Whitney, My Love

by Judith McNaught

  By then, Alicia had not only overcome her childish trepidation, she had worked herself into a fine state of righteous indignation, instead. She had, after all, committed no inexcusable offense. In truth, she had merely offered shelter to her own daughter-in-law!

  She took that tack as she turned to face her son. “Based on your frosty greeting to me last evening,” she primly informed him, “I assume you are displeased with me for my part in keeping Whitney here. I have no idea what you did to make her feel that she could not remain under your roof because Whitney is much too loyal a wife to discuss such a thing, even with me. Nevertheless, I feel very certain that whatever you did to drive her away from you must have been very bad indeed! In view of that, for me to have denied Whitney the shelter of my home would have been unthinkable, unjust and . . . and inhumane.”

  Clayton had only asked for this private conversation so that he could inform his mother that her fondest wish was about to come true—that she was about to become a grandmother. Since he had magnanimously decided not to take her to task for her part in keeping Whitney from him, he was both startled and amused to find himself receiving a reprimand from her. Furthermore, he could not recall another time in his entire adult life when she had seemed not only defensive, but flustered. Biting back a smile, he said gravely, “I see your point.”

  She faltered. “You do?”

  “Indeed.”

  She was so surprised that she promptly dropped all pretense of indignation. “Oh. That is”—she hesitated and then inclined her head in a gesture that managed to be both apologetic and regal—“very handsome of you. I rather expected some sort of argument.”

  “I gathered that,” Clayton agreed wryly.

  She stepped forward and gave him a quick, maternal hug. “I’m very pleased we had this little talk,” she said, “but I must return to the dining room.” Now that everything was settled, the smiling serenity for which she was universally admired was completely restored, and her concern returned to the well-being of her guests. “Langford will be so happy you’re here. He was asking for you. Oh, and you may not have seen Stephen yet, but he arrived a half hour ago with four other young people. They came to enjoy the fine weather and see my gardens while my roses are at their best.”

  “Stephen dislikes the smell of roses,” Clayton pointed out.

  Alicia knew perfectly well that Stephen had not come to Grand Oak to see her roses; he had come to see for himself how well their plot had succeeded, and he had brought friends with him to cloak his purpose. He had also come to do whatever he could to affect a reconciliation, if one hadn’t already occurred. Suddenly concerned that Clayton might somehow guess that Stephen and she had been plotting, she turned toward the door and launched into a rapid monologue. “I was completely surprised when Stephen arrived with his party, but I was vastly relieved as well, because Lansberry and his daughter, Lady Emily, paid an unexpected call this morning. If Stephen and his friends hadn’t been here, Lady Emily wouldn’t have had a soul under the age of fifty years with whom to converse. She is exquisitely lovely, by the way.”

  She reached for the door handle and looked over her shoulder, belatedly realizing that her son and daughter-in-law were smiling broadly at her, but neither of them had taken a step. “Shall we go?” she suggested brightly.

  “I think you ought to wait until I tell you why I wanted to speak with you,” Clayton suggested mildly.

  She turned fully around, suddenly intent. “I naturally assumed you wanted to give me a trimming for not taking a more active role in reuniting Whitney with you,” she said, inadvertently demolishing her earlier stance of unassailable innocence.

  “I probably should have done that,” Clayton said with a chuckle. “However, I thought it was more important to tell you that you are going to become a grandmother.”

  A radiant smile lit Alicia Westmoreland’s entire face as she stretched her arms out and reached for Whitney’s hand with her left and Clayton’s with her right. “Oh, my darlings,” she began, and then, as if she couldn’t find any other words to express her happiness, she lifted their hands and held them pressed to her face, “Oh, my darlings!”

  38

  * * *

  The Earl of Langford was a tall, frail man in his early eighties, and a cousin of Clayton’s father. He was hovering at the doorway of the dining room, with his left hand on the door frame for support and his right hand on an ebony cane. “Claymore,” he said as Clayton emerged from the dining room with Whitney on his arm, “I wonder if I could have a word with you.” He glanced apologetically at Whitney. “I realize your husband only arrived late last night, but if you could spare him for a short while, it’s rather an urgent matter.”

  “Of course,” Whitney said with a fond smile at the elderly man. “I’d like to find Stephen and his party,” she added, as she started off to search for him in the garden.

  Langford took his left hand from the doorway and placed it on Clayton’s arm for support. “Your lady wife is not only beautiful, she is also very kind. She spent several hours with me yesterday, listening to me prose on and on about my studies of the ancient philosophers.” With a quick wink, he added, “Not only that, she also did an admirable job of pretending she was fascinated with the topic and with me, too. Made me feel twenty years younger!”

  “My wife has that same effect on me at times,” Clayton joked as he guided the old earl slowly to the only room on the main floor that he was certain wasn’t occupied.

  “If you were twenty years younger, you’d still be an untried lad.”

  “That’s exactly what I meant,” Clayton said good-naturedly.

  After the earl was comfortably seated in the little ante-room where Clayton had met with his mother earlier, Clayton sat down across from him. When the earl seemed at a loss how to begin, Clayton prodded helpfully. “You said the matter was urgent?”

  Langford gave him a rueful look. “At my age, Claymore, everything is urgent. Eternity could begin tomorrow,” he added, then he spared Clayton the need to utter untrue assurances that the earl still had many good years ahead of him, by going directly to the subject he wanted to discuss: “I’d like to talk to you about your brother.”

  Clayton hid his surprise and nodded for him to begin.

  “I have always regarded you as the bulwark of the family, and it is common knowledge amongst us that you have a flair for making sound financial investments, investments that have multiplied your wealth many times over.”

  He paused, but Clayton merely lifted his brows, neither confirming nor denying.

  “I already know my information in that regard is correct,” the earl said, looking profoundly apologetic for the vulgar subject he was forced to explore. With as much delicacy as possible, he said, “Until recently, it was my understanding that Stephen’s inheritance was also in your capable hands, so I naturally assumed that, like me, Stephen had no head for money. Is that correct?”

  Had the earl not been a relative who also happened to be extremely old and very frail, Clayton would have put a permanent end to the offensive discussion then and there. “No it is not correct,” he said rather sternly.

  The earl understood the reprimand in the other man’s voice, but persevered. “Is it true that, in the past year, Stephen has made a series of investments that on the surface appeared to be risky and flamboyant, but which ultimately paid off spectacularly well? I’ve heard bits of gossip at my club that would lead me to think this is true, but I need to hear it from you. Could you tell me whether this is fact or rumor?”

  “Not without a very good reason to do so.”

  “I would like to believe it is true, but I need to know for certain.”

  “Then talk to Stephen.”

  The earl shook his head. “I cannot do that, because I cannot tell him my reason for wanting to know.”

  “In that case, it would appear that this discussion has reached an impasse,” Clayton said.

  “Very well then, I shall explain the reaso
n for my questions, but this conversation must remain in strictest confidence.”

  “I cannot think of anything you could say that could induce me to discuss Stephen’s private financial affairs with anyone, even you, my lord,” Clayton said firmly, and started to stand up.

  “If Stephen is indeed as wealthy as rumor has it, and if he has successfully assumed responsibility for increasing that wealth, I would like to try to make him my legal heir.”

  Clayton’s expression thawed to a wry smile as he slowly sat back down. “I believe you have just provided a suitable inducement.”

  “If I name Stephen as my heir, he will inherit very little land and virtually no income. Long ago, our branch of the family was as well off as yours, but my ancestors had little prudence, less foresight, and absolutely no knack for holding onto their wealth. As a result, my ‘estates’ are in disrepair and practically worthless, but the titles I hold are old and prestigious. If I die without taking formal steps to alter the outcome, then my titles and lands would pass automatically to you. Until recent rumors made me think Stephen might have a knack for managing money, I was content for you to inherit from me. By letting you inherit, I knew I could depend on your sense of responsibility—as well as your wealth—to maintain my holdings and put them in better repair than I have been able to do.”

  As if he was uncertain how to go on, he paused for a moment, studying the pattern of pale vines on the carpet at his feet, then he shifted his cane from its resting place beside his right hip and moved it to his left. Finally, he lifted his head, and with great dignity, he said, “You hold many titles, most of them far more grand than the ones you would inherit from me, and my ‘estates’ are nothing in comparison to your own. At the risk of seeming to be very proud of very little, it would make me happy if I could leave what I do have to a man who doesn’t already have more titles than he can remember and more inherited estates than he can possibly use. We have a large, far-flung family from which I could choose an heir, but I would like my heir to be a man I know very well and one whom I particularly like. Your brother fulfills all those qualifications.”

  “I am very happy to hear that,” Clayton said with an encouraging grin.

  “And like you, he is also a very responsible man who understands and fulfills his obligations to his family and to those who depend upon him.”

  “Yes, he is,” Clayton said.

  “So my only remaining concern about naming Stephen my heir is this: He inherited his original wealth, but in your opinion, will he be able to maintain it on his own? Is he prudent and wise about managing money and would he take good care of my estates?”

  “Stephen is everything you need him to be,” Clayton said, “and a great deal more than that.”

  The earl’s face broke into a smile, then he looked troubled and transferred his gaze to the carpet again. “I assumed you wouldn’t object to my plan or feel slighted in any way.” He glanced up suddenly. “Was I correct?”

  Clayton’s smile was unmistakably warm and genuine. “You were completely correct.”

  “Excellent, then it’s settled. I shall take the necessary steps to insure that Stephen becomes the next Earl of Langford and Baron of Ellingwood, as well as the Fifth Viscount Hargrove.” He reached for his cane, transferred it to his right side and struggled to a standing position. Clayton waited beside him, allowing him the dignity of managing on his own, but ready to offer his arm for support if he reached for it.

  Once the earl was upright and shuffling slowly forward, Clayton voiced his only concern about Langford’s plan. “Are you certain you’ll be able to legally transfer your titles to Stephen?”

  He waited until Clayton had opened the door for him before he replied. “My titles are ones that King Henry VII granted to our family over three hundred years ago. Thanks to the wisdom and foresight of our mutual ancestor, the first Duke of Claymore, these three titles contain a recorded exception to the normal lines of descent. The exceptions allow the holder of the title, if childless, to choose his own heir, so long as the heir is a direct descendant of one of the dukes of Claymore. Which Stephen is.”

  Clayton knew there was no such recorded exception to his own title, but since there had never been a childless Duke of Claymore, neither Clayton, nor his father, nor his grandfathers had ever needed to be concerned about that title. Purely out of curiosity, he decided to research the other titles he held, but the earl’s worried reminder pulled him from those thoughts.

  “Claymore, although I did not keep silent until you gave me your word to keep our discussion completely confidential, I nevertheless believe it was understood between us that you would.”

  “It was understood,” Clayton said, although he would have liked to have been allowed to discuss the matter with Stephen.

  “I have excellent reasons for requiring secrecy,” the earl confided as they neared one of the salons near the front of the house. “I won’t have a peaceful moment left to me if some of the other eligible heirs in my family get wind of the fact that I plan to name my own heir, rather than letting the titles pass automatically to you.”

  “You won’t?” Clayton said, his attention diverted by Stephen, who was standing near the fireplace in the salon, talking to an exquisite flaxen-haired beauty.

  When the earl received no reply to his remark about the other heirs, he realized the duke was distracted and followed the direction of his gaze, then he asked, “Do you recognize the young woman with your brother?”

  “No, I’ve never met her,” Clayton replied.

  “Oh yes, indeed you have,” the earl argued, sounding as if he were relishing his little mystery. “You know her father as well.” As proof, he nodded toward the side of the room where the Duke of Lansberry was in conversation with Whitney. “The blond girl is Lansberry’s daughter, Lady Emily. He introduced me to her this morning.”

  The Duke of Lansberry was dark, with a short, square build, and a coarse-featured face that verged on ugly—and his two middle-aged sons looked exactly like him. To Clayton it seemed almost impossible to believe that same man could have sired such a willowy, delicate beauty.

  The earl guessed his thoughts and provided the explanation. “She’s the child of Lansberry’s second marriage. The second wife was the daughter of a French aristocrat who was half Lansberry’s age and who died in childbirth, in France, a year after their wedding. Come to think of it, you might never have met Lady Emily after all. She told me she’s only been to England on a few occasions.”

  “Where has he been hiding her?” Clayton asked without thinking as he settled the elderly man into a comfortable chair.

  “I wondered that myself,” the earl admitted with a chuckle, “but one could scarcely blame him for trying to lock her away from all the young bucks and old roués in England until she was old enough to beat them off herself. When you’re introduced to her, do not fail to notice her eyes. They are the color of dark blue violets, I swear it.”

  * * *

  Clayton had several opportunities to study Emily Kendall during the course of the day, but he was far more interested in Stephen’s reaction—or more specifically his complete lack of reaction—to Lady Emily’s presence. Most of the males in the house were visibly captivated by her, and both of Stephen’s friends were dancing attendance on her. Stephen, on the other hand, was behaving as if he scarcely noted her presence. In fact, he spent all his time being particularly charming to the two young women in his party whose escorts were clustered around Emily. Since Stephen had known both those young women since childhood, and since he normally treated them with the relaxed tolerance of a big brother, Clayton found his courtly behavior to them now of particular interest.

  Whitney noticed it too and remarked on it to Clayton as soon as he and the other men rejoined the ladies in the drawing room after enjoying the male ritual of cigars and port after supper. Slipping her hand into Clayton’s, she drew him subtly to a private corner of the large room, then she said in a low, amused voice, “Have yo
u noticed that Stephen is virtually ignoring Emily?”

  “I have,” Clayton replied, studying Whitney’s expression. “What do you think of her?”

  Whitney hesitated, trying to be both honest and fair. “Well, she is one of the most beautiful creatures I’ve ever seen, and she has lovely manners, but there’s an aura about her of . . .”

  “Conceit?” Clayton speculated bluntly.

  “That’s possible. But it’s also possible that she is merely a little shy.”

  “From what I’ve seen, she doesn’t seem to have the slightest bit of trouble conversing with people.”

  “She is perfectly comfortable with women and with older men,” Whitney agreed, “and she has a delightful wit, but I noticed she becomes rather formal around Stephen’s friends. From what she said, I gather she’s been raised by some elderly relatives in Brussels, so she may not know how to react to the sort of sophisticated banter and flirtatious conversations that Stephen’s set indulges in. Rather than bringing her to live in England, her father evidently chose to visit her in Brussels. She scarcely knows her half-brothers and their wives.”

  Clayton watched Stephen, who was seated with his two female companions at the opposite end of the room from Emily. “She has certainly made an impression on Stephen,” he said with a chuckle. “In fact, I would say he could probably tell you, without looking around, where she is at this very moment, and who is talking to her.”

  “Do you really think so?” Whitney asked dubiously.