title page
Lady Hartley’s Inheritance
Wendy Soliman
...
Aurora Regency
An imprint of
Musa Publishing
Copyright Information
Lady Hartley’s Inheritance, Copyright © Wendy Soliman, 2011
All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.
...
This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.
...
Musa Publishing
633 Edgewood Ave
Lancaster, OH 43130
www.musapublishing.com
...
Published by Musa Publishing, October, 2011
...
This e-Book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this ebook can be reproduced or sold by any person or business without the express permission of the publisher.
...
ISBN: 978-1-61937-075-3
...
Editor: Celina Summers
Cover Design: Kelly Shorten
Interior Book Design: Coreen Montagna
Chapter One
London 1820
“Oh, how delightful!”
Lucien Deverill, the Fifth Earl of Newbury, looked up from his breakfast. “What news have you received that so delights you, Mother?”
“Why, dear Clarissa, of course.”
“Dear Clarissa?” Who the devil was “dear Clarissa”?
The countess sighed. “You have no idea whom I’m talking about, do you, dear?”
“Er, well…”
“Oh, Lucien, sometimes I despair of you of you, I really do. Surely you remember Clarissa? She’s my goddaughter, and at last she’s accepted my invitation to come and stay with me. I couldn’t be more pleased.”
“Ah, Your goddaughter, you say?”
Luc feigned interest, but in reality his mind was still occupied by the events of the night before. He really ought to know better than to attempt to keep pace with Felix Western when the mood for celebration came upon him. When it came to imbibing, his friend had a head as hard as granite. In future Luc wouldn’t be swept along by Felix’s outlandish schemes, however great the temptation. Last night the inducement, supplied in the form of Emily Stokes, had been considerable. But Luc had a steady stream of attractive women available to him. Accommodating and inventive though Emily had been, she wasn’t worth the debilitating headache he was wrestling with this morning and for which he held her entirely responsible.
Luc needed to be alert at the best of times to follow his mother’s disjointed monologues. She had a disconcerting habit of flitting from one subject to another without warning, and today Luc was completely unequal to the task of keeping pace with her.
“Lucien dear, you don’t remember at all, do you?” The countess wagged an admonishing finger in his direction.
“Er, not entirely,” he admitted sheepishly.
That was all the encouragement that Marcia, Countess of Newbury, required.
“Clarissa is Alexander Sneddon’s daughter — ”
“Buried somewhere in deepest Cumberland, if memory serves.”
“Northumberland, dear. Anyway, Alexander died three years ago, and so Clarissa married her neighbour, Michael Hartley.”
“Good God!” Luc snapped his head up so abruptly that he was obliged to pause until the ensuing pain receded. “I remember him. He was the famous Egyptologist, and a contemporary of Sneddon’s, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, dear, they were of an age.”
“Then why did this Clarissa marry a man old enough to be her father?”
“Because they were business partners, of course.” His mother made it sound as if it ought to be obvious. “The father and Hartley, that is. They have adjoining estates and were building up a prize herd of sheep of some sort. Or was it cattle? I never can quite remember. Anyway, I know Clarissa was closely involved with it all, and when her father died she couldn’t just carry on flitting in and out of Hartley’s home without a chaperone, could she now? I mean, people do gossip so.”
Luc’s lips twitched. “It was a marriage of convenience then?”
“Well, possibly, but I’m sure there must have been some love involved. On Clarissa’s part at least.”
“Oh, undoubtedly.” Luc’s mother was a hopeless romantic, who thought the best of everyone. “And what age is Clarissa?”
“Oh, I’m not altogether sure.” The countess waved her hand vaguely about. “No more than five and twenty, I don’t suppose.”
“So, I suppose we must expect your Clarissa to bring her decrepit husband with her on this visit.” Luc shuddered at the prospect.
His mother sighed. “Lucian, I swear you never listen to a word I say.”
“On the contrary, Mother, I hang on your every word.”
“Well then, you’ll know that unfortunately dear Michael recently died also.”
“Oh, God!” Luc placed his elbows on the table and dropped his aching head into his splayed hands. “Not a drooping widow, weeping and wailing all over the place, Mother, I beg of you. What sins have we committed to have such a creature foisted upon us?” Well, Luc could think of several actually, executed as recently as last night, but his mother didn’t need to be made aware of that.
“Don’t be so foolish, dear. Michael died more than fifteen months ago.”
“Ah good, then we’ll be spared the widows weeds. I suppose that’s something.”
“Show a little respect, dear.” His mother’s reproachful tone was mild. “I’ve been begging Clarissa to come to town for months now, and at last she’s ready to oblige me. It seems she must call upon her man of business, and thought to combine that necessity with a visit to me. How delightful! I must start making plans at once.”
The pleasure his mother took from her god-daughter’s forthcoming visit was almost sufficient to relieve Luc’s headache, and he offered her an indulgent smile. The countess’s elevated position within the ton guaranteed that Clarissa Hartley would be welcomed everywhere, and Luc didn’t doubt that his mother would enjoy introducing her into society. He also accepted that he would inevitably form part of her plans in that respect. Well, just so long as “dear” Clarissa didn’t intend to make her visit a lengthy one, then for his mother’s sake, Luc would dutifully play his part without complaint. The prospect of squiring an unfashionable country widow about town didn’t exactly appeal, but he knew well enough that argument upon the subject would prove futile. Besides, it was quite beyond Luc to deny his mother anything. Her pleasure would just have to be his reward.
“When can we expect to receive the pleasure of Lady Hartley’s company?”
“Why, next week, dear, which means we’ll be able to take her to Lady Cowley’s ball. It will be such fun.”
“Yes,” agreed Luc gloomily. “I dare say it will.”
The countess continued to read her letter and munch upon a slice of toast simultaneously. “Oh dear, that won’t do at all.”
“What won’t do, Mother?”
“Clarissa says she can only stay for two weeks, which isn’t nearly long enough for all the enter
tainments I already have in mind.” The countess shook her head. “There’s no help for it, she’ll just have to make it longer than that. I have already quite set my heart upon taking her to Mrs. Cassidy’s rout.”
“Perhaps the sheep can’t spare her for any longer.”
“Don’t be fatuous, Lucien. It’s a most unbecoming trait in a gentleman.” The countess sounded almost severe, which was quite out of character, and Luc regretted his flippancy. He wouldn’t spoil her pleasure for the world.
Rising from the table, he wearily acknowledged that he was getting too old for all this carousing. Not so long ago he could have matched Felix Western drink for drink without feeling the effects, but now that he’d reached the ancient age of thirty, those days appeared to be behind him. He leaned over cautiously and kissed his mother’s forehead with genuine affection. Straightening up again to his full six foot three, he excused himself and left the breakfast parlour.
When Luc entered his library a short time later, he found Simms — his valet, secretary, and general factotum — awaiting him.
“God, Simms, fetch me some water will you? My throat is parched.”
“At once, my lord.”
Luc threw himself into his chair and sighed. “My mother is inflicting some country widow upon us next week.”
“Indeed, my lord? How tiresome.”
“My thoughts exactly, Simms. You must protect me from her at all costs.”
“Naturally, my lord.”
“Good, I’m glad that’s settled. Now, what business do we have that can’t wait?”
“Just a few items, my lord.” Simms placed several letters in front of Luc.
“This can wait and so can this.” Luc cast the items casually aside. “Hello, what’s this?” He picked up a thick cream parchment, penned in a lady’s flowery hand. It exuded a cloying perfume that put Luc instantly on his guard. He studied it cautiously, absently taking in the unusual gold embossing which formed a distinctive patterned border around the expensive paper.
“It was delivered by hand this morning, my lord.”
Luc broke the seal, read the letter rapidly and, shrugging, consigned it to the fire.
“I take it you have no answer to send, my lord?”
“God no! Emily Stokes was accommodating enough last evening, but I have no wish to repeat the experience. Anything else?”
“The Earl of Brabbington sent his man with a reminder that you are engaged to take luncheon with his lordship at White’s today.”
“Oh, hell and damnation, I’d forgotten all about that. Can’t I get out of it, Simms? I feel ghastly. Shouldn’t be surprised if I was going down with something contagious.”
Simms appeared unmoved by Luc’s plight. “I think not, my lord,” he said. “His lordship wished to discuss investing a large amount in the bonds, if you recall. It wouldn’t do to offend him.”
Luc handled investments on behalf of a number of his aristocratic acquaintances and had a reputation for being successful. It was fast reaching the point where he had more clients than he could reasonably represent. But Brabbington was important, and Luc knew he would have to keep his engagement.
“Yes, all right, Simms, I suppose I must.” Luc’s words were accompanied by a martyred sigh. “Now, is there anything else?”
“Nothing at this moment, my lord.”
“In that case I shall ride in the park and attempt to clear my head.”
Clarissa Hartley looked out of her carriage window for what seemed like the thousandth time that day and barely suppressed a sigh. She drummed her fingers against the worn velvet squabs in a vain attempt to hide her anxiety, thinking about all the things that she ought to be doing instead of wasting days in a carriage on its way to London. Agnes, her maid, patted her mistress’s hand.
“Try to relax, my lady,” she said, soothingly. “It won’t be much longer now.”
“How can I relax, Agnes? It’s ridiculous that I must go to London at all, but to leave Fairlands at this time of year is just too much to ask. What can possibly be so pressing about Michael’s estate that I must see Mr. Twining in person?”
“These things are always more complicated than one imagines, my lady. But no doubt this visit will see an end to the legal matters, and you will have full access to the estate’s funds at last.”
“Not before time! But it’s so unlike Mr. Twining to procrastinate. My father and Michael both found Mr. Twining Senior to be efficiency itself. That’s why they left their business with the son when he removed to London after his father’s death.”
“Well, there you are then.”
“Perhaps he just requires my signature to bring matters to a conclusion.” Clarissa brightened at the prospect.
“You look so like your mother when you take on that expression.”
She could feel Agnes’s eyes upon her, assessing her, as she twisted her hands anxiously in her lap. Beneath her tattered gloves her hands were blistered and torn, thanks to the continual demands placed upon her by hard, manual work. Clarissa offered up a silent prayer that this visit to Twining would indeed put an end to all of that. When the estates were legally transferred to her, she would be able to leave the manual labour to those physically better suited to carry it out. She’d die rather than admit it to anyone, least of all Agnes, but the fact of the matter was that she was both physically and mentally exhausted as a result of trying to keep her head above water these last months.
“I do so hope that Blazon will be all right without me.” Clarissa’s respite from anxiety had been fleeting, and her brow was again wrinkled with concern. “I have never left him for so long before.”
“My lady, he’s but a falcon. He’ll be right as a ram’s horn with Masters to look out for him.”
“Maybe so, but he’s accustomed to me, and I’m sure he’ll pine for want of my company. He’s very sensitive, you know.” Clarissa had rescued the injured young falcon from certain death and hand reared it. Agnes often voiced the opinion that the bird would give its life for Clarissa. Indeed, more tenacious than the fiercest of guard dogs, Blazon protected Clarissa with a singled-minded, unwavering devotion that had been described by some of her less generous male neighbours as unnatural. “And the lambing isn’t over yet. What if there are complications that Masters can’t handle?”
Agnes rolled her eyes. “Do stop fretting so. Have you ever known Masters to find himself in a situation he couldn’t resolve?”
“N-No.” Clarissa made the concession grudgingly. “I suppose not. But still, my absence is irksome and unnecessary.”
Clarissa fell silent. They were reaching the outskirts of London at last, and she could tell that she was losing her maid’s attention as she gazed with increased enthusiasm out of the carriage window. Agnes had originally come from London and only moved to the north when Clarissa’s mother had married Sir Alexander. Clarissa didn’t think Agnes had returned to London once in all the intervening years, and had delighted in her excitement when she learned of Clarissa’s planned trip to stay with the Countess of Newbury. Her unbridled enthusiasm now that they reached the capital was infectious; with an indulgent smile, Clarissa asked Agnes to describe exactly where they were.
“I’m so looking forward to seeing my godmother again,” she said when Agnes finally stopped extolling the virtues of the capital. “It has been an age since we last met. It’s so kind of her to take an interest in me still after all this time.”
“Lady Deverill was such a good friend to your mother. She promised that she’d always look out for you.”
“Yes, and she’s been a most diligent correspondent over the years.” Clarissa’s bright smile gave way to a frown. “But it’s the thought of her son that concerns me. He has a terrible reputation as a rake, you know. That doesn’t matter to me, of course. But still, I disapprove of a gentleman with so many advantages in life being so morally lax.”
“I hear tell that he’s very handsome,” Agnes said, artfully.
“Perhaps he is,
but why should that be of any concern to me? I shall see as little of him as possible and spend my time — most agreeably, I have no doubt — with Aunt Marcia. I just hope that she doesn’t try and make his lordship accompany us when we venture out. That would be an agony for us both, I’m sure. Anyway, I expect he has better things to occupy his time.” Clarissa spoke in a dismissive tone and turned her attention once again to the bustling streets.
“Now come on, Agnes, tell me more about your time in London with my mother, before she married my father. Tell me again how beautiful she was, and how celebrated.”
Their surroundings were rapidly improving as the carriage made steady progress through ever wider and grander streets.
For the first time it occurred to Clarissa that she would be spending the next two weeks in very august company. Delighted at the thought of being reunited with her godmother, she hadn’t considered her situation in that light before.
She glanced dubiously at her scruffy attire and experienced a momentary lack of confidence. “I feel the need for reassurance,” she added, almost to herself.
Chapter Two
Luc covered the short distance home on foot, the determination in his long stride and his grim expression lending proof to his towering rage. The pleasantness of the mild spring afternoon went unnoticed as his black mood took a tighter hold.
Brabbington had invited him to luncheon for a second time. On this occasion they’d dined at his residence in Sloane Street. Luc had supposed that they would take their meal alone as they agreed on the arrangements for his investment. Instead he’d been compelled to endure Lady Brabbington alternately pushing her ridiculous daughter at him and then blatantly flirting with him herself. God, what a bore it had been! The singularly unattractive chit had looked at him through timidly adoring eyes. She simpered, blushed, and appeared to be incapable of stringing her words together to form so much as one intelligible sentence.
Did Brabbington really think that he managed funds because he needed the blunt? The notion was laughable. Surely he knew just how well placed he was and that he looked upon his financial machinations as nothing more than a cerebral challenge? Possibly not, since Luc could think of no other reason why Brabbington would expect him to show an interest in his mousy, but exceptionally well-dowered, daughter.
Lady Hartley's Inheritance Page 1
