Lina sighed. “No, I suppose not.”
Except for this year. Though she had no wish to worry Cassie, this was one stretch of her life she wouldn’t mind sleeping away. If she could curl up and hibernate for the next two months, perhaps she would wake to find she no longer missed Edward so acutely. It would be spring already, and she’d be sitting in the sunshine, beginning to grow round with child, instead of queasy and cold and worrying whether she might still be mistaken about her condition.
But that was cowardice, and feeling sorry for herself, and shying away from a new adventure. Those were all things Edward would have hated. For that matter, he’d be horrified to see her now, dressed in an old woolen gown, her hair in an unbecoming braid. For most of her life, her looks had been the only thing of value she possessed, the one asset she’d prided herself on in even her lowest moments. Lately she could hardly bring herself to care if she got dressed in the morning.
“You shouldn’t sit by the window,” Cassie said. “Aren’t you always telling me that’s the chilliest spot in the house?”
Lina didn’t immediately reply, her attention caught by the cloaked figure of a young woman making her way across the park, milk pail in hand. “Here’s the dairymaid. She’s late this morning. Sarah’s already left to do the marketing.”
She made to rise, but Cassandra held out a hand in a staying gesture. “No, don’t get up. I’ll take care of it this once. Perhaps she’ll even have some gossip for us.”
Lina smiled her thanks, watching as her sister went to meet the girl. She wished she had Cassie’s open manner and angelic looks. Cassandra was the sociable one, the lively romantic, everyone’s confidante, while Lina—Lina had always been the purposeful one, the realist, the voice of practicality and responsibility. It came from being the oldest child, and having to look out for the younger ones.
Perhaps that was why the past month had been so difficult. Since Edward’s death, all of the drive and determination had gone out of her. She hadn’t even had the backbone to challenge Mr. Niven when she’d told him her news and he’d given her that look. He might have said he was happy for her, the way Cassie had been, or at least maintained a neutral air, as a good professional ought. Instead a flash of irritation had crossed his face—a fleeting scowl of disapproval—as if she’d conceived a child precisely to complicate his life and make some unwarranted claim on the estate.
Lina expected such opposition from the village scandalmongers, those closed-minded gossips who’d looked down on her for as long as she could remember. She was the daughter of a fallen woman and a faithless scoundrel, and she’d grown up knowing that most of Malton’s gentry held her in contempt. But on each of the previous occasions when she’d met Mr. Niven, back when Edward was alive, he’d bowed and smiled and bowed again, patently eager to please.
That look the lawyer had given her wasn’t fair. She hadn’t done anything wrong.
Well, she’d show him, when her baby came. She’d have a boy and that boy would be the new earl and then she’d have the pleasure of giving Mr. Niven the sack. What a pity, Mr. Niven, that after your years of hard work your services will no longer be required. She was convinced her baby would be a boy, if only because she’d had more than enough of being poor and looked down on and she refused to believe God wanted her to raise a child that way.
Cassandra came back in and resumed her seat without a word.
Lina searched her face. “What is it, Cassie? What did the dairymaid say? I know something is wrong when you turn oysterish on me.”
Her sister sighed. “Very well, but you mustn’t let it upset you.”
“I won’t,” Lina promised, as if one really could agree to blithely shrug off life’s slights and misfortunes. She sat forward.
“Apparently the abbey is all abuzz. The cousin arrived last night.”
The cousin. Instinctively, Lina’s hand went to her still-flat abdomen. Perhaps she had done something wrong after all, however unwittingly. “I suppose they told him...?”
“I’m certain they had to.”
Yet another scowling adversary to add to her list, and she’d never even met this one. “What’s he like?”
“A widower with a young daughter. Martha says he’s in his early thirties and a fine figure of a man, while Mrs. Phelps knew at a glance that he’d been in the war.”
“How?” Lina said airily. “Did he lose part of his anatomy to a cannonball?”
“I expect she meant he has a military bearing.”
Lovely. He was probably used to barking orders, then. And Martha was mad for anything in breeches, so in the chambermaid’s parlance, a fine figure of a man was the kind of faint praise reserved for thickset gentlemen with craggy faces.
Lina stopped herself. She was being unfair, finding fault when she hadn’t even set eyes on the gentleman. Still, she couldn’t help but feel let down. For some reason she’d imagined the cousin—Edward’s successor—as being very like her husband. They were both Vaughans, after all. But it sounded as if this man possessed none of Edward’s sweetness, none of his elfin charm.
“And there’s more,” Cassie said. “He’s brought his brother with him. His unmarried brother.”
That made two new adversaries, then, for Lina couldn’t imagine the brother would be any happier about being consigned to obscurity.
A spark of excitement lit Cassie’s blue eyes. And why shouldn’t she look excited, with an eligible young gentleman arriving in the neighborhood? She was long overdue for a beau, and too pretty not to have one. “He’s about my age, Martha told the dairymaid—‘thin, even handsomer than his brother, but a bit of an odd duck.’ What do you suppose she meant by that last part?”
“I’ve no idea. Will we have a chance to meet them?”
“The older brother hasn’t said yet whether they mean to stay until the question of the inheritance is settled or go back to his property in Hampshire, though the feeling below stairs is that they’ll go. The servants are convinced he’s only giving his daughter a short respite before they take to the road again.”
Well, that was something at least. Lina would breathe easier without the heir presumptive lingering in the vicinity, watching like a vulture from only half a mile away, adding a fervent wish to his prayers every night that her baby would be a girl. She might have crossed paths with him now and then, and she couldn’t imagine anything more awkward than having to make polite conversation with the man whose hopes must run so entirely counter to her own.
Chapter Three
How little do they see what is, who frame their hasty judgments upon that which seems.
—Robert Southey
Later than morning, Lina walked over to Malton to see how the stonemason was getting on with Edward’s monument. It was a melancholy errand, and strictly speaking it wasn’t proper for her to venture out while still in deep mourning, but it eased her mind to view the progress Mr. Monkman had made. She ran her hand over the chiseled inscription. Sacred to the memory of Edward Cuthbert Vaughan, seventh Earl of Radbourne. She’d wanted to add a more personal epitaph, especially after all Edward had done for her, but knowing the local scandalmongers, they’d be sure to twist it into something vulgar.
She took the shortcut back to the dower house, trekking through the woods to reach the lane, her breath making white puffs in the frosty air. A flock of rooks winged its way across the winter sky, their echoing caws only adding to her sense of loneliness.
She was halfway through the woods when a disturbance shattered the quiet.
It was a masculine voice, speaking in a harsh, angry tone. “For God’s sake, have your wits gone begging? You should know better. I can’t imagine anything more heedless.”
“But—”
“Don’t ‘but’ me. Not if you know what’s good for you. You’re not a baby anymore, yet did you stop for even one second
and think where you were—”
Lina had heard that disapproving tone too many times before in her life, though rarely in a voice of such furious severity. She peered through the trees and saw a tall man towering over a dark-haired little girl in a blue spencer, railing at the child. The man had his back to her, but tears streaked the child’s face.
It could only be the cousin from Hampshire—a widower with a young daughter—but any hope of a civil introduction evaporated as Lina’s inner big sister came rushing to the fore. The girl couldn’t be more than five years old. How dare a grown man vent his temper on such a small, frightened child?
Instinct taking over, Lina charged out of the trees. “That’s quite enough, sir!”
She must have startled him when she burst out onto the path, for the face he turned to her was blank with astonishment—and ten times more handsome than she’d expected. She had a quick impression of straight brows, roguish eyes and a firm jaw, adding up to such virile good looks she actually broke her stride for a moment.
But only for a moment. Mastering her surprise, she stalked up to him. “Is it really necessary to berate this poor child? You’re terrifying the girl.”
His startled expression gave way to a look of undisguised irritation. “For your information—not that it’s any of your affair—my daughter was in danger of running out onto the frozen pond over that rise. Or would you rather I held my tongue and stood by while she risked her neck on thin ice?”
“Oh.” She hadn’t realized...and she would have apologized, but the man turned his temper on her.
“And since when is it your place to instruct a father on how to discipline his child, Miss—”
She stiffened at his lecturing tone, her chin coming up. “It’s not Miss, it’s Lady Radbourne. And it’s certainly my place when someone disturbs the peace on my husband’s land.”
Now it was his turn to look nonplussed. “Ah. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were the countess.” He lifted his hat in grudging courtesy. Even his hair was manly, thick chestnut waves cropped short in a futile effort to tame them. “Still, my daughter’s safety is my concern. And I’m hardly trespassing. Forgive my bluntness, but this isn’t your husband’s land anymore.”
“I take it you’re Mr. Vaughan? Well, it’s not your land. Not yet, anyway.”
His jaw assumed a stubborn angle. “I regret to have to contradict a lady, but apparently this is my land, at least for the present. And it’s not Mr. Vaughan, it’s Colonel Vaughan.”
She’d been right to suppose he’d be nothing like Edward—but with reluctance she conceded that the chambermaid had been right, too, in calling him a fine figure of a man. Where Edward had been slender and of average height, Colonel Vaughan was tall and broad shouldered. He wore a three-caped garrick coat, and he had the kind of strong, athletic build that suggested he was more accustomed to outdoor pursuits like riding and hunting than to haunting the inns and alehouses of his acquaintance.
At the disloyalty of the thought—she knew very well why tavern-going had popped into her head—Lina drew herself up to her full five-foot-two. “If I were you, I shouldn’t grow too comfortable thinking of this as your land, Colonel.”
“And if I were you, I shouldn’t grow too comfortable talking down to me, Lady Radbourne.”
Tugging at the sleeve of her father’s coat, the little girl looked up into his face. “Don’t be angry, Papa.”
He glanced down at his daughter, and his belligerent expression vanished as if by magic. “I’m not angry, Jules. Lady Radbourne and I were simply...having a discussion.”
“Yes.” For the little girl’s sake, Lina mustered a friendly smile. “Grown-ups sometimes sound cross when they’re merely convinced they’re in the right.”
“Yes, indeed,” Colonel Vaughan said, “though being convinced isn’t always the same as being correct.”
Oh, good Lord. He was clearly the obstinate sort who had to have the last word, even in front of his young daughter. She would have to be the bigger person.
Next time. This time, Lina said, “And neither is being louder.”
A muscle worked in the colonel’s jaw. He appeared to be struggling to keep his temper in check, though he looked as if he would like to give her a crushing set-down, perhaps one in which oaths played a part. Instead he inclined his head and said with stiff courtesy, “Julia and I were on our way to the dower house to call on you, Lady Radbourne. I can see we should have found you from home, but perhaps you’ll allow us to escort you back?”
She was quite capable of walking to the dower house on her own. But since she sensed it would vex him to have to maintain the appearance of civility when he obviously disliked her, she decided to accept. “Thank you, Colonel. I’d appreciate that.” There. That would teach him to make insincere offers just to look mannerly for his daughter.
He gestured with a jerk of his head to the southeast. “It’s this way, is it not?”
She nodded and they fell into step together, the colonel taking his little girl’s hand.
Lina saw now what Mrs. Phelps had meant about knowing at a glance that Colonel Vaughan had been in the war. He walked with military erectness, his head high. His little girl had gone silent, which probably meant he was also of the Children should be seen and not heard school of child rearing. It was another strike against him as far as Lina was concerned. She had no love for strict disciplinarians. The third great love of her mother’s life, Cassie’s father, had been the strict, exacting sort, and he’d held Lina responsible for every one of the infractions her younger siblings had committed. “So why were you coming to call on me?”
He glanced at her as if the answer must be obvious. “To introduce myself, and to offer my condolences on your recent loss.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t expected that. But then, how sincere could he be about the latter reason when her loss might well bring him a title and a fortune? “I understand you and my husband shared the same great-great-grandfather.”
“He was my great-great-grandfather. Since your husband and I were a generation removed, you’d have to add another ‘great’ in his case.”
“How did your branch of the family end up in Hampshire?”
The colonel shrugged. “An advantageous marriage or two, I suppose. Isn’t that the usual aim of younger sons?”
He had such long legs, Lina had to take five steps for every three of his. “But you must be an eldest son yourself. I heard this morning that you brought your younger brother to Belryth with you.”
The faint frown Colonel Vaughan was wearing grew more pronounced. “Yes, I thought it wiser not to leave him to his own devices, however it may have complicated the journey.”
Oh yes, this man was a martinet all right—an unfairly handsome one, perhaps, with perfect bone structure and an intriguing hint of dimples, but a martinet nonetheless. She hadn’t missed that frown, or the disapproving note in his voice when he’d said leave him to his own devices. She pitied the poor brother, kept on a tight rein by a haughty and overbearing sibling.
And did he have to complain about the journey? It was tactless of him when she was the reason for its disappointing conclusion. She had every right to bear Edward’s son, and that son had every right to inherit. “I regret the trouble you were put to, coming here. Mr. Niven might have saved you the trip if he’d only waited a trifle longer before writing to you.”
“How odd. Your Mr. Channing seems to think you told him there was no need to wait.”
She was tempted to reply I’d just been informed my husband was dead. I would have told him I was the Queen of Sheba, if that was what he’d asked me. If she’d really wanted to put the colonel in his place she could have told him about the spotting she’d had just before Edward died, and how she’d been sure it meant a baby was an impossibility—at least until Dr. Strickland informed her such a symptom s
ometimes meant quite the opposite. But with the little girl walking beside them, she simply said, “He’s not my Mr. Channing.”
A smile tugged at the corners of Colonel Vaughan’s mouth, as surprising as it was attractive. “No, I expect not.”
* * *
Though he was holding Julia’s hand with his left, Win wondered if he should offer his free arm to Lady Radbourne. She was in a delicate condition, after all, and the path was uneven. But from the cool way she’d accepted his escort, he doubted she would welcome the gesture.
He wasn’t sure what to make of her. From his conversations with the magistrate and Mr. Niven, he’d expected some predatory femme fatale, a woman with hard eyes and vulgar manners. He’d pictured her having a feline cast to her features and dressing in clothes too sheer and too low-cut for modesty. He’d even wondered if it was irresponsible to take Julia with him as a sort of junior chaperone. But the femme fatale had instead turned out to be a small figure with big green eyes, wrapped from head to toe in a voluminous black cloak.
She was certainly disdainful enough, though.
What he could see of her was attractive—a pert nose, a porcelain complexion, a sharp little chin and ripe lips, to say nothing of those magnificent eyes. He wished he knew what had made him introduce himself as Colonel Vaughan. He never used his rank in Hampshire. But when she’d identified herself as Lady Radbourne, for some reason he’d felt the nonsensical urge to counter with a distinction of his own.
Thank heavens Julia hadn’t questioned it. But then, his daughter was always quiet around strangers, however hard he might try to set her at ease—try being the rub. Harriet had sometimes been able to draw her out, but whenever he made the attempt, his questions only turned Julia more self-conscious. And she had to be missing Nurse Drew. The nursery governess had decided to give notice rather than leave her brother and nieces behind in Hampshire, though Win suspected there was a sweetheart in the mix as well.
An Heir of Uncertainty Page 3
