An Unusual Bequest (10 page)

H
er room was a shambles. While she had been out, someone had made a thorough search of it. Her clothes had been thrown out of the drawers and chests and were strewn over the floor; the covers had been pulled off the bed and the mattress removed. Her small jewel box had been broken open and everything taken; necklaces, brooches, even her betrothal ring, all gone. Even the few guineas tucked away in a small bag had been taken, leaving her truly penniless.

With no word from Mr Hardacre and matters going from bad to worse, she had been coming slowly to the conclusion that she must give up all idea of a school and use whatever assets she had to get herself and her children to her great-uncle and risk his displeasure. Now she could not even do that. But who had taken them? She trusted the servants; in any case, a thieving servant would not have made this mess—he or she would have taken what they wanted stealthily and covered their tracks. Whoever had done this did not care who knew it. Cecil was desperate for money. She turned on her heel and went downstairs to seek him out, anger driving away all caution.

It was Sunday afternoon, a time for worship and contemplation in most households, but at Easterley Manor the men and women were already at the gaming table. She had not ventured in the room where they were playing before, and they all looked up in surprise as the door was flung open and she rushed in, her skirts swishing about her, betraying her agitation. The table was laid with a green cloth; there were scattered cards and piles of money, some of it at the players’ elbows, some in the middle of the table, some of it holding down scribbled vouchers. But what caught her eye was not the money, but her pearls. She darted forward and grabbed them. ‘These are mine! Stolen from my room.’

Cecil grabbed them back. ‘Stolen from my father, you mean,’ he said, sneering at her. ‘Taken from my inheritance. I simply retrieved what was mine.’ He lifted them out of her reach as she went to grab them again. ‘Oh, no, my dear, I am afraid you must forfeit them.’

‘My father gave me those pearls long before I ever came to this house.’

‘Why should I believe that? I know for a fact my mother had some exactly like these; indeed, I think these are the very ones. What did you do for my father to persuade him to give them to you?’

She heard one of the women giggle. Enraged, she turned to look at them all. There was not a single friendly face among them. Even Viscount Darton, who had professed to be concerned for her, was looking bored, as if her domestic squabbles had nothing to do with him.

‘I take what is mine,’ Cecil went on. ‘You should not have hidden them from me when I have been so good as to give you and your bratlings a home. Now go away, you are interrupting our game.’

She was not done yet. ‘And the money? I had five guineas…’

‘Five, was it? And you said you had nothing. I knew you were lying.’

‘It was all I had.’

‘Extracted from my father as he lay dying, no doubt.’

She was so appalled that she could not speak. She stared at him, clasping her hands into fists.

‘I gave her the money,’ Stacey deliberately drawled, controlling his anger with a huge effort.

‘Good God, man, what for?’ Augustus Spike wanted to know. ‘Do not tell me you managed to melt the ice.’

‘Is it not customary to reward the servants of one’s host?’ he queried mildly, though it was taking all his will to stop himself laying a facer on the man. He dare not look at Lady Hobart, though he could easily imagine the venom in her eyes. Oh, how she must hate him! But it was better to call her a servant than allow these lascivious men to call her something worse.

‘Certainly, if they serve you well,’ Augustus Spike said with a grin that made his meaning very clear.

‘Do you expect me to believe that?’ Cecil demanded of Stacey, ignoring Augustus.

Stacey shrugged. ‘It matters not one jot what you believe. But I think you should give the lady back her money.’

‘You know damn well, I do not have it. It went on that last hand. And if we do not proceed with the game, I never will win it back. Now, do you think we can get on with it? Your deal, Reggie, I believe.’

Charlotte, knowing she was getting nowhere and unwilling to lay herself open to any more accusations and embarrassing innuendo, turned and fled from the room.

Stacey counted out five guineas from the pile at his elbow and got up to follow her. ‘I will add this to the amount you owe me, Hobart,’ he said, as he went.

He caught up with her on the second landing. She was in such a hurry that the only way he could stop her was to grab her arm and make her turn to face him. He lifted her hand and put the coins into it. ‘Yours, I believe,’ he said.

Oh, how she longed to throw them in his face, to call him every sort of name she could think of; he was no better than the rest. He had called her a servant, had implied…Oh, it was too mortifying. Did he really think of her in those terms? Not a real lady, but a servant who had married a title. She could point his error out to him, tell him she was a Falconer and watch his reaction, but why should she? She had never traded on that and would not do so now. What was worse was that she could not even give herself the satisfaction of refusing to take the money because she needed it. She clenched her fingers over it and gave way to the temptation to vent her anger and frustration on him. She hit him on the jaw, hard enough to rock his head back.

He quickly regained his balance. ‘Is that your usual way of showing gratitude?’ he demanded. ‘For your sake I have probably made an enemy of Cecil Hobart, if not the whole company…’

‘I did not ask you to do it.’ She was sorry she had hit him. The edge of one of the coins must have caught his cheek; there was a red mark where she had struck him. Never before had she lost her temper so completely and lashed out at anyone. She should not have done it, especially when he, for all his faults, had tried to help her. But she could not bring herself to apologise.

He smiled ruefully, rubbing his jaw. ‘You certainly pack a punch, my lady. Be thankful that I am gentleman enough not to retaliate.’

‘Oh, go away,’ she said. ‘Go back to your playmates. Leave me alone.’ But she was weeping; the tears were running down her face, salty, unstoppable. She had never felt so miserable, so alone. She was destitute and she was bandying words with this man as if it were his fault. She turned away, but not before he saw her distress. His heart, already as good as lost, went out to her. He knew that, however often they might quarrel, whatever she had been in the past—whether it was a lady’s maid, which would account for her gentility, the daughter of a mushroom who had spent new money having her educated, or a governess—he loved her and would go on loving her to his dying day. Anne-Marie, for all her high and mighty manners, had not had half the character of the woman who turned from him now so that he might not see her tears.

He reached out and took her by the shoulders, turning her back towards him. The fight had gone out of her; she did not resist. ‘Oh, my dear, please do not cry. I would not for the world have made you cry.’

His soft words were her undoing. She leaned into him and he enfolded her in his arms without speaking. Now was not the time for words. She was soaking the front of his waistcoat, but he did not care. There was no longer any doubt in his mind that he loved her. He loved her for her spirit, her compassion for others less fortunate, for her consideration, her independence and her fortitude. He loved her for her beauty and her soft, pliant body, clinging to him now, needing comfort. What comfort could he give? He took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at her cheeks, carefully wiping away the tears.

‘Thank you.’ Her words were whispered. ‘I’m sorry I hit you.’

‘And I am sorry to have added to your distress. I did not mean to, believe me. I would rather help you.’

She smiled shakily. ‘You have. You recovered my money.’

‘Five guineas will not take you very far. Is that truly all you have?’

‘Yes, and my jewels. They are mine, you know, presents from my father and my husband. Cecil has no claim on them.’

‘I am sure he has not, but he is desperate.’ He paused to lift her chin with his finger so that he could look into her eyes, still bright with tears. ‘Do you feel better now? I must go back to the game. It is the only way…’ He released her and stood back, reluctant to leave her, wanting to go on holding her, but knowing, if he did not return to the game, any gains he had made would be lost.

‘What do you mean, the only way?’ she demanded, but he had gone, striding down the corridor towards the stairs.

She turned and went into her room, her figure drooping with fatigue, a fatigue brought on by worry and sleeplessness. She put the money in the pocket of her skirt, the only place where it was safe, and began slowly, mechanically, to tidy up the mess. Her mind was numb. She could see no way out of her predicament.

The game continued all day and well into the night. The players stopped only to call for food and more wine, but they did not leave the table except to relieve themselves. The more Cecil lost, the more he drank; the more he drank, the more fuddled his brain became and the more he lost. Stacey remained sober, concentrating as never before on the cards, watching everyone else, memorising where the cards were. He was doing it for Charlotte Hobart, the woman he loved as he had loved no other and, if luck should favour him, then he would hand everything he had won to her. She should have her school and Julia would come to it and in the fullness of time, when his daughter was happy and settled, he would court Charlotte Hobart properly. Her didn’t care about her antecedents; it was the woman he loved, not her family and whether they were high or low. The prospect brought a tiny smile to his lips. But if he lost? He did not want to contemplate that and so he concentrated harder than ever.

At midnight, Cecil threw down his cards. ‘Gentlemen, you have run me aground.’ Money and jewels had gone and he reached for a pencil and a slip of paper to write out yet another voucher.

‘No more vouchers,’ Sir Roland said.

‘I have nothing else.’

‘What about the inheritance?’ Reginald Comins asked him. ‘You said as soon as the lawyers had finished sorting it out, you would be a rich man.’

Stacey laughed. ‘It is evident you do not know the terms of the late Lord Hobart’s will, Mr Comins.’

‘Keep your tongue between your teeth, Darton,’ Cecil growled.

‘Oh, let us hear the terms of this will on which we have all put so much trust,’ one of the women put in.

‘Hobart has inherited Easterley Manor and whatever he can make the estate earn,’ he said. ‘But no ready money. That is all in trust for the children.’

‘Whose children?’

‘Your host’s and Lady Hobart’s.’

‘Cecil has no children,’ Adelia said. ‘You haven’t, have you, Cecil? I assume they must be legitimate.’

‘I plan to marry very soon.’

‘Then let us felicitate you. Who is the lucky lady? And when will the nuptials take place?’

‘Soon.’

‘And another year before we hear of an issue,’ Henry Corton put in. He had made his money in the slave trade and was extraordinarily fat; his coat with its silver buttons strained across his corseted stomach. He was ahead, not by much, but enough to make him wary. ‘Do you expect us to wait that long to be paid? Supposing the lady is barren?’

‘You know, my friends, I think we have been bubbled,’ Reginald Comins added. ‘And I, for one, intend to cut my losses and withdraw.’

One by one, others picked up their winnings or signed vouchers, mostly in favour of Sir Roland or Stacey, and then left the room. Only Stacey, Sir Roland, Augustus and Lady Grey remained.

‘You’ll marry our friend here, won’t you, Adelia?’ Sir Roland asked her. ‘Give him an heir…’

‘Now why should I do that?’

‘Because if the Viscount is correct, it is the only way to that inheritance.’ He grinned. ‘It would be your child’s birthright. I am sure you could find ways of laying your hands on it.’

‘So’s I could pass it on to you. What is there for me in that? No, you find another cat’s paw. I’m off with the others.’ She picked up the ten guineas she had won and flounced from the room, leaving Cecil facing his two chief tormentors and Stacey Darton, who still smiled, still chinked the coins he had won.

‘Then there is nothing for it but you will have to marry the ice maiden,’ Augustus told Cecil with a leer. ‘At least we know she ain’t barren.’

‘I cannot marry my dead brother’s wife, it ain’t allowed.’

‘Then I will,’ Sir Roland said. ‘Might enjoy warming her up a bit.’

‘You need the lady’s consent for that,’ Stacey said laconically, trying desperately not to let his fury show.

‘Oh, I think she can be persuaded, if it means saving her precious house and her daughters. Pretty little things they are.’

Spike gave a cracked laugh. ‘Can’t see you as a family man, Roly, my friend, not even for a fortune.’

‘There is no fortune,’ Stacey said quietly. He had himself firmly under control, but it would take very little to goad him into lashing out at all three. It would, he knew, be a foolish thing to do. The three together could easily overcome him and what help would he be to Charlotte and her little girls then?

‘How do you know that?’ Both men rounded on him.

‘Lord Hobart’s attorney is also my attorney and he told me. It is no more than pin money. Cecil ruined his father years ago.’

They turned on Cecil, making him cringe. ‘Is this true?’

‘No, it is not,’ he said. ‘He’s lying. There’s a fortune. I’m only waiting for that damned lawyer to get on with overturning the will. He said it would be easy and not take long.’

They looked from him to Stacey, wondering whom to believe. ‘I’ll buy Hobart’s vouchers off you,’ he put in while they hesitated. ‘At half their face value.’

Augustus Spike laughed. ‘Why should we do that when we have the chance to be paid in full?’

‘You think you will be paid in full?’ Stacey queried. ‘Are you prepared to gamble on that?’ He let the coins trickle through his fingers on to the table. ‘These and more for your vouchers. A bird in the hand, you know.’