The Inheritance

by Joan Johnston

  Prestyne also had several affectations that made Nicholas cringe. The older man carried a lace handkerchief, which he waved when he spoke, and there must have been three rings bearing precious stones on each hand, besides a gold watch in his vest pocket that held several fobs. He wore a black formal evening coat, but his waistcoat was a brilliant puce.

  “Lord Prestyne owns the land adjacent to Severn on the west,” Daisy explained, “but spends most of the year in London.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet Your Grace,” Prestyne said. “Perhaps we can hunt together sometime?”

  “Perhaps,” Nicholas hedged. That might be a way to get Prestyne alone so he could ask more questions. Assuming he didn’t get the answers he wanted tonight. Then his attention was distracted by Daisy’s introduction of another guest.

  “This is Squire Templeton and Mrs. Templeton,” Daisy said. “The squire owns the cottage south of Severn and raises sheep for wool and mutton.”

  Nicholas hadn’t been the subject of much fawning obsequiousness since his arrival at Severn. Squire Templeton made up for that lack. His bow was low enough to show the bald spot on top of his head. His smile spread from ear to ear. And he was garrulous. The man didn’t stop talking from the instant Daisy made the introductions. Nicholas was just about to cut him off with an oath when the man’s conversation turned in a direction that caught his attention.

  “… so I was saying to the Mrs.—that’s Mrs. Templeton, Your Grace—what a good thing it was they found you in America and brought you back home where you belong. I never believed for one instant the rumors that spread about your dear departed mother. If you could have seen Lord Philip in the first days and weeks after Lady Philip left, you’d have sworn he knew what a mistake he’d made.

  “Not that he ever forgave her. Stubborn. That’s what he was. And her, too. Anyone could have seen it coming. Loved each other too much, if you ask me. Jealousy. Bad thing, that. Ruined them both in the end, didn’t it?

  “But at least you’re here now, and the wrong can be righted.” He turned to Daisy as though suddenly realizing that it was only because she had been widowed that Nicholas had been sought out in America. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace,” he said to Daisy. “Not to diminish your tragedy. Not at all. But with you married to His Grace everything turned out just fine, didn’t it?”

  According to Charles, it was Mrs. Templeton who was the parish gossip. If so, Nicholas saw the man and his wife were well matched. If there hadn’t been someone standing behind Squire Templeton, it was entirely possible, Nicholas thought, the man might have kept right on talking for the rest of the evening. Nicholas intended to get the squire alone later, to see how much of what he had said was speculation and how much was based on fact. But it had felt good to hear someone describe his parents as happily married. Especially since that was the way he remembered them.

  “Viscount Linden and Lady Linden,” Daisy said. “Lord and Lady Linden own the estate to the north, Linden’s Folly.”

  Nicholas’s eyes narrowed as he and the viscount exchanged nods that sufficed for bows. He wondered how Linden had made Charles’s list. The viscount was a mere five to ten years older than Nicholas and still quite a handsome and virile man. He had wavy black hair that had silvered at the temples. His eyes were a frosty gray and inscrutable. His lips were thin, though his mouth was wide. There was a tension in the man that made Nicholas believe Lord Linden would be a formidable adversary in a fight. Here was the first Englishman he had met that he thought could have held his own in Texas.

  “I believe we have something in common, Your Grace,” the viscount said. “We’ve both recently returned to England from a considerable stay in America.”

  Nicholas recognized from his flattened accent that the viscount didn’t sound as English as most Englishmen. “Whereabouts in America?”

  “Wyoming Territory, Your Grace.”

  “I’m from Texas myself,” Nicholas said, extending his hand. “And please call me Nick.”

  “I’m Miles,” the tall man said with a smile as he shook the duke’s hand.

  “How long did you live in America?” Nicholas asked.

  “Twenty years.”

  Nicholas raised a speculative brow. He sensed a story in Miles Linden’s extended visit to the colonies. “I’d like to talk more with you later.”

  “I’ll look forward to it. This is my wife, Lady Linden.”

  “Please call me Verity, Your Grace.”

  Nicholas found himself smiling back at the woman standing before him. “I will if you’ll call me Nick.” He felt Daisy stiffen beside him and wondered what she didn’t like about the woman. Verity Linden had unusual features that made her striking rather than beautiful. She was nearly as tall as the viscount and carried herself with a great deal of dignity and grace. She had an abundance of blond hair bound up in a net and a fine figure that was stunningly shown off in a black velvet gown.

  A second look revealed the character lines around Verity’s mouth and eyes that suggested she must be very close to the viscount’s age. Nicholas knew most English marriages were made between younger women and older, more established men. Which made him wonder whether they had married when they were both young, many years ago, or whether they had met at some later date.

  There wasn’t time to assuage his curiosity, because the next dinner guest had arrived. Daisy had invited Mr. Dabney to even the numbers, since Lady Celeste was dining with them. Nicholas gave Dabney a cursory glance and dismissed him. He was short and thin, with reddish curls all over his head, which Nicholas recognized finally, incredibly, as a wig. Dabney spoke with a thick Irish brogue that made what he said nearly unintelligible.

  “Sorrrry to hear about yourrr mother,” the little man said, rolling his r’s. “I liked her verrry much.”

  “You knew her?” Nicholas said, suddenly willing to decipher the brogue.

  “I was her music teacher, once upon a time.”

  “I didn’t know she studied music.”

  “Yourrr mother had the voice of a songbird,” the little man said. “Did she neverrr sing for you?”

  Nicholas stood transfixed as he remembered a soft, sweet lullaby his mother used to sing to him at bedtime before they had been banished from Severn. Only once could he recall her singing in America, on his tenth birthday.

  It had been the very worst year, the poorest year. She had nothing to give him, and they were cold and alone and she had held him close to her as they squatted down against the back wall of someone’s house. She had wrapped her shawl around him and crooned the lullaby from his youth.

  He had closed his eyes and imagined himself back at Severn, with his mother and his father and his cousins. He had fallen asleep and dreamed, and it had been almost as good as the real thing.

  But he could remember waking up the next morning with frost on his eyelashes. Cold and hungry and alone. He remembered vividly what he had said to his mother, his breath creating bursts of fog as he spoke.

  “This is all your fault! You brought us here. Why can’t we go home? I wish you hadn’t sung that stupid song. You keep pretending everything’s going to be all right. But it’s not!”

  The people in the house had heard him shouting and came out to warn them away. He had run, leaving his mother to face the angry woman with the broom. He couldn’t remember where he had run, or how long he had been gone. When he returned to search for his mother, he discovered she had gotten a job in one of the houses in town. They had been warm for the first time in weeks, and he had filled his belly for the first time since he could remember. Later he realized it was a house full of women who sold themselves.

  She had never sung again.

  All of that flashed through his brain in the moments it took Daisy to ask Mr. Dabney about his newest pupil, one of the neighbor’s children. Nicholas wasn’t even aware that Daisy had slipped her arm through his and that they were leading the guests in to supper. He glanced down and saw her staring up at him, a worried look
in her eyes.

  “Are you all right?” she asked in a quiet voice.

  He swallowed over the thickness in his throat, feeling guilty—much too late to do any good—at how cruel and selfish a child he had been. “I am now. Thanks.”

  He seated Daisy at one end of the formal dining table and took his place at the other end. He could barely see her for the epergne full of roses in the center of the table and the silver candelabra that provided light at either end. He was pleased and surprised to discover that Lady Linden was seated to his right. At least he would be able to satisfy some of his curiosity about that lovely lady and her husband.

  Nicholas tasted one spoonful of his lobster bisque and frowned. “How’s your soup, Verity?”

  “Delicious.”

  Nicholas looked back at his bowl. Lukewarm. And very salty. He gestured for Higgenbotham. “You can take the soup. I don’t care for it.”

  “Very well, Your Grace.”

  Since he wasn’t eating, Nicholas turned to Verity and asked, “How did you and the viscount meet?”

  “We met in London at my coming-out ball.”

  “So the two of you went to America together?”

  Lady Linden paused. “No. Miles went alone.”

  She had tawny eyes, angled at the corners like a cat, that were focused somewhere in the distance. Nicholas had the feeling she wasn’t even there anymore, but had retreated to some other place. A spoon clattered against a dish, and she returned.

  She smiled and said, “Miles and I were only married a year ago.”

  “I want to ask what happened in the intervening years between your comeout and your marriage, but I have a feeling that’s a long story.”

  Verity Linden laughed. It was a husky, feminine sound that Nicholas knew would bring most men to their knees. He told himself he was unaffected because she was a married woman. The truth was, there had been no other woman for him except Daisy Windermere since the moment he laid eyes on her. Damn her for a witch!

  Nicholas greeted with relish the quail stuffed with wild rice that constituted the next course. He was hungry. He tasted a piece of sliced breast tentatively, then savored the juicy tenderness when it turned out to be delicious.

  Thus, he wasn’t at all careful with his first bite of the wild rice stuffing. He nearly choked when the pepper—lots and lots of pepper—hit his tongue.

  His eyes teared, and his mouth burned. He grabbed for his water glass only to discover he didn’t have one! Everyone else did, but not him.

  He reached for Verity’s water glass and swallowed every drop.

  “Are you all right, Your Grace?” she asked.

  “Thirsty,” he replied with a raspy voice.

  Nicholas gestured to Higgenbotham. “Lady Linden and I each need another glass of water. Also, will you tell Cook the quail is marvelous, though the stuffing could use something to spice it up.” That ought to set the fox among the chickens, Nicholas thought.

  Higgenbotham’s brows rose. “Very well, Your Grace.”

  Nicholas wasn’t sure what was going on, but it seemed safer to pretend ignorance than to have to confront his servants and punish them for their mischief.

  He began to have some inkling of Daisy’s remark about icebergs.

  Nicholas wasn’t aware he was staring at Daisy until Verity said, “She’s very beautiful. And very much in love with you.”

  Startled, he looked back to Verity. “You must be mistaken.”

  The viscountess shook her head. “I don’t think so. She watches you. When you’re not looking.”

  “She does?” Nicholas turned quickly and caught Daisy staring at him. She quickly lowered her gaze and turned to say something to Charles.

  Nicholas frowned. “It’s more likely she’s checking to make sure I don’t do something to Charles.

  Nicholas frowned. “It’s more likely she’s checking to make sure I don’t do something to embarrass her or myself. The duchess doesn’t have a very high opinion of me,” he confessed with a rueful smile.

  “Perhaps she isn’t used to your American customs.”

  “No perhaps about it,” Nicholas said. “She thinks I’m a barbarian.”

  “Are you?” Verity asked bluntly.

  Nicholas laughed. It wasn’t a question that required an answer. “You remind me very much of Daisy—the duchess, I mean. Frank. Outspoken. Ruthlessly honest. I like you, Verity.”

  His smile faded as he surveyed the roast beef, peas, and carrots that had replaced the quail before him. His stomach made a growling sound. Nicholas felt a little like growling himself.

  He tried a few peas and carrots, figuring they could be more easily swallowed—or spit out—if they turned out to be sabotaged like the rest of his dinner. Happily, they went down without a problem.

  It was the meat then, Nicholas concluded. Something was wrong with the meat.

  Nicholas pursed his lips in chagrin. It looked delicious. And he was starving. But he was afraid to guess what had been done to it.

  He almost decided not to try it.

  When he did, he gave Cook points for cleverness. The beef was perfect. A lesser man might have left it untouched rather than test dangerous waters for the third time.

  Nicholas’s glance slid to the foot of the table again, where he found Daisy glowering at him. What had he done now?

  Daisy had been watching Nicholas flirt with Verity Linden with mixed emotions. On the one hand, she was glad he was able to converse comfortably with the company she had chosen for dinner. On the other hand, she found herself jealous of the attention he was bestowing on the other woman.

  It was her own fault. She had arranged the seating. But she hadn’t been thinking of how beautiful Verity Linden was, only of the fact Verity had spent time recently in America. She had thought Verity and Nicholas might find something in common to talk about. Unfortunately, she had been a little more successful than she had intended.

  Well, two could play the same game. She turned to Miles and batted her eyelashes.

  “Got something in your eye, Daisy?” Miles asked.

  “I’m flirting, Miles,” Daisy said in disgust. “You’re supposed to swoon at my feet.”

  “Do you mind if I finish supper first? I’m damnably hungry.”

  Daisy’s wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I’m trying to make Nicholas jealous. The least you could do is cooperate.”

  Miles’s glance slid down the table to Nicholas and back to Daisy. “No thank you. I need all my teeth right where they are.”

  “Nicholas wouldn’t—”

  “I beg to differ, my dear. You forget, I’ve lived the past twenty years in America. Cowboys don’t take kindly to thieves. Of any kind. And they’re plumb serious about their women.”

  “He’s flirting with Verity.”

  Miles stiffened and searched out his wife at the other end of the table. His eyes narrowed as he saw her head fall back in abandon as she laughed at something Nicholas said. “I trust Verity,” he said through tight jaws.

  “But do you trust Nicholas?” Daisy taunted.

  Miles switched his gaze from Verity to Daisy. “What kind of trouble are you fomenting, Daisy? And why?”

  Daisy fought the flush that threatened and lost. “Please forgive me, Miles. I don’t know why I’m acting like an idiot.”

  “You love him,” Miles stated flatly.

  “I most certainly do not!”

  “Head over heels,” Miles said as he picked up his fork and resumed eating. “And you’re not sure he loves you. That’s why you’re worried about Verity.”

  “I’m not worried about Verity. I don’t even like the duke, let alone love him. Why, that’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard!”

  Miles gave Daisy a perceptive look over the rim of his wine glass. “Oh? Then why were you trying to make him jealous by flirting with me?”

  “Hoist by my own petard,” Daisy conceded. “It’s awful, Miles. What am I going to do?”

  “There isn’t muc
h you can do. Love isn’t something we can control, much as we would like to. I ought to know.”

  Daisy heard the bitterness in his voice and wondered what had put it there. “Sometime you must tell me about your travels in America.”

  “Sometime I will,” Miles said. “But not tonight. I tell you what I will do, Daisy. I promise to dance the first waltz with you and to hold you close enough to make His Grace of Severn break out in a sweat.”

  Daisy brightened. “Would you really do that for me, Miles?”

  “It’ll be my pleasure,” he said with a roguish grin. “Now that I’m happily married, I want the rest of the world to be in the same state.”

  Daisy ignored Nicholas for the rest of the meal, but she felt his eyes on her from time to time. She wore a small, feline smile as she imagined the havoc she planned to wreak with Nicholas’s peace of mind when she danced with Miles.

  After several toasts to the newlywed couple’s happiness had been made, the ladies retired to allow the men an opportunity for brandy and a smoke. Daisy never knew what was said, but Nicholas’s jaw was clenched tight when he rejoined the ladies in the drawing room. She shot a quick glance at Miles and saw him looking smug. He had the audacity to wink at her in plain view of the duke.

  Oh, Miles, she thought, what have you done now?

  “I wasn’t aware you had so many admirers,” Nicholas hissed in her ear.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Daisy bluffed.

  “I’m speaking about Miles.”

  “Miles is a married man.”

  “Who finds you very attractive. I want to know whether the feeling is mutual.”

  “What do you expect me to say? You’d know I was lying if I said he wasn’t handsome. Jealous, Nicholas?”

  Daisy hadn’t known she was dealing with a leashed tiger. Until he tore free.

  Nicholas grasped her arm and yanked her along behind him out of the drawing room and along the hall, looking for an empty room.

  “Where are you going? What are you doing? Nicholas, we have guests!”