Lord Iverbrook's Heir

by Carola Dunn

  “Hereby be it known, madam, that...

  Selena sat stunned, staring unseeing at the letter. He had done it! He had gone to law to take Peter away from her. Strip away ‘whereas’ and ‘heretofore,’ and there it was in black and white.

  Iverbrook was a faithless traitor!

  Chapter 9

  In spite of the dank weather, Lord Iverbrook strode up the front steps of Milford Manor with a light heart.

  His business in London had prospered. William Wilberforce was delighted to welcome him to the ranks of the anti-slavery forces. He had given him several good ideas to work on for his maiden speech.

  “Your experiences will be the most telling argument,” the MP had said. “Describe what you saw in the Indies. To the majority of them ‘tis a mere abstract matter but that will bring it home. Apropos, I should like to meet your Joshua. Doubtless he can provide ammunition for my campaign.”

  The viscount and the ex-slave had spent a pleasant and productive evening in Clapham, finding their host as charming and amusing as he was dedicated.

  Consulting his new lawyer, Mr. Crowe, Iverbrook learned that the transfer of his affairs from Hubble, Blayne, and Hubble was proceeding smoothly. Mr. Crowe was also able to direct him to Lord Alphonse Sebring’s man of business, and he had made the first steps in the acquisition of those long neglected watermeadows that so distressed Miss Whitton’s sensibilities.

  Miss Whitton—Selena—ah, there was the chiefest cause of his lordship’s lightheartedness. “Marry her!” Mr. Hastings’s recently repeated words rang in his ears. From a practical point of view, as a way of obtaining his nephew while avoiding a lawsuit, they had always been sound advice. Advice he had once soundly rejected, to be sure, but he had not then known Selena.

  He had not known those changeable hazel eyes, that face that eloquently expressed every emotion, the moon-pale hair so often ruffled in glorious disarray, the slim, strong, upright figure—in his mind Iverbrook waxed rhapsodic. How competent was his love, and how firm of purpose! How reasonable and enchanting her conversation and how enchanting the sparks that flew from her eyes when . . . The door opened.

  “Welcome home, my lord.” Bannister bowed. “I should say, welcome back.”

  “Hello, Bannister!” He tossed the butler his hat and drew off his gloves. “Welcome home will do nicely, thank you. Where is Miss Whitton?”

  “In the library, my lord. Shall I announce your lordship?”

  “No, don’t bother. I had rather surprise her. She is alone?”

  “So I believe, my lord. Some refreshments, perhaps, for your lordship?”

  “Thank you, no. I slept last night at Watlington and have made only a short stage this morning.”

  “Very good, my lord. I shall inform my lady of your arrival.”

  With eager steps Lord Iverbrook approached the library, flung open the door, and entered.

  “Marry me, Selena!” he cried.

  Pale and tight-lipped she rose behind the desk.

  “How dare you!” she hissed. “How dare you show your face here, you mean, despicable, treacherous monster!”

  Completely taken aback, his lordship stammered, “Bu-but I only asked you to marry me! Perhaps I might have approached the matter with more delicacy but really, Selena . . .”

  “Don’t call me Selena! I’d as soon marry Aubrey as you. Sooner! At least his motive is straightforward greed, while you sneak around behind my back, plotting to ruin half a dozen lives to gratify your own vanity. And for all I know you want my land too, since you have allowed yourself to be dispossessed by pigs. Pigs! Suitable companions indeed for a so-called gentleman who visits his chère-amie in London before his poor, neglected mother!”

  Bewildered now, the viscount concentrated on the most recent attack. “You don’t even know my mother, and I don’t see how you know about Bel. And I went up to town direct from Southampton to see my lawyer, not Bel anyway.”

  “As I know to my cost, having just received from him proof of your perfidy! And it is ‘Bel,’ is it? I had thought she was merely boasting, for Amabel Gant always was an odious little sycophant!”

  “Selena, that’s all . . ."

  “Go away!”

  ". . . over now, and what do you mean, you have just received proof from my lawyer?”

  “Here, read this and deny it if you can!” Selena thrust the letter at him. Watching him read it, his face set, she felt the blind fury draining from her, leaving her exhausted. She sat down.

  He finished reading. Leaning on the desk he regarded her with hard eyes, and when he spoke there was a steely note in his quiet voice that she had never heard before.

  “You are by far too ready to jump to conclusions, Miss Whitton. That is forgivable. You might, however, have seen fit to request an explanation before pouring insults on my head. I do not choose to justify my actions now, nor to disabuse you of your ill-conceived notions. I shall leave at once, as you requested. Good-bye, Miss Whitton!”

  The viscount stalked from the room and, with meticulous care, closed the door softly behind him. Selena laid her head on her arms and wept.

  Half an hour passed before she regained her composure sufficiently to notice the time. It was nearly ten o’clock. Her tears had blotted the two letters she had completed and they would have to be rewritten, but she had promised to take Peter out at ten.

  As she tidied the desk, she saw a piece of paper on the floor and bent to pick it up. There was writing on it, in the same hand as the letter from Iverbrook’s lawyer. Curious, she sat down to read it. It seemed to have been scrawled in a hurry, for though similar to Hubble's letter it was hard to make out.

  “Miss Whitton,” it began, “his lordship knows Nothing of this. Mr. H. acted against his express Instructions. I shall tell Joshua of it and he will tell his lordship. Pray do not Divulge this to Mr. H. Yr humble and obed’t servant, James Goodenough.”

  Selena was aghast. Her accusations had been false, and she had said such things to the viscount as made her blush to think of. Little wonder that he had been so coldly angry!

  Perhaps he had not left yet. If the horses had been unharnessed, his bags carried up, Tom Arbuckle sat down to a mug of ale in the kitchen, then he might still be within reach. She rushed from the library, calling, “Bannister!”

  Her mother was crossing the hallway.

  “Mama, is Iverbrook here?”

  “He left ten minutes past, dearest.”

  “Then I am too late. By the time I could catch up he would be on the post road. I cannot chase him down the public highway!”

  “What happened, Selena? He said only that you had ordered him to leave and he would not disobey you.”

  “He asked me to marry him, Mama.” Selena’s voice was very soft. “I was so angry with him I did not listen, indeed I scarcely heard him. I told him I had rather marry Cousin Aubrey.”

  “Come into the drawing room, my love, and tell me all about it.”

  “I cannot, not now. I cannot bear to repeat the things I said. Besides, it is time to inspect the lambs and I am surprised Peter is not yet here to remind me of it.” She tried to smile.

  Bannister appeared.

  “You called, Miss Selena?”

  “Yes, but it is no matter now. Oh, send one of the maids to fetch Master Peter down, if you please. Mama, I must go and put on my hat. I promise I will tell you everything later.”

  When Selena descended the stairs, pulling on her gloves, Polly was hovering in the hall.

  “Master Peter’s not with Mrs. Finnegan, miss,” she announced. “And I went and asked my lady in the stillroom and he's not there neither, and Jem’s in the kitchen taking a bite so I ‘spec’s he's not down at the stables.”

  Selena sank down on the stairs. This time it must be Iverbrook, and she had no one but herself to blame. She had given him no reason to suppose she was capable of discussing their nephew’s future calmly. She had denounced and abused him and this was his revenge.

  “Has that
vexatious child run off alone again?” enquired her mother, appearing in her apron, pestle in hand. “Polly, what exactly did Nurse say?”

  “She said as how Master Peter told her he were a-going to pick blackberries, my lady. And she knowing Miss Delia were going, so thought no more but dressed him up in his riding clothes. Right after breakfast it were, my lady.”

  “Thank you, Polly. I expect he wandered farther than he had intended. Selena, you are very pale. Are you unwell?”

  “No, Mama, quite well. Polly, are you sure he has been gone since breakfast?”

  “Mrs. Finnegan says so, miss. ‘Bout ha past eight, she said.”

  “Thank heaven! Bannister? Bannister! Did Master Peter go out with Miss Delia?”

  “No, miss. They all came by to fetch her, Miss Russell and young Mr. Russell and another young gentleman, and I watched them ride off, thinking what a merry party they was. Master Peter was not with them.”

  “I suppose since she would not take him, he went to find some berries on his own. He has not been gone so very long. I expect he will hear the church clock strike ten and run home. I will wait a few more minutes before I go to look for him.”

  Overjoyed to find her suspicions of Lord Iverbrook once again unfounded, Selena went back to the library to copy out the letters she had spoiled. She sat down and took a fresh sheet of paper. Then she remembered that nothing had changed, that she had quarrelled irrevocably with him. She gazed down the long room at the grey river beyond the window. Mist still floated patchily above it and the eaves still dripped.

  Peter must be wet through. She had best go and look for him at once. She laid down her pen and was rising to her feet when a sudden commotion in the entrance hall startled her.

  Surely that urgent voice, that rose above the others in tones of command, was Iverbrook’s?

  “Don't stand there gaping, you fools! Fetch my lady, quick!”

  * * * *

  When Lord Iverbrook stalked out of the library after the quarrel, he had every intention of going straight to the stables and departing on the instant. Lady Whitton, coming to greet him on his arrival, met him in the passage.

  “Hugh dear, how lovely to see you again. I hope your affairs in London go on well?”

  “Very well, thank you, ma'am. I hope I find you in prime twig?”

  “Yes indeed, if that means what I think it means! Have you seen Selena already? Bannister said you had gone to her in the library.”

  “I have seen her.” Iverbrook’s attempted cheerfulness vanished. “Miss Whitton desired me to remove myself from the premises at once. I am returning to London immediately.”

  “Hugh, do not say that you two have quarrelled again? If I ever knew such a pair! Come and sit down and tell me what it is this time.”

  The viscount followed her ladyship into the drawing room, and when she patted the sofa invitingly he sat down beside her. He had grown very fond of Selena’s mother, and he felt a great urge to disburden his soul to her. He resisted it.

  “What a miserable day it is,” he said lightly. “In weather like this I almost wish I had stayed in Jamaica.”

  “Enough to give anyone the dismals,” she agreed. "Now what is this nonsense about leaving when you are scarce arrived?”

  “You had best apply to your daughter for details, ma’am. She ordered me to go, and I’ll not disobey her, in this at least.”

  Lady Whitton sighed. “Selena is so efficient and so collected where the farm is concerned that one is apt to suppose that she has equal dominion over her own sensibilities. Yet when her feelings are involved she is often impulsive, even hotheaded. Perhaps I ought to have tried harder to teach her to command her emotions, but so much was expected of her in other ways. No demure young lady of unimpeachable propriety could have succeeded as she has.”

  “Miss Whitton is certainly no bread-and-butter miss. You must, however, allow me a modicum of pride. A gentleman of breeding does not stay when he has been dismissed! Dare I hope that this will not cause a breach between us? I should be sorry indeed to lose your friendship.”

  “You will always be welcome, Hugh.”

  He stood up and bowed low over her hand. His resolve wavered as he looked at her sorrowful face, but Selena's words still sounded in his ears. A mean, despicable, treacherous monster, was he? Who plotted to ruin lives to gratify his own vanity! Such an abominable creature would certainly not make the first step towards reconciliation.

  He almost ran to the stables. If he should meet Peter now, he could not answer for his steadfastness.

  Tom Arbuckle had just finished hanging up the harnesses. He groaned when ordered to set the horses to again, but after a single glance at his master’s thinned lips and abstracted eyes, he did not protest.

  “Got to get the luggage out again, m’lord, and tell Cook, as was preparing a nice hot toddy for me,” he said. “It’ll be ten—fifteen minutes if Jem here'll lend a hand wi’ the horses.”

  Jem was willing, glad to see his rival depart so rapidly. Anxious to be gone, Lord Iverbrook helped to buckle the harness and was waiting with the reins in his hands when Tom reappeared with the bags and slung them into the carriage.

  “Shall I drive, m’lord?” he enquired, climbing up.

  “No!” said the viscount through gritted teeth, and they swung out of the stable yard and down the drive at a pace that made Tom clutch at his cap.

  The muddy lane and tired horses soon moderated their speed. Iverbrook drove in grim silence, broken only when he said abruptly, "You'll get your toddy when we reach Watlington, Tom.”

  "Thank you, m’lord.”

  Iverbrook recognised the deep disapproval in his voice. He was beginning to wish he had not acted so precipitately. Deuce take the wench! She made him as impetuous as she was herself! Still, it was too late now. He could not creep back to the kennel like a whipped cur. How sorry she would be when she found out he was not going to law! Only, that might now be his one possible course of action.

  What a Godalmighty mess he’d made of it, dashing in there and demanding her hand without any preparation, without any of the compliments and flowery language women set such store by. And when she had just received that letter, too. It was all his fault. No, by God, it wasn’t! he thought savagely. It was Hubble's fault, and he’d wring the man’s neck, if he hanged for it!

  “M’lord!” Tom reached over and tugged on the reins. “My lord, been’t that Master Peter? Stop, my lord! Whoa there, whoa!”

  As the horses came to a standstill, Iverbrook saw a small, muddy figure staggering towards them. For a moment he could not believe it was his nephew. Then he recognised the brass buttons on the green riding coat he had given him. He leaped down into the mire, ran to the child, and picked him up.

  Peter shrieked and struggled.

  “No, no, no!” he screamed. “I won’t go and live with the pigs. I won’t, I won’t!”

  “Of course you shall not, if you don’t want to. We’ll take you home right away. Tom, turn around in that gateway. However did you get so filthy, Peter?” Besides the mud, the boy’s flushed face was smeared with purple. His eyes were huge and dark, glazed, and he fought his uncle with silent desperation.

  Iverbrook put him down. He sat down, quite calmly, and said, “Can I have a drink, Cook? Please, dear Cook, I’m so thirsty. Finny, I want my milk. Run, quickly, Timmy, the big bad wolf is coming to gobble you up!”

  “He’s ill, Tom. Hurry!”

  “Hello, Uncle Hugh. I’m glad you comed back but I have to run along now. Timmy’s waiting. I’ll see you at tea time. Bye bye.” Peter got up and started running down the lane.

  His uncle caught him in three quick strides and picked him up again. He went rigid, teeth bared in a horrible grimace, and shuddered all over.

  The carriage pulled up beside them.

  “Here, get him aboard quick, m’lord. Here’s my jacket to wrap him up in, poor little tyke. We’d best get him to my lady on the double.”

  “Drive fast, m
an! Don’t overturn us, but you can kill the horses for all I care. I think he's eaten poisonous berries. Fast!”

  Peter lay quiet in his arms now. His pulse was rapid, tumultuous, his dilated eyes staring at nothing.

  “I’m thirsty,” he moaned. “I’m thirsty, Uncle Hugh. Where’s Grandmama? Tell her to put blue flowers in my lemonade ‘cos I’m hot all over. Why won’t you let me sit up? I want to see out.”

  “Hush, Peter, hush,” said Iverbrook helplessly. “You’ll be with Grandmama soon and she'll take care of you.”

  Peter pulled away from him and knelt up on the seat.

  “I can see the house now. Let me out so I can run to Aunt Sena and give her a surprise.” He was fumbling with the door catch when another seizure took him and he fell back into Iverbrook’s arms, his small body convulsing violently.

  For the first time in his life, the viscount knew terror.

  “Faster, Tom!”

  “We’re almost there, m’lord. Hold on, Master Peter, your granny’ll make you better, all right and tight.”

  They turned into the drive with screeching wheels and the horses reared as they pulled up at the front door. Tom jumped down, jerked on the bellpull and, not waiting for a response, had his hand on the latch when the door was opened from the inside by Bannister.

  Iverbrook carried Peter in, the boy shrieking again and waving his arms. Mrs. Tooting appeared, and one of the housemaids, open mouthed.

  “Don’t stand there gaping, you fools!” he shouted. “Fetch my lady, quick!”

  Chapter 10

  “Carry him to the stillroom, Iverbrook.” Selena took in the situation with one glance. “All Mama's medicines are there.”

  “My lady’s there too.” Bannister suddenly looked ten years older. He put out his hand to brace himself against the wall.

  Mrs. Tooting had fallen into a fit. As the viscount strode past her, Selena took charge.

  “Bannister, sit down. There is nothing you can do for Peter. Doris, fetch Polly to Mrs. Tooting, then go and warn Nurse to put a warming pan in Master Peter’s bed. You had best tell Cook to make plenty of barleywater, too.”