“You must know little of the man, then, for he’s offered me the position himself.”
His words smote my tender heart, and I worked hard to brush them aside. Both palms clamped around the fabric of my cloak, but the hurt would not dissipate and my response snapped of it. “I assure you, sir, I know him well enough to know he never would have sought a stranger for such a position.”
He considered me for a brief moment before releasing me from his gaze. “Where shall I stable my mount?”
“I suggest you verify your offer of work before doing that. I doubt you’ll be staying.”
With a crooked smile, he leaped astride his horse and turned the beast about in an anxious dance. “What the staff lacks in fine clothing, they make up for in airs.” He winked. “At least, that is so of one little bird.”
With a yank of the reins, horse and rider galloped toward the service cottages as if I hadn’t said a word against it.
I watched his broad back, a strong upright figure moving as one with his horse, and frowned at his impudence. Even though he believed me a servant, he’d ridden over my words as if they hadn’t been spoken. Nothing irked me more than unchecked confidence. I dearly hoped to be present when he was told to take his arrogant self from the premises. Despite his help the night before, an unreasonable dislike for the stranger arose in my heart, this man who deigned to pierce the privacy of our home and, in a fleeting moment, attempt to take over a position I myself could not earn in two and twenty years’ time.
I knew in that moment I believed in love at first sight. But only because I’d experienced a twinge of the opposite just then.
Donegan Vance had never put stock in the idea of instant attraction, no matter how many new places he visited, but something about that girl in the vineyard haunted him like a mist that would not clear. She had an uncommon strength behind her eyes, likely from a life of hardship and want.
Surprisingly, though, it wasn’t the strength but the weakness, the vulnerability and innocent hope playing so clearly across her features, that had drawn him. That hope shone out of her pure face with unusual frankness and provided a lovely color against the gray backdrop of Trevelyan Castle.
Ducking to enter the stone hovel he was to occupy, according to the terms of Harlowe’s offer, he dropped his hat on the empty table and dust swirled up around it. Taking quick stock of the place, he chose the rafters as the safest spot to store his precious savings. To him, that money represented so much more than the mere merchandise it could buy. It meant restoration and freedom from the guilt that had dogged his steps for years. Shoving the bags safely out of sight, he exited the little cottage and led Gypsy to the stables where he found only a single worker.
“You there. I’d be obliged if you stable my horse.”
The red-headed youth of about sixteen scrambled up from the straw-littered stall where he’d lounged, eyes two wide orbs of surprise. “Yes, sir. Of course.”
“See to it that he isn’t allowed to roam about the fields with the other horses. A stallion’s temperament is unpredictable.” Donegan yanked off the saddle and slapped the dust of the road from its surface. “Are you the only stable boy on the estate?”
“I work with the vines. I’m only here while I wait for the others.”
Donegan clenched his teeth. No wonder Harlowe’s vineyards needed help. “It seems I’ll be your manager then, for I’ve come to look after the vineyards.” He folded his arms across his chest. “What are your wages, boy?”
“Old Harlowe hired a manager, did he?” He stuck out his hand and Donegan shook it. “They call me Twig. Honored to meet you, sir. As for wages, I couldn’t tell you straight off.” The young man led the horse into the stall by the bridle and gave a few pats to his hindquarters. “There was no formal agreement between us, see. Some weeks I got eight shillings, some only six. Leastwise, we ain’t none of us had any wages for weeks now. Excepting a clean place to sleep.” He gave the horse another rub and hurried to add, “And we be grateful for it, you can be sure.”
Donegan’s heart sank at the familiar story and he immediately shifted into the mindset of a temporary stay at Trevelyan Castle. He could not do without a hefty income for even a single season. Tempting as it was to throw himself into this vineyard and unleash the life it was so desperately trying to release, images of what he’d left behind impelled him to maintain focus on his real goal—earning money. As much as this vineyard needed him, even more so did living, breathing people.
“I should warn you, though. The family’s that particular about the staff keeping quiet about their secrets.”
His eyes slid closed for a moment as he echoed the boy’s word. “Secrets?” The situation grew worse by the minute. Although he should have known there would be secrets, with the ridiculous offer Harlowe had presented. The entire thing felt odd to him. Who on earth attempted to cultivate a vineyard in the South of England, anyway?
“The truth of it is, Josiah Harlowe weren’t no well-heeled gent.”
“You mean he didn’t have a fortune after all?”
“Now I didn’t say that. Sure, the man had more money than is good for most people, but he wasn’t a gentleman in the way you or I think of one. It’s rumored that he started out life common as the rest of us before he made his fortune.”
“So did he come by his fortune through . . . dishonest means?”
“No one’s quite sure where it came from or where it is now, but most believe he hides it away because he stole it. The rest is naught but rumors, since none of them up at the house was here when he was making his fortune. He brought over a whole passel of fresh servants when he bought up this place.”
“I see.” Donegan turned to look over the acres of perfect vine rows, sensing he would soon regret accepting this position.
4
Force a vine to struggle and you give it a better chance at life. For any vine that has to reach its roots deep into the soil to find water and cling heartily to the guide wire against the wind will have a firm anchor to withstand any climate.
—Notebook of a viticulturist
I have a brilliant plan, Daughter.”
Smoothing my gray cotton gown, I crossed the room to her, stifling my disappointment at her lack of grief. I’d known all my life what their marriage was, but in the face of Father’s death it seemed more sharply evidenced. It was as if Father was merely a troublesome load from which she was now freed.
Forcing aside my pain, I smiled as I reached her. “It’s dangerously early for one of those, Mother.” I rounded the sofa and dropped a kiss on her powdered forehead. “By the looks of your face, I’d say your plan involved something quite devious.”
“If your father did not see fit to share with us his money, our money, then we shall have to make our own fortune.”
“I look forward to hearing what you have in mind.” I fluffed her little parlor pillow with a placating smile and she leaned back into it.
“Later, Daughter.” She whispered these words. Looking past me to something across the room, she smiled. “I merely wanted to awake your interest, but it wouldn’t be seemly to discuss the details in the presence of our visitor.”
Shocked, I spun to face a tall, finely dressed gentleman with a neatly shorn beard as he turned toward us in the window bay. I smiled politely.
“Dr. Caine, might I introduce to you my daughter, Miss Tressa Harlowe?” She indicated the visitor. “This is Dr. Roland Caine. He is the physician who attended your father recently while we were abroad.”
He strode to us and looked down at me through spectacles that sharpened his frank blue eyes. Crinkles softened his handsome, well-chiseled face gently refined by age as he smiled and held my hand to his lips for a brief kiss. “Your mother has already spoken a great deal of your lively spirit, Miss Harlowe, and I’m glad to see her impressions are true. It’s my honor to meet you.”
I looked up into his face and found ample kindness there that drew me, invoking a companionable smile toward
him.
Mother’s voice rolled over the silence. “He’s come to introduce himself to us and offer his condolences. Isn’t that kind?”
The parlor maid wheeled tea service into the room, but the doctor held up his hand in polite refusal. “I won’t infringe on your hospitality any longer.”
Mother smiled. “We were pleased to have our first caller since returning. Do come again.”
While the scones on the cart momentarily captured Mother’s attention, I hurried to catch the retreating guest just outside the room. “Pardon me, Dr. Caine, but . . .”
He turned to face me and my hands flitted about my cinched waist. Now that I had his attention, uncertainty gripped me. Did I really want to hear the details of Father’s death? I looked down at the plush burgundy rug, then looked up at him helplessly.
“You wish to know how it happened.” His sympathetic eyes spoke of many such encounters.
I gave the man a grateful half smile. “Perhaps.” Then Margaret’s whispered words swept over me. Will you tell her about the master? That isn’t what I meant, and you know it. “That is, yes. Yes, I’d like to know.” My chest tightened in expectation.
“I wish I could tell you, but I’m afraid I don’t know much either. I merely treated his chronic condition. I’m a specialist of sorts.”
“What sort of condition?” How little I’d known the man.
“Mainly scarring on his lungs. He must have lived near a factory or coal mine once, somewhere he breathed toxic air. I warned him against physical work in his vineyard, but . . .”
“He would not listen to anything that sounded like advice.” I sighed, softening over the peculiarity I remembered so well. For all of his rejection in years past, he had been precious to me, and I’d built up a store of love for him that covered everything that had passed between us.
The man’s face creased into a kindly smile. “I see you were well acquainted with the man.”
Warmth flooded me as his words bandaged something in my heart, validating my place as my father’s daughter.
He looked about the great entryway. “Even with all the visits your father paid my little clinic, this is my first time being inside Trevelyan Castle since he restored it. I must say, it fits the man.”
“He would have been pleased to hear that. This castle symbolized so much for him.”
He watched me with a look of deep understanding, melting my anxiety immediately.
“If you please, sir, I do have one more question. Was there anything peculiar about his condition? Anything odd that might have caused his death?”
He frowned. “What makes you ask such a thing?”
“It’s just that, I’ve overheard some whispers among the servants, and . . .”
“Ah, that.” He adjusted his spectacles. “Well, I’m sure you’ve heard of the Malvern legends, the early and sudden death of every master of Trevelyan. There’s nothing like a good old legend to set tongues wagging, especially in a quiet house like this one.”
“I know very little about the Malverns, but I do not suppose a family’s legends are handed down along with their estate. They’re nothing to us except the people who owned Trevelyan before us.”
“Quite true.” He smiled. “They’ve only dredged up such nonsense because your family has no legends to entertain their fancies. May I once again offer my heartfelt condolences, my dear, on the passing of your father. He was quite a man.”
He bowed and turned to look for the butler to bring his things. In the silence, the front door opened and a stranger limped inside with the force of his apparent anger, cane and hat tucked under his arm. Poor Amos the butler hurried after the intruder.
“Please tell the lady of the house I wish to speak with her. Mr. James Prescott.” The man dropped the items on a chair as if he intended to stay.
I ran after him and stepped before him with authority. “I don’t believe our butler admitted you.”
But he brushed past me and crossed into the room to where Mother reclined, her lovely dress draped over the edge of the sofa in shimmering waves. I followed him in and hung about the fringes of the room.
Mother glanced up at me. “Tressa, won’t you see about some tea for our guest?”
I hesitated, highly aware of the untouched tea settings still on the cart. Politeness forced me to leave this curious meeting as requested, but it did not keep me from listening in the hall. After sending a maid for an extra tea setting, I returned to hover outside the door.
Mr. Prescott’s voice was low and unyielding. “I’m merely looking after my interests, you know. With your husband gone, I cannot count on the loan being repaid.”
I shut my eyes and groaned inwardly. How many men would appear at our door with such a story in an attempt to wheedle our fortune from us? Loan, indeed. Not for a man with Father’s wealth.
“I am a widow, but I’m still a lady. One who pays . . .” Her voice trailed off and I knew she’d be fanning her pale face. “A gentleman would make allowances for such circumstances, and I can see you are such a one, are you not?”
He shifted and clenched his fist. “One month. Not a minute more.”
“If we cannot pay, what shall become of us?” Her voice had lowered.
Oh, the dramatics. I peeked around the edge of the barely open door.
“Your estate will become my property, to be reissued at will. You will have to clear yourselves from the place. Your husband signed a gentleman’s agreement on the matter.”
Clear ourselves from Trevelyan? But this was home. It vibrated with Father’s presence, rang with his voice. The hills outside were laced with the vines he’d poured himself into for years. Leaving Trevelyan, leaving the vineyard, would mean abandoning all the pieces of Father remaining on this earth. I would simply have to find his fortune.
“Surely you would not render a widow homeless.”
His commanding voice lowered. “I only aim to collect what is owed. No one may keep what they cannot afford. Not even a lady.”
The fanning increased, as did Mother’s breathing.
“I’m merely asking . . .” But the argument quickly disintegrated as Mother’s breathing worsened. Her hand lay on her swiftly rising and falling chest, her face pale and eyes wide with alarm. The wretched man looked about awkwardly as the situation escalated.
“I—I can’t—oh!” Mother wilted onto the sofa.
The man spun toward the door. “Doctor! Send for a doctor!”
I stepped into the drawing room and crossed to Mother in my usual way during these episodes. I propped her up and supported her until Amos appeared with Dr. Caine, his face a mask of efficiency. Fortunately he had not been hasty in taking his departure.
Dr. Caine knelt before Mother’s slumped form and cupped her face. “Does this happen frequently?” He held her eyelids up and inspected each of her eyes. His other hand held her wrist to check her pulse.
I sighed. “Yes, often. But it usually passes quickly.”
He frowned and adjusted his spectacles and continued to study her. “I’ll send some pills ’round for you and they should help considerably.”
The unwelcome gentleman spoke up from the doorway where he now hovered. “Mistress Harlowe, if I may just—”
I rose to face him, concealing all my seething irritation behind a mask of civility. “Please leave us in peace for the time being, sir. We shall handle all business matters when my mother is well.” Which would likely be never, but he needn’t know that.
“Perhaps I’ll leave these papers here on the desk for—”
Dr. Caine rose to his full height and spoke with a menacingly quiet voice. “They’ve asked you to leave. Go now, or you’ll have her death on your hands and I’ll be the first to testify at the inquisition.”
“But—”
“Out, now!”
The shorter man backed helplessly toward the door as the imposing doctor advanced on him like a bull. At last, Prescott turned and limped out, snatching his things from the chair
as he went. As the invader’s footsteps echoed toward the front of the house, Dr. Caine returned with a sigh, shaking his head.
“Thank you,” I whispered as he neared.
A tiny smile toward me warmed his face as he knelt to attend Mother again. I glanced absently at the papers now residing on the table and noticed the red wax seal and the emblem at the top. Though I’d rarely seen formal documents, they looked genuine, and this thought tugged at my mind, refusing to leave it alone.
When Dr. Caine rose to depart soon after, he touched my arm. “A word with you, my dear.”
I nodded and followed him out of the room.
“I’ll have to keep a close eye on her, so don’t be alarmed if I call often.”
“So she is truly ill, then? Forgive me, but I’d always assumed her condition to be little more than exaggerated complaints and convenient fainting spells.”
His solemn face said everything he didn’t wish to voice. “I know this is a difficult time, but perhaps the good Lord has placed you here for this purpose. You’re much stronger than she is. I see much of your father in you, and that’s to your credit.” He squeezed my arm. “Prove yourself his child and help her through this. You are the only one who can.”
With a deep sigh, I nodded again. His words, meant to empower and encourage, merely settled a heavier burden on me and deepened my aloneness. God had created an awfully large load for my disproportionately small shoulders, and a tiny sense of betrayal snaked through me. God was to be revered, but not understood, it seemed. At least, not by me. I saw the doctor to the door and leaned against the metal-studded wood, wishing for someone to help me carry it all. Mother, the lost fortune, the debt . . .
You are the only one who can. The doctor’s words echoed through my mind, inciting me to action. Of all the troubles that had settled upon me as we’d returned home, the lost fortune hovered over me with both the heaviness of importance and the draw of a puzzle. This endeavor had a definite goal, for the treasure existed somewhere in this house, and finding it was quickly becoming crucial.
A Rumored Fortune Page 3
