Shattered Rainbows (26 page)

Michael was starting his second cup of coffee when his host and hostess joined him in the breakfast room. He did not look at Lucien and Kit too closely. Luce's arm was around his wife's waist, and their expressions had a lazy contentment that made it obvious what they had been doing before they rose from their bed.

Her glossy brown hair loose over her shoulders, Kit gave his arm a friendly pat as she passed on her way to pouring coffee for her husband and herself. "Good morning, Michael. Did you enjoy Margot's party last night?"

He glanced up from the newspaper. "Very much. The fact that it was all friends, with scarcely an eligible female in sight, meant I could relax. A pleasant change after being hunted like a fox by every ambitious mother and daughter in London."

Lucien laughed. "You're giving the hounds a good run. But there was at least one unmarried female there—Maxima Collins, the American girl who is staying with Rafe and Margot. You seemed to enjoy talking with her."

"She may be unmarried, but she is definitely not eligible. Robin Andreville acted like a cat in a catmint patch when he was around her, and she didn't seem to mind one bit." Michael thought about the young lady in question with a trace of regret. Her wit and directness made her the most attractive girl he'd met all spring. "Even if Miss Collins were available, she's too short for me. We would both have sore necks all the time."

"True," Lucien agreed. "You'd do better with someone of Kit's height." To demonstrate the convenience, he tilted his wife's chin up to give her a light kiss.

Michael smiled at the raillery, but he couldn't suppress a twinge of sadness. All his old friends had married, even Rafe, the confirmed bachelor.

For a moment, Catherine's image glowed in his mind. He forced it away. God knew he was trying his best to forget her. He had come to London with the idea of undertaking the search for a mate that had been delayed by Napoleon's escape from Elba. He had danced with countless females, called on the more promising ones, taken a few for a ride or drive. There were none he could imagine living with for the rest of his life.

He had thought the search for a wife would be easy if he didn't insist on love, but he couldn't even find a decent companion. He found far more pleasure in talking with Kit or Margot, Rafe's delightful wife.

He was turning a page when a footman entered. "Lord Michael, a messenger from Ashburton House brought this for you."

Michael's face went blank as he accepted the letter and tore it open. The message inside was brief and to the point.

Lucien asked, "Trouble?"

"It's from my brother." Michael rose to his feet, pushing his chair back brusquely. "Benfield says that the most noble Duke of Ashburton has had a heart seizure and is about to shuffle off this mortal coil. My presence is commanded."

Lucien regarded him gravely. "You don't have to go."

"No, but deathbed vigils are the done thing," Michael said cynically. "Who knows? Perhaps my father will have a last-minute change of attitude. Apologies, repentance, eleventh-hour reconciliations. Could be quite amusing."

Neither Lucien nor Kit were deceived by his brittle humor, but they made no comments. There really was nothing to be said.

The truly depressing thing, Michael realized as he prepared to leave, was that in his heart, he could not prevent himself from hoping that his ironic words would come true.

Edmund Harwell rose as his clerk ushered Catherine into the office. He was a thin, neat man with shrewd eyes. "Mrs. Melbourne?" Then he blinked, disconcerted. "Island eyes."

Catherine gave him a quizzical glance. "I beg your pardon?"

"Please, take a seat. My first task was going to be verification that your maiden name was Catherine Penrose and you are the only child of William and Elizabeth Penrose." He smiled faintly. "However, the proof of your bloodlines is in your eyes. I've never seen that shade of blue-green except on people from the island."

"What island?"

"The Isle of Skoal, off Cornwall."

"Everyone there has aqua eyes?"

"About half do. Locally they are called island eyes." Harwell hesitated, as if gathering his thoughts. "How much do you know about your parents' background?"

She shrugged. "Very little. They were from somewhere in the West Country. They married against their families' wishes and were disowned as a result. They never spoke of the past, so that's all I know." Yet suddenly, as clear as a church bell, she could hear her mother's voice referring to "the island." Curiosity aroused, she asked, "My parents were from Skoal?"

"Your mother was the daughter of a smallholder and your father was the younger son of the twenty-seventh Laird of Skoal. The laird, Torquil Penrose, asked me to communicate with you."

Her brows rose. "After all these years, this grandfather is suddenly interested in me?"

"Very much so."

Catherine's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

The solicitor said obliquely, "Are you familiar with Skoal?"

Catherine searched her memory. Though she had heard of the place, her knowledge was minimal. "It's a feudal domain like Sark in the Channel Isles, isn't it?"

"Precisely. Though nominally English, Skoal has its own laws, its own customs, its own citizens' assembly. There is a strong Viking influence, and a goodly dash of Celt as well. The laird is technically a British baron with a seat in the House of Lords, but on Skoal he is the sovereign of a tiny kingdom. Your grandfather has ruled the island for almost fifty years. Now his health is failing and he is concerned for the future."

Beginning to understand why she was summoned, Catherine said, "My father was the younger son. What of other children?"

"Therein likes the problem. There were only the two boys. Your father is dead, and the elder, Harald, and his son recently died in a sailing accident. That leaves you and your daughter as the laird's only legitimate descendants."

"You're saying I am heir to a feudal island?"

"Not necessarily. Your grandfather has the legal right to leave Skoal to anyone he chooses, or even sell it outright. However, he would prefer the island to stay in the family. That is why he wishes to meet you and your husband now."

"Me and my husband?" she repeated stupidly.

"Your grandfather does not believe a female would be equal to the task of governing the island and its enterprises." Harwell cleared his throat. "Also, since a wife's possessions legally belong to her husband, Captain Melbourne would become the laird if you became the lady."

Harwell didn't know Colin was dead. That wasn't surprising; few people did. She asked, "If I were a single woman— unmarried or widowed—would my grandfather consider me unacceptable?"

"I imagine he would insist you marry a man of whom he approved before he would designate you as heir. Luckily, that is not the case." Harwell pursed his lips. "May I speak frankly?"

"Please do."

"The laird is a very… forceful man, with strong opinions about the way things should be. I think he regretted disinheriting your father. He followed William's career from a distance. He knew of your marriage and the birth of your daughter." The solicitor cleared his throat. "He grieved deeply when he learned of the death of your parents."

Disliking the knowledge that she had been under observation all of her life, Catherine said coolly, "In other words, my grandfather is a stubborn, pigheaded tyrant."

Harwell almost smiled. "There are some who would say so. But he takes his duty seriously, and he is determined to leave the island in good hands. There is a distant cousin who would like to be the next laird. He's an accomplished gentleman who maintains a home on the island, but your grandfather would prefer the heir to be his own flesh and blood."

Harwell's tone implied that he did not approve of the cousin, but Catherine knew he would not say more. "I'm not sure if I want an unknown grandfather to judge my
me."

"It would be worth your while to meet him. Besides the title and the estate, there is an income of about two thousand pounds a year." He gave a dry little cough. "Captain Melbourne is a distinguished officer, but a military career is seldom lucrative, especially in peacetime."

She bit her lip, knowing she should reveal Colin's death. Yet if her grandfather would only consider her as half of a married couple, telling the truth would lose her this heaven-sent opportunity for financial security. The alternative, taking another husband, was unthinkable, even if it would gain her ten thousand pounds a year. Temporizing, she asked, "Is my grandfather in London now?"

"Oh, no, he hasn't left the island in years. As I said, his health is failing." Harwell looked troubled. "That is an understatement. He is bedridden, and his physician believes that he will not last out the summer. Though his will is strong, his body is very frail. That is why he wants you to travel to Skoal with your husband immediately."

"What if he doesn't like what he sees?"

"He needn't leave you a penny." The solicitor smiled. "But there is no reason to suppose he will disapprove of his granddaughter. He has heard of Saint Catherine and her work on the battlefields of Spain. He is anxious to meet you."

"The feeling is not mutual," she said tartly. "What kind of man would disinherit his son for marrying a woman as fine as my mother?"

"A stubborn man," Harwell said quietly. "And a lonely one. I can appreciate your doubts, but please, consider carefully. The laird is your blood kin. If you walk away from him, you disinherit not only yourself, but your daughter, and any other children you might bear. More than that, you cut yourself off from your own unique heritage."

Hearing a yearning note in the solicitor's voice, she asked, "Do you know the island well?"

"My father was born there. He was the laird's London agent before me. I've visited the island often over the years. It's a wild, beautiful place." The solicitor gave a faintly embarrassed smile. "One might almost say magical."

Once more Catherine heard her mother's voice, this time saying, "The daffodils will be out now on the island." There had been a pause before her father replied, "Soon they will be out here." She had been too young to recognize the wistfulness in the mundane comments. Suddenly she wanted to see the island that shaped her parents. And, if possible, she wanted to win the inheritance that would give her and Amy financial freedom.

She rose to her feet. "You've given me much to think about. I will let you know my decision tomorrow."

"Excellent." The solicitor also stood. "Bring your husband as well, since he is intimately involved in your decision."

Blindly she went out into the sun. Such a legacy would solve all her problems. But one thought was blazingly clear. She needed a husband, and she needed one fast.

It had been years since Michael had set foot in Ashburton House, but it hadn't changed. It was still enormous, grand, stifling. The butler, Riggs, had acquired a few more gray hairs, but his face was still supercilious.

Michael handed over his hat. "I presume the death watch is in the duke's suite?"

"Yes, Lord Michael."

He turned and went to the majestic staircase. As he climbed the polished marble steps, he remembered sliding down the sweeping banisters. He had gotten into trouble every time he was caught, but that had never stopped him.