Heiress in Love

by Christina Brooke

  Constantine glared at his irritating relative. There was a teasing laugh in her tone, but he was in no mood for levity. Rising at the lady’s approach, he said, “I beg your pardon.”

  Lady Arden waved a hand. “Do sit down.”

  She turned to help herself from the chafing dishes set out on the sideboard. When she’d placed a sparse selection of morsels on her plate, she came to the table. “What has made you so ill-tempered, pray, Constantine? Is it bad news?”

  His brows twitched together. “No.” He sought to change the subject. “Did you know I’ve inherited a ward along with this house?”

  “Inherited a ward?” Lady Arden said. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “Not an inheritance, as such,” he amended. “Frederick named me guardian to Lucas Black.”

  “The delightful dark-haired imp I’ve seen about the place?” said Lady Arden.

  Constantine nodded. “That’s him. Son of Mary and Ernest Black, I believe. Or at least that’s what Greenslade told me. I’ve never heard of them, have you? Apparently, they died of a fever when he was still in leading strings.”

  Lady Arden blinked. “But how old is the boy? Not more than seven, surely.”

  “Six,” said Constantine. “Why?”

  “My dear Constantine, if he was the child of that pair, it must have been a miracle birth. Why, Mary would have been at least five-and-fifty when she bore him.”

  He frowned. “Perhaps I have it wrong, or Greenslade did. At all events, I am now responsible for the boy.”

  A home, a child, and possibly a wife. Wouldn’t his London cronies split their sides laughing? He felt a sudden, strong desire for escape.

  He touched a napkin to his lips. In fact, escape was precisely what he’d do, if only for a morning. Leaving half his breakfast untouched, he rang for his phaeton to be brought around.

  Lady Arden observed him keenly. “What a splendid idea. I always find driving calms the nerves. Why don’t you ask Jane to accompany you? I’m sure the poor creature hasn’t been out of the house for days.”

  “I don’t wish—” He broke off at Lady Arden’s minatory look. Sighing, he said, “Yes, I’ll ask her. Although Cousin Jane does tend to be a high stickler. She might well object to driving out alone with me.”

  Lady Arden shrugged. “In an open carriage with your groom in attendance, there can be no objection.”

  Lazily, he smiled. “What a poor opinion you have of my ingenuity, Lady Arden.”

  Her bright eyes flew to his, brimful of warning. “Tread carefully, Constantine. I might allow you a certain amount of license, but you must remember that your behavior reflects on me. I won’t have Jane’s honor besmirched.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “In other words, hands off?”

  She gave him a long, cool look. “In other words, Constantine, be discreet.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  With a subtle jerk of his chin, Constantine signaled to his groom that he wasn’t needed. Kiever stepped away from the horses’ heads and they moved off with a swift, smooth forward action.

  If Jane objected that he had not brought Kiever with them, she didn’t say so. Perhaps she was as glad as Constantine to escape the Hall for a time.

  Well, what better way to court a lady than to take her driving in the sunshine?

  “They’re fresh this morning,” he commented, nodding toward the gleaming chestnut horses that snorted and strained against the resistance of their harnesses. “This should take the edge off.” He dropped his hands and they shot through the leafy tunnel of the oak grove.

  Jane clapped a hand to her bonnet and laughed a little at the speed. Her laughter held a silvery quality, like water flowing in a brook.

  He’d never seen her so animated. Despite the unrelieved black of her costume, her eyes sparkled, her skin glowed with dewy softness, and those delectable lips parted in a joyous smile.

  He wanted to feel those lips beneath his once more. He’d find a way to do it, too, before this drive was over. A sweet, tantalizing kiss that would pave the way for more.

  “Luke will be envious,” Jane said. “He would say these beautiful creatures are something like!”

  “Aren’t they just? Softest mouths in England. My one true extravagance.”

  “Fine horseflesh is no extravagance,” she commented. “I suppose you don’t let anyone but your groom drive them.”

  “You’d suppose correctly.” He glanced down at her with a glint of humor. “Why? Do you covet my chestnuts, Jane?”

  “I’m positively eaten up with jealousy,” she admitted, making him laugh.

  She sighed. “Frederick was no judge of horseflesh. Unfortunately, he could not be brought to acknowledge the fact.”

  “You’re a rich, independent woman. You may purchase your own cattle now.”

  She grimaced. “Not independent enough to visit Tattersall’s.”

  “I’ll nose around and see who might be selling privately. Then you could judge for yourself.”

  That suggestion seemed to act like magic. “I could? Oh, that would be marvelous, indeed. Not that I don’t trust your judgment, of course.”

  “I quite understand,” he assured her. “It’s a very personal thing.”

  She seemed pleased at his comprehension. “Yes, it is, isn’t it? Frederick always thought he knew best.”

  “Don’t I know it?” murmured Constantine. “Did he ever tell you about the time—” He broke off. “Well, I suppose one shouldn’t abuse the fellow now that he’s dead.”

  “You may abuse him to me with a clear conscience,” said Jane. “I’m livid with him over that will. Besides, I don’t see that death changes anything about who a person might have been when he lived.”

  His feelings were so much in accord with hers that he was startled into silence.

  After a moment, she said quietly, “I must seem heartless to you.”

  He blew out a breath. “Not at all. In fact, in all honesty, I’m relieved to hear you say it.” He didn’t fancy marrying a woman who still pined for his cousin.

  Turning the subject, he said, “When I die, I’d like my friends and family to raise a toast, tell a few jokes at my expense, and send me on my way.”

  “I shall endeavor to remember it,” she said demurely.

  Now, this was promising. His raised an eyebrow, quizzing her. “You are so confident I’ll predecease you?”

  She flicked a hand. “It is the usual way of things with men and women. And you are years older than I am, after all.”

  He laughed, thinking that a sense of humor was definitely a point in her favor. She hadn’t displayed much tendency to joke in the short time he’d known her. Of course, he’d been too busy provoking her to laugh with her before.

  The proximity of her slender body was making itself felt in all kinds of small, tantalizing ways. The intermittent press of her thigh to his, her hand clutching his arm as they feather-edged a corner, her shoulder brushing his when he swerved to avoid a stray sheep that chose that moment to wander onto the road.

  “What a pleasant day,” remarked Lady Roxdale, a trifle breathlessly.

  His voice scraped a little. “Yes, isn’t it?”

  A strong wind had blown the clouds away, and the sun shone brightly. He’d almost forgotten the impulse to let the chestnuts have their heads and carry him straight back to London.

  No, there was no escape from any of the responsibilities Frederick had flung in his lap, and he didn’t wish to, not really. Strange. After the painful excision of his youthful self from Broadmere, he hadn’t expected to fall back in love with his second home, Lazenby, so quickly.

  The narrow country lanes were badly rutted due to the prolonged rain. Their repair would have to wait until he came to an understanding with Jane.

  Though Frederick had been a good landlord in many ways, repairs and maintenance were always required on an estate of this size. The church, the vicar told him, needed a new roof.

  But his primary conce
rn was the mill. Freeing the property of that monstrous debt, getting rid of the dam that stopped the flow of water to power the machinery inside it, luring his workers back and making the whole thing profitable again. He would not succeed as landlord of this estate unless he could accomplish all those things. It was time to put pride aside and accept Jane’s help.

  He took a circuitous route, following the road that ran along the high limestone cliffs. To their left, down the valley, the woolen mills stood, hunkering along the wide stream. Despite their practical purpose, they were grand buildings, made of Cotswold stone, nestled snugly into the valley as if they’d grown there.

  He frowned. “Tell me, what do you know of that fellow Bronson, who leases the mill on Trent’s lands?”

  Jane shook her head. “Nothing at all. He doesn’t visit here. I think the neighborhood must be grateful to him, though. When the water supply dried up, I was relieved our weavers had somewhere to go.”

  Yes, they had somewhere to go, all right. A mill where they were paid a pittance and worked harder than ever before. Lady Roxdale wasn’t to know that, however.

  Constantine narrowed his eyes. “The man is not such a hero as you think. It appears Bronson has found a way to stop the water flowing downstream to our mill at Lazenby, and that is why the stream dried up. There was no longer power to run the mill, and therefore, no work for the weavers.”

  She gasped. “That is monstrous! Why didn’t Frederick do something about this?”

  “I don’t know. Jones tried to tell him.”

  “I see.” Jane hesitated. “What are we going to do?”

  It was a small thing, really. One trivial two-lettered pronoun. But it made a vast difference to him.

  For the first time, Jane ranged herself on his side.

  It took him a moment to respond. “I’m going to get that dam torn down. With or without Trent’s permission.”

  “Do you think he even knows about the problem? I understand he allows Bronson free rein to run the mill.”

  “He knows now,” said Constantine grimly. “And if he doesn’t do something about it within the week, I’ll destroy the benighted thing myself.”

  Suddenly, the crenellated bell tower of St. Edmund’s broke above the line of trees, always the first sign of the village. The chestnuts swept around a corner and Constantine slowed them to trot past the King’s Head, purveyor of superior breakfasts.

  The sight reminded Constantine of Montford.

  If he wanted to marry Jane, he would have to find a way to persuade the duke to withdraw his objections. Constantine was not in awe of Montford, not at all, but he’d be a fool to ignore His Grace’s omnipotent reputation. That, and his very real power over his former ward.

  As they climbed the hill toward the church, a small figure darted in front of them, seemingly from nowhere. Constantine drew hard on the ribbons. “Whoa, there!”

  The child hesitated, long enough for Constantine to see his dirty, tear-streaked face, then he turned and pelted up the street, toward the church.

  “That’s Luke!” Jane clutched Constantine’s arm. “What on earth—”

  Constantine had seen enough to know that the boy had been in some sort of fight. Received the worst end of it, too, by all appearances. A quick glance in the direction from which the boy had come revealed half a dozen boys in homespuns, the obvious culprits.

  When they saw him looking, their faces whitened and the boys scattered like spillikins. No matter. He’d let them go.

  “Oh, stop!” cried Jane. “Let me down. I must help him.”

  “No, I’ll do it.” He pulled up and handed her the reins. “Keep them moving, will you? I won’t be long.” He slanted a glance at her and one corner of his mouth twitched. “They’re a little fatigued, so you should be able to control them now.”

  Her indignant snort made him grin. Before she realized he’d provoked her on purpose to take her mind off going after Luke, Constantine jumped down from the phaeton and followed in the direction the boy had taken.

  His presence caused a stir among the villagers, but he didn’t take much notice, beyond politely tipping his hat and dispersing sundry greetings. They’d react in the same way if a two-headed cow was led through the high street. He was still Lord Roxdale of Lazenby Hall, even if mothers of nubile daughters crossed themselves as he went past.

  The boy had disappeared in the general vicinity of the village green, so Constantine stepped onto the verdant sward that unfurled like a rug spread between the church and the market square.

  An enormous horse-chestnut tree stood in the center of the green, perfect for climbing. He walked over to it and looked up. “Luke, you can come down now. You’re not in trouble, and I won’t embarrass you by seeking to punish those young ruffians. I just want to talk with you.”

  No answer, save a small scuffle as the boy moved higher among the branches.

  “Come down, will you? There’s a good chap,” said Constantine. “I’m getting a crick in my neck standing like this. Besides, any number of the good people of Lazenby are staring at me at this moment, wondering if I’m having a conversation with a magpie. They’ll dub me the mad Lord Roxdale if you don’t show yourself. Not an auspicious start.”

  There was a snort, a kind of smothered chuckle. After a pause, Luke said, “Oh, all right, then.”

  The boy came slithering down the branches, nimble as a monkey. But as he jumped to the ground, a loud rip rent the air. He held his arms wide and looked over his shoulder at his ripped jacket. He muttered a ripe curse. “Aunt Jane will skin me.”

  Constantine took note of other rips and grass stains over his clothing. The boy didn’t seem hurt, just badly mussed. “Looks like someone’s already taken care of dusting your breeches for you. Who were they?”

  The boy’s mouth turned mulish. “No one, sir.”

  Constantine waited for a moment, but the boy wasn’t going to cry rope on anyone. “I see.”

  Clearly, those bullies had given Luke a rough time of it, but the boy wasn’t a sneak. Constantine respected him for it and decided not to press him.

  It occurred to him that he now stood in loco parentis to Luke and he ought to offer some sort of worldly advice on the subject of avoiding getting one’s nose bloodied. Or at least on the subject of giving a good account of oneself in the process.

  “Come,” said Constantine. “Lady Roxdale is with me. We’ll drive you back to the Hall.”

  Luke’s eyes shifted in the direction from which he’d run. “No, thank you, sir.”

  Constantine raised his brows. “Thirsty for some more of the home-brewed, are you?”

  “I don’t want you to drive me,” he muttered. “It’ll only make things worse.”

  “I see.” What those “things” were, exactly, he couldn’t guess. But he had a notion Luke was correct; that his interests wouldn’t be served by the lord of the manor taking a hand in the matter. Constantine wouldn’t always be there to protect him. His interference might draw more of these boys’ taunts.

  Still, he was reluctant to leave the lad. Clearly, the numbers hadn’t been even in that recent scuffle, and that jarred with Constantine’s innate sense of fairness.

  He smiled, deliberately charming. “I think you’ve had enough punishment for today, don’t you? You’re full of pluck, but the odds weren’t in your favor. If you stay, I’m afraid I’ll have to answer to Lady Roxdale for the condition you return in. She’d have my hide if you are set upon again, and she’d be right.”

  The boy remained obstinately silent. Well, why should he care if Constantine’s credit suffered with Jane, after all?

  Constantine sighed. Jane would have his head for this, but it couldn’t be helped. Some matters were simply beyond the female ken. He set his palm against the tree. “Tell me, do you know how to get to the crossroads without going back along the high street?”

  “’Course I do,” said the boy, a flicker of a proud smile lighting his woebegone face.

  “Take that w
ay, then. And mind you go straight home.”

  Luke thought about this and gave a short nod.

  Rueful, Constantine squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “Off with you, now. Don’t dawdle.”

  Constantine turned back and looked across the green to the high street, where Jane sat minding his horses and watching. Hell. He was going to catch it when she heard about this.

  * * *

  Jane certainly had her hands full while Constantine dealt with Luke; she’d underestimated the strength of his horses. As Constantine walked toward her with no Luke in sight, she blew out an exasperated breath. She’d love nothing more than to drive off and leave him stranded, but she wasn’t at all sure she could manage the beasts.

  Fatigued, indeed! They were likely to rip her arms out of their sockets.

  “Where’s Luke?” she demanded as Constantine swung himself back into the phaeton.

  He took the reins and said, “He’s going home his own way.”

  Jane buffeted his big shoulder with her gloved hand. It was like hitting rock. “You left him alone? Go back and get him!”

  He turned to her and his green eyes were sympathetic. “I’m not going to do that. We came to an understanding. He’ll make his own way back to the Hall.”

  “Make his own way?” she repeated. “He shouldn’t be here without his nurse in the first place. He must have given her the slip.”

  “He’ll be perfectly fine,” said Constantine.

  “You are an unfeeling brute! He was hurt and scared. I saw the look on his face.”

  “Not so hurt he couldn’t scramble up and down that tree like a cat.” Constantine gave his horses the office and drove up the high street. “Trust me, it’s better this way.”

  Jane all but bounced in her seat. “Trust you! Who do you think you are? You’ve been the boy’s guardian for all of five minutes and now you are an expert?”

  “You would have marched in there and given those boys a scold, I suppose.” Constantine shook his head.

  “You could at least have brought him back to the carriage. He’s just a little boy.”

  He slanted a glance at her. “It may interest you to know that I’ve had some experience as a male of the species—and surprisingly enough, I was once a six-year-old boy. That does make me more qualified than you to judge the situation. And yes, dear Jane. In this case you are wrong.” He smiled at her. “And I am right.”