‘I believe you mean that to be a compliment, Caroline,’ he said, his voice laced with sarcasm.
‘Of course. You are the most prominent businessman in the area; everyone expects you to be single-minded in pursuit of your interests.’
‘Not at the expense of moral considerations, I hope?’
She did not respond directly; instead, observing, ‘People look to you for guidance and you must act accordingly, even if the outcome is sometimes unpleasant.’
‘But never sacrificing, for example, fairness, trust or loyalty? Noblesse oblige – surely that must be your view, knowing your sense of rectitude?’ he pressed, still in an ironic tone.
‘I suppose so, although one cannot expect uneducated people to have opinions on the matter,’ she said, grudgingly.
Mrs Nash uttered an appreciative titter. ‘Very true, my dear.’
Gil stared. There was a long silence before he said tersely, ‘In my experience, ignorance through lack of education is no bar to understanding right from wrong. Even the simplest creature understands that principle.’
Caroline’s reply was to smile sweetly and say she looked forward to him dining with them the following day. Gil, finding himself completely out of charity with her, was not sorry to see Caroline and her mother depart a short time later.
He studied the neat, rolling landscape through the window afterwards with an unseeing gaze and wondered what was wrong with him. He had come to believe Caroline was the sort of wife he needed: calm, ordered, and efficient. Gil was unsure exactly how or when he reached this decision. It had occurred by some sort of osmosis because Caroline was always there and, eventually, it seemed the inevitable outcome. He felt no deep passion or love, but whether this was Caroline’s fault or his own, he did not know; she was not a woman to indulge in displays of affection and he … well, he wondered if he was capable of the passionate relationship enjoyed by others, including his own sister and her husband.
He had never fallen in love and believed, at two and thirty, he was past doing so. He had desired women in the past and experienced pleasant flirtations, but the deepest part of his being had never been engaged. Perhaps this was simply not a facet of his character and the thought he was not destined for a marriage with love, humour, and desire at its core saddened him.
So if such a marriage was unattainable, he should settle for what he could achieve. And yet, although he knew Caroline expected him to offer for her, thus far he could not bring himself to utter the words. He found her coldness annoying of late and since his trip to London, he felt even more dissatisfaction. Gil blamed the bizarre details of the will for this and hoped his discontent was temporary. It had to be. He must put his mind to business and, when things were more settled, offer Caroline marriage.
Meanwhile, he needed to prevent a pair of blue eyes, brimful of amusement and disdain, from continually intruding upon his thoughts.
Unlike his cousin, Piers Kilworth had eagerly anticipated the reading of the will. He waited to be summoned in the weeks following his uncle’s death until one of his creditors – a fellow more pressing and unpleasant than the rest – forced him to decamp hurriedly from his lodgings in St James’s. Thinking it wiser to leave no forwarding address, Piers took full advantage of his friends’ hospitality and rusticated for a month.
When he returned to find the note from Deathridge, Flyte and Bartley, he cursed his luck at missing the appointment by a single day but was not unduly perturbed; he could wait a little longer for confirmation of his inheritance. The following morning, he shaved and dressed at an unusually early hour with the intention of going to Chancery Lane. However, when a letter was brought in by his servant, Piers smiled with satisfaction. It was obviously a legal missive containing the news he had been waiting for and, placing the unopened letter on the breakfast table, he indulged in some agreeable speculation as to its contents before breaking open the seal. As he read, his smile faded and his colour ebbed away. He scanned the contents again before screwing up the sheet and smashing a china dish into the fireplace with a strangled cry of fury.
His servant, who unwisely opened the door to investigate, encountered his master in a towering rage.
‘Get out!’ he screamed, ‘Get out, damn you!’
The man hastily retreated to leave Piers striding back and forth, grinding his teeth and muttering King Lear-like threats of retribution.
When, eventually, his fury cooled and he had exhausted his vocabulary of curses and expletives, he retrieved the letter. Apart from requesting he call in Chancery Lane at his earliest convenience, the only other details were the amount of his annuity and that his cousin was to receive Hawkscote.
‘Of all the scheming, manipulative, wicked harpies!’ he cried.
In his way, he had always been fond of his cousin but now he was staggered by the depths of her deceit. Alyssa must have secretly encouraged Tom to leave Hawkscote to her! Piers tried to collect his thoughts. The letter was dated only yesterday so Alyssa was most likely still in town. He needed to speak to her; he would get more information from his cousin than from a crusty old attorney stuffed full of jurisprudence. Recalling where she stayed on her infrequent visits to London, he collected his hat and left his lodgings for Flemings Hotel in Half Moon Street.
A short time later, Alyssa, who was drawing on her gloves and about to venture forth to do some shopping, saw her cousin immediately he entered the hotel reception. Piers was dressed in his usual fashionable style, wearing an expertly cut blue superfine coat, striped waistcoat, buff-coloured pantaloons, Hessians, and a cravat tied in the most intricate arrangement she had ever seen. He noticed her and began to walk over, and Alyssa gave a little sigh of resignation. She was not surprised to see Piers; it was inevitable he would seek her out once he heard.
She held out her hand and greeted him, observing a sulky expression marred his handsome features. ‘It is good to see you, Piers. You look well.’
‘No thanks to you and Uncle Tom!’
‘Whatever can you mean?’ she said, her eyes twinkling. She was unable to resist briefly feigning ignorance, even in the face of his fury. Piers generally projected an air of boredom and Alyssa was amused to see this replaced for once by honest, simmering anger.
‘Don’t play the innocent, Alyssa! I suffered the shock of my life an hour ago.’
‘Ah, you have received Mr Bartley’s letter.’
‘Yes, I’ve received the damned letter and I’m furious.’
‘Naturally,’ she replied, calmly. ‘Pray, do not let us stand here arguing. If you must raise your voice, we should move somewhere a little less public.’ She turned and led the way into the empty coffee-room which led off the hall.
When they were seated and Alyssa had ordered coffee, she began, ‘I understand the news must have been a shock—’
‘Do you?’ he interposed, with a cynical sneer.
‘Yes. Indeed, it came as a complete surprise to me too.’
‘And you expect me to believe that?’
She said curtly, ‘Let us have this out at the first, Piers. If you have accusations to make, do so openly! Having been subjected to Sir Giles Maxton’s allegations, I have no wish to suffer yours.’
‘Who in Hades is Sir Giles Maxton?’ he cried.
Noting that Piers was trembling with fury and his face was as white as his shirt, Alyssa continued in a softer tone, ‘We will come to that in a moment. What are you accusing me of?’
‘If you must have it spelt out then I believe you influenced Uncle Tom to change his will! You – you are to receive Hawkscote instead of me! Damn it, how can that be equitable?’ Piers then entered a long and disjointed invective, covering Alyssa’s duplicity, the maliciousness of the general’s actions, his misfortune and ill-treatment at the hands of his relatives, and concluded with, ‘I think it monstrous! It has always been understood Hawkscote was mine!’
‘I agree you had that understanding,’ retorted Alyssa, who had listened to his diatribe in silence but wi
th a gleam of anger in her eyes, ‘but did Uncle Tom ever say as much?’
He shrugged and coloured. ‘Well, no – but that is not the point. As his nearest male heir, it was his duty to leave it to me.’
‘It was his duty to leave it to whomever he saw fit.’
‘Then you deny you influenced him?’
‘Of course I deny it!’ she replied, with asperity. ‘How could you believe me capable of such a thing?’
‘It would not be your usual style, I grant you, but even someone of your high moral tone might be tempted by money!’ he jeered.
‘Well, I was not! I was blissfully ignorant of his intentions. Why, I have not seen Uncle these past two years and you must acknowledge it would be impossible to coerce Tom without seeing him!’
‘But you were always his favourite—’
There was a knock at the door. Coffee was bought in by a porter and conversation halted until he left. Alyssa poured out two cups, handed one to her cousin and continued, ‘It was your sybaritic lifestyle that irritated him, Piers. He could not understand why you did not make something of yourself by joining the military, or some other worthwhile occupation, instead of drifting between country house parties and London, amassing debts in the process.’
‘Following the drum was never in my blood.’
She gave a little smile and eyed him mischievously. ‘No, it wasn’t, was it? The army would have mounted their next assault before you had risen from your slumbers.’
‘I’m not in the mood for humour,’ he said.
‘Neither am I particularly. Let us call a temporary truce and be serious for a moment. You know I could not have influenced Tom but while it is true he has favoured me, only consider the terms I have to meet.’
‘What are they?’ Piers’s interest was piqued; perhaps all was not yet lost.
‘I am to live at Hawkscote for six months and dine once a week – alone – with Sir Giles Maxton, who owns the neighbouring estate, consulting him on all matters pertaining to the estate, farmland and staff. You may imagine how enamoured I was of that arrangement.’
Piers slammed his cup down upon its saucer. ‘What?’ he said, incredulous. ‘Why would Tom want you to have dinner with some old fossil?’
‘Well, I could not describe Sir Giles as an old fossil,’ declared Alyssa, vividly recalling the dark, brooding man who had towered above her, ‘but he is uncivil. Still, I am obliged to share his company and will no doubt suffer dyspepsia as a result.’
‘Good God, the general must have lost his senses!’
‘It seems not, but you know how mischievous he was, and his will is written in the same vein.’
Piers regarded her in moody silence. He clenched his right hand until the knuckles showed white beneath the skin and, in desperation, tried another avenue.
‘Will Hawkscote revert to me if you don’t meet the terms?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
Piers’s scowl grew deeper as she explained. Then, he rose to his feet, exclaiming fiercely, ‘So – I am completely cut out; either you get the estate, or Maxton will purchase it.’
‘You have your annuity. It is not what you wanted, I know, but—’
‘Not what I wanted!’ he repeated, scornful. ‘You have no conception, dear cousin, how much expectation I had riding on this!’
‘Piers, have you borrowed against the estate?’
He shrugged again, his mouth twisting in a grimace as he slumped back on to his chair. ‘Not borrowed exactly, but I have run up debts on the understanding they would be paid when I received my inheritance.’
‘But surely that is the same thing?’
‘Not quite – it is easier to refuse to answer the door to my tailor than a moneylender.’ Arms folded across his chest, his sullen gaze ran over her. ‘Your naivety surprises me. You must have known I was living on the promise of money. God knows I have little enough else to survive on.’
‘I-I suppose I did consider you might be but not to any great extent.’
‘My tastes are expensive; let me assure you the extent is great,’ he drawled.
‘I will help you although I refuse to fund your gambling,’ she said. ‘It is high time you took control of your life and realized your actions have consequences.’
‘Lord, don’t moralize, Coz! Your efforts are wasted in my direction – I’m a lost cause.’
‘Perhaps if you married—’
‘Ha!’ he interpolated, dismissively. ‘And find myself tied to some lady who will increase my debts?’ He gave a deep shudder. ‘Thank you, but no. Unless an heiress or rich widow presents themselves, I’ll avoid matrimony like the plague! Alyssa, I give you fair warning I intend to enquire about contesting the will.’
‘You are at liberty to, of course, but I have already discussed it with Mr Bartley.’
‘And?’ he asked, watching keenly.
She threw out her hands in a hopeless gesture. ‘You would need money to pay the costs and there is little hope of success.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘So I am to live on my paltry annuity and go quietly like some whipped cur!’ he said, vehemently. ‘Damned if I will! There must be something I can do.’
‘There is nothing. I will try to repay your most pressing debts but I make no promises; the next six months will be difficult for me.’
‘Not so difficult with the prize at the end! I suppose you plan to squander what is rightfully mine on your dirty brats!’
‘Don’t refer to the children as dirty brats!’ she said belligerently. ‘I should not warrant your contempt for helping to educate poor children in my village! Really, Piers – you go too far! Continue and I shall not feel obliged to help at all.’
‘Oh, it does not matter to me whether you teach one or twenty children their letters,’ he observed, in a dry voice. ‘If you wish to practise philanthropy, that is your business, but I find it galling that money that rightfully belongs to me is to be thrown their way.’
‘I can think of no better way to spend it.’
‘Well, I can! A new high perch phaeton, for a start.’
Her lips twitched. ‘So that was what you intended to buy.’
‘You approve?’ he asked, raising his brows.
‘No, but you always wanted to cut a figure in London so I see why it would appeal. Perhaps something might be arranged—’
‘I won’t need it yet,’ he interjected, insouciantly. ‘They are useless on country roads.’
‘Oh? Where are you going?’
‘To Dorset.’
She stared at him blankly for a moment and then protested, ‘Why on earth do you want to come to Dorset? It would be a waste of time. Besides, you can’t stay at Hawkscote – even though you are my cousin; it would not be proper for us to be under the same roof without a chaperon. It is ridiculous to need a duenna at my age, but we must abide by society’s rules and enough gossip will be generated as it is from my dinners with Sir Giles.’
‘Don’t gammon me, Coz!’ he said, with a short mirthless laugh, ‘You’re not in your dotage yet! Never fear, I won’t put you to the blush – I’ll stay with James Westwood at his estate outside Dorchester. I’m overdue a visit there anyhow, and I’ve a mind to see how this business progresses while I decide whether to contest. And if Maxton is as bad as you say, you might need support.’
‘I can handle Sir Giles well enough in spite of his brusqueness.’
‘You know, I rather pity him in a way,’ he observed, ‘I’ve been on the receiving end of your barbed set-downs.’
‘Thank you for the compliment – I think,’ replied Alyssa, tartly.
‘I’m certain you can hold your own with him verbally, but how do you know he won’t give poor advice?’
‘Why should he?’ she said, in bewilderment.
‘To reduce the market value, of course! If you decide to sell, he could save himself a great deal of money. And, even if you retain it, he might have caused enough damage by then to oblige you to sell.’
‘
I had not considered that,’ she admitted.
‘Obviously! Don’t be so damned independent for once, Alyssa; allow me to help.’
‘Help?’ she echoed, eyeing him suspiciously, ‘This is a curious volte-face. First you protest, now you are magnanimous.’
‘Oh, I’m still livid, but I protect my annuity a little this way. It is to be mostly drawn from investments and the remainder from either the sale or continued income from Hawkscote. So you see, maintaining the value is in my interest. How do you know Maxton didn’t influence Tom?’
‘The lawyer assured me he had no involvement and I trust his word. Also, I saw Sir Giles receive the news: he was as astonished as I was.’
‘Hmm,’ said Piers, unconvinced, ‘He will bear watching.’
‘Perhaps you are right. Piers, I can’t stop you if you are set upon going to Dorset but please do not interfere.’
‘Don’t worry, Coz – I’ll confine myself to watching and listening and let you know of anything suspicious. When do you go?’
‘Letty and I will journey there after Easter.’
His brow furrowed. ‘Now who the deuce is Letty? Your maid?’
‘No. Oh, of course, you would not be aware. Letty is the daughter of the Ravenhills. Do you remember them? They were friends of Mother and Father but tragically, both died three years ago from scarlet fever. Letty was their only child. The nearest relative she had was an aunt in London with a young family and no easy means of supporting her, so Father and I offered for Letty to come and live with us. Of course, it’s just Letty and me now – she is eighteen, nearly nineteen.’
‘Why didn’t I see her at your father’s funeral?’
‘She was ill at the time and the doctor advised her not to attend. The last time you would have seen her was at Mother’s funeral, five years ago.’
The Paradise Will Page 3
