The Daring Exploits of a Runaway Heiress

by Victoria Alexander

  “I do hope so.” She cast him her brightest smile. “I have come to see Lord Northrup.” She presented him with her calling card. “And this is my friend, Miss West.”

  “Is he expecting you?” The butler glanced at the card. “Miss Merryweather?”

  “He couldn’t possibly as I didn’t expect to be here myself.” Again she smiled.

  Clara stepped forward. “Miss Merryweather has recently arrived from New York and, as she was uncertain as to the length of her stay, she did not think she would have time to pay a call on his lordship. She certainly would have made prior arrangements if she had. Fortunately her plans have changed and she would like nothing more than to pay her respects to his lordship, her cousin.”

  “I was unaware that his lordship had any American relations,” the butler said coolly.

  “Then isn’t this a delightful surprise for you.” Lucy beamed. She had recently learned the enjoyment of saying exactly what you thought and allowing people to think you had no idea what you had just said. Because you were short and blond and perky. “My dear Mister . . . ?”

  “Clarkson.”

  “Mr. Clarkson.” Lucy leaned toward him in a confidential manner. “Would you rather have us come in, out of the cold, and be right when your suspicions are confirmed that we are not who we say we are, or refuse us entry and be wrong?” She shook her head regretfully. “I can’t imagine his lordship would be happy about that.”

  The butler’s gaze swept over them, no doubt judging the quality of their clothing and their overall appearance. Apparently, they passed his inspection.

  “You have a point, miss.” He opened the door wider and waved them in. “If you would be so good as to wait here.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Clarkson,” Lucy said pleasantly.

  The butler nodded and left them in the foyer under the watchful eye of a young footman who looked more curious than vigilant.

  “I have always fought to have my intelligence acknowledged,” Clara said in a low tone for Lucy’s ears alone. “Perhaps I would do better to rely on a brilliant smile and a pleasant demeanor.”

  “Oh, I am unfailingly pleasant.” Lucy tried and failed to keep a smug note from her voice. “It works quite nicely.”

  A minute later the butler returned and ushered them into a parlor. Decorated in the furnishings of another era, there was a worn and vaguely tired air to the room. The weak winter sunlight filtering in through the tall windows did nothing to dispel the sense that this parlor had seen better days. A distinguished-looking gentleman, who appeared a little older than her father, stood near the mantel. A lady, obviously his wife, who must have been quite pretty in her youth, perched on a nearby sofa. They appeared more intrigued than forbidding and relief washed through Lucy.

  “Well, well,” Lord Northrup said with a smile. “Clarkson informs us I have a cousin that I am unaware of.” His gaze shifted between Lucy and Clara. “Which one of you—”

  “I’m Lucy Merryweather and this is my friend, Miss West.” Lucy smiled. “Your grandfather’s sister was my great-grandmother.”

  “My grandfather’s sister . . .” The older man drew his brows together thoughtfully.

  “It was a very long time ago,” Lucy added.

  “Of course,” Lady Northrup said. “You remember, dear. You said your grandfather used to talk about his sister. How she had married and gone to America?”

  Lord Northup nodded slowly. “Priscilla, I believe her name was.” He studied Lucy curiously. “Your great-grandmother, you say?”

  Lucy nodded. “I know this must strike you as being very odd, but my Great-aunt Lucinda, one of Priscilla’s daughters, always wanted to know why her mother never spoke of her family. When she died she left me her, well, a journal of sorts, and one of the things she regretted in life was not knowing what happened between her mother and her mother’s family. And, as I was in London, I thought I would try to find out.” Saying it aloud did sound a little silly even if it was the truth. “I was hoping you could help me.”

  “As you said, it was a very long time ago,” Lord Northrup said slowly. “Perhaps you should follow me into the library.”

  Lady Northrup rose to her feet. “There is something you might like to see.”

  Lucy and Clara traded glances, then trailed after the couple into a room lined with bookshelves divided by rich, dark wood panels. Portraits and paintings, landscapes and country scenes covered every bit of wall space, and the overall impression was one of a room nearly ready to burst with books and memories. It smelled of sweet pipe tobacco and that wonderful mustiness that can only come from very old books, better loved through the years than cared for. Unlike the parlor, this room seemed more comfortable than merely worn.

  “I have always agreed with that old adage about a picture being far more effective in the telling of a story than mere words.” Lord Northrup chuckled. He and his wife stopped in front of a large portrait of a family, the paint crazed with age, the gilded frame chipped at the corners as if it had been moved and hung more than once through the years.

  “The shorter boy, who looks as if he would rather be anywhere but posing for a painting, is my grandfather. The taller boy is his older brother. Note how the artist caught that gleam in his eye. As if he’s just waiting for adventure to present itself.”

  Lucy nodded and studied the painting. There was indeed a sense of restrained excitement about the figure of the older boy, as if, with very little effort, he would leap out of the painting and seize whatever opportunity came along.

  “Although spirit in the heir to a title is not especially encouraged,” his lordship said. “The gentleman who looks as if his cravat is tied entirely too tight is my great-grandfather, the third Viscount Northrup, and the lady who appears from her expression to have just eaten something sour—”

  “Now, now, dear,” Lady Northrup murmured.

  “Well, she does.” He grinned at Lucy. “I’ve thought that since I was a boy and I think the same every time I look at her. I’ve always wanted to commission a painter to change her expression just a bit, but apparently the original artist was quite accomplished, even if nobody remembers him now, and my wife insists tampering with his work would be wrong.”

  Lady Northrup’s lips curved upward in a tolerant smile.

  “But, as I was saying, that’s my great-grandmother, and the little blond girl”—he glanced at Lucy—“that was Priscilla.”

  “She’s lovely,” Clara murmured.

  “Indeed she was.” His lordship nodded. “And just as lovely when she grew up. But she made the mistake of falling in love with an American.”

  Lucy’s brow rose. “Mistake?”

  “According to my great-grandfather it was more than a mere mistake, it was the gravest of sins.”

  “Just because he was American?” Lucy frowned in patriotic indignation. “That was rather unfair of him.”

  “He didn’t see it that way.” Lord Northrup shook his head. “You have to remember the times they lived in. He saw Priscilla’s choice as a betrayal of her family and of her country. Understandable, when you think about it.” He nodded toward the portrait. “The older boy, Robert, was heir to the title. Naturally, he had been trained for his position as the next viscount and, from what I’ve been told, would have been most successful. He was said to have had a brilliant mind when it came to the management of finances. Something that eluded my grandfather, my father, and myself. We’ve all had to marry well to shore up the family coffers.” He cast an affectionate look at his wife. “Isn’t that right, dear?”

  “It is something of a family tradition.” In spite of her agreement, the twinkle in Lady Northrup’s eyes said their marriage was based on more than her dowry.

  “A tradition that will unfortunately have to continue. Such is life these days.” He heaved a resigned sigh. “But I digress. As I was saying, that adventurous streak in Robert led him to purchase a commission in the army, against his father’s objections. Young men do tend to think t
hey’re invulnerable, you know.”

  Lucy and Clara nodded.

  “He was killed during your Revolutionary War in one of the Carolinas, I believe. My grandfather said his father never got over it. He disowned Priscilla and never forgave her.” His lordship shook his head. “My grandfather never forgave himself for not standing up for his sister. For allowing her to leave.” He paused thoughtfully. “I don’t know if he ever wrote to her or attempted to locate her. I do know he never saw her again and that was one of the great regrets of his life.”

  “How very sad,” Lucy said softly.

  “It is always sad when families have irreconcilable rifts.” Lady Northrup sighed.

  “I daresay your Lucinda would have appreciated your efforts to set to rights this regret of hers.” His lordship cast Lucy a genuine smile. “And I must say I’m delighted to have at last reunited two halves of my family.”

  Lucy stared at the little girl in the painting. “It’s such a shame it couldn’t have happened when they were still alive.”

  “Unfortunately, what’s done is done.” Lord Northrup shrugged. “One cannot change the past, only reconcile oneself with it.”

  “Now then, it’s nearly time for tea. I do hope you will join us.” Lady Northrup hooked her arm through Lucy’s and led the group back to the parlor. “I know we are both wondering how Priscilla fared in America and curious as well about the rest of your family. It isn’t often one finds an entire branch of the family one has no knowledge of.”

  “I don’t know that tea will be enough,” his lordship said wryly. “After all, it’s been a hundred years or so.”

  “We will just have to try our best,” Lucy said with a smile.

  Until now, Lucy really hadn’t considered that in finding the answer to Lucinda’s question about her mother’s family, Lucy would find an entirely new family of her own. It was as odd as it was exciting.

  For the next hour, Lucy and her new relatives traded family connections, who was related to whom, family stories, and even a scandal or two. The older couple was warm and welcoming, and Lucy couldn’t have been more delighted with her reception. In spite of their cultural differences, Lord Northrup and her father had a great deal in common. She suspected Harold Merryweather and Lord Northrup might end up being great friends one day. She wondered exactly how to phrase her next letter home without revealing more than she wanted her parents to know.

  “Clarkson tells me we have heretofore unknown relatives visiting from America.” A tall, dashing, fair-haired man strode into the room, then pulled up short. “But he failed to mention they were still here.” He flashed an infectious grin. “Or that they were so lovely.”

  “Alfred.” Lady Northrup’s brow furrowed. “Do try not to enter a room as if you were an invading army bent on conquest.”

  “Sorry, Mother.” Alfred stepped to her side and brushed his lips across her proffered cheek. “It’s not everyday I learn of fresh blood in the family.”

  Lady Northrup winced.

  Her husband chuckled. “Allow me to introduce your distant cousin, Miss Lucy Merryweather, and her friend Miss West. This is my son, Alfred.”

  “Miss Merryweather.” Alfred moved to her, bent low and took her hand. His gaze locked with hers. “I cannot tell you what a genuine pleasure this is.”

  Lucy stared into his blue eyes, eyes that looked vaguely familiar. At once it struck her that Alfred’s eyes were the same shape and color as her father’s and her brothers’ and her own. “Lucy will do.”

  “And you must call me Freddy.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “My father only refers to me as Alfred on formal occasions or when I’ve done something he deems unsuitable. My mother, however, routinely calls me Alfred. She thinks Freddy is entirely too frivolous for a future viscount. I think it suits me. What do you think?”

  “I have no idea.” She studied him, then grinned. “But I think you’re probably right. You do look much more like a Freddy than an Alfred.”

  He laughed, released her hand, and turned to Clara, taking her hand as well and staring at her as if he had just discovered a sweet he hadn’t realized he’d been deprived of. “Miss West, how very nice to meet you.”

  “Mr. Rutledge.” Clara nodded politely.

  His eyes narrowed. “You’re not American.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Miss West is my traveling companion and my dear friend,” Lucy said. “My . . . my family thought it best for me not to travel unaccompanied.”

  “Quite right.” Lord Northrup nodded.

  “That would be terribly improper,” Lady Northrup added.

  “I see.” Freddy cast a last appreciative look at Clara, then turned his attention back to Lucy. “Is this your first trip to England?”

  “It is indeed.” Lucy nodded enthusiastically. “I’m finding it all fascinating. We don’t have castles, you know, or ancient ruins. It’s all so terribly historic and old.”

  “We are nothing if not old.” Freddy chuckled.

  “You must allow Alfred to show you the sights of London,” Lady Northrup said.

  “I was about to suggest the very same thing.” Freddy grinned. “I would like nothing better than to escort two such lovely ladies around my fair city.”

  “What a wonderful idea, Freddy.” Lucy smiled. “That would be delightful.”

  The look in Clara’s eyes clearly said she was not in complete agreement. One did have to wonder if it was Freddy’s willingness to offer himself as a tourist guide or his obvious interest in her that Clara objected to.

  Arrangements were made for Freddy to call on them in the next few days along with promises to return for dinner before Lucy returned to America. Lucy declined both the offer of a Northrup carriage to return them to Channing House and Freddy’s suggestion that he escort them, insisting that it was entirely too much trouble, they had been most kind already, and besides she did enjoy a brisk walk. She and Clara took their leave and Lucy was surprised to find it was far later than she had thought and dusk was nearly upon them.

  “You didn’t like him, did you?” Lucy said the moment the door closed behind him.

  “On the contrary. I thought his lordship was most charming. He and Lady Northrup were far more gracious and welcoming than I expected. After all, you were a bit of a surprise.”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

  “Indeed I do.” Clara smiled in a wry manner.

  “Why didn’t you like him? Freddy, that is. I thought he was charming and rather witty as well.” Lucy paused. “And he did seem to like you.”

  “Possibly.” Clara picked up her pace and Lucy had to hurry to keep up with the taller woman’s longer strides.

  “He was quite handsome, really. He reminded me very much of my brothers. And tall as well. Taller than you, and I would think that would be a most attractive—”

  “Lucy.” Clara halted without warning and stared. “If I didn’t know better I would think you were trying to make a match for me.”

  Lucy gasped in feigned indignation. “Why, I would never think of such a thing.” Although she had thought exactly that. “But now that you have brought up the idea—”

  “Now that I have, we may put it behind us and go on.” Clara nodded and started off again. “I am not in the market for a husband, thank you very much.”

  “But you’re not opposed to a husband, are you?”

  “Not in principle.”

  “Freddy does seem like a good sort. Besides, it was obvious, from what his father said and the vaguely shabby state of the house, that he too will have to marry well. You have a fortune and he needs one and—”

  “Lucy!” Clara stopped in midstep and laughed. “My financial circumstances are quite sound, but not nearly grand enough to be a suitable match for a viscount.”

  “But—”

  “I don’t know how things of this nature are done in your country, but in England the daughters of merchants, no matter how wealthy, do not marry futur
e lords. It simply isn’t the way things are done here.”

  “Well, that’s just silly.” Lucy sniffed. “Why, it’s eighteen eighty-eight. We’re approaching the twentieth century. It’s not the Middle Ages after all. It seems to me if two people care for each other, it shouldn’t matter who they are or what they have or don’t have.”

  “Regardless, it does. All that history you are so admiring of here comes with a price. This is the way it has always been and the way it shall always be. Besides . . .” She resumed walking and shot Lucy a chastising look. “I’ve only just met the man and I’m not at all sure he’s to my liking.”

  “What kind of man would you like?” Lucy adopted a casual tone. “I have brothers and—”

  “Do you do this sort of thing in New York?”

  Lucy drew her brows together in confusion. “What sort of thing?”

  “Attempt to make matches.”

  “Well, no, not that I can recall.” It had just seemed such a good opportunity as Freddy was so obviously taken with Clara. Still, it was probably time to change the subject. “I think that went well. I quite enjoyed our visit.”

  Clara slanted her a knowing smile. “It was very pleasant. In addition, you now have the answer to your great-aunt’s curiosity about her mother’s rift with her family. And you’ve seen where she was born.” Clara nodded. “You may check those off your list.”

  “Plus I have solved a mystery of sorts. Yet another thing Lucinda wished to accomplish.” Lucy thought for a moment. “Through no fault of my own, really. Although, I suspect Lucinda had in mind a mystery of a more adventurous nature than discovering—”

  Without warning a man passing by jostled them, then sprinted off.

  Clara huffed. “I must say that was—”

  “He took my purse! He snatched it off my arm!” Lucy started after him. “Come back here, you cur!”

  “Lucy.” Clara grabbed her arm. “You can’t go after him.”

  “Of course I . . .” She huffed. “No, of course I can’t. Not in these shoes. And I suppose it would be unseemly to go running down the street.”