by Julia Donner
“No. He passed away five years ago, long before anyone knew anything about me. He left me everything.”
“Mr. Berger had no children?”
“No. His wife died not long after I came to live with him, and he never wanted to remarry.”
She sensed that he had more to say about the man who adopted him and stayed quiet. A thoughtful frown creased his brow until he eventually spoke what occupied his mind.
“It was a love match between my adoptive parents, even though their parents made the decision and arrangements. She was an heiress from Delaware. The families had business ties. They’d never met but once before the wedding ceremony. Father Berger said he was smitten the instant he saw her, even though he couldn’t accurately describe her afterward. Strange, isn’t that?”
“Not really.” She caught herself disagreeing and looked for the dogs to distract from the blunder. She whistled and they came romping back, dancing around her. With a wave of her hand, she freed them to continue their play.
Loverton put her on the spot when he gently persisted, “You don’t find that strange, that he couldn’t describe her, not even the color of her hair or dress, but knew himself in love?”
Gathering her courage, she answered with what she knew would sound odd, if not daft. “The heart sees what it wants to see. I believe your Mr. Berger saw her with his heart, or his soul, not his eyes.”
“An interesting point of view. Can you explain your opinion in further detail?”
She took a moment to organize her thoughts. “Have you ever met someone and immediately formed a connection? I did that with Allison, Cameron’s wife. The instant she walked into the room, I knew her, felt that I must’ve always known her.”
“I was disappointed not to meet her and look forward to when she returns, but you say that it as if you had known her before.”
He’d posed that as a question. “Well, yes. I think I knew her in heaven. It was an immediate connection for me, although, the artist in me saw more than the soul. I tend to notice features, physical structure and coloration. Allison has lovely brown hair.”
“So you’re saying that Father saw her soul, not her physical self. How intriguing. Yes, I can understand that quite perfectly. What a clever explanation.”
His easy acceptance of what another would set down as outlandish caused a moment of bewilderment. He either had a too-open mind or was merely working up a bit of flattery. She wanted to believe that his flattery was not merely a tactic or stratagem. Not all men were like Vincent. Her brother was not. Neither was Lord Carnall or Lord Asterly.
Loverton broke into her thoughts. “So, are you available for a commission?”
“What?”
“A commission. A portrait?”
Her mind went momentarily blank from concern about the unsettling effects of his personality. An extended period of time was needed to complete a work of art. Would she be able to concentrate?
She scrambled to think and babbled the truth instead of an evasion. “I’ve recently finished one and have no other requests at the moment.”
“Excellent. Will you do one of me? It’s expected, you know, for the Grange gallery, that I sit for an image of the most recent baron.”
How could she get extricated from this without sounding churlish? “But…you haven’t seen any of my work.”
“Actually, I believe I have. There is a landscape of Oakland’s park and dairy in the foyer. Mrs. Bradford caught me admiring it and said it had been done by a member of the family. She meant you, did she not?”
She stopped when he paused to search her face and gauge her reaction. “Yes, I did that, but a landscape rendition is nothing like a portrait. How do you know if I will do as well with portraiture?”
“I suppose it’s as you explained, a matter of intuition. You’ve been honest with me, and I cannot be otherwise with you. If you will permit my saying so, I had the same impression when I first saw you. I mean, that I’d met you before.”
When she stared, speechless, he quickly added, “I haven’t frightened you off with that confession, have I?”
She slowly shook her head, caught in his gaze. The question came out of her mouth before she thought to keep it to herself. “Why are you so different with me?”
“In what way?”
“You have this…wall. An invisible wall that is quite tangible in its way. People do not venture close.”
“And you are not put off by this?”
“Not at all. It’s quite strange, but it’s not there when you’re with me.”
He smiled. “I’m so glad, Miss Bradford. And whether or not you decide to do a likeness of me, I want you to know that you may rely on me for anything. We are related, even though many times removed, but I would hope you would count me as friend. Would you do that, Miss Bradford, consider me a friend?”
She could only nod and stare up at him. He gazed down, a playful gleam of hope and humor in the ebony depths. He’d removed his hat to present his request. A feeble shaft of sun peered through the clouds, lighting his dark hair with a burnt sienna halo. Curls fell over his broad, intelligent brow. A curious need rose up, an inspiration, a yen to capture the curve of his lips, the way one corner quirked up in an inquiring grin.
He broke the spell by shifting the reins to his left hand and offering his right arm. She tucked her gloved fingers into the crook of his elbow. He seemed to take that as an acceptance that she had agreed to the commission. As they walked in silence, the horse plodding in their wake, she had no inclination to disabuse him of that impression.
The gloomy day suddenly looked a bit brighter. She kicked at leaves as they walked in comfortable quiet. The solid strength under her fingertips reminded her of Cameron’s, and it never hurt to have another friend, even if he made her heart beat strangely and made every levelheaded thought evaporate, turning her mind into porridge. And all it took was his smile.
Chapter 6
The idea of another chance meeting with Loverton enticed Agnes to take the dogs for a romp in the woods every morning. She’d rounded the corner of the stable, heading for the trail through the copse, when a man on horseback blocked her path. Startled, she stepped back from the heavily breathing hack, its dark coat lathered and the bit spraying foam over her skirt.
Vernam dismounted, elbowing his horse to sidle sideways. “A good morning to you, my darling Agnes.”
Alarm flashed over her skin, sinking all the way to the bone. She glanced around for the dogs, now out of sight within the trees. The servant’s back entry into the house wasn’t that far away, but she couldn’t leave the dogs to run without supervision. Antony was young enough to get into mischief.
The horse champed on the bit and began to nervously paw the gravel. Anyone who knew anything about horses could see that the animal was not only nervous but in need of a cooling walk. Torn between flight, anxiety about the dogs, and worry for the overheated horse, she allowed her impatience free rein.
“Why are you here, Vincent?”
“To visit, of course. A courtesy call to thank your family for a delightful evening.”
“Your horse requires attention.”
He ignored the admonition. She cringed under his lazy survey of her walking dress. She’d taken extra care in the event she did encounter Loverton, and Vincent’s smirk sent the message that he knew. But there was no way for him to know.
After whistling for the dogs, she looked over her shoulder to see if any of the grooms had heard Vernam arrive and come forward to take his mount. No sign of help from that quarter, but the dogs came bursting out of the tree line at a joyous sprint. The nervy horse lunged back, jerking Vernam’s arm. While he vented his irritation with a vicious whack of his crop on the horse’s shoulder, she grabbed the dogs by their collars.
“Keep those blasted hounds in hand. You,” he shouted at someone behind her, “take my horse and be quick about it.”
“Thank you, Jopp,” she murmured to the groom. “Have him waiting on the
drive after he cools and has a drink. Lord Vernam will not be stopping long.”
Vernam peeled off his gloves. “Don’t be nonsensical, Agnes. I’ve ridden over to visit with your mother and brother. Kennel those mutts and show me inside. I could do with something to drink.”
“You’ll have to show yourself inside. I’m off for a walk. Good day, Vincent.”
When he grabbed her arm, Cleo growled, startling Agnes. She’d never heard the dog do so before. Looking down to where her knuckles glowed from the tight clutch she had on the deerhound’s collar, she saw that Cleo’s coarse fur bristled, hackles raised.
Wisely, Vernam stepped back, eyeing the dog. “Perhaps I should do as you desire.” An unpleasant gleam lurked within his blue eyes. “I’ve long wanted to meet your family. I wonder, do they know about us?”
Terror sliced its sharp chill deep into her chest. She willed her voice to sound calm. “There is no us, Vincent!”
“Now, sweeting, you were with child at one point. Something must have happened with us.”
She forced herself to not glance around to see if anyone overheard. The misery she’d suffered swamped her mind, overwhelming when she needed to keep her wits. The pregnancy hadn’t lasted long, blessedly ending itself, but not before she’d gone to Vincent for help. He’d sent her off with a laugh and the advice to find a way to end the problem and return to him when the unpleasant business was over, the heartless swine.
Fury warred with fear of discovery. How she longed to strike him, tear that horrid grin from his face. Unfortunately, this tormentor knew her well, knew most women well, about what intrigued and enticed them, how to manipulate and use them. Furious tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away. Never again. Not another drop for this fiend.
When she moved to walk around him, he jabbed the point of his crop into her abdomen. “How swiftly you depart, my love. You see, I’ve come to beg your brother to act in my behalf. Since you insist on avoiding me at every turn, I shall ask him to persuade you to do a painting of my pile in Oxford. Apparently you’ve become something of a phenomenon. Everyone wants you. So do I. Perhaps it should be my likeness. Sitting for a portrait provides the perfect opportunity for us to continue our liaison.”
“No, Vincent.”
He slid the tip of the crop up to her the base of her throat. “Think carefully, sweet Agnes. I’ve never liked being thwarted. I can see that you plan to resist, therefore I should explain that I have every intention of using every weapon at my disposal.”
After a soft, menacing chuckle, he lowered the crop. “They think you’re so pure. What would your mother and brother think if they should discover that their precious artist was a wanton?”
“Why do you persist? You know very well that I cannot bear the sight of you.”
“But that is the attraction,” he murmured, then raised his voice to call out, “I say, Sir Cameron, sorry to call so dreadfully early, but is your charming mother at home to a visitor who comes rudely calling before time?”
Cameron answered as his boots crunched across the gravel on the drive. “No. She welcomes visitors at all hours, but I’m on my way to the Grange.”
While Vincent’s attention was elsewhere, she released the dogs and hurried away before Cameron could detain her. She lacked the artifice to hide the riot of emotions clamoring inside. Her brother would immediately sense something wrong.
When she got to the copse, she turned and waved. Cameron lifted his hand but continued to study her as Vincent went to the house. Even though well away from the stable where her brother stood, she could see and sense his concern. She could only pray that he didn’t make inquiries about her odd behavior and that Vincent wouldn’t speak of their affair.
Chapter 7
Max concealed his annoyance when a footman waylaid him as he stepped out of his bedchamber. He didn’t want to be late for an appointment with Sir Cameron. There was so much information to be unearthed and sorted. He wasn’t especially interested in the finances, which were important, but tedious, almost as annoying as the nervous servant clearing his throat for attention.
With only fifty bedrooms, the Grange was not a large house by most estate standards. Lord and Lady Carnall had taken their servants when they vacated, leaving the remaining minimal staff an opportunity for advancement. Max didn’t need to be informed of that nor that the footman before him had hopes for promotion. The agitated young man reeked of his intention.
“My lord, may I have a word?”
Impatient to be on his way to the meeting, Max caught himself from spouting a rude reply. He gave the footman a swift up and down inspection. The fellow was a humble sort, but not obsequious, slender to the edge of thinness, his wig well-tended, and clothes scrupulously neat. Hang it, best to answer and get it out of the way.
“Yes. What is it?”
“I have been asked to inquire as to when your retinue will be arriving.”
He should have expected this and had Sir Cameron make it clear that there would be no hiring of additional servants. After all, he had no interest in living here any longer than necessary.
“The present staff will do. Extra help may be hired on contingency as it is needed. There is a housekeeper, is there not?”
“Yes, my lord, Mrs. Smithers, but she’s getting on, my lord. She came here during the old baron’s days. Will you not require a valet, my lord?”
Max quelled the urge to inhale a deep, patience sustaining breath. He made a quick decision. “I suppose the services of one will be needed from time to time. Are you up to the task?”
“Certainly, my lord. You only need to ring. If you please, I could go through your baggage and clean—”
“There is only one trunk and a valise.”
The footman failed to mask his shock. “Only one, my lord?”
“Yes, whatever your name is. I’m not a dandy, not by the farthest stretch of anyone’s imagination. What is your name?”
“James, my lord. I might add that all the footmen at the Grange are called James.”
“Devil take that. I will call all of you by your given names. You’re not a litter of puppies.”
“Yes, my lord, as you wish.”
“Well?”
“My name is Timothy Lark, my lord.”
“Very good, Lark. Here is what you will do. Go downstairs and tell them that you are now acting as my valet. Ask Mrs. Smithers to see me later today after my meeting with Sir Cameron. Do you happen to know where he’s been put?”
“The Chamberlain’s office. Shall I show the way, my lord?”
“Not necessary. Easy enough to find. It’s on the third floor, most likely facing south.”
“Exactly, my lord. Shall I serve tea or bring up another bottle of claret?”
Patience at an end, Max headed for the staircase, tossing over his shoulder, “Our hands aren’t broken. We can do for ourselves. No interruptions, please.”
The door to the office had been left ajar. Through the gap, Max saw Sir Cameron at a long table burdened by ledgers, books, and documents piled high in orderly stacks.
Sir Cameron looked up from a ledger. “Good morning, my lord. How was your fourth night at the Grange?”
“Restful, thank you.” Max surveyed the intimidating array of papers and ledgers. “You didn’t expect us to go through all of this in a day.”
“Certainly not. I should imagine that would take months. I pulled down whatever I thought you might like to see first. The estate is not extensive but it is handsomely productive. Have you had any interest in agriculture?”
“None whatsoever. Although I’ve been a city fellow, I prefer woodlands.”
Sir Cameron nodded as he closed and set aside two ledgers. “We’ll leave the farming side of things for later and start on the financial ledgers. How far back would you like to see?”
Max made a swift calculation, going back to the year his parents died. “First, did you have responsibility for the estate before you went to sea?”
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p; “No. That would have been in my father’s time as steward. It was the previous Lord Loverton’s wish that I carry on after my father, but I had my sights set on the Navy.”
“Then who took over after your father?”
Max made an impatient noise when Sir Cameron hesitated before giving an answer. His reply was larded with dark meaning. “The previous factor. He left the country not long ago.”
“I see. You do not recall his name?”
“Sir Edmund Hammond. To be honest, it was suggested that he leave the country as soon as possible or risk imprisonment. He stole extensively from the estate. Some of those monies have been recovered.”
Max approached the table where Sir Cameron stood straight and grim about the mouth. “Were you planning on telling me the details of this unsavory tale and of other state particulars this morning?”
“I had thought to judge your interest. Some landowners have none whatsoever in estate management, merely what to expect from the income, but now I see that you are not of that sort.”
“No, sir, I am not one to fritter away my monetary resources with gambling and trussing myself up like a fop in a cutaway too tight for breathing.”
Sir Cameron paused. “I have deduced that you are an educated man. Did you have a profession before coming into your inheritance?”
Max began to stroll around the room, investigating the shelved books and ledgers. “No. My guardian had groomed me for political life. He left me comfortably situated. The settling of his affairs took time and is still not completely resolved. I read law at Harvard and had considered statesmanship. Spent many years in the society of my guardian’s friends, all of them in one government position or another. I find myself occupied by a personal injustice at present.”
When Cameron didn’t show an interest in knowing more about the oblique remark, Max paused to look around. “This is not much in the way of a library to my way of thinking. It’s mostly works regarding agriculture and land management.”
“This is not the library. Your predecessor was an avid collector of books. The rare, old, and new of every subject.” When Max turned away from inspecting the shelved works, he raised his eyebrows as a silent indication for Sir Cameron to continue.
