The Reluctant Heiress

by Evelyn Richardson

  Rosalind sensed that they were reaching rather dangerous ground. Suddenly, it seemed as though the eyes of the chevalier, which had been fixed so intently upon her, were menacing rather than admiring. She had always been rather attracted by his intensity; now she found it quite unnerving—she was not so helpless a creature as to call it frightening, not yet anyway.

  Rosalind laughed gaily. “Oh really, sir”—she fluttered her eyelashes—”you know men do not wish to speak of such things with me. They prefer to speak of things far more interesting than dull politics, a topic that I assure you I find to be excessively boring.” She smiled up at him archly.

  At this point another man would have been unable to think of anything but her ripe red lips parted so invitingly or the sparkle of dark eyes, the voluptuous bosom that heaved under the thin silk of a gracefully draped French scarf. In fact, in the white-and-black striped India muslin walking dress made tight to her shape and artfully ornamented with jet bead trimmings, the marchioness was the picture of female beauty. However, all this was lost on her companion, whose relentless pursuit of his own concerns was making her distinctly uncomfortable.

  “Perhaps you do not discuss things with your husband and Lord Edgecumbe now, my dear marchioness, but I should like to suggest that you do so in the future. You are the only one to whom I can turn. Believe me, dear lady, my life is in your hands.” The chevalier’s dark eyes smoldered with passion, and he snatched one gloved hand to raise it to his lips. No woman ever before had been able to resist the idea that she alone had power over his destiny.

  But Rosalind, despite being breathlessly aware of his fervent gaze and not entirely unaffected by his impetuous plea for help, possessed a strong sense of self-preservation, and this sense was now telling her that no matter how charming the supplicant, or how desperate the cause, betraying one’s country was not good ton, and Rosalind never did anything that was not good ton.

  Summoning as much regret as she could muster, the marchioness sighed gently as she replied, “I am distressed beyond measure to hear that you are in such difficulties, sir, but I am, I fear, a poor person to rely upon for such assistance. No one tells a woman anything of any consequence; you know that.”

  The warmth in the chevalier’s eyes disappeared to leave them gleaming hard and dark as obsidian. The mobile mouth thinned unpleasantly into an unyielding line. “I think, my dear lady, that you will help me. It does not matter whether or not they offer to confide in you; you will make them do so. No”— he raised an admonitory hand as Rosalind opened her mouth to protest—”I feel confident that you will do most excellently well. And, if you do not”—his voice grew softer and even more menacing—”you will find that your brother’s reverses at the gaming table will be so well known that he will be in utter disgrace.”

  “Richard?” Rosalind tried to laugh carelessly, but there was a rising edge to her voice. “He is always under the hatches. The Tredingtons are that way, you know. We are very expensive.”

  “In debt, yes,” the chevalier continued silkily, “but not ruined, yet. I have in my possession the vowels for all of his gambling debts, the sum of which is many times the value of Tredington Park. A gentleman without money is one thing, but a gentleman without a home is quite another.”

  “You would not!” Rosalind gasped. All attempts at coquetry were gone now, and the dark eyes glistened with unshed tears, but the chevalier was as unmoved by the marchioness’s distress as he had been by her flirtatiousness.

  “No, I would not, or, I shall not, if you supply me with the information I must have.”

  There was a long silence. “Very well. Tell me what you wish me to do,” the marchioness replied listlessly.

  The chevalier quickly suppressed a triumphant grin. “Oh, I am certain that you will get the knack of it very soon. I wish to know anything on troop movements, changes in command, increases or decreases in forces, information on French agents who are being watched for the moment or have been caught— any number of things can be of great interest to me. You are a clever woman, my dear; I have no doubt that you will be able to elicit precisely what I wish to know, and”—he wagged a playful finger at her—”do not doubt for one moment that I will know when you are holding something back on me. Now, I am delighted that we have come to this understanding of ours. I thank you for sharing your lovely garden with me, but I have some letters that I must write, and I do believe that I heard a carriage in the drive. I shall leave you to attend to your guests.”

  With one more enigmatic smile and a quick bow, he headed toward the house, leaving Rosalind to sink helplessly onto a low stone bench, her heart thudding violently. She had expected her walk with the chevalier to quicken her pulse, but not quite in this particular way. Odious man! How could she ever have thought he was the least bit attractive. There was nothing for it, but to do as she was asked. She could never let the man expose Richard—think of the scandal of it all—she would never survive it. The ton would never forgive her for having a brother so disgraced.

  Rosalind sighed and headed into the house herself. Things were not turning out at all the way she had planned. She paused on the threshold. Alistair! For a moment, in her shock and distress over the chevalier’s ungentlemanly behavior, she had forgotten Lord Farringdon. How clever you are, Rosalind, she congratulated herself silently, Alistair will help you.

  The Marchioness of Cranleigh had always felt that it was most expedient for a woman to possess more than one admirer, and now she was about to prove the correctness of this belief. She was still left with one gallant to enliven the house party for her and to offer her the amusing interludes she had planned for herself and, quite possibly, he also represented the solution to her difficulties. Somehow the Earl of Burnleigh appeared to be the sort of person able to deal with such creatures as the Chevalier d’Evron. There had always been an air of energetic resourcefulness about Alistair that was so noticeably lacking in the other bucks of the ton. Though Rosalind had seen him at work only in the drawing rooms and ballrooms of the fashionable world, charming one diamond or another, or heard of his curricle races and his prowess on the hunting field, she had always sensed in the man a strength and a forcefulness that was capable of overcoming anything. She was certainly in dire need of such a man now.

  That was it. She would throw herself on his mercy and beg him to help her. This thought was so reassuring that Rosalind could almost smile again, but she quickly adjusted her expression. If she was to follow through with her plan to request Alistair’s assistance, she must not look too carefree. There was nothing that enhanced a woman’s attractiveness so much as an air of mystery or of sorrow nobly borne. Smoothing her skirts and adjusting her shawl into a more enticing drape over her bosom, the marchioness went in search of her recently arrived guest.

  Chapter Nine

  Unlike her sister-in-law, Sarah had spent a good deal of the day trying to put the thought of the Earl of Burnleigh and his imminent appearance at Cranleigh entirely out of her mind. In previous weeks she had avoided all thoughts of the impending gathering by throwing herself into her removal to Ashworth, which had proven to be less unsettling than she had feared it might be,

  In the first place, she loved the house itself. The warm brick manor house with its many windows and cozy rooms was far more welcoming than Cranleigh. She loved the distant view of the sea afforded by the windows in her bedchamber and the library. In fact, once she had arranged all her books and a few favorite pieces of furniture, Sarah realized that she felt happier and more comfortable than she had felt in a long time. To be sure, she had lived her entire life at Cranleigh, and she and her grandmother had overseen the running of the great house, but neither her brother nor her father had ever allowed her to feel that she was more than a temporary inhabitant there, a fixture until she was married off.

  When Rosalind had come to Cranleigh, Sarah’s sense of being extraneous had only deepened, so it was with great relief that Sarah crossed her own threshold, secure in the knowledge t
hat she belonged and that she and only she had the right to be there. The house was solely her responsibility. She actually looked forward to seeing to its upkeep and all the repairs that were needed after it had stood empty for so long, and she threw herself into a myriad of tasks with more interest and vigor than she had felt for some time.

  But as always, her delightful solitude was short-lived. In the end Harold had given in, not that he truly had any choice, and allowed her to move, provided she return to mingle with the guests so as not to appear too eccentric. Sarah’s attendance at Cranleigh had been required the very instant the first guests had arrived, and she had been given the responsibility of looking after Lady Edgecumbe and her two daughters.

  Lady Edgecumbe was not so bad as Sarah had expected. Unlike Harold’s and Rosalind’s other fashionable acquaintance, she could not have cared less about the ton. Descending from her enormous traveling coach, clad in a carriage dress that even Sarah had recognized as being outmoded, she had given Sarah one quick appraising look, announcing in a forthright manner, “You look as though you have some sense about you; tell me, do they rotate the crops here at Cranleigh or let the fields lie fallow for a year?”

  Lady Edgecumbe’s manner was somewhat rough, and her constant interrogation could be a trifle exhausting, but in the main, Sarah had found her to be a great deal better than she had feared. At least the woman wished to discuss something seriously, even if agriculture remained the single topic of her conversation.

  The two of them had rubbed along in a tolerably companionable manner as Sarah, though not as enthralled by husbandry as her guest, was sufficiently knowledgeable to converse intelligently with her. The daughters, on the other hand, were another matter. Great awkward girls both of them, Cordelia and Lucinda had inherited their mother’s coarse features, high color, and sense of self-importance. They, however, also possessed some pretension to fashion and were delighted to discover that Sarah was far less conversant with the ton than they. Rosalind had not been entirely correct in labeling them bluestockings, for their lack of social graces stemmed from a complete absence of wit and a tendency to talk at length about their own concerns rather than any interest in more erudite matters.

  Both of them, in addition to having frequented the local assemblies in Buckinghamshire, had, had a Season and were consequently more than happy to patronize their less worldly hostess with stories of their flirtations and their conquests. Unfashionable though she might be, Sarah was well enough aware of the refined tastes of the ton to be certain that the Edgecumbe girls had probably not been accorded all the admiration they considered their due, but she did not challenge their superiority, allowing them instead to think that she believed entirely their overblown estimation of their social success.

  In fact, Sarah was more amused than anything else at the airs of Lucinda and Cordelia, whose overbearing attitudes only added to their physical gracelessness. Galling though it was to acknowledge it, Sarah admitted to herself that living with Rosalind had taught her what to expect from a true incomparable.

  Sarah had also been mildly diverted at the sight of the obvious and utterly useless lures the girls had thrown in the chevalier’s direction the moment he had arrived. His lack of enthusiasm was plain to see, but he had borne their assault with good grace, and his Gallic charm was such that neither Cordelia nor Lucinda was aware that he was anything but delighted to lavish attention on them. Observing all this, Sarah could only imagine the effect the Earl of Burnleigh’s presence would have on the two of them.

  To be sure, the chevalier was good-looking enough with his mobile countenance and dark eyes that gazed with intense concentration and appreciation when he was addressing someone. However, the effect he had, Sarah knew from personal experience, was nothing like that of Lord Farringdon.

  She was provided with ample opportunity that evening to reconsider the effect of Lord Farringdon as he was present at dinner, and, though he was seated at the far end of the long mahogany table, Sarah was immediately and uncomfortably aware of his presence. Even Rosalind had not dared to seat him on her right, which was reserved for the Duke of Coltishall, but he was not far away, placed as close to the marchioness as possible and next to the duke’s retiring daughter, Lady Amelia.

  The Earl of Burnleigh was no less magnetic now than he had been before at Tredington. It was not just that the man presented such a pleasing appearance. Sarah was not one to be impressed by his athletic physique or the bold good looks conferred by a firm jaw, high cheek bones, and enigmatic gray eyes under dark brows. It was the energy and alertness about the man that caught her attention and set him apart from the rest of the world.

  There was no doubt about Lord Farringdon’s legendary charm. Sarah observed even Lady Edgecumbe’s rugged features soften into smiles and laughter as he had led her into dinner. Now Lady Amelia was speaking to him in the most confiding manner. Sarah knew for a fact that that young woman only conversed in monosyllables, if at all, even when addressed by someone as unalarming as Sarah. Earlier that evening, exhausted by her agricultural discussions with Lady Edgecumbe and out of patience with the petty vanity of her daughters, Sarah had done her best to make Lady Amelia feel welcome, but the girl was so shy it had been a considerable effort. Each question had been more difficult than the last, and Sarah found it impossible to sustain a conversation when the other participant responded with a soft yes or no. It was, therefore, with a great deal of curiosity mixed with a begrudging admiration that she watched the Earl of Burnleigh put the young lady at her ease, enough to elicit a smile from her and eventually conversation that was almost animated. There was no doubt that the man had considerable address, Sarah remarked to herself as he turned to answer a question posed by Lady Edgecumbe in a manner that made her outrageously turbaned head nod vigorously in approval.

  Mesmerized against her will and fascinated by this adroitness, she became a reluctant spectator as Lord Farringdon entertained the females at his end of the table, So engrossed was Sarah by the entire performance that she was less alert than usual, and the earl, glancing up from his companions for a moment, caught her in mid-stare.

  Alistair, inured to languishing looks and plaintive sighs from females of every age and rank, was somewhat taken aback. Here was a woman observing him, not as though she were attracted to him, but as though he were a rather curious scientific specimen. However, his ever-present sense of the absurd asserted itself and he quirked one dark eyebrow humorously at her.

  To her consternation, Sarah felt a hot blush rising to her face, but she too was struck by the ridiculousness of the situation—really the man had no shame—and an answering smile, quickly and ruthlessly suppressed, tugged at the corners of her mouth.

  “And what did you think of the article in The Edinburgh Review on the government of India,” a pleasant cultured voice broke into Sarah’s disordered thoughts.

  She started, colored even more fiercely, and turned to the vicar, who was regarding her with a twinkle in his eyes. “A rare treat for us rustics to observe the ton at such a near remove, is it not?” he remarked, nodding in the direction of the gay little group at the end of the table. By this time Rosalind, unable to bear the loss of the earl’s attention for more than a few minutes, was entertaining her immediate dinner partners and those within earshot such as Lord Farringdon with a scintillating recitation of the latest on-dits.

  “Yes, I suppose, if one is diverted by that sort of thing,” was Sarah’s bemused reply. How utterly embarrassing! It was bad enough that such useless fribbles as Lord Farringdon should even attract her attention, much less to a degree that was noticeable to her longtime friend, the Reverend Thaddeus Wit-son. It was the vicar who had shown her how many other things there were in the world on which to focus her energy and intellect besides the social milieu, and it was he, along with Lady Willoughby, who had made Sarah feel as though she was a person of value in spite of her distaste for the flirting and coquetry at the local assemblies. Thaddeus Witson had devoted hours of his
time to her education long after her governess had departed. That he should catch her gawking like the veriest schoolgirl at a man who from all accounts had quite enough women lavishing attention on him already, was disconcerting in the extreme.

  Sternly calling herself to task, Sarah turned to her dinner partner. “Yes, I did read the article, though I confess to being no more enlightened now as to the management of India than before, though I do feel it imperative to employ indigenous peoples in that endeavor as much as possible.”

  Thaddeus smiled warmly at her. “Certainly that is an opinion that does you great credit.” And thus, safely over the awkward moment, the two of them launched into a spirited political discussion so absorbing to them both that the rest of the party receded into the background. Alistair, stealing another glance down the table at the woman who had subjected him to such a cool appraisal, discovered himself completely ignored as she immersed herself deep in earnest colloquy with the scholarly looking gentleman seated to her left.

  Everyone else around the earl was speaking with more or less animation to their fellows, but somehow the particular conversation he was now observing appeared to be different from the others. Where those around him were desultory, this was intense, the topic obviously of a serious nature and entirely absorbing to both of them. Unlike so many other exchanges he had witnessed over the years, the lady in this one was as fully engaged as the gentleman. Ordinarily, it seemed to Alistair that in conversations between the men and women of the ton the male expounded while the female nodded encouragingly, smiling where appropriate. It was either that or a female who chattered flirtatiously to an admiring masculine audience. This interchange, however, appeared to be a true trading of ideas with the lady as involved as the gentleman and, more unusual yet, each one stopped to listen respectfully to the other.