imagination run away with him.

When he reached the abbey, Dyson was manning the front door. Win was glad to be out of the cold, especially since he hadn’t troubled to wear his greatcoat due to his broken arm. “Pray inform Mrs. Phelps that my brother and I will be dining at the dower house this evening with Lady Radbourne and her sister.”

“Of course, sir.”

“I’ll be in the study if I’m needed.” Win started away, only to turn back. “Tell me, Dyson—I understand the late earl’s brother died only a few months before he did. How did it happen?”

The butler’s face fell. “Mr. Gerald Vaughan? A most tragic development, sir. He cut his leg on a fence nail while out doing some rough shooting, and infection set in. Dr. Strickland wanted to take the leg off but Mr. Gerald wouldn’t allow it—‘never for such a scratch,’ he said, though both his lordship and Sir John did their best to make him see reason. By the time he relented, the doctor said it was too late.”

“Ah. Thank you, Dyson.” Another senseless tragedy, though it wasn’t the first such death Win had seen. A captain under his command on the Peninsula had been similarly terrified of the knife, and had likewise delayed treatment too long.

Win made his way to the study, feeling crack-brained for not only jumping at shadows, but also for wondering about the young man’s death. What did he suppose, that there was some great conspiracy afoot to eliminate the Radbourne title and family? That the same person who was menacing Lina had killed the earl’s brother? Accidents and illnesses happened all the time, and Lord Radbourne had died through his own recklessness.

Then again, something was definitely amiss with the abbey’s account books. And no wonder, given that Lord Radbourne had been so cavalier about estate management that he’d feigned illness to avoid going over his own ledgers. How could the earl have been so irresponsible when he’d had so few claims on his time? What other responsibilities did he have, with a bailiff, a man of business and thirty thousand pounds a year?

Win sat down at the desk. He would write to Mr. Niven and ask him to return at once. Perhaps the financial irregularities were somehow connected to the attacks on Lina.

Win penned the message and scrawled his signature, frowning. How was he supposed to find the answers to the questions swirling around him when he couldn’t even make sense of his own personal life? If he lived to be a thousand, he would never understand why Lina had stolen into his room and kissed him if she didn’t even want her sister inviting him to dinner.

He needed to put her out of his head. One exploratory kiss didn’t mean there was anything serious between them, especially when her child was liable to disinherit him. He mustn’t go making a fool of himself, imagining he belonged with a countess.

Win was sanding the letter—an awkward task with one arm in a sling—when a shadow fell across the page.

He looked up. Freddie stood in the study doorway, still in his hat and garrick, ruddy with the outdoor cold. He was covered in gray grit, and he had a strange look on his face.

“Come with me,” he said, his usually monotone voice as grim as death. “There’s something you need to see.”

* * *

Lina wanted to reproach Cassie as soon as the colonel left.
How could you ask him to dinner? You know very well we can’t use the dining room. Must we advertise the shabbiness of this house to everyone?
But she was afraid to confront her sister when Cassie might well counter with questions of her own.

Lina started for the drawing room. Cassie followed. Lina resisted the urge to change course in an effort to shake her off. Why should she feel defensive? She’d simply been to the abbey and back. As far as Cassie was concerned, she had nothing to explain or apologize for.

But when she settled herself on the sofa, Cassie sat down next to her and said in her gentlest, most diplomatic tone, “You’re not developing a
tendre
for Colonel Vaughan, are you?”

There it was. The very question she’d been dreading.

Lina feigned surprise. “A
tendre
, for a near-stranger who hopes to disinherit my child? That would certainly be foolish.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“No, of course not.” Lina reached for her needlework, mostly to avoid her sister’s eye. “Why on earth would you ask that?”

“His manner toward you was different, when he was with you just now. He seemed...possessive.”

“Nonsense. Besides, you were the one who invited him to dinner.”

“Well, yes, but mostly for his brother’s sake.” Looking uncomfortable, Cassie picked at the edge of the sofa upholstery with a fingernail. “I don’t know how to say this, except—Lina, are you sure you’re not forgetting poor Radbourne?”

Lina’s mouth dropped open. “Forgetting Edward?” She stared at her sister in shock. “How can you say such a thing? You sound like Sir John.”

Cassie reddened. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to criticize. It’s just that you seemed so flustered when you came home last night, and then you went hurrying back to the abbey this morning...”

“You’re imagining things. You know very well I spent hours yesterday looking after Julia Vaughan, and I only went back there this morning to inquire about the colonel’s injury. It seemed the least I could do, after he broke his arm coming to my rescue.”

Cassie gnawed her bottom lip. “I believe you, but...please, be careful. I’m not saying anything happened between the two of you, and even if it did, I would never judge you. But I should hate for people to talk.”

Lina stabbed her needle into her embroidery. “As if they haven’t talked about us our entire lives!”

“True, but that had more to do with Mama’s conduct than our own. It may have been unfair, but at least we could console ourselves with the knowledge we were blameless.” Cassie looked down at her lap. “I’m afraid if Colonel Vaughan appears too familiar or too particular in his attentions, people may say you never truly cared for Radbourne, and I can scarcely imagine how painful that would be for you.”

Lina remained silent, fuming, in part because she knew Cassie was right. That was exactly what people like Mr. Channing and Sir John would say.

But the worst part, the part Lina hated to admit even to herself, was that they would be right. As happy as she’d been to marry Edward, she’d never truly been in love with him. Oh, she’d felt a powerful fondness for him and she’d done everything she could to make him happy and to be a good wife to him. She could rest easy on that score. But as for the vows she’d taken when they’d married, and her promise to love him—that had been a half-truth, a convenient fiction she’d agreed to for the sake of safety and security. She and Cassie had been alone in the world, with not a penny to their name. How else could she keep a roof over their heads, except by marrying Edward?

Not that there’d been anything cold or calculating about it. Lina had tried with all her might to fall in love with him, even getting down on her knees in her bedroom at night and praying to God that he would make her feel the same yearning for Edward that Edward obviously felt for her. When that didn’t work, she’d gone to great lengths to ensure he never suspected she saw him as a cherished friend rather than the love of her life. But
she’d
known. She’d known and she’d despised herself for lying and pretending.

Lina squeezed her eyes shut. She’d been determined not to end up like her mother, but at least her mother had never sold herself for money. Did it really matter that she’d gone through the formality of a wedding ceremony first?

“Are you all right?” Cassie asked.

Lina’s eyes flew open. “Yes, of course. Just tired. My condition—”

Oh, good Lord, she sounded as if she’d been caught robbing the poor box. She swallowed hard and stared down at the scene she was supposed to be embroidering. As remorseful as she might feel about marrying for security rather than love, she could never admit the truth to Cassie. It would be an insult to Edward’s memory. Besides, Cassie would blame herself. After all, she’d been an added mouth to feed.

It had been a dark time, that day three and a half years ago when Edward had come into their lives. Lina had been twenty-one and just emerging from mourning for her mother, looking after Colin, Fiona and Cassie, doing all she could to make ends meet. They ate potatoes every night with dinner because it was one of the few foods they could afford. Lina gave half of hers to Colin, who was seventeen and still growing, so most nights she went to bed hungry.

Every day she got thinner and thinner, and every night she fell asleep wondering how much longer she could go on before she’d have to swallow her pride and throw herself and her family on the charity of the parish.

She could see only one honorable way out. What she needed was a husband.

So she’d sold the tortoiseshell combs her mother had left her, told Cassie and Fiona that she’d saved the money from their grocery budget, and bought a ticket to the assembly in Malton.

She had every right to take part. She might have been born on the wrong side of the blanket, but she was nevertheless a lady. She refused to cower at home, even if she did own only one serviceable gown and dancing slippers so old she’d worn holes in the toes. So what if the other young ladies in attendance gave her disdainful stares, and their mothers drew them aside as if Lina was somehow tainted? This was her only hope.

She smiled at every unmarried man who came in, from middle-aged gentlemen to tenant farmers. Not one asked her to dance. She stood among the wallflowers, dying on the inside, pretending she didn’t care.

Then Edward arrived—not quite eighteen, and freshly home from Oxford for the long vacation. He was a trifle spotty and a recent growth spurt had left him looking underfed, but as the premiere gentleman of rank at the assembly, he drew a great deal of interest. He opened the dancing with Mr. Channing’s daughter, a new bride. Then he was at liberty to choose his own partner for the second set—and he crossed the room to where Lina stood.

Smiling, he bowed awkwardly. “Would you do me the honor of standing up with me?”

As he awaited her reply, a puppyish look of expectancy on his face, she was torn between a selfish desire to dance with the young Earl of Radbourne and the awareness that she really ought to warn him about her background. “I don’t think you know who I am,” she hedged.

He broke into a good-humored grin that made him look terribly young. “Oh, I know who you are. I just don’t see why it should keep me from dancing with the prettiest girl here.”

“Thank you.” She nodded, feeling almost tearfully grateful. “Thank you, I’d like that.”