An Heir of Uncertainty

by Everett, Alyssa

  “There are plenty of people in these parts who might wish me ill. Sir John Blessingame, for instance. He never reconciled himself to my marriage, and I suspect he’d sooner drive hot pokers into his eyes than see me return as mistress here.” She poured Win’s tea. “Mr. Channing clearly doesn’t think much of me, and he’s a trustee of the estate. Mr. Niven is only marginally more polite, though in his case I think the dislike amounts to simple disdain rather than outright enmity. All three men were in Malton yesterday. You and I both saw Mr. Blessingame and Mr. Niven close by at the time of the accident, and it’s possible Mr. Channing has some darker motive for sweeping aside my version of the events.” She hesitated. “And then there’s your brother.”

  Win had just taken a sip of the tea she’d poured for him, and at her last words he gulped it down and sat up, ramrod straight. “Freddie? Why would you include him?”

  “He has good reason to hope you inherit, doesn’t he? You’d have the title and fortune, and he’d be next in line.”

  “Yes, but Freddie is hardly—” Win stopped himself as he recalled his brother’s fascination with the derelict dovecote he’d discovered. What might Freddie do to allow his pigeon-rearing mania free rein? Most people would never consider an abandoned granary sufficient incentive for foul play, but Freddie...

  No. Absolutely not. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  “Are you quite certain? I mean no offense, but...well, he does seem just a touch odd.”

  “Freddie is more than a touch odd—some people even make the mistake of thinking he’s simple—but there’s nothing wrong with either his intellect or his moral compass. It might not occur to him that he’s hurt someone’s feelings, but he’s awake enough on other suits. He was already reading at the age of three. In fact, he could read fluently even before he gave up his peculiar way of speaking.”

  “What do you mean, ‘peculiar way’?”

  Win shrugged. “He had a rather backward manner of expressing himself as a small boy. He used to put words in other people’s mouths. For example, if he wanted a biscuit, instead of announcing ‘I want a biscuit,’ he would look at his nurse and say in a coaxing way, ‘Do you want a biscuit?’ He wasn’t really asking her if she wanted one, he was instructing her what to say. He’s always had those little quirks.”

  “Then what makes you so sure he isn’t dangerous?”

  “Because I know him. For every maddening eccentricity Freddie possesses—his obsession with pigeons, his obliviousness to polite expectations, his way of looking off into space instead of meeting a person’s eye—there’s something equally admirable about him. I can set my watch by his habits. He’s up at seven o’clock every morning, and in bed by ten-thirty exactly. He’s loyal and principled, and once he knows a rule, he never breaks it. And he’s honest to a fault. Not once have I ever heard him speak anything but the absolute, unvarnished truth.”

  She looked unconvinced. “Truthful people can still be violent.”

  “Some, perhaps, but Freddie is the gentlest soul I know. He’s never lashed out in anger at anyone. When he was only a lad and the other boys in Bishop’s Waltham used to bully him, he wouldn’t even fight back.” Win had tried to teach him to box, but Freddie had refused to take the offensive. “Different doesn’t necessarily imply dangerous. Certainly I have no qualms about entrusting Julia to his care, and I can’t think of a stronger testimonial than that.”

  Lina sighed. “On that last point, at least, I can’t argue with you.” The clock on the mantel chimed, and she gave it an almost guilty look. “Oh, dear. I really must be going. I told Cassandra I wouldn’t be here long.”

  Win rose. “Then I’ll go with you, to walk you back.”

  Again that adorably flustered look, as if she wasn’t at all used to having anyone offer to do her a kindness. “Oh, no. You needn’t—”

  “I thought we’d already settled this.” Though he said it lightly, it troubled Win that neglecting to ask for his escort hadn’t simply been a thoughtless oversight on her part. She was actively objecting to the notion.

  He’d been more than half hoping the night before had meant something to her—that his broken arm wasn’t the only reason she’d decided to visit his room. But apparently that was wishful thinking, and she had no wish to spend another minute alone with him.

  She wasn’t interested in a repeat performance—and he shouldn’t be either, not when kisses tended to lead to messy entanglements and nothing about his future here was certain. He needed to remember that. Lina’s baby might well be a boy, in which case she’d supplant him here at Belryth Abbey, the proud mother of an infant earl with thirty thousand pounds a year.

  And if that happened, he’d go back to his old life as poor Win Vaughan, a supposed fortune hunter so hapless he didn’t even have a fortune to show for it.

  * * *

  “I won’t be leaving on Wednesday after all,” the colonel said as they walked side by side to the dower house, Lina wrapped in her winter cloak. “But I expect you’ve already surmised as much.”

  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 s
afe.” 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 bee
n 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?”