Heartbreak and Honor

by Collette Cameron

  Her aunt intended to present her long-lost niece to Society. The next few weeks would be spent preparing Alexandra for that awfulness. She hunched further into the carriage corner.

  Perfectly wonderful. Something else unpleasant to anticipate. Paraded before the ton’s elite, as awkward as a donkey in a poke bonnet at a ball.

  She might just do something outlandish to see their responses. It could prove amusing.

  A welcome as warm as Napoleon might expect from the Prince Regent seemed probable. In her experience, the British didn’t trust Scots, and truth to tell, except for her uncle, Alexa held the same opinion of Sassenachs.

  Alexandra cracked an eyelid open. Wedderford Abbey sat majestic and imposing in the distance.

  She’d never imagined such splendor, let alone that she would ever own something of this magnitude. The mansion more closely resembled a smallish castle than a grand manor. A great sprawling gray-brown building boasting turrets, numerous chimneys, and three enormous wings lay encompassed by a vine-covered wall on all but one side.

  Craiglocky Keep epitomized medieval magnificence, but Wedderford Abbey . . . Well, an ancestor—or two or three—must have claimed a flair for lavishness. The place exemplified garish wealth and station.

  And she, the late Baron, Steafan Atterberry’s, eldest daughter owned the estate and everything that accompanied the title including—according to Uncle Hugo—a sizable fortune.

  She fingered the locket at her collarbone.

  One day a poor Highland traveller, and the next, a well-heeled, titled heiress. Unbelievable. The stuff which birthed fairytales and fantasies.

  She shook her head then promptly ceased, fearing the elaborate bonnet she wore would lose a feather or flower.

  The monstrosity wouldn’t be worse for it. Heavy and cumbersome, the hat obstructed her vision, but Aunt Bridget had insisted, as she applied lemon juice to Alexandra’s freckled nose, “All proper ladies wear bonnets.”

  Alexandra suspected this proper lady falderal would be a profound annoyance. The rigmarole required to dress daily—often thrice or more—strained her composure and the bounds of her patience.

  “Is this real?” She pinched her thigh, not confident she wasn’t dreaming. “That’s where I was born?”

  “Yes, Alexandra,” Aunt Bridget said, “very real, and yes, you were born at Wedderford.” Melancholy darkened her eyes and laced her voice. “Steafan was proud of his estate, proud of everything Scottish, for that matter. If the man possessed a fault, it was that he loved his country and his land too much. I’ve always wondered if he would have married Lyette if she hadn’t been Scots.”

  “There’s something to be said for marrying a Scottish lass.” Uncle Hugo teased his wife. “Life is never mundane.”

  Aunt Bridget beamed.

  She’d retained a constant smile on her lovely face since the moment she’d tearfully enfolded Alexandra in a suffocating, lilac-scented embrace.

  If ever Alexandra doubted this woman was her relative, the uncertainty vanished the minute she looked into her aunt’s violet eyes and saw an older version of herself mirrored there. No wonder Laird Sethwick noticed the likeness. Only a blind man would deny the relation.

  “Quite so.” Uncle Hugo tapped his wife’s hand, giving her a doting smile. “We were both present. Naturally Bridget insisted on being with her twin when Lyette gave birth.”

  Aunt Bridget chuckled, a husky, musical sound while she rummaged in her reticule. “That’s how I knew about your birthmark. I was the first to hold you after your mother and father. You’d wet Steafan’s shirt, and I helped change you.”

  Alexandra’s face heated. A strawberry-sized, tulip-shaped birthmark marred her left buttock.

  “But even without the mother’s mark to confirm your identity, anyone who ever laid eyes on Lyette would know you are her daughter.” Melancholy weighted her aunt’s words. “I wish she’d lived to see you grown into a beautiful woman.”

  Few children claimed the blessing of four mothers, two of whom Alexandra couldn’t remember except fleeting, dreamlike glimpses. “What happened to my mother?”

  After a pregnant pause, during which Aunt Bridget struggled for composure, Uncle Hugo answered.

  “A fever took her when you were eighteen months old. Your father didn’t want you raised motherless, so six months later, he married a young Scots widow. Wholly unexpected, given his devotion to your mother.”

  “Humph. I’ll say. Took us aback.” Aunt Bridget’s astringent tone and sour expression spoke volumes. “Minerva bore a daughter soon thereafter. In a wretchedly, cruel scheme of providence, two months later, Steafan died—tragic riding accident—leaving you in the care of Minerva. And then . . . then you went missing days later. Some at Wedderford suggested you’d wandered off searching for your papa.”

  Disapproval cinched Aunt Bridget’s mouth, and she wrenched her reticule closed a mite harder than necessary.

  Perhaps she didn’t like her father marrying soon after her sister’s death, or maybe, she didn’t approve of his choice of a wife. Or . . . did she think it too coincidental—Alexandra vanishing on the heels of her father’s death?

  The unsettling thought crawled to a corner of Alexandra’s mind and wedged itself there—a constant, uncomfortable reminder—like an annoying pebble in her slipper.

  “Now, my love, don’t get flustered. Steafan saw to all that business in his will. He was no fool. Let’s see your pretty smile.” Uncle cajoled one, albeit weak, from Aunt Bridget.

  “So, I have a sister?” Peculiar. Alexandra had almost ceased thinking of Lala and György as her brother and sister, and yet, still thought of herself as a traveller.

  “Oh dear.” Katrina suddenly became intent on the scenery outside.

  Her aunt and uncle regarded one another for a tense moment.

  Finally, Aunt Bridget shrugged. “She might as well know. The truth will come out soon enough. She’ll be better prepared this way.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Uncle Hugo’s countenance became contemplative as he eyed Alexandra. He seemed to choose his words with care. “Shona came into this world five months after Steafan married Minerva. She couldn’t be his daughter.”

  “Oh. Does she know?” How horrid if she didn’t. Alexa knew the awfulness of discovering you weren’t who you thought you were.

  Aunt Bridget sighed and slumped against the seat. “We have no idea what Minerva has told Shona. We shall have to tread carefully until we know what they are about. The letter of the law is on your side, however.”

  “You were declared legally dead after seven years. I believe it’s called death in absentia.” Uncle straightened his hat then crossed his long legs. “Per your father’s instructions, his attorney put the estate into abeyance and your inheritance share in trust. However, I don’t know the particulars.”

  “Abeyance?” Alexa scratched her nose. The dratted gloves prevented her from doing the job properly. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what that is.”

  Uncle Hugo folded his arms. “Simply put, abeyance is when there isn’t a direct male heir. Daughters inherit equally until one submits a petition asking the title be granted to them. There must be no doubt as to their pedigree.”

  “Wise on Steafan’s part, that.” Satisfaction shone in Aunt Bridget’s eyes. “Until she is of age, Shona cannot petition to claim the title herself, and with your return, Minerva would be most imprudent to attempt that deception and petition on Shona’s behalf.”

  Seriousness sharpened the planes of Uncle Hugo’s face. “Besides, upon your return, there’s a rebuttal presumption at common law—”

  “In layman’s terms, if you please, dearest.” Aunt Bridget’s sweet smile tempered her admonishment.

  Hugo grinned, his mustache twitching. “The law recognizes Alexandra is
alive.”

  “How astute since she’s breathing and walking about.” Her aunt’s droll reply lacked sincere humor.

  “Rather unpleasant for them, all this, don’t you think?” Alexandra looked between her aunt and uncle. “I cannot help but feel compassion, and an iota of guilt, for causing their plight.”

  “They’ve been provided for, Alexandra. Mama says Uncle Steafan was a generous, kind-hearted man. They have not gone without.” Katrina slipped her hand into Alexandra’s.

  “You’ve nothing to feel guilty about,” Aunt Bridget reassured Alexandra. “We’re overjoyed you’ve returned to us unharmed. It’s nothing short of an answer to prayer . . . A miracle, in truth.”

  “Alexandra, your parents called you Alexa. How would you prefer we address you?” Gazing at her expectantly, Uncle Hugo brushed a finger across either side of his mustache.

  Clever fellow. He’d successfully changed the subject to something less troublesome. A plain man, except for his warm, chestnut eyes, he exuded patience and kindness. Not characteristics one typically expected from a successful banker.

  Her aunt and Katrina wore eager expressions too. His ploy had worked.

  “Truthfully, I’m having a difficult time answering to Alexandra.” She rolled a shoulder and gave a short laugh. “I answered to Tasara for so many years, it is hard to stop thinking of myself by that name. Alexa sounds more like Tasara—”

  “Alexa it is then.” Uncle Hugo smiled and winked. “I supposed as much.”

  “I imagine this is overwhelming.” Katrina pressed Alexa’s hand and tilted her bonneted head indicating the house they approached. “Perhaps a little frightening, too.”

  Katrina hit the mark square on. More than a little frightening, however. Outright terrifying, in a good, adventurous sort of way. Everything was unfamiliar and new.

  Alexa closed her eyes for a moment.

  I’d rather be traveling with the tinkers. At least I know who I am with them.

  She breathed out a silent sigh. No sense reminiscing or wishing for what couldn’t be. Destiny plopped her here, and she’d make the best of her good fortune. That’s what travellers did.

  The coach turned onto the manor’s long, immaculate pathway, and her stomach constricted. A stepmother and young woman awaited her arrival. Friends or foes?

  “Yes, I’m sure it is a bit much to take in, but rest assured, your identity and birthright are irrefutable.” A steely note crept into Aunt Bridget’s tone.

  “Indeed.” Uncle Hugo nodded and chucked his wife’s chin. “No need to get your feathers ruffled, my dear. As Steafan’s only issue, Alexa’s claim is indisputable. I’m sure Minerva and Shona will do their best to put her at ease.”

  “And don’t forget, she has the locket and doll.” Katrina grinned and patted Alexa’s knee. “Your doll is like mine, except for her attire. I named mine Jane, and her coat is green. She sits atop my bedchamber shelf still.”

  Alexa grinned back.

  She liked her outgoing, cheerful cousin, and was grateful her aunt insisted Alexa stay with them while in London. She needed a confidante and a friend. Seonaid’s parents had agreed to allow her to visit the Needhams during the Season too. She would arrive at the end of October, and with Katrina and Seonaid as companions, Alexa felt more self-possessed about venturing into society.

  “Hugo and I gave Alexa the doll for her second birthday.” Aunt Bridget retied her bonnet’s ribbons then brushed a speck of lint from her whisky-colored skirt. She seemed edgy all of a sudden and exchanged speaking glances with Uncle more than once.

  What could Alexa expect at Wedderford Abbey? She lacked her aunt’s and cousin’s sophistication, and her deficiencies in formal education or schooling in niceties proved awkward. Despite Aunt Bridget’s assurance she would tutor Alexa in decorum, qualms still fluttered her belly.

  While dining at Craiglocky, she had no idea which fork or spoon to use. Why provide three or four when one sufficed? And why deliver the meal in courses? It created more work for the servants and dragged dining out for hours. Serve the food, eat it in a timely manner, and be done with it, for pity’s sake.

  And that was another thing. How could she become accustomed to people waiting on her when she was capable of doing things for herself?

  Her first night at Craiglocky, a fresh-faced maid had tried to help her bathe, of all things. Were the privileged so lazy or supercilious they couldn’t soap and scrub their nether regions?

  Well, that’s one task I’ll see to myself, thank you.

  “I cannot tell you how thrilled I am to have a cousin near my age. Less than four months separate us.” A pout upon her lips, Katrina grasped Alexa’s hand. “Studious older brothers consumed with rows of numbers and calculating figures are no fun at all.”

  A hush fell within the coach as the conveyance drew near the manor house. Aunt Bridget told Alexa the Needhams hadn’t been to Wedderford Abbey since the authorities discontinued looking for Alexa a month after she and her nurse had disappeared. Except for finding a doll’s shoe beneath a willow, no other signs were ever uncovered.

  Her aunt and uncle had continued searching, even hiring investigators. After two years passed without uncovering another clue, they too, had resigned themselves to Alexa never returning, though Uncle Hugo still placed flyers about Scotland every now and again on the off chance someone might come forth with new information.

  With a creak and a jolt, the conveyance rolled to a stop, but no one made an effort to leave the carriage. Nor did Wedderford’s front door swing open in welcome.

  Aunt Bridget leaned forward and touched Alexa’s knee. “We shall make this visit short, a day or two at most, to give Minerva and Shona time to adjust to their new positions in the event you choose to reside at Wedderford Abbey after the Season ends. I’m not sure what the marriage settlements between her and Steafan stipulated, but you’re well within your rights to ask them to move to another residence or the dower house if you choose.”

  “I think it would be wise to get to know them before I make a decision. I’m sure this has come as a shock.” Alexa looked to her uncle. “Should I be prepared for any opposition?”

  His pensive expression didn’t encourage her. “I’ve learned many things in my years as a banker, my dear, one of which is, those with the most to lose or gain are capable of the greatest treachery. My advice is to be on your guard, be watchful, and listen.” He tapped the door with his cane. “In short, be careful whom you trust.”

  Chapter 9

  The entry, a yawning cavern leading to the unknown, now stood wide open, and a chill juddered from Alexa’s neck to her waist.

  Once her identity had been validated, notice had immediately been sent to Wedderford that she lived. What a jolt it must have been to Minerva and Shona—after so long, to discover their monies and everything they thought they owned now belonged to another.

  Rather awkward, that business about taking up residence, or asking Minerva and Shona to leave.

  By-the-by, seems I’m the rightful heir, although I’ve been gallivanting around the Scottish Highland with black tinkers these past eighteen years. Do take yourselves off now that I’ve returned from the dead.

  Proof?

  But of course, I have proof. Want to see my bum?

  Not that Tasa—er . . . Alexa intended to turn anyone out. Wedderford Abbey had been their home long before she arrived. She felt like the intruder, even if the estate and title legally belonged to her. Alexa couldn’t blame her stepmother and sister for acting a mite put upon.

  “What if they refuse to believe who I am or accept my claim?” That abeyance business was more than a trifle confusing, but Uncle Hugo promised her the solicitor had everything well in hand.

  Aunt Bridget harrumphed and patted her hair one last time. “Not to worry, Alexa. Hugo has every
thing necessary to prove your identity and rightful position.”

  That included a written declaration from a physician attesting to her birthmark—gads, that had been a mortifying examination. Dat had provided a sworn statement detailing how and where she’d been found, and her aunt and uncle would give their oaths confirming the kinship, as well as having gifted the doll.

  Would that be enough?

  Aunt Bridget cast her husband an indirect glance. “Although, I’m sure Minerva will take one look at you, and she’ll know the truth of it as we did. You are the image of Lyette.”

  The coach door swung open, and a muscular footman offered a polite smile before lowering the step. Once he assisted the women from the carriage, he hurried to the boot to help another footman with their luggage.

  “Let’s be about it then.” Aunt Bridget squared her shoulders and jutted her chin skyward. “Into the dragon’s lair.”

  This didn’t bode well. Not at all.

  “Just so.” Uncle Hugo gave a mocking growl deep in his throat.

  Neither seemed any more excited to enter the house than Alexa. Only Katrina exuded a morsel of anticipation, evident in her fidgeting and sparkling eyes.

  No one waited at the entrance except for a ramrod stiff, sober-expression butler. Rather formidable fellow. Highly doubtful his lips had creaked upward in the last two decades. Hmm, make that three. What would he do if Alexa broke into a Highlander’s jig or started singing a bawdy ditty?

  As disapproval fairly radiated from the majordomo already, he’d likely expire on the stoop at such antics.

  She released a pent-up sigh. What had she expected? Her stepmother and sister to hurtle down the stairs and thank her for disrupting their lives? Nonetheless, a warmer welcome would have been nice.

  Did they hide behind the chartreuse velvet-lined windows, glaring daggers at her? The beveled diamond-shaped panes reflected the sun, making it impossible to tell if anyone peeped from within.