Heiress in Love (Ministry of Marriage Novels)

by Christina Brooke

  “Do you return to London tonight, my lord, or put up at an inn?” It seemed the lady was curious about him, too.

  He paused. There was, he acknowledged, some awkwardness in his situation. He’d ridden to Lazenby with not much thought beyond attending Frederick’s funeral. Now, he was here on a completely different footing: lord of the manor. Though he could see by her looks that Lady Roxdale had another label for him: usurper.

  The thought lent his resolve uncustomary firmness. “I’m staying here.”

  Her eyes startled wide. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

  “Why not?”

  Her lips were far too luscious to be pressed into such uncompromising lines. “The staff haven’t been prepared for your arrival.”

  Constantine smiled. “Oh, I’m not so high in the instep as that. All I require is bed and board.”

  “You will find that’s not how we do things at Lazenby Hall.”

  When he merely quirked an eyebrow, she tilted her head in the manner of a queen handing down a royal edict. “You must understand that it’s not what you require that is at issue.”

  Her pompous tone didn’t amuse him as it should. “If I’m the master of this house, what I require is the only thing at issue.” Now who sounded pompous?

  With an impatient flick of her hand, she persisted. “You must consider the sensibilities of your people. They wish to prepare for your arrival, to do the thing properly, to meet their own standards.” Her jaw set. “Even if you have none.”

  He blinked. Then he burst out laughing. The muttered addendum was inexcusably rude but she made no bones about offending him.

  Well, of course. She was a Westruther by birth, wasn’t she? And Westruthers thought themselves above considerations of common courtesy.

  His laughter seemed to take her off guard. A puzzled look puckered her brow, as if she couldn’t fathom the reason for his mirth. Didn’t anyone laugh at her, then? What a pity. It would do her good to be swept off her high horse now and then.

  He sobered. Well, if plain speaking was to be the order of the day …

  “The staff of this house will be obliged to grow accustomed to my habits. I’m erratic. If I want to go somewhere, I go. I don’t ask permission or advertise my movements weeks in advance.”

  And, he wanted to ask, what the devil did she think she had to say in the matter of his household? Callous to remind her she no longer reigned here, so he forbore to mention it. If it hadn’t been for Frederick’s summons, he would have waited a month or so before intruding on her like this. But he’d be damned if he’d back down now.

  She sucked in a breath, and the color flamed in her cheeks in a most becoming fashion. As if the question pained her, she asked, “You do mean to stay here tonight, then?”

  He bowed. “If that is agreeable to you, ma’am.” The statement was a mere sop to politeness. She’d no power to forbid him his own house and she knew it.

  Lady Roxdale turned her head away, as if to conceal her expression from him. The dim light from a branch of candles played over her hair, picking out a reddish tint he hadn’t noticed before. He followed the trail of a long, errant curl that had slipped free from her coiffure, mentally traced it down her throat, imagined stroking one fingertip along the shadow of her clavicle …

  Lord, she was a fine-looking woman, even secretive and disapproving, pokered up like a crusty old spinster.

  “Jane!”

  Constantine swiveled on his heel, surprised. He’d been so absorbed in her, he hadn’t noticed the approach of a large, dark-haired man. The fellow strode into the room, then halted at the sight of Constantine.

  Lady Roxdale sprang to life as if caught in wrongdoing, speaking quickly in her agitation.

  “Oh! Beckenham. May I present Lord Roxdale to you? My lord, the Earl of Beckenham, who is some sort of cousin of mine.”

  As Constantine returned the earl’s bow, he had the distinct impression that he was being sized up. The other man wasn’t hostile, precisely. Perhaps wary was more the word.

  So, Lord Beckenham hadn’t joined the ranks of gentlemen who openly shunned him. He didn’t allow himself to feel relief. He didn’t give a damn what Beckenham thought, or anyone else.

  Of course, the earl was within his rights to expect an explanation for Constantine’s presence, alone, with his kinswoman. Strangely, he didn’t ask for one.

  Instead, he fixed troubled, dark eyes on Constantine. “You didn’t attend the reading of Frederick’s will.”

  “No.” He hadn’t wished to make a public showing of himself, provide more fodder for gossip than there already was.

  Beckenham’s hands were clasped behind his back. He snapped the back of one hand against the other palm as he paced. “Then you don’t know.”

  Constantine felt a twinge of unease. “Know what?”

  The evidence of some internal struggle passed briefly across Beckenham’s face. “The most unfortunate—” He broke off, clearing his throat. “But it is not my place to advise you.”

  Bad news, then. Of course. He ought to have expected something of the sort.

  Constantine’s jaw firmed. “Your explanation will do for the moment.” Better to hear an unvarnished version than a long-winded load of legal drivel Frederick’s lawyer would pour in his ear.

  Constantine folded his arms and settled back to listen. Inwardly, he shook his head at himself and his foolish optimism. Life always managed to dunk him head-first in the privy the very minute he nourished a hope of rising above the stink.

  * * *

  Jane watched Constantine Black closely, but she failed to detect the least sign of dismay at the somber tenor of Beckenham’s words. Of course, such flippancy must be a façade. He couldn’t be as uncaring as that. No one could.

  But why did Beckenham regard her so gravely? Her jointure was secure. Montford had negotiated it all in the marriage settlements. He’d taken pains to explain every detail to her. One thing you could say for the duke: he didn’t underestimate the intelligence of the female sex.

  Beckenham glanced around him, then indicated a grouping of chairs by the fireplace in the center of the room. “Shall we sit down?”

  Biting her lip, Jane perched on a sofa. Constantine took the armchair opposite, crossing one booted leg over the other, apparently at ease. Beckenham remained standing, gripping the chair back before him, his arms straight, parallel lines of tension.

  Beckenham spoke. “First of all, let me say that I think this was badly done of Frederick. Badly done, indeed. Had he asked me I would have counseled against it.”

  “Against what?” Jane demanded. “Becks, you are talking in riddles. We all know how the estate was left. There’s the entail—all of the property goes to the new baron, here—and then there’s my jointure and various other legacies.”

  He shook his head. “Not at all. You see, the estate was only entailed on Frederick. Before his father died, he and Frederick joined together to break the entail. That gave Frederick the full power to dispose of the estate however he wished.”

  Beckenham fixed his gaze on her. “Barring those other, smaller legacies, Frederick left all of his funds, stocks, bonds, all of his gold to you, Jane. He has made you a very wealthy woman.”

  Jane felt as if a giant hand had just picked up her world, turned it upside down, and given it a vigorous shake. Her senses reeled; thoughts hurtled around her brain. Of course, she’d expected a handsome jointure. Wealth on this scale was … overwhelming.

  “The most serious consequence is for the estate,” said Beckenham, turning his attention to Constantine. “In short, Frederick has left you, Lord Roxdale, all of the land commonly attached to the title but no funds to maintain the property.”

  Jane barely heard a strangled oath from Constantine Black. Her stomach gave a sickening lurch. “What?” she said. “But he can’t do that!”

  The estate cost an astronomical sum to run. There were always repairs and rebuilding to be done to the tenants’ cotta
ges, new farming equipment and agricultural projects to fund. Not to mention the house. The servants’ wages alone …

  Jane lifted a hand to her mouth, then let it drop. Oh, Frederick! How could you think I’d want this?

  But of course, he hadn’t done this for her. He’d done it to punish Constantine Black.

  Constantine folded his arms and settled back in his chair. “Is that all?”

  “Unfortunately, no, it’s not.” Beckenham sighed. “There is a heavy mortgage over the mill property. Mr. Greenslade can give you the finer details, but I believe the debt has been triggered by Frederick’s death. You have less than two months to repay the full amount plus interest, or you’ll forfeit the mill.”

  She glanced at Constantine. His beautiful face was set in an emotionless mask but his green eyes glittered with fury. She didn’t want him here—she was almost certain she detested him—but her insides clenched in sympathy. He’d have expected to inherit dazzling wealth, not an albatross around his neck.

  “Can nothing be done about it?” she asked. At the same time, Constantine said, “Surely Frederick didn’t have the power to strip the estate like that.”

  Beckenham began to pace again. “I don’t know, Roxdale. You’ll need your own solicitor’s advice on that point. You could, perhaps, mount a legal challenge. But such things can take years—lifetimes—not to mention the crippling legal fees. Not a terribly practical solution.”

  “And what about Luke?” said Jane. “I assume Frederick provided for him?”

  Beckenham blew out a breath. “I’m afraid not. But that’s not the worst part.”

  He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Hell,” he muttered. “I don’t know how to tell you this.”

  “What?” she said sharply, rising from her chair. “Tell me what?”

  “Frederick consigned Luke to Roxdale’s guardianship.”

  The shock was like a blow to the stomach. Jane sat down abruptly, clutching at the armrest beside her. Her throat closed over. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Oh, God, had Frederick grown to hate her, after all? Why would he do such a thing?

  What sane man could think Constantine Black a proper preceptor for a six-year-old boy? Surely something could be done to save Luke from such a fate.

  Denial pounded in her head. “No!” she gasped out. “That—that scoundrel is Luke’s guardian?”

  Constantine was on his feet, glaring down at her. “May I remind you that I’m still in the room, ma’am?” he said icily. His gaze whipped to Beckenham. “Be so good as to explain to me who on earth this Luke is and why I must stand his guardian? That cannot be right.”

  “I’m afraid so.” Beckenham sighed. “Lucas Black is a six-year-old boy. He is some sort of distant relation of Frederick’s—and of yours, too, Roxdale. He was brought here as an infant when his parents died and he has lived here ever since.”

  Jane clearly recalled the first time she’d seen Luke, with his chubby little legs and his captivating brown eyes and his gummy grin. He’d instantly won her heart. She’d insisted they take him in. If not for her, Frederick would have abandoned the boy.

  Desperation lent an edge to her tone. “You cannot have him,” she told Constantine. “I’m taking him with me to Harcourt.” It was inconceivable that she should be parted from Luke. She’d never dreamed Frederick would do this to them both.

  His brows flexed. “Oh, I don’t think so,” he said coolly. “After all, I hardly know you. How do I know you’re a fit and proper person to look after him? I’d be derelict in my duty to allow it.” He turned his head to address Beckenham. “I presume my cousin didn’t stipulate that Lady Roxdale retain custody of the boy.”

  Silently, Beckenham shook his head.

  Constantine tilted his head, surveying her. “I wonder why.”

  Fury and pain twisted inside her. She shot out of her chair and paced toward him. “Frederick was mad, that’s why! Surely even you must see he was not thinking rationally when he devised his will. The way he left the estate must testify to that. There’s nothing for it. You must renounce the office and appoint me in your stead!”

  His gaze held hers. “No.”

  She stared into his eyes, and could not mistake the implacable determination in them. Fear swamped Jane’s chest. Would he keep Luke just to spite her? Surely even Constantine Black could not be so callous.

  Beckenham cleared his throat. “Having Roxdale here renounce guardianship was my first thought, too, Jane. But it’s impossible.”

  She looked up sharply. “Why?”

  “Frederick stipulated a replacement.”

  “Who?” Jane was ready to do battle with any number of Blacks, if that’s what it took to get Luke.

  “Lord Endicott.”

  Constantine gave a crack of sardonic laughter. “That milksop! My dear Lady Roxdale, my aunt would never let her namby-pamby son hand the boy over to you.”

  He was right. Panic tightened its grip on her throat. Endicott was renowned for being securely fastened to his mother’s apron strings. Lady Endicott lived to meddle in other people’s lives and had more than her fair share of family pride, besides. She would die before allowing her son to relinquish the care of a Black to a Westruther, particularly to Jane.

  It seemed the lesser of two evils might be the man standing before her.

  But how could she get him to agree to let Luke live with her? And even if she did, what guarantee did she have that he wouldn’t exercise his powers as guardian to take Luke away from her in the future?

  A guttural cry wrenched from her chest. “I could kill Frederick for this!”

  “A more redundant statement would be hard to imagine,” said Constantine.

  Jane threw him a fulminating glance. She had the deepest, most unladylike urge to hit him.

  The corner of his mouth curled. “Go ahead,” he said softly.

  Oh, but she was tempted. She dragged her gaze from those mocking green eyes to the beautifully curved mouth. Her palm tingled with the urge to slap that half smile from his face.

  Moments ticked by in silent challenge before Beckenham pointedly cleared his throat.

  Jane shook herself and addressed Constantine, enunciating carefully. “Promise me one thing. Do not inform Luke of your guardianship until we settle this between us. I may not be his guardian, but I know him best. It must be for me to choose the time and manner of telling him the news.”

  After a moment, Constantine bowed. “As you wish.”

  Beckenham addressed Constantine. “Might I suggest that you confer with Mr. Greenslade, Frederick’s solicitor? He’s waiting on you in the old music room.”

  “I’ll do that.” Deliberately, Constantine replaced his near-empty glass on the sideboard and bowed to them both. Jane turned away, too distraught for social niceties.

  The crisp click of the library door told her he’d gone.

  She raised her eyes to Beckenham. “He could grant me custody, couldn’t he, even if he continued as guardian? There’s no reason he needs to have Luke live with him, is there?”

  Surely the blackguard was only being difficult to provoke her. On mature consideration, Constantine would realize he didn’t wish to be saddled with the upbringing of a small boy. What would it take to convince him to relinquish Luke to her? Money? She’d give him the full sum of her inheritance if that’s what it took.

  She licked her lips. “I’ll pay him,” she said. “I’ll hand over the entire fortune if he will grant me custody of Luke.”

  Beckenham shook his head. “You can’t, Jane. The trust Frederick established states plainly that it is for your own maintenance. You cannot simply give the money away. The trustees wouldn’t allow it.”

  Beckenham rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He looked so grave, Jane saw hope slipping from her grasp. Her solid, dependable cousin always took care of things. If he thought there was no solution in this case …

  “However…” Beckenham hesitated, then lowered his gaze. “Upon
your marriage, your interest in the trust fund would become your husband’s property.”

  The notion slammed into her like a sledgehammer.

  “M-marriage?” she repeated faintly. “Marry Constantine Black?”

  He blew out a breath. “No. Well, of course not. No one could expect you to. It’s merely … Jane, it would solve all of your problems, and Roxdale’s, too, for that matter. Marry him and the estate will be whole again. And you would get Luke.”

  Stunned, Jane groped for the mantel beside her. Her knees felt watery, as if they wouldn’t hold her up. If marriage was the only way she could keep Luke with her … Ah, but she’d just escaped wedlock with one man who didn’t care the snap of his fingers for her. How could she fling herself into another loveless union?

  She was tempted to take Luke and disappear. But how would they live? It wasn’t as if she had funds of her own. As Beckenham pointed out, everything was tied up in trusts. Even if she could find a way to support them both, they’d be fugitives. What sort of life could she give Luke then? He’d be better off with Constantine.

  Beckenham came to her. He gripped her shoulder. “I am more sorry than I can say that it has come to this. Be assured, I will do everything I can.”

  Dear Beckenham. But what could he do? She reached up to put her hand over his. “Thank you, Becks. Thank you for telling me.”

  He waved away her gratitude, his dark eyes concerned. “Montford awaits you in the green saloon,” he said gently. “There are important matters to discuss.”

  She couldn’t face the duke now. All he cared about was her inheritance. She couldn’t put her mind to such trivialities now. The only thing she wanted was to keep Luke.

  “Then His Grace shall continue to wait.” All night, if she could manage it.

  Beckenham began to persuade her but she fluttered a hand to stop him. “Please, Becks. I … I have an awful headache coming on. I cannot deal with the duke now.”