An Unusual Bequest Read online

  She left the room, but the ladies did not follow her to the withdrawing room as they would have done in polite society, but stayed to continue drinking with the men. Later, after the table had been cleared, they would call for more wine, spread another cloth and fetch out the playing cards. It had happened every evening of the two weeks they had been at Easterley Manor.

  In that two weeks, life at the Manor had become almost unbearable. Although the arrival of the extra servants had eased the situation a little, Charlotte was still expected to oversee them, to make sure the guests’ many and frequent demands were met, that meals appeared on time and to inspect the guests’ rooms to see that the cleaning and laundry had been properly done. That last was the most tiresome of all. The house party gambled and drank until the early hours of the morning and were still abed at the time most chambermaids would be busy making their beds and tidying their rooms. And woe betide any young girl who entered an occupied room. Even Betsy had come shrieking from Sir Roland’s bedchamber at eleven in the morning, cap all awry and face scarlet.

  Charlotte had been so busy she hardly had time for her daughters, let alone the freedom to go to the village to take her classes and visit the old and sick. They would think she had deserted them. Nor had she heard from Mr Hardacre and that was worrying her. Did it mean he could not persuade his fellow trustees to release some of the girls’ money to her? Were her plans all to come to naught?

  She was alone in the drawing room, sitting beside a small table on which stood all the paraphernalia for making tea, the little stove and kettle, the teapot, cups and saucers, when Stacey sauntered into the room and moved over to the hearth, where a low fire burned, and stood with his back to it, looking down at her. She became disconcertingly aware of his masculinity and her breathing quickened. He was very tall and muscular, his complexion was bronzed, with fine lines about his dark eyes. His mouth was firm, his nose straight and his chin was thrust forward almost belligerently. For all that, he appeared slightly ill at ease, as if he wanted to say something, but was not sure whether to do so or not.

  ‘Are you tired of the company in there, my lord?’ she asked, inclining her head towards the dining room where a loud gust of laughter penetrated the walls. ‘Would you like some tea?’

  ‘Tea?’ he asked absently, his mind on how self-possessed she seemed, but did that hide a vulnerability? After all, with few exceptions, ladies were dependent on their male relatives who could make their lives as pleasant or unpleasant as they wished. They could not handle their own money, even if they had any. He found it difficult to believe the late Lord Hobart had left her entirely at the mercy of his rakeshame of a son. Would she leave if she could? Or did she not mind what Cecil did so long as she had a home? It was an imposing and comfortable house if you did not mind its isolation. She was looking up at him, her face a picture of puzzlement and he realised he had not answered her question. ‘Yes, please, my lady, that would most acceptable.’ He threw up the tails of his coat and sat on the sofa opposite her, tucking his long legs under him.

  She poured the tea and handed the cup to him with hands that were not quite steady. ‘Are the others going to join us?’ she asked.

  ‘I doubt it. They are enjoying themselves too much where they are.’

  ‘Why did you leave them?’

  ‘I volunteered to fetch more wine. According to Cecil, your new footman does not know a good Bordeaux from rough mead.’

  She smiled. ‘I don’t suppose he does, he’s a farm labourer—when he’s in work, that is. It’s been so wet of late, the land is unworkable, and he was stood off.’

  ‘Ah, his need for employment were more important than the needs of Lord Hobart and his guests, is that it?’

  ‘I cannot be expected to find trained servants in a small place like Parson’s End, my lord, especially at a moment’s notice,’ she said sharply. ‘My brother-in-law’s friends must be satisfied.’

  ‘I doubt anything will satisfy them.’

  ‘And you, my lord, have you come to find fault? After all, you are one of them.’

  He opened his mouth to deny it, but changed his mind. It was too soon to tell her the truth, that he was there because of what John Hardacre had told him, that he had at first been curious, which had turned to a surge of compassion when he arrived and had seen what was happening to her, and now wanted to protect her. She would laugh in his face if she knew. He wondered at it himself. ‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘I do not wish to find fault. I appreciate your difficulties.’

  ‘Oh, I do not think you do,’ she said. ‘Or you would not have told my brother-in-law about seeing me and the children playing on the beach. You may have thought it a fine joke, but he used it to taunt me.’

  ‘I did nothing of the sort,’ he said sharply. ‘If Lord Hobart knew of it, it was not I who told him. There are others in the house, you know, and he could have seen you for himself.’

  She realised he was right and her sense of fairness demanded an apology. ‘I am sorry, my lord. I should not have jumped to conclusions.’

  ‘No, things are not always what they seem, are they? I concluded you were a schoolteacher and I was wrong about that.’

  ‘Not entirely, my lord. I do teach at the school in the village. It is something I like to do.’ She stood up. ‘If you come with me, I will find more wine for you, and, rest assured, I do know Bordeaux from mead.’

  He put down his cup and followed her from the room, down the hall beside the main staircase, along a narrow corridor that led to the kitchens, pantries, dairy, laundry room and cellar. She stopped to light a candle standing on a small table and, opening a door, carried it down the cellar steps, sure-footed from years of practice. She knew every inch and cranny of the old house and could find her way about easily, even in the dark. At the bottom of the steps, she lit a lantern from the flame of the candle and handed it to him. ‘Come, let us see what there is.’

  He watched her precede him, tall, elegant, self-assured. She had a good figure, he noted, and the candle held before her added a soft glow to her hair, making a halo of it. He did not know how old she was, guessing she must be about thirty, but she was far from matronly. Without the unrelieved black she wore, she could easily be taken for a much younger woman. She stopped suddenly and he almost collided with her. He put out a hand to steady her and found himself touching the bare flesh of her arm. It was soft and warm. He felt her flinch and knew she had suddenly realised how dangerous it could be down here, alone with a man, a man she did not trust.

  He took a step backwards, though the temptation was great to move forward and enfold her in his arms, to soothe her with soft words, to caress her. Even try the taste of her lips. He pulled himself up sharply—whatever had put that idea into his head? She was not a lightskirt, not like Lady Grey, who would undoubtedly allow him into her bed if he were to suggest it, but a gentlewoman. He guessed she was probably the daughter of a man of business, or a sea captain, genteel but undistinguished, which was why she saw no harm in teaching poor children. No doubt she had been elevated by her marriage to a baronet.

  She pretended not to notice his touch, though it had sent shivers down the back of her spine, but pointed to rows of shelves where bottles of wine were stored. ‘There is hardly any left. Last week that rack was full. I wonder you can play cards at all with the amount of wine and brandy you put away.’ ‘Me?’

  ‘You and the others. I do not think there is much to choose between you.’

  He did not like being lumped with Cecil’s cronies, but, as he had done nothing to make her think any differently of him, he let it go. ‘One becomes used to it,’ he said. ‘Especially abroad in the army when it is often unsafe to drink the local water.’

  ‘You were in the army?’ She picked up two bottles and handed them to him.

  ‘For many years I was a professional soldier.’

  ‘I am surprised. Are you not the Earl of Malcomby’s heir?’

  ‘Yes, but my father was a soldier too. It was how
he earned his earldom. I simply followed in his footsteps.’

  ‘But you are not serving now?’

  ‘No. There comes a time when it is necessary to stop and turn one’s thoughts to duties at home.’

  ‘Your wife?’

  ‘I have no wife. She died many years ago.’

  ‘I am sorry.’ She paused before mounting the steps to the ground floor. ‘Is Cecil really your cousin?’

  ‘He is the son of my father’s cousin, so the relationship is removed.’ He gave a low chuckle. ‘He seems to think it is important.’

  ‘He thinks you are well up in the stirrups and has every intention of relieving you of some of your wealth.’

  He laughed. ‘He may try.’

  ‘You do not think he will succeed?’

  ‘I know he will not. He is a very poor player.’

  ‘And the others?’

  ‘They are a different matter. I fancy they have Cecil in so deep he does not know which way to turn and he is afraid.’ He paused, then added softly. ‘Men in that situation can be dangerous, my lady. I beg you to take care.’

  She turned sharply to see his face, wondering why he should take the trouble to warn her. Not that she needed it; she knew very well the precarious situation she was in. But she had no choice. Until she heard from Mr Hardacre and could find a new home, she was stuck. For her children’s sake she had to endure it. She could not tell him that and so she did not answer. At the top of the narrow stairs he turned to help her negotiate the last step just as Cecil hurried along the corridor towards them.

  ‘Stacey, it is taking you a devilish long time to find a couple of bottles of wine. What have you been doing?’ He stopped suddenly and laughed. ‘Oh, I see. Dallying with my sister-in-law, are you? There’s a time and place for that sort of thing, don’t you know? And it is not now. We are waiting to begin.’

  Instead of releasing Charlotte, Stacey, put his arms about her and drew her close. ‘Trust you to come along and spoil things, Cousin,’ he said jovially.

  ‘You’ll get nowhere with her,’ Cecil said, relieving Stacey of the wine. ‘Cold and stiff as a corpse, that one.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. She was thawing very nicely before you came and spoiled it.’ He felt Charlotte squirm, trying to pull herself away, but he held her closer and before she could protest, had put one forefinger under her chin and tipped her face up to his, so that he could kiss her.

  She started to struggle and then the sensations that coursed through her, sensations she had not felt for over eight years, overcame her resistance and she leaned into him so that their bodies touched and seemed to fuse. She did not seem able to pull herself away, though her head was telling her she was being foolish in the extreme. His lips were caressing hers, making little currents of warmth journey up and down her limbs, until they ended in one great whirlpool of desire. Her legs felt weak and she would have crumpled in a heap if he had not been holding her.

  He lifted his head at last, but only to whisper in her ear, ‘Do not act the outraged innocent, my lady. Remember what I said and take care.’ And with that he kissed her soundly on the cheek and let her go. ‘Come on, Cousin, back to the gaming table.’

  Before she could find her voice, Stacey had taken Cecil’s arm and propelled him along the corridor, leaving her breathless and shaking. And mortified that she had allowed herself to succumb. Now he would think he could take whatever liberties he liked. What was his game? Why did he stay? Surely not so that he could indulge in kissing her? She had no doubt he could make free with any of the other ladies if he so chose and they would not demur, they would encourage him openly.

  Did he imagine there was money to be made from gambling with her brother-in-law? How disappointed he would be when he discovered Cecil had nothing. But that did not explain why he had come to the drawing room to talk to her, nor why he had pretended to be flirting with her. That was the outside of enough! She leaned against the door jamb for support, touching her cheek where he had kissed her. It felt hot. She should have slapped his face, given him a set-down; instead, she had meekly stood and allowed it. He must think her very weak, frightened of him perhaps. But whatever she felt for him, it was not fear, not in the way she feared Cecil and the others.

  Slowly she made her way back to the front of the house and rang for a maid to clear away the tea things. No one else would come for it now. Then she went slowly up the stairs to her room, passing the dining room on her way. The laughter had stopped and the serious business of the card table had begun.

  She was in the dining room the following morning, throwing open the windows to let fresh air into the stuffy, smelly room when Cecil came in. He was dressed in a quilted burgundy dressing gown and a white night-cap. He wore slippers with curled toes, but no hose. ‘Ah, Charlotte, up betimes, I see,’ he said, with a pretence at joviality.

  ‘It is half past ten, my lord.’

  ‘Is it, by gad? Still, never mind. Need to speak to you.’

  ‘Oh?’ She waited.

  ‘Yes. Thing is, I’m a little pinched in the pocket. Had a bad run last night, couldn’t shake it off. Need to pay some of it off. Matter of honour, don’t you know.’

  ‘And?’ She knew what was coming, but she wanted to hear him ask.

  ‘And I need a bit of ready blunt, just a little to satisfy them. You can help me, can’t you?’

  ‘With money?’

  ‘Yes, just a few guineas, to show good faith.’

  ‘And where do you suppose I can find a few guineas, my lord? Does it grow on trees? Or perhaps in the ground along with the turnips?’

  ‘It is not a matter for jest.’

  ‘Indeed it is not. But you are out of luck, Cecil. I have none. Do you think I should still be here if I had?’

  ‘I don’t believe you. My father was devoted to you, so I am told. He must have left you something. Why else was there so little in the pot? You sucked it from him.’

  ‘I most certainly did not!’ She was angry now. ‘Lord Hobart was never so wealthy that the allowance he sent to you was not a drain on his resources, especially in his latter years when he could not manage the estate. You may recall I told you so and that you needed to bring the land back into good heart.’

  ‘You dare to lecture me?’ He stepped towards her, so close she could smell his tainted breath and see the anger in his eyes, anger mixed with fear. Viscount Darton had been right: a frightened man was a dangerous one. But she would not retreat before him. ‘You are a lying vixen,’ he said, his face muscles working, making the scar stand out, a long pink weal. ‘You have salted it away and I will have it.’

  ‘I cannot give you what I do not have. You know the terms of your father’s will. Everything but the house and estate in trust for the grandchildren. I have nothing.’

  ‘Your girls are his grandchildren.’

  ‘Yes, but I cannot touch what is theirs—’ She stopped, wondering how true that was. If she could not make use of it, even for her daughters’ sake, then she was truly in a coil. On the other hand, she certainly did not want to put the idea in his head that her daughters’ inheritance could be realised.

  ‘Hmm.’ He seemed to consider this and then smiled. ‘No doubt my father gave you presents before he stuck his spoon in the wall. Jewellery, if not cash…’

  She was about to deny it—what little jewellery she owned had not been given to her by the late Lord Hobart—but stopped when she heard the door open and the Viscount strolled into the room. Unlike his host, he was properly dressed in coffee-coloured pantaloons and a brown stuff coat. His cravat was neatly but not extravagantly tied, his short hair was carefully brushed. ‘Morning, Hobart,’ he said nonchalantly.

  Charlotte was never so glad to see him and hear his voice. Realising she had been holding her breath, she let it out in a long sigh. She stepped away from Cecil and went to the sideboard to check the contents of the breakfast dishes.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, Darton,’ Cecil said, annoyed by the interruption. ‘Up d
evilish early, ain’t you?’

  ‘If I am, Cousin, then so are you. You are here before me.’ Stacey surveyed the other’s garb. ‘Could you not sleep?’

  ‘I slept well enough.’

  ‘Good. A man should never lose good sleep over his losses. There is always the morrow to recoup. But do you not think it a little impolite to appear before a lady in a state of undress?’

  ‘None of your business.’

  ‘Indeed it is, if the lady in question is one in whom I have a particular interest.’

  Cecil laughed. ‘Particular interest, eh? You’ll get nowhere with her, Darton. She has nothing, so she tells me, though I ain’t sure I believe her.’

  ‘You had better believe her,’ Stacey said, moving swiftly forward and grabbing him by the front of his dressing gown, almost lifting him off the floor. ‘It is not the act of a gentleman to doubt the word of a lady.’ He set him down and dusted his hands together. ‘I suggest you go and dress.’

  Cecil pulled the gown out of Stacey’s way and left the room. Stacey smiled. The fellow owed him a great deal of money and while he did and thought he could recoup, he would not turn him from the house. Besides, Sir Roland and Augustus Spike also owed him money, not quite so much, but they would not want him to leave until they had found a way of retrieving it, legally or illegally.

  ‘So you have a particular interest, have you, my lord?’ Charlotte’s voice brought him back from his reverie.

  ‘Words,’ he said. ‘Simply a form of words that had the desired effect. He has gone.’

  ‘But you are still here.’

  ‘And at your service, my lady.’ He swept her a flourishing bow.