Silver Splendor (41 page)

Philippa uttered a strangled squawk. Drew sat bolt upright. The duchess calmly continued to eat her tart.

Elizabeth’s head throbbed; then her body went numb, even to the feel of the fork in her hand. She heard Nicholas stir in his chair.

“You can’t do this,” Philippa squeaked.

“It’s outrageous,” Drew snapped.

He flashed Elizabeth a look of such rancor that she felt chilled to the bone.

She managed to stand on shaky legs. “I’m sorry,” she told the duke. “But I can’t accept your money.”

His wrinkled chin lifted in autocratic resolution. “You must. You’re my only living child, flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood.”

“I won’t take so much as a cent from you,” Elizabeth repeated. “If you insist upon leaving me an inheritance, I’ll give it all to charity, every farthing.”

His lips arched in a fossilized grin. “Charity, by Jove? A noble ambition for a nobleman’s daughter. The Sterling School for Orphans, the Sterling Scholarship for Starving Artists…”

Philippa flung down her napkin. “This can’t be legal. I’ll call my solicitor. I’ll… I’ll have you declared incompetent —”

“And waste your pittance on legal fees?” the duke said, sneering. “Marsh and Drabble will testify I was of sound mind.” He stared at the housekeeper, who hovered near the doctor. “Won’t you?”

Chins jiggling, Mrs. Drabble nodded, though she looked none too thrilled to be the subject of Philippa’s distress and Drew’s scowl. Lips pursed, Dr. Marsh also inclined his head.

“There, now, you see,” Hugh Sterling said, his ancient face bright with satisfaction. “My solicitors will be checking the document, though, just in case.”

Philippa and Drew glared, their faces bearing a marked resemblance in the pinched rigidity of the mouth, the sharp line of the cheeks, the narrowed darkness of the eyes. Elizabeth couldn’t blame mother and son for their fury; they had every right to feel betrayed. She herself felt hollow with shock, as much a pawn of the duke as they.

The duchess set down her fork. “Are you quite done, Hugh? I should like to retire.”

“Never were much for fun, Addie. Too wrapped up in those horses of yours. Run along now — you must get your beauty rest.” He cackled as the duchess made a dignified departure; then he closed his bony fingers around the silver topped cane. Hobbling toward the door, he glanced around the table. “Pleasant dreams, everyone.”

The instant the duke had gone, with Dr. Marsh and Mrs. Drabble following, Philippa shot to her feet and glowered at Elizabeth.

“You’ll not get away with this,” she hissed. “If must approach the queen herself, you’ll not touch a farthing of Drew’s money. You’re nothing but the duke’s bas —” As she glanced at Nicholas, her angry voice choked to a stop.

“I would advise you,” he said in a steely soft voice “to take care how you describe my wife.”

His chair scraping back, he moved behind Elizabeth his hands settling onto her shoulders. She welcomed the proprietary gesture; his warm fingers chased th chill from her veins and imbued her with the courage to gaze straight at Philippa and Drew.

“Oh, pooh,” said a plaintive voice from the doorway, “have I come too late tor dinner?”

Elizabeth whipped her eyes toward the girl walking into the dining room. “Cicely!”

“What the devil — !” Nicholas exploded, his fingers digging into Elizabeth’s shoulders.

Clad in a dusty blue traveling gown, an ostrich plumed hat perched jauntily on her head, Cicely strolled to the opposite side of the table and stopped beside Drew, whose sour expression sweetened to open admiration. With the careless elegance of a courtier, he tossed aside his napkin and stood.

“My dearest Lady Cicely, what a marvelous surprise.”

As he kissed the back of her hand, her impish expression dissolved into adoration. “Oh, Drew, it’s so very wonderful to see you again. I do hope you’ll forgive me for barging in without an invitation.”

“You’re always welcome.” Casting a sly glance at Nicholas’s stony face, Drew added silkily, “After all, we’re related now.”

“In a loose manner of speaking,” Philippa muttered.

The sudden sound of raised voices intruded from the hall. Though Elizabeth couldn’t discern the words, the familiar tones of both speakers froze her blood.

Lifting her eyes to Nicholas, she blurted, “Papa’s here! He’s arguing with the duke.”

Fingers gripping her skirts, she hastened into the shadowy hall, Nicholas close behind her. The angry voices grew louder; then she spied the two men standing outside the saloon. Miss Eversham hovered nearby, wringing her thin hands. Doctor Marsh stood watching, his lips compressed, as if he were annoyed at his patient being upset.

“Where is she?” Owen demanded. “I’ve a right to see my own daughter.”

Hugh Sterling brandished his cane. “She’s mine, by Jove! You’ll not steal her away again… and you’ll address me as Your Grace.”

“Hah,” spat Owen. “‘You’re fallen from grace.’”

“Don’t you dare… spout the Scriptures at me,” the duke said, wheezing. “Begone with you… you’re not welcome here.”

“I’m surprised you know the Bible when you hear it. I’ll not move an inch until I see my daughter.”

Elizabeth hurried forward. “I’m here., Papa.”

Owen curled an arm around her waist. “See?” he told the duke. “She calls
me
Papa.”

“And me Father, by Jove.” He banged the cane on the oak planked floor. “You forget… if I hadn’t been the man I was… Lucy would never have given birth to Elizabeth.”

Owen tensed, his fingers balling into fists. “Watch what you say of my wife and my daughter —”

Appalled, Elizabeth stepped between them. “Please, stop this,” she said, her eyes going from one man to the other. “I’m not a prize to be fought over. You might show some trust in my ability to love the both of you.”

The duke’s asthmatic hiss filled the silence. His abashed eyes slid away from hers and stared at his knobby fingers on the cane.

Owen combed his fingers through his thinning gray hair. “I’m sorry, Libby.”

“I am, too,” Hugh admitted stiffly, though he shot Owen a glare. “Time was when a man controlled who entered his house.”

Dr. Marsh took the duke’s arm. “Come along, Your Grace. You need to rest.”

For once Hugh Sterling didn’t argue. He hobbled forward to pat Elizabeth’s hand. “Good night, little swan. I’ll see you in the morning.” With the doctor’s help, the duke started upstairs.

Watching his halting progress, Elizabeth felt Nicholas’s comforting hand stroke her back. She started to turn to him; then Owen’s regard caught her attention. Regret shone in his hazel eyes, a regret that pierced her heart. Words of reconciliation pressed against her throat, yet she must wait for a more private time to speak.

Nicholas coolly eyed the governess. “I trust, Miss Eversham, that you have an explanation for your sudden appearance here.”

“Yes, my lord.” Distress darkened her plain features. “But first, where is Lady Cicely?”

“Follow me.”

Pivoting on his heel, Nicholas led the group back to the dining room. Philippa had vanished, leaving Drew and Cicely alone. The couple stood whispering in a shadowed corner, heads close, Drew holding her hands.

Nicholas glared at his sister. “What are you doing, young lady?” he said, his voice ominously quiet.

She whipped guiltily around, but held her chin pertly high. “Now, don t be angry, Nick. I’ve not acted against your command — you never forbade me to come here.”

“I never anticipated your showing such exceedingly poor judgment, either.”

“I accept full blame, your lordship,” said Miss Eversham, hands clenching her sober gray skirts.

“No, you don’t, Kate,” Owen said. “The girl tricked you and ran off. She should accept the consequences of her own actions.”

“Neither of you could have stopped her?” Nicholas asked.

“We barely managed to board the same train,” Own said. “She threatened to make a scene when we tried to get her off.”

The governess wrung her bony fingers. “I’m ever so sorry, your lordship. I did try to dissuade her.”

“We’ll discuss this further in private,” Nicholas told his sister. “You’ll have to stay the night, I suppose, but don’t bother unpacking. You’ll be leaving at first light.”

“But I’ve come so far, Nick.” Cicely’s mouth settled into a charming pout. “Can’t I stay for just a few days, please? London was so very tiresome.”

“So was Yorkshire,” Drew murmured, his eyes drifting to her lace trimmed bodice, “at least until a few moments ago.”

As Cicely coyly fluttered her lashes, Elizabeth saw Nicholas’s jaw tense. Laying a restraining hand on his sleeve, she said, “We’re all tired. Why don’t we talk this over in the morning? I’ll ring for Mrs. Drabble.”

As Elizabeth went to tug the bell rope, Cicely cast a look of longing at the remains of dinner.

“Might I sit down for a moment? We were in such a crashing hurry to get here before dark that we didn’t even stop to eat.”

“Perhaps hunger will serve as a reminder of your rash behavior,” Nicholas stated.

Her lower lip jutted out. “I’m not a child to be sent to bed without supper.”

“I’ll treat you according to the age you act.”

She opened her mouth as if to retort. A blush suddenly colored her cheeks and her eyes grew watery.

“Come now, Hawkesford,” Drew said. “No need to be so hard on the girl. She’s sorry for acting impulsively.”

Cicely looked up from beneath her lashes. “That’s right, Nick,” she said, her tone subdued. “I
am
sorry … truly I am. Can’t you find room in your heart to forgive me?”

Elizabeth bit back a smile. With her soulful eyes and her drooping shoulders, Cicely could have posed for a romantic rendition of repentance.

Mrs. Drabble spoiled the artistic effect by scurrying into the room. “Oh, fiddle,” she panted, wiping her hands on the broad girth of her apron. “I’ll be gettin’ nowt done in th’ kitchen, wi’ all this answerin’ doors an’ bells an’ such.”

“We’ll need two rooms prepared,” Nicholas said. “One for my sister and Miss Eversham, and another for Mr. Hastings.”

Taking Elizabeth by the hand, he rounded the table to offer his other arm to Cicely; his sister grudgingly accepted the escort. Drew slouched back into his chair and scowled at his wineglass. Reluctant sympathy tugged at Elizabeth. For all his profligate ways, what a blow it must be to have lost the assurance of a fortune.

They followed the grumbling housekeeper upstairs, Miss Eversham and Owen bringing up the rear. Nicholas hung back as Mrs. Drabble led Cicely and the governess down the shadowed hall.

“Owen, I’d like to have a word with my sister. Could you wait inside with Elizabeth? There’s been another attempt on her life and I don’t want her left alone.”

Owen started visibly. “Of course, my lord.” Swinging to Elizabeth, he said hoarsely, “Are you all right, Libby?”

“I’m fine, Papa,” she murmured.

She entered the bedroom, which was lit by tapers in the tall candlesticks on the writing desk and nightstand. Janet stood at the wardrobe, drawing out a nightgown. The maid bobbed a shy curtsy and retreated into the dressing room.

His face gray and his fists clenched, Owen turned toward Elizabeth. “What happened this time, Libby?”

Briefly she related the story, glossing over the danger in an effort to ease his worry. “Nicholas knocked me out of the way in time. He’ll keep me safe.”

“Bless my soul.” Owen lifted a hand as if to touch her cheek, then dropped his fingers. “Are you sure you weren’t hurt?”

“Just a slight headache from the fall.”

Hands clasped behind his back, he paced the threadbare rug. “You mustn’t stay here. Lord Nicholas should have realized that.”

Elizabeth trailed Owen to the tester bed with its once grand hangings of crimson Spitalfields velvet. “He did want me to leave, but I convinced him otherwise. Don’t you see, Papa? I’ll never be able to live free of fear until we find the person responsible for making these attempts.”

Turning to her, he ran his fingers through his sparse gray hair. “I don’t like this, Libby. Never did feel at ease in this old house, either.” His expression grew distant and sad. “Lucy loved it, though. It was brighter here then… she had a way of lighting up the place with her laughter. Coming back makes me remember so much.”

“You didn’t live here at the manor house, though.”

He shook his head. “At St. Mary’s vicarage, a few miles away, toward Wrefton. But I became friends with your mother and as time went on, she confided in me more and more.” His face settled into rigid lines. “Lucy badly needed a friend. She was torn asunder over the fact that she loved a married man, her cousin’s husband.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before that Mama was related to the duchess?”

He looked puzzled. “Didn’t I? I was so agitated that night we talked…”

The sorrow on his face touched her heart. “When did you fall in love with Mama?” Elizabeth asked softly.

Owen sank heavily onto the bed, his elbows coming to rest on his knees. “From the start. She was the kindest, prettiest woman I’d ever known. When I learned the duke had gotten her with child I offered to marry her, of course. But Lucy refused, didn’t want to burden me with another man’s baby.” He smiled wistfully at Elizabeth. “As if a sweet girl like you could be anything but God’s blessing.”

A lump formed in her throat, and Elizabeth had to swallow hard. “The duke claims he always loved me. But you said he renounced me when his heir was born.”

Owen straightened, his features hardening again. “His visits dwindled once he had a son. That’s how I was finally able to convince Lucy to marry me. She realized Hugh Sterling would never be the sort of father she wanted for you.” Frowning, he tilted his head at her. “I trust you won’t cast stones at your mother’s memory, Libby. She might have acted rashly in having an affair, but she was a good woman, a woman with a heart full of love.”

Hugging her arms, Elizabeth leaned against the velvet draped bedpost. “Perhaps,” she said slowly, “at one time I might not have understood. But now I know how it is to love a man.”

“Aye,” Owen said with a stiff nod. “And one day you’ll know how it is to love a child, as well. I’m staying here with you, Libby. Not that I haven’t faith in Lord Nicholas, mind you, but two can watch out better than one.”