by Kate Pearce
The elderly man shook off his sleepiness with an ease Alistair envied, put on his coat, and followed Alistair back up the stairs into the duke’s study. There was no sign of Pritchard or Bottomly. Francis was still crouched over the body.
He moved out of the way as the doctor knelt down, his somber gaze rising to fix on Alistair.
Alistair didn’t need to hear the doctor’s opinion. The look in Francis’s eyes was enough to warn him that Farrell wasn’t going to be getting up any time soon.
“Devil take it,” Francis murmured in his ear. “What in God’s name are we going to do now?”
Margaret paused in the doorway of the Methodist church hall to ensure that everything was going smoothly with the musical evening she’d organized to support the Sunday school. She spotted Ruby talking to Jon Ford, who was in charge of the everyday running of the hall and who also worked as Viscount Grafton’s bookkeeper. At one point, she had considered him an excellent choice of husband, but he’d developed an affection for Ruby, and Margaret was not inclined to interfere with the dreams of her friend.
If Captain Grafton was happy about his sister-in-law marrying a common man, then more credit to him.
Margaret made her way around the room, nodding and smiling to the people she knew, before retreating to the back of the chapel where the minister had his office. She checked to see that the food and fruit punch were ready to serve after the concert. There was no sign of any of the serving staff she’d asked Emily to lend her from the house, but as she’d encouraged them to attend the concert first, she wasn’t worried about their nonappearance.
As she was about to turn back to the hall, she heard voices in the corridor beyond and paused, her hand on the half-open door.
“But you must admit that Miss Blackthorn does a lot for the chapel, Mother.”
Margaret tensed as she recognized the tremulous voice of the minister’s new wife.
“Only because she has nothing else to do. Miss Blackthorn should concentrate on finding herself a husband and leave the organizing of such events to you.”
“I really don’t mind—”
“Well, you should mind, my dear. She has no business telling everyone what to do as though she occupied your position. If you don’t put a stop to it, she’ll be lording it over you with her money and her connections, and then where will you be?”
“Happily married to a man I love?”
“A man who listens more to a woman who isn’t his wife? You should watch out, Beth. A plain, meddlesome women like Miss Blackthorn can cause all kinds of trouble in a marriage.”
Margaret’s gaze flew to the backdoor. Should she attempt to leave without letting the women know she’d overheard their conversation? Stiffening her spine, she opened the door fully and stepped out into the corridor.
“Mrs. Wells?” She smiled at the minister’s wife, who visibly quailed. “What a wonderful evening we have to look forward to! Thank you so much for organizing it all.”
She nodded at the other woman, who was not regarding her fondly. “Ma’am.”
Margaret kept walking until she reached the hall and took a seat near the back of the rapidly filling room. She was still shaking and unwilling to expose herself to the questioning glances of her sister and brother. Had she really become a managing woman who took control of everything? She stared blindly toward the stage where the minister was now standing and welcoming everyone to the musical evening.
It was true that she was bored at home and sought opportunities to exercise her talents, but she’d never thought she was overreaching her boundaries. In truth, the new Mrs. Wells had seemed to welcome her help and advice, as had her husband. But were they only humoring her because they were afraid she would persuade her wealthy brother to stop patronizing their establishments and businesses?
It was a remarkably lowering thought.
“Miss Blackthorn?” She started as Jon sat down beside her. “Are you well, lass?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” She attempted a smile. “Just a little tired.”
“I’m not surprised, considering how hard you worked to make this evening a success.”
“Maybe too hard.” Margaret paused. “Do you think I have usurped Mrs. Wells’s authority?”
“Not at all.” He gave her a funny look. “She’s still finding her feet. From what I can tell, she’s grateful for everything you do to help her.”
Margaret sighed. “Perhaps it is time I allowed her to take full responsibility for the chapel activities.”
“Has someone suggested you step down?” Jon studied her carefully. “If that’s what you want to do, Margaret, then do it, but don’t let some old busybodies stop you doing the Lord’s work.”
“It’s very kind of you to say that,” Margaret managed to reply. “I would hate to think I was being a nuisance.”
“You, lass?” He gave her an assessing look. “Never. Now settle in, and let’s enjoy the concert.”
“Shouldn’t you find Ruby?”
“She’s more than capable of taking care of herself, and I’m more than happy to be sitting here with you.”
Margaret subsided into her seat, slightly reassured by his bracing words. Jon was a plain speaking man who wouldn’t lie to her. If he thought she was overreaching, he would tell her straight out. It was one of the reasons she liked him so much.
She tried to focus on the music, but the conversation she had overheard continued to play even more loudly in her head. The problem was that there was an element of truth in what Mrs. Wells’s mother had said. Margaret was bored and, since her financial and social elevation, she was always looking for things to do. Having a husband and hopefully children of her own was her destiny—her only destiny—when running a factory, which she was perfectly capable of doing, was not allowed.
But none of the men she’d met so far in her life measured up to her exacting standards. She’d been engaged to Emily’s brother, Matthew, at a young age and had looked forward to becoming his wife, but he had been murdered by an aggrieved millhand, and she’d been left adrift at twenty-seven. She was now twenty-nine and, despite her large dowry, spinsterhood awaited her.
The thought of living in her brother’s house and being dependent on him and Emily for everything did not sit well with her. Her brother would never allow her to set up house by herself, even in the town they’d been born in. And, as he currently controlled all her funds, she had no option other than to obey him. She couldn’t leave Lottie behind, either, and she was fairly certain her sister would be reluctant to give up the comforts of their new home.
Margaret remembered to clap as the first performance ended and the minister stood up to introduce the next item, but her mind was not on the concert she’d worked so hard to put together. The only solution to regaining at least some independence was to marry. She would have to review the men around her and try and make a decision that would benefit them both.
Alistair stripped off his black gloves and threw them onto the duke’s desk before helping himself to a large glass of brandy. The double funeral had just ended and the bodies had been interred in the ducal mausoleum. As the closest living relation of both men, Alistair had taken on the role of mourner in chief. He’d dealt with the church matters and the local coroner who had been summoned to deal with the expected death of the duke and the unexpected death of his heir.
Francis had left straight after the funeral. Alistair had thanked him profusely for his support over the ghastly two weeks. His cousin had died, swiftly followed by the duke, who had never regained consciousness or known that his eldest grandson had predeceased him.
“Alistair?”
Alistair looked up to see Lilly peering around the door. She was wearing black and had a lace veil pinned over her hair.
“What is it?”
“Do you intend to come and speak to the guests? There are almost a hundred people who have come to pay their respects to your grandfather.”
“I’ll be there in a second.” Al
istair poured himself a second glass of brandy.
“Mr. Brody is here as well.”
“The solicitor?”
“Yes. He wishes to speak to you after the reception.” Lilly hesitated. “None of Farrell’s friends have turned up.”
“Not even those two idiots who were with him the night he died?” Alistair asked. The pair had disappeared the morning after Farrell’s death was reported, without a word of condolence or thanks.
“Apparently not.” She sighed. “I suspect Farrell was not well-liked.”
“What a surprise.” Alistair was tempted to toast her with his glass and shout good riddance to his awful cousin, but he suspected that was the brandy talking, and he had no wish to appear insensitive. “I’ll be there in a minute, I promise you.”
She left, and he stood looking down at the desk that was piled high with letters, presumably about the duke’s passing. It was interesting that even in death, and despite his reclusively, his grandfather’s rank made his passing a momentous occasion.
Alistair let out his breath, straightened his black cravat, and put his gloves back on. It was time for him to represent his family. Even if he’d despised his cousin and disliked his grandfather, he still had standards, and he would maintain them to the end.
Three hours later he was back in the duke’s study with the remaining family and staff while the solicitor dealt with the will. Even though he had suspected he was in line for the dukedom, the confirmation of his accession to the title was still something of a shock. He barely had time to deal with the notion before Mr. Brody was ushering everyone else out and requiring his full attention.
He’d known that the estate was in a mess, but he’d had no idea how bad it had gotten. The duke had been ill for several years and, without his oversight, the rents had fallen into arrears, and his land agent appeared to have been stealing the rest. Farrell’s debts were enormous and had to be paid off, leaving the dukedom close to penury.
“You do have your own private income, do you not, your grace?” Mr. Brody inquired hopefully.
“Yes, but it is remarkably small,” Alistair said. “My father left almost everything to his second wife, and, as she is not much older than I am, I doubt I will live to inherit her share.”
Mr. Brody sighed. “Then we will have to make some economies.”
“Indeed we shall.” Alistair stood up, unable to stand the claustrophobic space for another second. “Perhaps you could gather as much information as possible about the estate and other properties, and we can start from there.”
“An excellent idea, your grace. Will you be staying here for a while?”
Alistair looked around the shabby room and grimaced. “It doesn’t look as if I have much choice, does it?”
Chapter 3
“I don’t understand what is wrong with you, Margaret,” Lottie complained. “You no longer have to work in the kitchen, do the laundry, or sew Adam’s shirts, yet you seem miserable.”
“I am miserable.” Margaret set down the book she had been attempting to read before Lottie had come to find her. “I’m… bored.”
“Bored with all this?” Lottie spun in a slow circle, her hands spread wide. “The finest house in Millcastle, sister to the richest man in town, and with a magnificent dowry to boot. How can you possibly be bored?”
“I don’t know.” Margaret hesitated. “Perhaps it’s that before Adam grew wealthy, I felt my efforts to support our family were more valued.”
Lottie came to sit beside her. “They were valued. After mother died, you kept our family together, but you don’t have to do that anymore. We’re safe now.” The relief in Lottie’s voice was unmistakable, but Margaret couldn’t share it. “After father died, I was always so scared—so afraid that something else would happen and we’d lose everything.”
Margaret patted her sister’s hand. “There is nothing to be scared of anymore. You are truly safe here.”
“Then why don’t you feel the same?” Lottie asked, reminding Margaret that despite her pretty blond looks, her sister was a sensitive creature and well-attuned to her sister’s feelings. “Why can’t you allow yourself to enjoy it?”
“You think I deliberately make myself miserable?” Margaret asked. “I can assure you that is not the case. I just feel… useless.”
“Yet you are always busy, helping out at the factory schools and at the chapel. Why, Mr. Ford said he wouldn’t know what to do if you didn’t help out so much.”
Margaret rose to pace the room. “Actually, I’ve decided not to do so much at the chapel anymore. I suspect Mrs. Wells thinks I am interfering.”
Lottie snorted. “That meek-as-milk little miss? She’s too scared to manage things herself and relies on you and her awful mother far too much.”
“Then, from now on, she’ll be relying on her undoubtedly awful mother alone. I cannot be seen to be interfering, Lottie.” Margaret stared out of the window into the barren garden below. “I need to find something to do.”
“Get married, then. That is the only career open to a woman who likes to be busy.”
Margaret turned to see her sister smiling at her.
“To whom exactly?”
“Any man who takes your fancy. You can afford to pick and choose these days.”
“And I’ve yet to meet a man who appeals to me,” Margaret retorted. “They are either afraid of me, or they patronize me. If I marry, my husband will own my money, my children, and me. I have to pick very carefully, indeed.”
“What about that blond man who is friends with Captain Grafton?”
“That blond is a marquess.”
“So what?” Lottie winked at her. “You can afford him if you want him, Margaret.”
“He is…” Margaret paused. “Infuriating.”
“And yet, you still like him.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because I saw you that last evening at the Graftons. He followed you around all evening, and you disappeared with him out on the terrace for quite a while. When you came back in, he was smiling, and your cheeks were flushed.”
“We were arguing.” Margaret became aware that her cheeks were heating up again. “He thinks he is very clever and far above such mortals as myself. I simply attempted to make him aware that I was on to his games.”
“You do like him,” Lottie announced and clapped her hands. “I knew it.”
“I do not—”
Margaret was profoundly grateful when the door opened, and Emily appeared, a note in her hand.
“I’m glad you are both here. We’ve been invited to the Graftons to dine, if you wish to come?”
“Of course we’ll come,” Lottie said and nudged her sister as if they were five again. “If one wishes to meet a member of the aristocracy to marry, then the Graftons is definitely the best place for it.”
Of course, the first person Margaret saw after entering the drawing room at Grafton Hall was her blond marquess. He had his back to her and was staring out of the window, hands clasped behind him, his fair hair a stark contrast to the black of his coat. Despite herself, she couldn’t help but move toward him, aware that something was not right.
When she reached his side, he started and looked down at her, his smile, for once, absent.
“Miss Blackthorn. Good evening.”
“Good evening, my lord.” She studied his expression. “Is everything all right?”
“With me, or with the world in general?”
Trust him to make a sincere inquiry into something it was not.
“I merely wondered why you look so tired,” Margaret said stiffly. “Which is, of course, none of my business, so please excuse me.”
“Don’t go just yet. I am tired.” He took her elbow in a gentle clasp. “I rode down last night to speak to Francis, and I’ll have to return tonight.”
“Return where?” Margaret asked.
“My grandfather and cousin passed away two weeks ago. As the nearest relative, I have been deali
ng with their affairs.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, my lord.”
“Don’t be. To be perfectly frank, I’m glad to see the back of both of them. My grandfather was a mean-spirited old man, and my cousin… Well, let’s just say that his determination to drink and gamble himself to an early grave proved remarkably successful.”
She looked in vain for his usual lurking smile, but it remained absent.
“One should really not speak ill of the dead, but they do sound rather awful,” Margaret ventured.
“Indeed.” He finally smiled down at her. “You are a remarkably practical woman, Miss Blackthorn.”
“Thank you.” She curtsied. “I believe most families have members who might easily be described as black sheep.”
“Even yours?” His keen gaze swept over her brother and sister, who were talking to their hosts.
“My father liked to gamble and lost control of our family mill,” Margaret admitted, surprised to find herself revealing something so personal.
“Ah.” He turned back to look at her. “That is a vice I have never had the funds to indulge in. Thank God. My cousin incurred many debts of ‘honor’.”
Margaret heartily agreed with him about that, at least. “Do you really have to leave tonight?”
He sighed. “To be honest, I’m not sure if I should make the attempt.” He glanced out of the window at the gathering clouds. “I’m tired enough as it is, and it looks as if it might rain.”
“Perhaps you would be better to stay the night here and leave early in the morning when you are suitably refreshed,” Margaret suggested. “I doubt your late grandfather’s estate will fall apart in your absence.”
“You are probably right.” He chuckled. “It will fall apart regardless of whether I am there overseeing its demise, and I’ll still be left holding the pieces.”
“Is it fixable?” Margaret asked as he helped himself to a glass of wine from the butler.
“Everything is fixable, Miss Blackthorn, if you have enough money.” He drank from his glass. “Unfortunately, I do not have enough, and, as my grandfather’s heir, I am liable for all his debts.”
