The Fugitive Heiress

by Amanda Scott

  He raised a hand, laughing. “Don’t start with me, you outrageous girl! This is none of my doing.” He stopped suddenly, when tears welled over and down her cheeks. Striding forward, he took her gently by the shoulders. “Catheryn, what is it, child? I was but teasing.”

  “You think it’s funny!” she accused, trying to stifle a sob. “You promised to help but have done nothing, and now you laugh at me and tell me I ought to marry Edmund! Why did you not just pack me off with him, if that’s what you think I should do!” She began to sob in earnest, but Dambroke gripped her shoulders more firmly and began to shake her.

  “Stop it!” he ordered. “Stop that noise at once, Catheryn, or, by God, I shall box your ears!” Shocked out of growing hysteria by the threat as well as by his bruising grip, Catheryn stared up into eyes fierce with anger. “Now, you listen to me, my girl,” he commanded with another shake. “Ashley has checked into your trust thoroughly and there is no breaking it. Far from mismanaging it, your uncle has done an excellent job. There is now a good deal more than the original ten thousand. As for sending you home with Mr. Caston, let me tell you that I fully intended to do so when he arrived. I do not know exactly what caused me to alter my decision, but please bear in mind that I can alter it again.” He relaxed his hold, and his next words came gently. “I shouldn’t have teased you about having him for a husband. It was unmannerly. Besides, I don’t think you would suit.”

  Catheryn sniffed in a childlike manner and brushed tears from her face with the back of her hand, comforted as much, oddly enough, by his fierceness as by his apology. “Oh, Dambroke, it’s all so stupid. I beg your pardon. I never really believed they meant to cheat me. It was all that money and … and Grandpapa!” Tears streamed unchecked down her cheeks.

  “Calm yourself, Catheryn,” he said quietly. “Your grandfather would never have allowed a penny of your money to be spent on Westering. It would have been exceedingly difficult for anyone to get at it, in fact, before you came of age, and it would most likely have become a bone of contention between you. Now, dry your tears and let’s hear no more about it.” When she could not produce a handkerchief, he offered his own.

  “Thank you, my lord. I gave mine to Tiffany. What a weepy day this has been, to be sure!” He stiffened at mention of his sister but said nothing until they reached the door.

  “Everything works itself out in time,” he said then, looking down at her with a cool smile and an expression in his eyes that made her feel a trifle giddy. “You should rest now.”

  She went upstairs, making a strong effort to compose herself and firmly repressing all thought of that unsettling look. She hoped she was no simpering romantic miss and that she had better sense than to dwell upon a fleeting expression simply because a man was handsome and possessed of a certain charm. Such behavior could only lead to embarrassment, and the whole thing was perfect nonsense anyway. She would do much better to follow his lordship’s very sound advice instead and get some rest. Therefore, discovering Tiffany deeply engrossed in Mrs. Radcliffe’s purple prose, she pleaded a headache and escaped to her own bedchamber, conscious of a feeling of gratitude that the younger girl had barely looked away from her book. The rest of the day passed quickly enough, but the following morning found both girls yearning for exercise. So it was that, despite gathering storm clouds, Mr. Lawrence was accorded the pleasure of meeting them in Hyde Park.

  He doffed his hat, greeting them cheerfully, and inquired about Tiffany’s recent illness. She blushed, but Catheryn engaged his attention until she had composed herself, and they rode together amicably for some time before the sight of two approaching horsemen caused Mr. Lawrence to halt an anecdote midsentence. Catheryn had also seen the riders, their high-bred mounts moving at an easy walk. Only Tiffany had failed to observe them. She looked at Lawrence, surprised at his sudden silence, then followed the direction of his gaze. She gasped when she recognized her brother and Captain Varling.

  Lawrence spoke immediately and in an undertone. “I would not wish to be the cause of your brother’s displeasure, my lady. I shall take my leave before they are upon us.”

  Tiffany nodded a vague agreement but hardly acknowledged his farewell as she turned anxiously to Catheryn. “Do you see that it is Captain Varling with Richard? Oh, Catheryn, I am persuaded that he ought not to be riding yet. He may do himself further injury.”

  Catheryn chuckled. “I make no doubt that Dambroke would not be with him if that were the case, Tiff. He would be more like to sit upon him to keep him from his horse.”

  Tiffany smiled at the sally but still looked worried. As the horses came together both girls exclaimed their pleasure at seeing Varling out and about, but Tiffany avoided her brother’s eye. He, too, wished them good morning, and Catheryn was relieved to note that he looked perfectly normal and not at all as though she had played him a Cheltenham drama in his library the previous day. His expression was not at all unsettling now but quite clear and friendly. Feeling completely at ease, she answered his greeting with a twinkle.

  “It seems that you and Chieftain have been dragged out at an early hour, my lord, and on a dreary morning, too.”

  He laughed. “Yes, Cousin, an irresistible force drew us. Tony was determined to get out and scorned the offer of a sedate carriage ride. He threatened to have his horse out for the promenade, so his long-suffering parents begged me to knock some sense into his head. We compromised.”

  Catheryn nodded meaningfully at Lady Tiffany, who was steadily observing Angel’s mane. Dambroke was quick to catch the hint, but his tone was cool. “I am glad to see you recovered, Tiffany,” he said.

  “Th-thank you, my lord,” she murmured. “I-I am feeling much more the thing this morning.”

  The captain glanced sharply from one to the other and then at Catheryn. “Here, Dickon!” he exclaimed. “We cannot ride this path four abreast! Do you and Miss Westering allow the two invalids to ride ahead. You may then keep guard over your respective charges without crowding us.”

  Dambroke agreed with a smile but warned his friend that he would break his good leg for him if he dared to push his nag above a walk. The captain tossed him a cocky grin before riding on with Tiffany. Dambroke let them get some distance ahead before he lifted his rein. “Was that not that damned Lawrence fellow riding with you?” he demanded.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Do you continue to encourage that folly, Catheryn? She does not seem to lose interest.” His tone was grave and Catheryn chuckled. “I see nothing to laugh about!”

  She turned her head to look at him, her eyes still brimming with laughter. “Do you mean to scold me, sir?”

  “I should do so,” was the uncompromising reply.

  “Well, you may, of course, with my good will. But you will come to be sorry for it, sir.”

  He gave her a puzzled look. “Why is that?”

  “Because I believe she is losing interest, my lord. He cannot really be a fortune hunter anyway. He is thirty, you know, and cannot possibly want to wait so long for the money!”

  Dambroke gave her an odd look. “Did you discuss this aspect of the situation with Tiffany?”

  “I’m afraid I did,” she confessed, and was amazed when he chuckled. “What is it, my lord?”

  He shook his head. “I had wondered myself about his continued interest and decided he was clutching at last straws. Your mentioning the money reminded me of something. I believe Tiffany expects to have her fortune when she marries. I as much as told her she would.”

  “I beg your pardon!”

  The guilty grin flashed across his face. “I was furious at the time, and when she accused me of wishing to retain control over her because of her fortune, I replied—in heat, of course—that I would cheer the day I could turn both her and her fortune over to a properly overbearing husband.”

  “I see.” Catheryn gave him a straight look. “How does her trust actually stand, then?”

  “It is a normal one, only slightly different from y
our own.” He shrugged. “I am her guardian until she marries or turns twenty-one, and I control her fortune at my own discretion until she’s twenty-five. The difference is that I could relinquish before she comes of age, had I a mind to, whereas your trustees were committed. I should never relinquish to a man of Lawrence’s stamp, of course.”

  “And Tiffany is ignorant of these terms! Good God, Dambroke! You are quite as Gothic as Edmund and Sir Horace.”

  “It never occurred to me that I ought to explain the trust to her,” he replied, nettled. “I am also trustee for my brother’s fortune and have never discussed it with him.”

  Catheryn shot him a look of scorn. “That is scarcely comparable, my lord. Teddy is a boy of ten, while Tiffany is a young woman. She should certainly be told the truth.”

  He frowned thoughtfully. “I think I must disagree. Not that I shouldn’t have told her before. But not now. Wittingly or not, I think you may have forced her to give serious thought to his true intentions. He is undoubtedly laboring under a misconception, poor lad, since she probably misled him herself. But it’s all to the good. Better she should cut the connection on her own than be hurt when he learns the truth.”

  Catheryn wrinkled her nose. She wasn’t at all certain that Lawrence would accept rebuff. She had seen his growing frustration and distrusted him. Watching the two riders ahead, she smiled to herself, for they were deep in conversation, riding close to each other. One could not take such things for granted, of course; but, if things went well, Tiffany would have plenty of protection against men like Lawrence. Dambroke soon announced that he had to keep an appointment with his secretary, and the men rode off together. The two girls continued their ride for another half hour or so, stopping now and again when they met an acquaintance. The sky began to clear, and the sun made insistent attempts to shine through the clouds. Tiffany seemed a bit withdrawn. Catheryn forbore to intrude upon her reflections until they reached the house; but, when they entered the hall, she reminded her that the countess expected them to accompany her on a number of errands.

  “Oh no, Catheryn!” Tiffany exclaimed, startled out of her preoccupation. “You go, but tell Mama I’ve decided to visit Maggie instead.” She looked hesitantly toward the library and Catheryn, thinking she meant to beg Dambroke’s escort when he had finished his business with Mr. Ashley, agreed to carry her apologies to the countess and went upstairs.

  VIII

  THE WEEKEND PASSED PEACEFULLY, but Monday morning, charmingly attired in a green-and-white-striped muslin frock, Catheryn entered the breakfast parlor to find Dambroke alone, scowling at a letter on the table beside the remains of a hearty breakfast. Morris deftly began to remove the dishes while Paulson seated Catheryn.

  “Good morning, my lord.” Receiving a curt reply, she calmly began to butter toast and presently to apply herself to an excellent breakfast. She glanced at the earl several times while she ate but made no further attempt to engage him in conversation. He was drinking coffee and seemed to be concentrating upon some knotty mental problem. At last, however, he sighed, looked up, and caught her eye. A tiny smile quivered at the corner of his mouth.

  “Wondering if I shall bite?”

  She smiled. “No, sir. My grandfather was always in crotchets at breakfast, too. I promise I don’t regard it.”

  The black eyebrows rose. “In crotchets! My dear girl, that is a limp description of my feelings. I’ve just had my plans for the day as well as my normal good temper—don’t you dare laugh—destroyed by this devilish letter!” He smacked the article in question.

  “I shan’t laugh,” she assured him, “but may I ask what has occurred? I shall understand if you don’t want to tell me.”

  “I can’t say that I particularly wish to discuss it, but you will know the whole soon enough, so I may as well tell you now. You have heard us speak of Edward, of course.”

  “Certainly. Your younger brother, Teddy.” She had indeed heard much talk of “that young limb of Satan,” as Mrs. Paulson, the housekeeper, called him. “He is at Eton, is he not?”

  Dambroke grimaced. “I’ve been asked to rectify that.”

  “Rectify? You mean you must remove him? But why?”

  “According to this letter from Dr. Keate, the headmaster, they can no longer accommodate him. He cites unacceptable behavior, inattention to lessons … in short, the boy is being expelled, and they request his immediate removal. I shall have to drive down today.” He looked at his watch. “As a matter of fact, I must leave very shortly.”

  “But what has he done? Surely, they have dealt with recalcitrance successfully in the past. Even I have heard of Dr. Keate, and Teddy is only ten, after all.”

  “Nothing seems to do the trick,” Dambroke said heavily. “You see, this is not the first time there’s been trouble. I’ve made spur-of-the-moment trips down there before—once when he ran away to avoid a flogging and another time when I simply thought I might make my feelings clearer in person than in a letter. But now, Keate leaves me no choice. He must come home.” Since the look in his eye boded no good for the hapless Teddy, Catheryn took courage in hand.

  “I think a drive to Windsor would be delightful,” she said brightly. “It’s a glorious day, and I had no plans of importance. If you are in a hurry, I’ll just collect my pelisse and meet you in the hall.”

  “Catheryn, you are not going with me!”

  She cocked her head, blond curls flashing golden in an errant ray of sunlight. “Did not your nanny teach you, sir, never to contradict a lady?”

  He sputtered. “It would not be conduct becoming a lady to travel out of the city with only my escort, miss!”

  “How thoughtful, my lord,” she retorted sweetly. “Lady Tiffany will be glad of the diversion. I’ll tell her to make haste, and we can all have luncheon in Windsor.” She arose and headed for the door. The anticipated explosion came before she reached it.

  “This is not a pleasure jaunt, Miss Westering! I am going to collect my brother from a school which doesn’t want him, and it will not be amusing. It will be damned unpleasant, certainly for Edward. He will not want you! Besides, I shall take my curricle,” he added lamely. “There won’t be room.”

  Catheryn had stood facing the door during this tirade. Without moving, she spoke one word. “Nonsense.”

  “What did you say!”

  She turned, twinkling and unruffled, to find him on his feet and glaring at her across the table. “I said ‘nonsense,’ my lord,” she replied equably, despite the storm warnings. “It is nonsense, you know—and don’t contradict me again. You can’t have thought. Your curricle? Surely, Teddy will have a trunk and other gear. You must take the carriage. And furthermore,” she continued roughshod over his feeble attempts to interrupt, “furthermore, sir, even you would not condemn a freshly whipped child—for you do intend, do you not, that he shall be whipped, even though you’ve not heard his side of the matter—well, even so, you’d not condemn him to ride here from Eton in a bouncing, jolting curricle or in a well-sprung carriage, for that matter. You’ll have to wait till you get him home, which will make it uncomfortable for both of you. You need Tiffany and me!” she finished triumphantly.

  “I have no intention of making such a journey in a closed carriage with two witless females and a bothersome brat!” he declared, descending to nursery levels.

  Catheryn fostered the illusion by agreeing kindly, “Of course not, my lord. You shall ride Chieftain. Much more pleasant for you, and Tiffany and I shall be quite comfortable in the carriage.” At that, she whisked herself out the door, closing it upon a muttered epithet to the circumambient air—something to do with meddlesome females.

  Fortunately, she had no trouble with Tiffany, who was delighted by the prospect of an impromptu outing; and, though she would not have been amazed to find that he had gone without them, the carriage was at the door when they stepped outside, and Chieftain stood quietly beside it. Without comment, the earl handed them up, mounted his horse, and they were off. />
  The journey was rapid, and by half past eleven they had arrived at the famous boys’ school. Dambroke dismounted and strode to the carriage. “You may await us here,” he said brusquely. “We shan’t be long.”

  But, to Catheryn’s relief, Tiffany took matters into her own hands. “Don’t be silly, Richard.” She pushed the door open, compelling him to take her hand and help her alight. Miss Westering followed. “Catheryn and I discussed it on the way,” Tiffany added. “You cannot just explode all over poor Teddy and then take us to luncheon. We promise not to interfere, but you will keep your temper better if we come with you.” Certain that Dambroke would be unwilling to engage in what amounted to a public argument, Catheryn applauded Tiffany’s tactics. The earl had no choice. They entered the main building and were soon shown to the headmaster’s study.

  Dr. John Keate had been headmaster at Eton for not quite three years and was already known as a “famous flogger.” It was said that, in a single afternoon, he had flogged all one hundred members of the lower fifth form for missing roll call on a holiday, so Catheryn understood why Teddy might have run away to escape a beating. She had imagined Keate as a sort of Goliath and was, therefore, a bit taken aback by the red-headed little man who rose to greet them from behind a massive desk. He was only five feet tall. Not that he was not powerful, for he was—like a bull—and he looked ferocious enough, with enormous shaggy red eyebrows standing out in angry tufts; but his eyes twinkled as he held a hamlike hand out to the earl. “Good morning, my lord.”

  “Dr. Keate.” Dambroke nodded as he shook the outstretched hand. He indicated the ladies. “My sister, Lady Tiffany, and our cousin, Miss Westering.”

  Keate bowed from the waist with a surprisingly courtly air. “A pleasure, my lady, Miss Westering. Won’t you be seated?” He pulled a bell rope, and Dambroke sat down in a wing chair near the desk. Tiffany and Catheryn took matching Kent armchairs nearer the door, as a boy of fourteen or fifteen entered. “Some refreshment, Pickens,” ordered Keate, “and send someone to the Long Chamber to notify young Dambroke his brother is here.” The boy jerked a bow and hastened from the room. Ignoring the earl’s conspicuous impatience, Keate chatted desultorily about the unpredictable spring weather and other such harmless matters until Pickens returned with tea for the ladies and Madeira for the gentlemen. When the door closed behind him again, the headmaster settled back and peered at Dambroke. “I know you are anxious to get to the point, my lord.”