Marshal and the Heiress (17 page)

He really didn't want to be beholden to any of the Hamilton family, but Barbara was right. He couldn't keep dragging Sarah Ann to every place he went.

“Where is Hugh staying?” He knew that the man also planned to visit his own solicitor in Edinburgh. He had declined to travel in the carriage, though, saying he would rather ride.

“With friends,” she replied.

“Then perhaps I'll reconsider your offer of the town house.” He would reserve judgment until they arrived and he could determine for himself how trustworthy the maid and butler were.

For the next several hours, he listened while Barbara chattered about people in Edinburgh and balls and parties, and how much he would enjoy them. Occasionally when the coach hit a rut, her hand went to his knee, and she blushed prettily. She did it all so naturally that he felt guilty for being skeptical about her motives.

She was trying to win over Sarah Ann, too, making a valiant effort to charm her. He listened to their exchange in fascination.

“You must like peppermint to name your pony after it.”

Sarah Ann nodded. “Annabelle likes it, too.”

“Of course she does,” Barbara said as she eyed the sleeping cat with less vigilance than she had earlier. “Everyone likes peppermint.”

“Even you?” Sarah Ann asked the question with such surprise that Barbara smiled. Ben conceded it was an honest-to-God smile.

“Even me.” She leaned over and added confidentially, “I especially loved it when I was a little girl like you.”

“I'm a
lady,
” Sarah Ann said, astounding Ben. She'd always rejected the description before. Had she said it now to be obstinate? But her lips weren't pressed together tightly as they usually were when she was preparing for some kind of battle. Could Sarah Ann be testing Lady Barbara in some way? He shook that thought away. She wasn't that devious. Yet.

“Indeed you are a lady,” Barbara said, darting a quick glance at him for an explanation.

He shrugged.

Barbara bit her lip, then struggled on. “Well, ladies like peppermint, too, and we'll buy loads of it for you and Annabelle in Edinburgh. And we'll take a carriage ride in the park. Would you like that?”

“Can Papa come, too?”

“Of course.”

“All right,” Sarah Ann agreed. “If Annabelle can come.”

Barbara winced. Ben noted that Sarah Anne's eyes gleamed with mischief. No, he thought. She really
can't
be that devious.

“I wish Lady Lisbeth could come, too,” Sarah Ann added after a moment of silence.

Barbara sighed, not with pleasure or agreement, Ben thought. He too wished Lisbeth was with them, but he was damned if he was going to show it.

In truth, he'd missed Lisbeth's challenging presence these past two days. He kept telling himself that she, like Barbara, merely wanted to win his favor. Only Lisbeth was not as practiced at seduction as her sister-in-law.

When he had agreed to travel with Lady Barbara Hamilton, he already knew he could have her in his bed on the trip. The invitation was bright in her eyes. And the thought did appeal to him. She was physically the most beautiful woman he'd ever met, and his masculinity responded to those artful touches and that soft smile.

But Ben had absolutely no intention of taking what she was offering with every look she gave him. Aside from his obligation to Sarah Ann, he didn't like being used by Lady Barbara any more than by Lisbeth. He had no intention of being trapped by Barbara's body or by Lisbeth's dreams.

So he merely gave Barbara a brief blank look, then closed his eyes and listened to the awkward conversation between a woman who obviously knew little about children and a child who was learning much too quickly about playing adult games.

Ben liked the Scottish solicitor, John Alistair. He was seventy or older, thin and dour and straight as an arrow in his bearing. The kind of man who worshiped integrity.

Ben felt himself being judged as he took out the legal documents he'd accumulated: Mary May's marriage certificate to Ian Hamilton, Sarah Ann's birth certificate, and her adoption papers.

After several moments of probing Ben with pale blue eyes under great shaggy eyebrows, the solicitor turned his attention to Ben's documents and studied them closely. He took papers from a pile on the desk, and matched them with the others, then looked back up at Ben.

“I took the precaution of asking our solicitor in America to check the official records in Colorado and Texas. Everything seems to be in order. I'll file the papers for official recognition of Sarah Ann Hamilton Masters as heiress to Calholm. Actually, she'll be heiress presumptive, and her son will inherit the title.”

Alistair paused a moment, then continued. “We also have to petition Parliament to make you her official guardian. These adoption papers should ensure that. But I would like more information.”

Ben had expected an inquisition. As an attorney, he would have demanded it. “What do you want to know?”

“I understand you're a solicitor yourself?” Alistair's voice ended on a questioning note.

“I studied law at Harvard and practiced in Chicago,” Ben said.

“But not for the past few years. My American colleague said you've been a … marshal. A law officer.”

He nodded.

“My American colleague said you wished to keep your … occupation private, and I see no obligation to divulge that information. As solicitor and trustee for the estate, my duty is to the heir, who now appears to be Sarah Ann Hamilton.” The solicitor's gaze bored into him. “I am curious, though, as to why you wish to withhold information about the last few years.”

Ben answered without hesitation. “Silas Martin told me there was an attempt to bribe him not to find Ian Hamilton. I know there's money involved—a lot of it—and I wasn't sure whether bribery would be the only, shall we say,
action
taken. I believe I can protect Sarah Ann more effectively if some of my other skills are unknown.”

John Alistair continued to study him. “I was informed of Hugh's bribery attempt. I warned him I would press charges if it, or anything else untoward, occurred again. But surely you don't expect any violence.” His tone became frosty as he added, “This isn't the wild west.”

Ben permitted himself a slight smile. “You mean there's no murder or greed in Scotland?”

“I wish that were so, but I don't think the Hamiltons …” He shook his head. “They are a very respected family. The old Marquess, John Hamilton—”

“But there was an accident in Glasgow and—”

“What kind of an accident?” Alistair said, clearly alarmed.

“A stack of shipping boxes fell as Sarah Ann and I passed them. It could have been an accident. Then again …”

“I think you're wrong, Mr. Masters.”

“And then there's Jamie Hamilton's accident …”

The frost in the solicitor's eyes became pure ice. “It
was
an accident.”

“Perhaps,” Ben said. “But I've learned that money—or lack of it—does strange things to people. And I aim to protect Sarah Ann.”

The solicitor sat back in his chair. “What about yourself, Mr. Masters? You're gaining a great deal, too.”

“I'm losing more,” Ben replied. “My freedom, my career, possibly my country, if I stay.”

Doubt crossed Alistair's face. “Then why—”

“Because it's Sarah Ann's heritage. She has a right to it, to reject or accept it. I can't take that away from her.”

Alistair seemed to come to a conclusion. “I hope you do decide to stay. Calholm needs a strong, steady hand or it might well be destroyed. I'm not sure whether Hugh Hamilton can handle it yet.”

“Yet?”

“He was a gambler in his youth. And a rake. I think he has been trying to redeem himself these past two years, but if he obtains all rights, he might well fall back into his old ways.”

“Is that why you looked so long for Ian Hamilton?”

Alistair nodded. “John Hamilton was my friend as well as a client. His own father was honored with Calholm for his service on the Continent. John wanted to preserve that honor. I knew Ian was … weak, but we'd both hoped that America would be the making of him.”

“He was killed cheating at cards,” Ben said flatly.

“Silas told me,” Alistair said. “He also reported that Ian's wife worked in a … tavern.”

“A saloon,” Ben corrected. “But she had a special kind of honor, and she loved her daughter.”

Alistair paused before saying, “You must have loved her to take her daughter.”

“Before I knew she had a fortune?” Ben asked wryly.

“I made sure of that, too,” Alistair said. “Mr. Martin informed me that you had started the adoption proceedings before he contacted you. You must have been close to the mother,” he persisted.

Ben knew Alistair wanted his assurance that Sarah Ann was indeed Ian Hamilton's daughter, not his own.

But he couldn't explain the relationship he'd had with Mary May. She'd never wanted anything from him. Never asked anything. Not until she was dying and had no choice, and even then her request wasn't for herself.

“I met her this year,” he said curtly. “If you check further back, I'm sure you will find we were in different parts of the country when Sarah Ann was conceived.”

“Forgive me,” the solicitor said, “but I must cover everything. Hugh Hamilton has already informed me he will contest our petition.”

“Hugh Hamilton can go to hell.”

John Alistair crooked a shaggy eyebrow at him. “You're willing to fight him, then?”

“Hell, yes.”

“It could get uncomfortable.”

Ben shrugged. “I've been uncomfortable before.”

“You plan to stay, then?”

Ben hesitated. He had never gone quite that far in his mind. He had always wanted to see Sarah Ann happily settled in a family she could call her own. But after living at Calholm for several days he wondered whether that would ever be possible. It was a house divided.

“If I can find a good manager to run Calholm …”

“An ocean away?” Alistair questioned. “Scots don't care for absentee ownership. They've had too much of it from the English.”

Ben winced. His options were being shredded by Alistair's calm arguments. And he had every right to argue. The solicitor's concern was for Calholm and the trust of his dead friend. Why should he fight for an American who planned to leave on the first ship back? John Alistair wanted a commitment that Ben wasn't sure he could give. He wasn't sure whether Calholm was the best thing for Sarah Ann.

On the other hand, he was sure it wasn't the best thing for himself.

“I can only promise you one thing,” he finally said. “I'll do my best to preserve Calholm because it's Sarah Ann's. If it doesn't work out, if I don't believe Sarah Ann will be happy, we'll renounce the claim. I don't care about the money—either for Sarah Ann or myself. I can support us. I care only that she knows her legacy and has a chance to accept or deny it.”

“Fair enough,” Alistair said. “I'll start the proceedings immediately. I also would like to meet Sarah Ann.”

“I'll bring her by this afternoon,” Ben offered, “if that's convenient.”

“It is.”

The two men rose from their chairs, and the solicitor accompanied Ben to the door.

“One more thing,” Ben said. “Would anyone other than Hugh Hamilton benefit if Sarah Ann didn't inherit?”

John Alistair looked discomfited. “The widows would,” he said finally. “Unless a direct heir, such as one of the Marquess's grandchildren, inherited, the widows would receive a larger portion of the assets that are not entailed.”

“Both of them?”

John Alistair nodded reluctantly. “Surely, you don't think—”

“Surely, I don't,” Ben said, opening the door, but he knew the sardonic tone in his voice gave lie to his assurance.

Chapter Ten

Lady Barbara had been right about the town house. It was infinitely more comfortable than a hotel, and the housekeeper, Molly, was only too pleased to look after Sarah Ann. Ben felt comfortable with Molly, and Sarah Ann took to her immediately. She had the plump, jolly look of Mrs. Culworthy.

Still, Ben didn't want to leave Sarah Ann alone for too long, so he asked the driver of the hired coach to hurry back to the town house. Along the way he mulled over the conversation with the solicitor.

He felt trapped. He could take Sarah Ann back to America, resume the practice of law, and thus deprive Sarah Ann of her legacy. Or he could surrender any thought of returning home, along with hopes of a career and life of his own.

But then, how much would he be giving up? Until he'd met Mary May and Sarah Ann, he had been treading water, unable to make a commitment to any person or any place. Sarah Ann had put purpose back into his life, had given him a reason to care. A reason to feel. To live. It felt so good, caring about someone else, being the cause of a laugh or smile.

He went up the steps to the town house and opened the front door. The hall was quiet. Barbara had kept her promise to stay with her sister several blocks away. No one greeted him, and he felt a twinge of apprehension.

The house was much too quiet for Sarah Ann and Annabelle to be within. His footsteps sounded loud in the empty foyer as he crossed the smooth, polished floor, checking one room after another, including Sarah Ann's bedroom. No Sarah Ann. By the time Ben headed toward the kitchen, he was stiff with fear.

Then, he heard a giggle, and his pace quickened. To hell with his bad leg. He threw open the kitchen door and saw Sarah Ann perched on a tall stool. She was covered with flour from head to toe. Annabelle was on the floor beneath the stool; her calico fur was sparkling with sugar, and she was twisted in an impossible position trying her best to lick it off.