Heart's Desire (Lost Lords of Radcliffe Book 2)

by Cheryl Holt

  She couldn’t let him slip away until he explained why he was prowling and spying. Hesitantly, she scooped up her basket then walked to him. He heard her come, but didn’t glance at her.

  “Why is the family still here?” he asked again. “We were told you’d left.”

  “Who is we?”

  “Myself and my younger brother, Matthew Harlow.”

  “Where is he?”

  He gestured to the Abbey. “In the house, introducing himself.”

  “I’ve been picking flowers. I didn’t realize we had visitors.”

  “You don’t. Have visitors, that is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” he said like a threat. “Tell me why you’re all here.”

  She scowled. “Why would we leave?”

  “How about because the foreclosure is final and you’ve been evicted?”

  “We haven’t been evicted,” she staunchly declared, but a niggle of doubt wormed its way in.

  What did she actually know about the current state of the family’s affairs?

  Though she was a Merrick cousin and had lived at Greystone for ages, Roland and Angela viewed her as a trespasser. Throughout Harold’s recent trials and tribulations, Clarissa had had to glean much of the news from listening to the servants’ gossip.

  Had judgment been rendered? Had they been evicted? The notion was so shocking she couldn’t believe it.

  The past few weeks, Angela had been surlier than ever, Roland more abrupt and rude. But if it was time to pack and depart, they would have given everyone a bit of notice so preparations could commence. Wouldn’t they have?

  As quickly as Clarissa considered the possibility, she shoved it away. Roland and Angela were extremely selfish. It would never occur to them to worry about the servants or Clarissa.

  Roland always insisted he was making progress in the courts, that he was wearing down government officials, and shortly the debacle would be resolved in Roland’s favor. What if it hadn’t been?

  Private Harlow didn’t look like a man who would fib or jest. Nor was he the type who would toss out incorrect facts. She couldn’t imagine him being wrong.

  A more disturbing thought rattled her. Was the army present to guarantee the Merricks’ exodus? Private Harlow had said his brother, Matthew Harlow, was in the house. Was he a soldier too? Were there more troops? Had they been overrun by soldiers?

  “Why is the army here?” she asked. “This can’t be such a desperate situation that we need soldiers to intervene.”

  “The army isn’t here. It’s just me and my brother.”

  “You’ve arrived to…what? Arrest us? Imprison us? On what charges? We’ve committed no crime but to be Harold’s dependents.”

  “You’re not in trouble.”

  “What then?”

  “Captain Harlow is here to—”

  “Captain Harlow is…your brother?”

  “Yes. He’s come to assume ownership.”

  “Of what? Of Greystone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why would he?”

  “It was given to him as a reward for valorous service to the Crown and the people of England.”

  He held very still, watching her—as if the news should mean something, as if he was curious to learn what her reaction would be. And it did mean something to her. There wasn’t a person in the kingdom who hadn’t heard about the sinking of the ship, Royal Tempest. The vessel had been crossing the Channel, loaded down with the wives and children of Britain’s highest ranking army officers.

  It had foundered in rough seas, and Captain Harlow—with almost singlehanded aplomb—had rescued most of the passengers. He was the talk of the nation, his name bandied in every conversation. At that very moment he was in London, being lauded and congratulated and honored.

  Surely he wouldn’t have had time in his busy hero’s schedule to travel to their little corner of the world. Surely such a revered, remarkable fellow would be in the city where his legions of devoted admirers could shower him with gifts and praise.

  “Are you claiming,” she said, “that Captain Matthew Harlow is here at Greystone?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s your brother?”

  “Ah…yes.”

  “The property is his now?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “When was it given to him?” she asked.

  “A few weeks ago, but it was supposed to be empty. Everyone was supposed to have left.”

  “By what date?”

  “Roland Merrick hasn’t owned it in over a year.”

  She gasped. “A year?”

  “Yes, and all of you had six months to get your affairs in order and depart.”

  A year! Six months! She was so distressed she couldn’t catch her breath. How typically reckless of Roland not to apprise anyone. How typical of him to let the catastrophe fall on them without warning. She would absolutely wring his neck!

  Greystone might not be the best refuge available, and Clarissa might never have been terribly welcomed in it, but it was her home. It was the only place she’d ever been safe, where she’d at least minimally belonged—even if it had been in her mind and not the mind of her despicable kin.

  “Does Angela know about this?” she inquired. “Does Roland?”

  “Pay attention, Miss Merrick. Roland has known for over a year, and who is Angela?”

  “His sister.”

  “I can’t believe she wouldn’t know too, but you still haven’t answered my question, so I pose it yet again. Why are all of you here? Why haven’t you left?”

  He peered down at her, his piercing blue eyes probing for information, demanding explanations she would never give.

  For all of Roland’s foibles and faults, Clarissa was very loyal. She was grateful for the sustenance and shelter he and his father had always provided, and she would never betray a confidence or secret. Nor would she admit that she possessed such a lowly status in the household that it would never have occurred to Roland to share any details with her.

  Her pulse was suddenly pounding with dread, and she started off. She was desperate to talk to Angela, but before she could make her escape he reached out and clasped her wrist.

  “Where are you off to?” he asked.

  “I have to speak with my cousins.”

  “About what?”

  “About your claims.”

  “They’re not claims, Miss Merrick. They’re the God’s honest truth.”

  She studied his steely gaze, his firm countenance, and with a sinking heart she recognized that Greystone wasn’t theirs anymore. Where would they go? What would they do? Would Captain Harlow order them out at once? Would they march down the road, shamed and humiliated, with just the clothes on their backs?

  The mortifying notion didn’t bear contemplating.

  “Unhand me, Private Harlow.”

  She yanked away, skittered off, and began to run.

  “Miss Merrick!” he called, but she ignored him and raced away.

  She was calling too. “Angela! Angela, where are you? I need you!”

  Private Harlow shouted to her, offering a comment she suspected she should have heard, that it would have been important and vital, but in her haste to be away she’d missed what it was.

  She stopped and glanced back. He was standing in the path, his feet spread, his legs braced, his arms folded over his sculpted chest. He looked like a pirate, like a bandit bent on destruction, like a dark angel sent to wreak havoc on mere mortals.

  “I’ll see you again,” he said. “Very soon.”

  She whipped away and kept on.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Clarissa burst inside, rushing through the ornate foyer and proceeding to the stairs, when Edwina stepped out of the shadows down the hall. She frantically motioned for Clarissa to join her.

  Edwina Edwards—called Eddie by friends and family—was eighteen, pretty, plump, and merry. She was the younger sister Clarissa wou
ld have chosen for herself had she been allowed to choose. Eddie understood the absurdities of life, understood the sort of fortitude it took to live with Roland and Angela.

  When her parents had died of the influenza, Harold Merrick had been named her guardian, so she’d come to Greystone as a girl, had spent her adolescence as a Merrick ward. With Harold’s death, the guardianship had passed to Roland.

  She’d been orphaned at ten, the same age Clarissa had been when she’d lost her own mother. That fact alone had made them inordinately close, but it was also the fact that Eddie was viewed as an interloper by Roland and Angela, as Clarissa had always been viewed. At least Clarissa could claim a kinship. Eddie had no claim at all, and over the past few years, one blessing was that Eddie had a dowry Roland couldn’t touch or squander.

  As Roland’s fortunes had plummeted, he’d started to slyly suggest that perhaps he and Eddie should marry. It was an idea that sent Clarissa and Eddie into fits of laughter. Eddie recognized Roland for the fool he was.

  “You won’t believe who’s here,” Eddie said as she dragged Clarissa into an empty parlor and shut the door.

  “I heard it’s Captain Matthew Harlow.”

  “Oh, you spoiled my fun. I meant to astonish you.”

  “So it’s true? It’s the Captain Harlow?”

  “The very one. He’s in the main parlor with Angela.”

  “Have you managed to eavesdrop?”

  “No. Angela booted me out.”

  “Where is Roland?”

  “Probably in the gamekeeper’s cottage.”

  The cottage was empty, and lately with him and Angela constantly bickering, he’d been living there, which had definitely calmed some of the drama in the household.

  “Were you able to learn why Captain Harlow has come?” Clarissa asked.

  “No. Angela introduced me, then told me to leave.”

  “I just spoke to his older brother out in the woods and—”

  “His brother is here too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he handsome as a Greek god?”

  Clarissa rolled her eyes. Eddie read romantic novels and kept lists of available bachelors, even scouring the London newspapers so she could track the marital prospects of various sons from the important families.

  She wanted to marry a dashing rake, but unfortunately there weren’t any suitable men in the area—Eddie had checked—and she never visited town, so she never found anyone to tickle her fancy.

  “Yes,” Clarissa said, “his brother is extremely handsome.”

  “I knew he would be,” Eddie gushed. “They must have incredible bloodlines. Wait until you see Captain Harlow. You’ll never be the same.”

  “I’m sure I’ll survive.” Eddie’s bubbly enthusiasm often exhausted Clarissa. “Listen to me, Eddie. Captain Harlow owns Greystone.”

  Eddie frowned. “What? How could he?”

  “It was given to him by the Crown as a reward for his valor in the sinking of the Royal Tempest.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “His brother insisted that Roland lost his final appeal a year ago.”

  “A year ago! No, no, that can’t be right. He’s still filing legal briefs. He was talking about it yesterday.”

  “Apparently we were supposed to have departed. The Harlows expected to find the place empty and shuttered.”

  “But…what will happen now? What about us?”

  “I have no idea, but I can’t imagine anything good is about to occur. The older Harlow is quite an…imposing fellow. If his younger brother has even a morsel of the same arrogance, he can’t possibly have our best interests at heart.”

  “I have a really bad feeling about this.”

  “So do I. Send someone to fetch Roland, would you? He has to come over to the house. I’m going in and introduce myself to Captain Harlow.”

  Eddie laughed. “You shameless girl, you.”

  “Not shameless. Just determined to glean some information from him—information I can’t get from my own relatives.”

  “Angela will kick you out.”

  “Let’s see her try.”

  Clarissa whirled away and went over to the parlor. The door was closed, the butler lurking outside. As she approached, she could tell he was awash with curiosity, but he didn’t dare ask what was transpiring.

  “Miss Angela has an esteemed visitor,” he whispered.

  “Captain Harlow, yes,” Clarissa whispered in reply.

  “I don’t know why he’s…here?”

  “I believe I do.” Clarissa patted his arm. “I’ll explain once I’ve spoken to him.”

  The servants were exceedingly nervous as to how the future would unfold. The butler was acutely aware that—with Roland in charge—they were all gravely at risk. He nodded and opened the door so she could slip in.

  Angela was on a sofa, sitting with Captain Harlow. She was a very average woman, short and thin in stature with limp white-blond hair and stern brown eyes, but she wasn’t pretty, and she realized she wasn’t. She was plain and mousy, her features pinched and bitter, and with her positioned next to Captain Harlow, she seemed even more ordinary than usual.

  He didn’t resemble his dark, dangerous brother in the slightest, but was the complete opposite of that surly, pompous man.

  Like his brother, he was tan and fit, but he had golden blond hair and bright blue eyes. He looked happy and humored by life, possessing none of his brother’s gruff air of imperious command.

  He was very young too, much too young to be an officer or to be the national hero he was reputed to be. Clarissa could have sworn she’d read that Captain Harlow was thirty. This…boy, for all his grand beauty, wasn’t much older than Edwina.

  He and Angela were very friendly, which was odd. Angela might have been entertaining a beau. From how she was simpering and cooing, there was no doubt she was flirting, but with Captain Harlow there to seize their home, her behavior was bizarre.

  Had Captain Harlow clarified his purpose? Did Angela understand why he’d arrived?

  “Angela”—Clarissa bustled over—“I hope you’ll pardon the interruption, but I heard we have an important guest.”

  Angela could barely mask her scowl of disapproval. Clearly she’d enjoyed having the Captain all to herself. But as quickly as her actual sentiment was displayed, she smoothed her expression and was all smiles. She never permitted anyone to see her true colors.

  “Yes, Clarissa, we’re very honored today. Let me introduce our esteemed British war hero, Captain Matthew Harlow.”

  “Captain Harlow! My goodness!” Clarissa beamed as if she’d just learned his identity. “What brings you to our little corner of the world?”

  Clarissa stared him down, and she had to admit he had excellent manners. He leapt to his feet, clasped her hand, and made a proper bow over it.

  He didn’t have an opportunity to answer Clarissa’s question, because Angela jumped in. “My dear Captain Harlow, this is my cousin, Miss Clarissa Merrick.”

  Dear Captain? He was already her dear?

  “I’m charmed, Miss Merrick,” he responded.

  “As am I.

  Clarissa sort of meant it. He was an appealing, likeable fellow. Jollity wafted off him as if he glided through life teasing and loafing, and Clarissa couldn’t reconcile the bold tales of daring with the man standing before her.

  There was nothing fearless or intrepid about him. He reminded her of a puppy, of a frisky colt finding its legs.

  “Angela and I are chatting,” he said.

  “Are you?”

  On his calling Angela by her Christian name, Clarissa was taken aback. The pair had only been acquainted for a few minutes. Why would Angela have allowed such a liberty? Clarissa glared at Angela, silently demanding an explanation, but Angela simply smiled her feline smile in return.

  “Angela,” Clarissa said, “by any chance, has Captain Harlow told you why he’s here?”

  “Why, yes, he has, Clarissa. Roland and I have b
een expecting him for quite some time.”

  “Have you?” Clarissa curtly asked.

  There were a thousand queries Clarissa might have voiced: Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell Eddie and me? We haven’t made any arrangements. What are we to do?

  But with Captain Harlow being present, Clarissa couldn’t interrogate Angela.

  Clarissa spun to the Captain. “I met your brother in the woods.”

  “What did you think of him?” he inquired. “He’s rather intimidating, isn’t he? Everyone always says so.”

  “He claims Greystone is yours now.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Clarissa’s spirits flagged. She’d been hoping his brother was a liar, though she’d suspected he wasn’t. He’d been too confident, too sure of his facts.

  “I apologize if I’m prying,” Clarissa said, “but what are your intentions with regard to the property? My cousins may have known you were coming, but the rest of us had no idea. The servants in particular have been fretting. What are your plans for us?”

  “I haven’t really—”

  It was all he could manage, because Angela butted in again. “Honestly, Clarissa. Don’t badger the poor man. He’s only just arrived, and I haven’t even had time to offer him refreshments.”

  Angela’s comment was sweet enough, but her eyes were shooting daggers.

  Clarissa ignored Angela and kept her expression locked on the Captain. “As I mentioned, Captain Harlow, the servants are anxious. Roland’s ward, Miss Edwards, is on the premises too, and wondering what will transpire. If you could give us even a hint, it would alleviate many concerns.”

  Before he could respond, Angela rose. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, Captain?”

  “Certainly,” he said.

  “The Captain and I are busy, Clarissa. We’d like some privacy.”

  She took Clarissa’s arm, escorted her to the door, and pushed Clarissa into the hall. The butler—who must have had his ear pressed to the wood—barely had occasion to leap out of the way.