A Rival Heir (20 page)

Nor had she had the opportunity to meet a sufficient number and variety of gentlemen to find out in whom she might be interested. If he were to attempt to win her regard, wouldn’t he be seen as taking unfair advantage of her? Not that the opinion of others was so important, but would it not be the truth? And there was, again, that self-interest which might actually be influencing him as well.

This had become the usual tangle of his thoughts on the subject of Nell Armstrong, and it was almost with relief that he spied his friend Hopkins approaching from the opposite direction.

"Hugh! Haven't seen you in days, dear fellow. Something up?"

"Dancing attendance upon my sister and her friend," Hugh admitted. "Holmsly seems to be gone a good deal and Emily frets."

"I should be very happy to keep her company," Hopkins offered. "'Course, I heard she slapped some poor fellow who visited."

"Who tried to kiss her, more like," Hugh muttered. "My sister's good spirits are occasionally misunderstood by the local rakehells."

"Well, you know you can trust me not to cross the line, my good fellow. What ails Holmsly that he don't spend more time with his bride?"

"Business matters, I gather."

Hopkins pursed his lips. "Hmm. Thought I saw him 'tother day, you know, south of Bath. But he must not have recognized me, as he rode off without a word."

Hugh's gaze sharpened. "South of Bath? Anywhere near Combe Park?"

"Not far, now you mention it. We were returning from Prior Park. Lovely place."

Hugh didn't tell him that Holmsly's business was ostensibly in Bristol, not at all in the direction of Prior Park, or Combe Park, for that matter. But it certainly gave him a moment's pause, since Nell, too, had thought she'd seen his brother-in-law in that area. To Hopkins he said, "Why not call on Emily now? Ask her about the dancing lessons."

"Dancing lessons, eh? Ain't had dancing lessons since I was in short pants."

A pure fabrication, of course, and Hugh laughed. "I'm not surprised you were a dancing prodigy, Horace. Go see Emily; she will press you into service."

"Happy to oblige her in any way," Hopkins assured him, as he tipped his hat in farewell.

One more mystery to unravel, Hugh mused as he strolled on down the street. He had been willing to believe that Nell could have misidentified John Holmsly in the country. She scarcely knew him. But Hopkins had known Holmsly most of his life, and if he said he'd seen him near Combe Park, then that's where Holmsly had been. But why had he been there--when he was supposed to be in Bristol on business?

Hugh very much feared he did not want to know the answer to that question, nor to have Emily know it.

But the matter of his brother-in-law's whereabouts completely disappeared from his mind when he found the packet of his mother's letters on the salver in the hall. Mrs. Luther had finally been successful in her search.

Chapter Fourteen

Nell was a little alarmed to receive a call from Sir Hugh that afternoon. Her aunt was out visiting Mrs. Dorsey, so Nell would have to welcome him on her own. Though she had appreciated his defense of her position to his sister, she certainly did not wish to discuss the matter further. And it occurred to her that he might think she had induced Emily to make that suggestion that she be her permanent companion. Therefore, her smile was hesitant when Sir Hugh was ushered into the parlor by Woodbridge.

His first words surprised her: "Miss Armstrong, may I call you Nell?"

"But of course. Your sister has been calling me Nell since we met."

"I know, and it is very awkward to be forever addressing you as Miss Armstrong when in the next breath Emily is saying Nell this and Nell that."

"I do prefer Nell to Helen, however. Only my aunt calls me Helen."

"So I've noticed." He placed a packet of letters on the table as he seated himself across from her. "I trust your aunt has gone out? These arrived today from my housekeeper. I think they answer our questions about Miss Longstreet and Lord Westwick."

He sounded so serious that Nell clutched her hands tightly in her lap. "Yes, my aunt should be gone for some time. What do the letters say?"

"You should read the pertinent ones," he said, reaching to lift the first one from the stack. "We have only my godmother's word for what happened, of course, but I see no reason to disbelieve her, as these letters were written at the time of the events."

Nell accepted the first missive with slightly trembling fingers. It was dated more than forty years in the past and began with the salutation "My dear Amelia." She immediately recognized her aunt's impressive copperplate handwriting, large and self-assured as it was. There were a few lines congratulating Lady Nowlin on her state of impending motherhood before Rosemarie Longstreet launched into her own news:

I must tell you that the long-awaited proposal has been made and accepted. Carstairs Tollson applied to my father last week for the right to pay his addresses to me. It was prettily done, as one would expect. He is such a handsome fellow, as you will remember from meeting him in London, and his being almost a neighbor is such a fortunate thing.

We have set no date as yet. Mama seems to think there is no sense rushing into what will carry me away from the Manor, when I bring a "calming" influence on my sister Margaret. I am not impatient to be off myself, as I understand old Lord Westwick has been ill for some time, and we will be forced to live in his household for the time being. But I believe the earl has expressed a wish to see Carstairs married before he passes on. Not that this is imminently expected. I trust our nuptials will take place in a few months.

Nell looked up from the letter to say, "There is a lack of excitement about her acceptance, isn't there? It sounds almost as though it were an arranged marriage."

"Well, they would have known each other, and it would have been a beneficial alliance on both sides, I dare say. Read your aunt's next letter to my mother."

This one was dated three months later. The pertinent information was offered in a slightly irritated tone:

The old lord has died. Though he had been sickly for some time, no one expected his death. I must say it is very aggravating. Now we are supposed to wait out the year of mourning before we marry. I cannot believe it is necessary, but apparently Carstairs' mother insists that it would be disrespectful to her husband’s memory if we were not to adhere to this antiquated custom. I cannot see how! Her husband wished for our marriage before his death and would no doubt be annoyed by its delay, but no one pays any attention to my opinion on the matter. Both my parents agree that it is Lady Westwick’s right to demand this of her son and his bride.

Without saying anything, Hugh handed her the third letter. This one was dated six months after its predecessor.

You will not credit what has happened, Amelia! I can scarce believe it myself. This morning I received a call from Carstairs. It had been almost a month since we had last seen him. He sought an interview with my father first, and Mama and I could hear father's voice bellowing all the way down the hall, though we could not distinguish the words. Mama was quite alarmed. She suggested that I go above to my chamber, but I am not so chicken-hearted!

When Papa came from his study, he was red in the face and would say nothing but "OUT!" to the new earl. Carstairs hesitated, saying, "I really should speak to Miss Longstreet, sir." But Papa would have none of it. He kept mumbling things like "miscreant," "cad," and the like. Some of the terms I was not even familiar with! But you may be sure that Mama and I got the idea that the earl was no longer welcome in our house.

With a stiff bow, Carstairs left. Papa was so distressed that he was unable to speak. Mama insisted that he sit down, and while she was ministering to him I slipped out of the room and ran after Carstairs. I caught up with him just short of the stables. When he heard me, he stopped and waited for me. His face was quite white, whether with anger or some other emotion I was unable to tell. He held his hands out to me and clasped mine so tightly that they hurt. "Miss Longstreet! Thank you for coming. I have done you a dreadful wrong and I would have been even more distressed to leave without telling you to your face."

Even then I did not comprehend of what he spoke. Well, who would have? I had always considered him a man of honor, as did we all. Otherwise I would not have agreed to ally myself with him. So what he had to say not only stunned but disgusted me, and I pulled my hands from his in real horror.

How could he so humiliate me? For that is what he has done, Amelia. Unbeknownst to anyone except his mother, apparently, my Lord Westwick has married his cousin Sophie, the one who came to stay with Lady Westwick to comfort her after the death of the old lord. They have "fallen in love." Spare me from such maudlin sentiment! Fallen in love, indeed. My lord assured me that he had the greatest respect for me, etc., etc. He assured me that he had tried on the occasion of his last visit to explain the situation to me, but had found himself unable to produce the necessary details. One may well imagine! I well remember that he spoke warmly of his cousin on that occasion. Oh, yes, he had indeed mentioned her and enlightened me as to his vast appreciation of her usefulness to his mama. She was all kindness, all goodness, all sympathy and gentleness. His encomiums made me quite ill.

Not having had the courage to face me with the truth on that occasion, he had acquired a special license and they were married last week. A week ago! And he has only just gathered the courage to tell my father of his treachery. And hear this his reasoning, Amelia, if you will. He was not convinced that I loved him, but was certain that his cousin did. He did not love me (though holding me in the highest regard, of course), and knew that he did love his cousin. He had hoped, you see, that I would guess the state of his emotions and release him from his promise when he spoke so glowingly of his cousin! As though I would do any such thing when the announcement of our betrothal had already been made.

No man of honor would do what Carstairs has done. I still can scarcely credit that he has told us the truth. Oh, I regret that Mama allowed a delay in the marriage, for had I married him and gone to the Hall, there would have been no need for his cousin to come and throw out her lures. And I overheard Mama and Papa talking when they thought I had gone to bed this evening. Papa thinks it was the old lord who insisted on Carstairs marrying, and Mama thinks the dowager Lady Westwick did not care for me and purposely arranged for her weasely little cousin to come and attract Carstairs' notice. Both my parents, however, have made it clear that if queried, I must indicate that it was I who broke off the engagement. Otherwise, I shall look a complete fool, Papa says, though I don't see it myself. Carstairs is the villain of this piece and I would have everyone know it!

There was a hastily written postscript which begged Amelia Nowlin to keep the story to herself since Miss Longstreet's parents were adamant about the necessity to have no word of the true situation leak out.

"Oh, dear." Nell set the letter aside as though she wished nothing to do with its contents. "How awful. I find it almost impossible to believe that Lord Westwick could have done such a thing."

Sir Hugh nodded, his face drawn. "And yet, I cannot believe that your aunt lied, or even exaggerated, in her letter. He seems to have chosen to marry the woman he loved despite the heavy social penalty it might have brought him. He was fortunate that Miss Longstreet's parents insisted on her taking the blame. But it was grossly unfair to her, of course. I think you may be right that your aunt is here in Bath to seek revenge."

Nell felt tears prick at her eyes. "Poor Aunt Longstreet. She must have suffered dreadfully."

"At least the blow was to her pride and not to her heart," Sir Hugh remarked, his voice gentle. "She does not seem to have been 'in love' with the earl. And I must tell you that it has always been obvious that he was very much in love with his wife, and she with him, to the day of her death."

"So I understand." Nell clasped her hands tightly in her lap, a frown wrinkling her brow. "Do you suppose it was a self-imposed exile, his living here in Bath rather than staying on his estate in Westmorland?"

"Probably. He must have thought it the least (and perhaps the most) he could do to make amends to my godmother and her parents--to stay as far away from them as possible.”

"And so he built a new life here, and no one has ever known about that broken engagement." Nell glanced over at Sir Hugh. "But of course, Mrs. Dorsey must have known all about it. She would have gotten a letter, much like your mother's, when it happened."

The baronet nodded. "I'm sure she did, since she told you your aunt had once been engaged to the earl. She will be part of your aunt's plot to be avenged for the destruction of her expectations. Should we try to speak to Mrs. Dorsey?"

Nell felt torn. Once again it would be calling her loyalty into question if she did anything to stand in her aunt's way, and yet of course she must. No matter what Lord Westwick had done, it was many years ago, and he was an older man now. The social disgrace would be intolerable, and so unnecessary. "Yes, of course we must speak with Mrs. Dorsey. I doubt she has any idea what’s afoot. For that matter, you and I can only suspect what Aunt Longstreet plans. And what about Lord Westwick? Should you speak with him?"

"Do you wish me to?"

Nell sighed. "Oh, Hugh, I don’t know. He must still feel the shame of his actions, even if he has never regretted them. He won't like it that we know. Especially you. He is excessively fond of you."

Her companion scowled and flicked a finger against the remaining letters he held. "What an unpleasant interview
that
would be. And it might cause some damage to . . . to persons who wouldn't seem to be involved."

Nell regarded him questioningly.