To Wed an Heiress

by Rosanne E. Lortz

  “I’ve taken your advice, Torin,” he said brusquely, as his younger brother helped himself to a plate of sausage and eggs from the sideboard.

  “Unusual,” replied the lad, “but somewhat gratifying.” He sat down at the table and tucked a large white napkin into his collar. “Which advice of mine are you referring to?”

  “I’ve engaged myself to marry Miss Arabella Hastings, the daughter of one of the wealthiest tradesmen in London.”

  Not many things could come between young master Torin and his food, but this revelation caused him to pause mid-mouthful. “Haro, I’m astounded! I know I suggested such a thing in fun—or perhaps in desperation—but I never truly expected you to do anything of the kind. And if you remember rightly, I suggested an heiress, not a tradesman’s daughter. What sort of trade?”

  “An heiress is an heiress no matter her parentage,” replied Haro firmly. It was an axiom of whose truth he was still trying to convince himself. “And what does it matter to you where the money comes from, as long as it pays for your precious Woldwick? He’s in textiles, if you must know. A mill owner, who has made his millions in cotton. He’s offered to defray some of father’s debts so that the estate can be kept intact.”

  Torin chewed thoughtfully. “I suppose I ought to congratulate you then, old man, in raising the needed blunt…although, it is a bit of a blow to poor Eda.”

  Haro glared ferociously. That wound was still too raw to be touched. “She’s a sensible girl—you said so yourself. She understands perfectly well that circumstances and duty must make my decisions for me.”

  “And what decisions are those?” asked a cool, crisp voice floating into the breakfast room. It was Eda, in a dark mourning dress, her black hair pulled back loosely in a low knot at the nape of her neck. The scent of roses and lavender accompanied her, and to Haro—his mind full of last night’s remarkable events—her natural ease of motion contrasted sharply with Arabella’s studied graces.

  The earl sent a silent plea for help to his brother, and Torin magnanimously offered the necessary explanation. “Haro’s decided to marry a tradesman’s daughter—the child of a cotton manufacturer, no less. It’s all for the sake of the family, you understand, since none of us wants to let a house in Russell Square as Mr. Godwin says we must.”

  “Oh, I quite understand,” said Eda, barely bothering to disguise her disgust. Her glance raked over Haro’s fitted jacket and cut like daggers. She was not schooled in dissimulation. She was not at all like Arabella. “Russell Square would hardly agree with my refined tastes either. But thanks to your brother, I’ll be able to batten off of his betrothed, or at least off her father…as long as he agrees to keep your pauper cousin housed under his roof.” A cloud of bitterness came over her face. “I must congratulate you on your good sense, Lord Anglesford. And on your engagement,” she added, almost as an afterthought.

  “Thank you,” said Haro stiffly. Somehow, in the last sennight, Miss Edith Swanycke—whom he had known since his days in the nursery—had put on the mask of a stranger and the tongue of a cockatrice. He felt he knew her no better than the tall, slim brunette whose name would be linked with his in the banns tomorrow.

  ***

  Miss Arabella Hastings, along with her dour-faced duenna, Mrs. Rollo, did not waste any time before calling on Lady Anglesford. A card came shortly after breakfast with notice that Haro’s betrothed would be calling that very afternoon.

  Eda heard the news of the impending visit with outward equanimity, but inside she was seething. How dare he bring her here! She would rather see this townhouse sold than see some tradesman’s daughter presiding over the tea table.

  As she came downstairs to take her place in the drawing room, she saw Haro pacing in the entrance hall. A twinge of pity—easily dismissed—overtook her. Apparently, her cousin was as apprehensive as she was!

  “Oh, it’s you Eda!” he said, hearing her footsteps. His eyes narrowed as he took in her appearance. Following the announcement at breakfast, she had coifed her hair in a much more elaborate style and put on her most elegant pearl necklace. She would not be recognized as the “pauper cousin” at first glance! “I was thinking that perhaps you might have plans of your own to go out walking or riding—”

  “I was thinking you might have plans of your own,” retorted Eda, “to put on your beaver and bolt to the safety of your club.”

  Haro gritted his teeth.

  “No,” said Eda, slightly lifting the skirt of her dress to facilitate her descent down the staircase. “I shall be here all afternoon. And how delightful it will be to meet your betrothed!” She heaped such a copious amount of sugar onto her tone that he could not help but doubt her sincerity. “I know your mother is looking forward to it as well.”

  Inside the drawing room, Lady Anglesford had been pacing nervously. She sat down when Eda and Haro entered only to clutch at the embroidered cushions of the sofa and send to the kitchen for teacakes four or five times. “Your poor father would turn over in his grave if he knew I was welcoming a mill owner’s offspring as his future daughter-in-law.”

  “I daresay Father would not be so squeamish,” retorted Haro, “since the situation is entirely owing to his profligacy.”

  It was an insightful comeback—Eda was forced to acknowledge as much—and Lady Anglesford fell silent, no doubt wondering how she could have been so blind to her husband’s behavior.

  At the hour of two o’clock, the sound of the door knocker echoed through the hallway. The footman announced their guest, and Miss Hastings stepped into a room overflowing with curiosity, contempt, and agitation.

  She was accompanied by a silent specter who retreated into the background and offered nothing to the conversation. Eda conjectured that this tradesman’s daughter had doubtless chosen her companion for the sake of contrast—even an unremarkable pearl can seem brilliant when surrounded by the dingy shell of an oyster. And if truth be told, Eda found this Arabella Hastings quite unremarkable.

  She was pretty, if one liked regular features of that kind, but with the same sort of prettiness that characterized half the young women in London. Her dress was apricot-colored with much more frill to it than the elegant lines that Eda favored. The sleeves and low-cut neckline were set with silver lace, and her trim little hat appeared to be the exact same color as the gown.

  Haro introduced his fiancée to his mother, and both women greeted each other with proper etiquette. “I am so pleased to hear that you have honored my son by accepting his proposal,” said the countess faintly.

  “Your son is everything I could have hoped for in a husband,” replied Miss Hastings demurely.

  Eda, who was sitting in the window seat observing this pretty scene, let out a little yawn that could not help but attract attention. Haro ignored her out of annoyance, and the lot fell to Lady Anglesford to introduce her cousin’s daughter. “Miss Hastings—”

  “Oh, do call me Arabella!”

  “Very well, then—Arabella, allow me to introduce Miss Edith Swanycke, a close relative of mine who resides with the family.”

  The two young women exchanged a formal how-do-you-do. Eda saw Haro breathe a sigh of relief that she had not given Arabella the cut right there in their own drawing room. She forced a smile onto her face. She was angry, yes, but she was not an unmannerly hoyden. As long as this decorated apricot pretended civility, she would too.

  “Haro has told me so much about you,” said Arabella.

  Eda’s eyebrows lifted, and she shot a venomous look in Haro’s direction. Just what had he mentioned to this saucy minx? That he had thrown over his cousin and trampled her feelings underfoot?

  “He cherishes you quite dearly, like a younger sister in fact. I have no sisters of my own, and how pleased I am now to have you in place of one.”

  Eda willed her face to remain calm. If Arabella knew about Haro’s past history with his cousin, her comment could only be seen as a calculated attempt to show Eda exactly what her new role was to be.

>   But Eda had never been one to let others dictate her place. She looked up at Arabella, who was several inches taller than her, and smiled silkily. “Yes, how pleasant it will be for all of us. I can see it now, the three of us walking in Hyde Park, with dear Haro in the middle and one of us on either arm. Although I fear that the two of us are so different in looks that people will forever be drawing comparisons—your brown eyes against my blue, your brown hair against my black, your slim figure against my full one.”

  Haro stepped toward the dueling pair, and Eda saw the thunder gathering on his brow. But Eda also knew that the best way to gain the last word was to leave after having said it. “I am so sorry to miss out on the rest of your visit, Arabella, but I have a prior engagement to go riding with a friend. Felicitations, my dear sister! And to you too, my fortunate older brother.” She squeezed Haro’s hand and planted a kiss—a little warmer than sisterly—on the earl’s cheek. Then, turning in triumph, she slipped away to her spurious assignation.

  ***

  Silence rippled through the room. Haro glowered in embarrassment while Lady Anglesford tried to smooth over Eda’s opprobrious behavior with some comments about the weather. Haro had been certain that Eda would do something to upset the conversation, but he had not expected that something to be quite so…so…provocative. His cheek still felt warm from her much too friendly kiss. He raised his hand to wipe off the feeling but lowered it again, afraid that someone would see the gesture.

  “Lady Anglesford,” said Arabella. Haro could see that she intended to regain command of the situation. “My father and I were hoping to invite you to a soirée later this week so that we could further our acquaintance.”

  “You are kindness itself,” said the countess, burying her hands in the folds of her black dress, “but we are not able to attend any gatherings at present…and I fear we will not be long in town.”

  Haro remembered Godwin’s lugubrious recommendation that the town house be sold immediately.

  “Eda, Torin, and I will be retiring to the country. Haro, of course, may stay in London if he chooses.”

  “Are you going to Woldwick then?”

  Haro started. It seemed that Arabella had taken pains to memorize all the place names associated with the Emison family.

  “How I should love to see the home where Haro grew up!” She clapped her hands together in excitement.

  It was cleverly done. After such a pointed exclamation, Lady Anglesford could do nothing else but issue an invitation for Arabella to accompany the family to the countryside. “And perhaps you will wish to bring your chaperone,” she said, looking hesitantly at Mrs. Rollo who had sat as silently as a deaf and dumb servant throughout the course of the visit.

  “Oh, yes! And Father too,” said Arabella quickly. “I know he would love to see the seat of an earl and the future home of his daughter.”

  And wallow in the triumph of his aristocratic conquest, thought Haro. “We would be delighted to have you both at Woldwick,” he said aloud. “Nothing could give me more pleasure.”

  ***

  Haro sat up late in the library that evening, sipping one glass of brandy and then another one and thinking over all the changes the last month had brought. His father’s death had been a blow, and an unexpected one to say the least. Haro had barely come into his majority, and he had not anticipated holding the title of earl at the age of three and twenty. There was so much more of the world to see, so many more larks to be had, but now, he must settle down as the sober, staid head of the family.

  Not that his father had been exactly staid and sober. Haro remembered stumbling in, on more than one occasion, at three o’clock in the morning, his head a little befuddled by drink, and running into his father on the stairs in a similar state of befuddlement.

  “Not a word to your mother!” was his father’s standard greeting.

  “Silent as the grave!” was Haro’s standard response.

  Once, he had met his father by chance at an upscale gaming establishment in St. James’ Street. He had gone there with Guy Pontipale and two other friends, in search of some livelier sport than might be had at White’s. The old earl had given him a nod of recognition and plucked his coat sleeve to pull him aside. “What are you doing here? Your quarterly allowance wouldn’t even cover the stakes for one game.”

  “I should ask you the same,” he had replied, a little put out to be taken to task in full sight of his friends.

  “Something you should know, my boy—a man’s purse is his own. If you have the blunt, you have the right to risk it. You, I know for a fact, do not have the blunt.”

  “Someday I will.”

  “Yes, someday,” his father had said, his lips twisting upward into a curious smile. “And to that end, I’d best get back to my game of faro. Get yourself home, young man, and if you think of it, you could say a little prayer for my luck to rise. Oh, and Haro, don’t tell your m—”

  “I know, I know.” And so Haro had gone home and held his peace—although, in retrospect, life might be running a little more smoothly now if he had mentioned something about his father’s expensive tastes in gaming establishments to his more responsible parent.

  Haro sighed and set down his empty glass. Yawning a little, he climbed the stairs and went down the corridor to his bedroom. Garth, his valet, was waiting up for him—a practice that Haro frequently insisted was unnecessary, but one that Garth considered essential to his vocation.

  “You look a little blue-deviled, m’lord,” said the valet. He was a slight, spry man in the prime of life, his brown hair flecked with gray. He helped Haro out of his tight-fitting jacket and began dusting it off in preparation for hanging it in the wardrobe.

  “I suppose that’s because I am,” said Haro with a sigh. “You heard that we’re bound for Woldwick tomorrow?”

  “Yes, m’lord. And I also heard there might be some congratulations in order?”

  “Thank you, Garth. Yes, it will be in the papers in another day or two.”

  “Her ladyship’s maid gave me the news, and I caught a glimpse of the young lady as she was on her way out today.” The walls had ears in this house, and the servants were well acquainted with the disastrous news that Mr. Godwin had imparted to Lady Anglesford. A penniless earl would have to turn them all out to find other positions, and the family’s plight was just as concerning to them as it was to Haro.

  Garth cleared his throat. “She looked very elegant.”

  “Very elegant, and very rich.”

  “Nothing the matter with that, m’lord.”

  “No,” said Haro thoughtfully, as he unfastened his shirt cuffs. “I suppose not.”

  6

  “Good lord! The fiancée and her father!” said Torin when he heard the news about who would be accompanying them to Woldwick. “Don’t you think that is a bit much?”

  “Mind your tongue, Torin,” said Haro. It was bad enough to have to deal with Eda’s pique, but combating two detractors was the outside of enough.

  “I’m sure this Mr. Hastings wishes to examine his investment,” said Eda, as she directed the footman to bring her brass-bound trunk downstairs and outside to the coach. Dozens of hatboxes soon followed the trunk, carried down the stairs in a parade of bright colors.

  “You certainly didn’t exercise economy in your packing,” observed Torin, and Haro raised an eyebrow as well.

  “Best not to leave anything behind since we don’t know that we’ll ever be coming back to this house. I certainly don’t want any of my hats or dresses put up for auction!”

  “By Jove! You’re right!” exclaimed the young man, and he rushed off to his own bedchamber to ensure that his prized books were added to the packing pile.

  The weather that day was warmer than it had been in months, although Haro had a premonition that winter was far from over. Mr. Hastings insisted on traveling down to the countryside in a procession with the Emisons. Haro was invited to ride with the mill owner, his daughter, and Mrs. Rollo in the Hastin
gs’ smart barouche. He surprised himself by accepting the invitation with enthusiasm, preferring the vulgar remarks of his future father-in-law to the needling remarks of his cousin Eda or the reproachful gaze of Lady Anglesford.

  A coach followed them containing Miss Hastings’ lady’s maid, Mr. Hastings’ valet, and all of the luggage that would not fit in the barouche. Arabella seemed to have exercised as little economy as Eda in her packing. Haro wondered just how long she thought this visit was going to last.

  “Nice country this,” said William Hastings approvingly as they tooled through the hillsides and the winter-worn copses. He squinted hard at every barn and pasture that they passed, figuring up in his head and sharing with the others what each of these farmers must be worth.

  Arabella proved a more entertaining travel companion, quizzing Haro on various landmarks and drawing out stories from his childhood. “There is the tollgate I took at a jump when I was but sixteen.” He rubbed his knee ruefully. “My horse was not as keen as I, and I still have the scar to prove it.”

  “You must tell us when we come close enough to see the manor house from afar,” said Arabella, her shoulder snugged up against his as they shared one side of the barouche.

  “But of course,” said Haro with a smile, pleased to see her interest in his family home. He was making a devil’s bargain in order to keep it in the family, but somehow, as he basked in Arabella’s smiles, that bargain did not seem quite as burdensome as it had initially.

  After a few hours of traveling and a long stop to rest the horses, the top of Woldwick’s towers came at last into view. “There she is,” said Haro proudly. The great house was a model of Elizabethan and Jacobean architecture. It was surrounded on all sides by a gigantic garden laid out in a sort of symmetry with intricate paths threading their way through the manicured plants. Outside the garden lay the country woods, leafless now in the wintry weather but still stately with their long limbs of white, gray, and brown.

  “Who is that old man?” asked Arabella, her bright brown eyes catching sight of a pedestrian on one of the footpaths.