by Cheryl Holt
“Angela!” Clarissa fumed. “Tell me what’s occurring. I insist!”
“We’ll talk later,” Angela hissed, and she shut the door in Clarissa’s face.
Clarissa hovered, yearning to march back in. She’d shove Angela aside, would stomp over to the Captain and demand answers.
But she never engaged in the sort of drama Angela loved to exhibit. She whipped away, eager to locate Eddie, to apprise her of the abbreviated conversation, but as she turned, Captain Harlow’s brother was in the foyer. He looked dangerous and deadly and very, very determined.
“Have you met Captain Harlow?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“What is your opinion of the golden boy?”
“He’s quite…golden.”
“Isn’t he just?”
She stormed down to him, and when she halted, she was near enough that her skirt touched his legs. He seemed humored by her advance, and of course he didn’t step away. He didn’t need to. Even if she’d barreled into him, she couldn’t have moved him an inch. He was solid as a brick wall.
“Do you believe me now?” A snide grin curved his perfect lips.
“Yes, I believe you.” She studied his eyes, but they gave nothing away. “What will become of everyone at Greystone? I asked your brother, but he didn’t reply.”
“What would you like to have happen?”
With uncharacteristic incivility, she said, “I’d like you and your brother to leave us alone. I’d like to start the day over and the two of you never trot up the lane.”
“Well, you know the old saying, Miss Merrick. If wishes were horses, only beggars would ride.”
“I’ve never understood what that idiotic phrase is supposed to mean.”
She brushed by him but, as had occurred in the forest, he wouldn’t let her go until he was ready for her to depart. He grabbed her wrist, the simple gesture stopping her in her tracks. The man oozed authority. He didn’t have to speak aloud to make people obey. His personality was that overbearing.
At her stern glower, he chuckled. “You should be nicer to me.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
“You’ll learn why soon enough.” Again, his words sounded like a threat.
“I can’t wait,” she sarcastically said.
“Neither can I.”
She jerked away, rushed to the stairs, and began to climb.
From down below, he called, “I’ve always heard it’s awful to be the poor relative. Is it awful?”
Keep going! Keep going! She leaned over the banister and glared down at him. “Why would you ask such a ridiculous question?”
“I was wondering how horrid your life is.”
“My…life?” she sputtered. Her life was so awful, if she’d had a week she couldn’t have tabulated all the ways she was forlorn. “My life is just fine.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
His laugh told her he knew the truth. “What if I could make it better?”
“You’d have to be a magician to work any changes,” she admitted, shocked that she’d utter a negative remark. And to such an egotistical stranger!
“Maybe that’s what I am. Maybe I’m a magician and magic is my forte.”
“If you’re anything at all, Private Harlow, I’d say you’re a devil in disguise.”
“Yes, I’m more devil than magician, but I’m not in disguise. I’m right here, out in the open.”
“Heaven help us.”
She continued on, and though he called to her again, she didn’t stop.
* * * *
Matthew walked down the hall, counting doors until he found the correct bedchamber. It was located in a deserted wing of the Abbey. The stairwells were quiet. No wall sconces were lit.
Though Angela Merrick acted as if the house still belonged to her family, it was Matthew’s. With his arrogance bubbling out all over the place, he’d have felt confident entering any room. But for once, he minded his manners and knocked. If he caught Clarissa Merrick in her nightclothes, he might send her into a swoon.
He paused, received no reply, and knocked again.
“Yes? Who is it?”
He stepped inside. “Hello, Miss Merrick.”
She gaped in horror. “I asked who was there. I didn’t tell you to come in.”
“If I’d announced myself, would you have invited me?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then why would I have told you?”
He spun the key in the lock, trapping her. He couldn’t figure out why, but he was determined to speak with her.
He’d endured a grueling, tedious supper with Rafe and Angela Merrick. Roland Merrick’s ward, Edwina Edwards, had joined them too. Roland Merrick hadn’t put in an appearance, but Matthew had a good idea of the sort of man he’d ultimately encounter.
Vain. Pretentious. Spoiled. Greedy. Stupid.
He hated rich people with such a passion that it must have been drilled into him when he was tiny. How else could it have festered so virulently? Maybe it reflected deeds that had occurred when he was a toddler, before the notorious fire, or the horrid dream at the docks where the ship sailed away. A wealthy person must have hurt him, but he was too young to remember.
Clarissa Merrick had been absent from the supper table, and her failure to arrive had bothered him enormously. He’d barely been able to focus on the food or conversation. Each time a servant had traipsed in, he’d glanced up, positive it would be Miss Merrick, but it never had been.
Why hadn’t she come down for the meal? Had she been banished from the dining room? Or had she declined to participate if Matthew was present? He was dying to learn the answer to that question.
She was seated at a table and eating supper from a tray. Though it was summer, the evening was cool, and flames burned in the grate. She’d lit a candle too, so the room had a cheery glow.
She’d changed her clothes, so she wasn’t wearing the drab grey dress she’d had on earlier in the day. Instead she’d donned a fetching violet gown. It was plain, no bows or pleats or frills, but it set off the pretty color of her blond hair, making it seem more silver, her blue eyes picking up highlights from the fabric so they were nearly lavender. Her hair was down, the combs removed, the lengthy tresses brushed out and tied in a ponytail that fell to her bottom.
She was very beautiful in a way he liked. She wasn’t flashy or garish, didn’t use her attire to stand out or be noticed, but notice her he had. She was a rare gem, tucked away in a nest of vipers. How had the poor girl thrived in such a dreary spot?
Though she was alone, she didn’t look sad or lonely. She looked content, as if she was accustomed to being on her own, and he felt sorry for her.
He’d spent most of his life in army camps. Rafe’s father had been a soldier, and once Rafe was old enough to travel, they’d gone with him to serve as his attendants. Meals were a loud, boisterous affair, with soldiers’ jests, stories, and boasts.
How sad to dine alone, in the dark and the quiet. Then again, now that he’d met Angela Merrick, he could certainly understand why Clarissa Merrick would rather eat by herself.
There was a chair in the corner. He grabbed it and pulled it over to the table. As he plopped down, she scowled so hard it had to have hurt her face.
“Did you hear me invite you to sit?”
“No.”
“You’re not welcome in my bedchamber, and it’s outrageous that you’ve barged in.”
“Yes, isn’t it?”
“You can’t stay.”
“I’ve got your key, and you’re locked in. I’d say I can stay if I feel like it.”
“You’ve likely been in the army for many years, Private Harlow.”
“Forever, it seems like.”
“So perhaps you’ve forgotten the rules of etiquette. You can’t just bluster into a lady’s personal quarters.”
“I haven’t forgotten any blasted rules. I realize I shouldn’t be here, but I’m here anyway.”
&n
bsp; “Which is unconscionable. Since you appeared able to find your way to my suite, I’m sure you can find your way out without any trouble.”
“I’m sure I can too.”
She motioned to the door, indicating he’d been dismissed. It was such a regal gesture that he laughed. She actually supposed she could order him about!
For a few seconds, she closed her eyes, then opened them again. “I was hoping I could make a wish, and you’d be gone. But you’re still here.”
“Yes.”
“I could have sworn I asked you to go.”
“Why not threaten to summon the footmen and have them toss me out?”
She scoffed. “They never could.”
“Precisely.”
She studied him, taking his measure, trying to figure him out, but it wasn’t difficult. He was a vain, imperious beast who acted however he pleased. From his earliest memories, he’d been pompous and impossible. Apparently she recognized those low traits when she observed them.
She shrugged. “Fine. Be a horse’s ass. See if I care.”
As if he wasn’t present, she bent over her tray and began eating. She’d been provided with the beef and potatoes they’d had in the dining room, but it was a very small portion. Were they starving her? Was she on half-rations? Just how poor of a poor cousin was she?
She attempted to carry on as if all was normal, but he couldn’t be ignored. It was simply a fact that he took up too much space in any room he occupied. After valiantly struggling to maintain her composure, to finish her meager meal, she threw down her fork.
“Why are you staring?” she demanded.
“You didn’t come down to supper. Why?”
“I didn’t want to come down.”
“Because I would be there?”
“Yes. And because of my cousin, Angela. I couldn’t bear to watch her salivating all over your brother. I don’t have the stomach for it.”
“Are you ill?”
“No, Private Harlow. I’m afraid. Try to wrap your head around the concept—if you can.”
“I wouldn’t have pegged you for the trembling type. What are you afraid of?”
“What am I afraid of? Tell me you’re not that thick-witted. I’m positive you’re not, so don’t pretend idiocy.”
“I have no idea why you’d be scared. Am I that frightening?”
“No, but your brother—the new owner of Greystone—is thoroughly alarming. My cousins hadn’t told any of us about the foreclosure or eviction. We thought Roland’s appeals were making their way through the courts.”
“They’ve been over for ages.”
“Exactly. So you and your illustrious brother are here, and what’s to become of us? I asked him this afternoon, but with Angela drooling over him, I didn’t have the chance to press him for information.”
“It’s annoying, isn’t it? How your cousin is working to charm Captain Harlow?”
“I can’t fathom her purpose. Can you?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say she believes she can win his favor and convince him to marry her.”
Miss Merrick had just taken a sip of her wine, and she swallowed wrong. Her eyes watered, and she coughed and coughed.
“Angela…and Captain Harlow?” she said when she could speak again.
“Yes. What would you think of such a match?”
For an eternity, she gaped at him, then she laughed. “I have no opinion whatsoever.”
He wasn’t certain if marriage was Angela Merrick’s ploy, but he was a good judge of character. There was no reason for her to be civil to Rafe, but if she glommed onto Captain Harlow, it would secure her future, and she wouldn’t have to leave the estate. It was quite a shrewd scheme.
Every female in London had thrown herself at Matthew, his mistress Penelope being only one in a long line who’d be desperately glad to snag him. Angela Merrick was no different than the others. She’d lost everything, but she could get it back simply by finagling a ring onto her finger.
Too bad for her that she assumed Rafe was Captain Harlow. It was just this kind of situation that had persuaded Matthew to switch coats with Rafe before they’d arrived. By Matthew hiding his true identity, he was receiving a clear view of the personalities involved in the debacle.
Had Angela Merrick sweetly ingratiated herself, he might have agreed with her that it would be wise for them to wed. But not now. Not after Matthew had seen her in action. She was brash and brazen and too set on herself. And she wasn’t pretty.
Vain as it sounded, Matthew could have his pick of any woman he wanted, and he could afford to be choosey. Angela was twenty-five and had never wed, but he wasn’t surprised that she hadn’t. Who would have such an irritating shrew?
Yet her attempts to entice Rafe had made Matthew aware of a huge problem with regard to his owning Greystone. He could be treacherous—when treachery was deserved—but he was never deliberately cruel. Matthew wasn’t the sort to turn a family out on the road, so what was to be done with the Merricks?
He was particularly concerned about Miss Edwards and Clarissa Merrick who appeared not to have the resources to depart. He was even concerned about Angela, though she was unpleasant and unlikable. He could hardly tell three single ladies to pack a bag and head out.
He had to have difficult discussions with all of them, starting with the missing Roland Merrick. Plans had to be implemented, but what should they be?
“Let me ask you this,” he said.
“Ask away, Private Harlow. It’s not as if I can be rid of you. We might as well converse.”
“If you were told to leave, have you anywhere to go?”
“No.”
“You have no kin?”
“Roland and Angela are my kin. Why do you suppose I’m living here?”
“What about Miss Edwards? Would she have somewhere? Could you go with her?”
“She’s an orphan, sir, as am I. She’s a Merrick ward. If she had other options, wouldn’t you imagine she’d have pursued them?”
Matthew thought the world a very unfair place. Roland and Angela Merrick didn’t deserve what they’d been given, and now, with everything squandered, they were just beginning to appreciate what their father had frittered away.
What if Clarissa Merrick had been in charge? What if she’d been making the decisions? He doubted they’d be in the trouble they were.
“Why would you be opposed to Angela marrying Captain Harlow?” he asked. “It would keep the property in the Merrick family. It’s what we Brits like to do. Marry our cousins. Marry our neighbors. A union would resolve your dilemma as well as that of Edwina Edwards.”
His remark was intentionally provocative, and he’d purposely uttered it. With the servants assuming he was a lowly brother and not possessed of much authority, he’d peppered them with questions, and they’d been happy to answer. There was no love lost between Clarissa and Angela, and he’d definitely struck a nerve. She was bristling with comments she was either too polite or too loyal to voice.
“Wouldn’t that be interesting?” she mused. “I can just picture it—Angela as Captain Harlow’s bride.”
“At the moment he’s the most popular bachelor in the kingdom.”
“Is he?” she caustically inquired.
“Angela knows a prize when she sees it.”
“She certainly does.”
“What if they don’t wed and your position remains unsettled? If you were the one who got to choose, what conclusion would you pick for all of you?”
“I already told you. We’d stay here, and you and your brother would go away.”
“That’s not about to happen, so what would you select instead?”
“I haven’t had time to think about what I’d like.”
“What about you?” he said.
“What about me?”
“What if you married Captain Harlow?”
“Me!”
“Yes. Why not? You’d be mistress of Greystone—rather than the poor relative.”
<
br /> She studied him, then burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“First of all, I’m grateful to my cousins for giving me shelter these many long years, and I would never usurp Angela’s spot. I have no desire—and have never had a desire—to be mistress of anything.”
“I bet you’d be good at it though. Better than Angela anyway.”
She ignored the compliment. “And second of all, I would never wed such a vivacious, juvenile boy.”
“Captain Harlow is more mature than he seems.”
“I’ve met him, remember? He’s little more than a child and how he became a national hero is beyond me.”
“He’s handy in a pinch.”
“I doubt it.”
“He might surprise you.”
“Men never do.”
Now it was his turn to laugh. He was so charmed by her! These days, with women falling over themselves to garner his attention, it was refreshing to stumble on someone who wasn’t awed.
It dampened his vanity, which could use some dampening. It forced him to recollect that a few months earlier he’d been no one special, just a competent, anonymous captain in the army. Her disdain made him eager to impress her, to pester her until she admitted he was wonderful.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked. “Every woman in the kingdom is wild for Captain Harlow. Why are you so different from the rest?”
“Because—should I ever be lucky enough to wed—it will be for love.”
“Ah…you’re a hopeless romantic.”
“Not hopeless. Hopeful.”
“But to marry for love, Miss Merrick. It’s so modern. It’s simply not done.”
She shrugged. “Well, I’ve never belonged anywhere, and I’ve always been a burden to others. If I was to take such a gigantic leap, it would be for esteem and affection and nothing less. I want to be wanted. It’s my greatest dream. Call it too modern if you like, but that’s how I feel.”
For an instant, her voice quavered, strong emotion poking through, and they were both disturbed by it. Him—because he’d spent his life around men who never conveyed passionate sentiment. And her—because she could never have meant for him to learn so much about her. He was uncomfortable, and she was embarrassed.
They stared, the silence suddenly oppressive, and he experienced the oddest swell of manly instincts. He was anxious to offer things to her he’d never considered offering to a female. He wanted to shelter and care and protect, and he bit down hard lest he open his mouth and words tumble out that he didn’t intend.
