Heiress in Love (14 page)

“But I don’t wish to pleasure you,” said Jane. “I wish to
marry
you, my lord.”

She had the dubious satisfaction of seeing his brows contract. But before she could enlarge on that statement, Constantine’s attention switched to something beyond her.

His lips curved into a humorless smile, his eyes suddenly hard and bright with mockery. “Ah. Our upright neighbor, come to call. Excellent timing, as ever.”

Jane turned her head to see her neighbor, Adam Trent, hat in hand, striding across the lawn toward them. “You know him?”

“I’ve had that misfortune since we were boys.”

The same amused, faintly contemptuous expression he’d worn when the duke departed earlier settled over his sculpted features.

The object of his regard was a tall, athletic fellow dressed in a neat brown suit. He was said to be the handsomest man in the county—and Jane had thought so, too, until now. Beside Constantine Black’s vivid dark beauty Mr. Trent reminded her a little of her morning porridge. Sandy hair, fair complexion. Eyes that could have been hazel, or green, or light brown.

Bland. Unexciting. And how ungenerous of her to call him so. He’d been Frederick’s dearest friend.

“Good morning, Mr. Trent. How do you do?” Jane curtsied as he approached.

“Lady Roxdale.” Trent took her hand and bowed over it. “I had scant opportunity to express my condolences yesterday, but please believe I am desolate for your loss.”

“Thank you,” she murmured. “I know you must feel Frederick’s passing keenly on your own account, sir.”

“Indeed. He was a good man. The best of fellows.”

Jane turned to indicate Constantine’s presence with a light gesture. “You are acquainted with Lord Roxdale, I believe.”

Constantine nodded a greeting. “Trent.”

There was a long, protracted pause against the steady rush of the fountain. A lone birdcall flooded the silence with sweet, piercing song. Adam Trent did nothing, made no reply. He simply stood there, his gaze fixed on Jane’s face.

As if Constantine Black did not exist.

Indignation spurred hot blood to Jane’s cheeks. She turned to Constantine, ready to smooth over the discourtesy, but she was too late to salvage the situation.

Gravel crunched as Constantine spun on his heel and walked away.

With a frown, Jane rounded on her neighbor, but caught herself before unleashing the scold that rose to her lips. Who was she to defend Constantine Black? And why should she wish to?

The gentleman gazed after Constantine’s retreating form. With a grimace, he said, “I didn’t know
he
was here.”

“If you had, you would not have set foot on his lands, I daresay,” said Jane. She despised sanctimony and disliked ill-bred behavior even more. One did not give the cut direct to a man in his own home, no matter what kind of scoundrel he was.

Trent didn’t seem to notice the reproof. “Lady Roxdale, there is something…” He turned the brim of his hat in his hands, a frown wrinkling his brow. “Jane, I must speak with you. Caution you about that fellow.”

She gave a light laugh. “Believe me, Mr. Trent, I am well aware of Constantine Black’s reputation. If you are concerned for my honor, you need not be. I stand in no danger from him.”

Oh, Jane, what an utter bouncer!

Trent narrowed his eyes, as if to observe her more closely. “Very well, then. I’ll say no more on the subject. The tale’s not fit for your ears, anyway.”

Montford hadn’t balked at telling her, had he? In spite of herself, Jane was intrigued. Montford had related the bare facts, but she wanted to know more about what led to Constantine’s disgrace. Perhaps Trent knew. He’d been Frederick’s closest friend, after all.

She bit her lip. Looking for extenuating circumstances, was she? For a breach of honor like that, there could be none.

Mentally, Jane shook herself. She shouldn’t even consider listening to idle gossip about her husband’s heir. She didn’t need to hear whatever Trent had to say in disparagement of Constantine Black. It was none of her business, anyway.

“Well, I won’t stay,” said Trent, glancing at the house as if he’d rather like to stay, all the same. Surely he couldn’t expect her to invite him in, after he’d behaved so rudely toward the new baron? “I merely came to inquire as to your health after yesterday.”

“How kind,” said Jane a little stiffly. “I am well, sir. As you see.”

“Yes, I notice there is color in your cheeks today. That is excellent.” He offered her his arm. “Would you care to walk back with me a little way?”

What could she do but acquiesce? She placed her hand on his arm and strolled with him. No pulse of awareness disturbed her when Trent was near. Not like it did with Constantine Black.

After a silence, he said, “What are your plans now, Lady Roxdale?”

She gave the answer she’d given Montford. “I shall stay here until I can hand the reins of the household over.”
Until Constantine Black agrees to marry me,
she corrected silently.

He raised his brows. “Indeed? I assume you are well chaperoned.”

“Lady Endicott. It’s most obliging of her.” The countess had not yet left her bedchamber after her hysterical episode last night, but Jane wouldn’t mention that to Trent.

“What a pity you must leave Lazenby,” he said. “You’ve done so much good here.”

Yes, she would miss it, if she had to leave. With a deep breath of rain-scented air, Jane gazed around her at the wide terraces of fountains and gardens, at the lake and the romantic arch of the stone bridge, framed by weeping willows.

A gust of wind flurried her skirts, ruffling the lake’s surface. The sun suddenly burst through the iron-gray clouds, dancing along the ripples like a shower of yellow diamonds. The deep green of the hills called to her in a whisper that scurried down the hedgerows.

Ah, she needed to ride. After a solid week of rain, it was time to clear her head and shake the dust of mourning from her feet.

“Is it only the estate you’ll miss?” Trent’s deep voice intruded on her thoughts. “You may be sure that
I
shall miss
you,
Jane.”

Her gaze flew to his, but his expression was friendly, not amorous. She exhaled a relieved breath. “Of course. That goes without saying, I hope.”

She put out her hand in kind but firm dismissal. “Thank you for the stroll, Mr. Trent. I have much to attend to this morning. I trust you’ll excuse me.”

He took her hand and held it warmly between his own. “Please believe … If there is anything you need, you have only to ask.” His jaw hardened. “And if that blackguard offers you the least offense, you must tell me. I shall know how to deal with it.”

Recovering her hand, Jane curtsied. “Thank you, Mr. Trent, but I’m sure there’ll be no necessity.”

When Jane reached the Hall, she found a great buzz of activity. Liveried footmen laden with baggage traipsed through the entrance hall and up the stairs in a seemingly endless stream of hunter’s green velvet and silver lacing. Had the new baron begun inviting people here already?

“There you are, my dear!” A clear, crisp voice carried effortlessly through the cavernous space.

Oh, great heavens, what next? Slowly, Jane turned. “Lady Arden. How … unexpected.”

Although she should have expected her, shouldn’t she? Lady Arden was an inveterate matchmaker. If Jane wasn’t mistaken, Frederick’s relative had arrived to make sure Jane did her duty and married Constantine Black. That suited Jane very well, indeed. She needed all the help she could get.

The older woman rustled forward, arms outstretched, delicate drifts of lace dripping from her wrists like expensive cobwebs. No matter the circumstances, Lady Arden always appeared deliciously cool and elegant, not a wisp of her honey-brown hair out of place. Jane envied her poise to the bottom of her soul.

Instead of taking Jane’s hands, Lady Arden enveloped her in a scented hug.

Drawing back, Lady Arden touched Jane’s cheek. “You poor dear. How inconsiderate of Frederick to up and die in such a fashion.” She swallowed and blinked hard. “The man had no sense of what is appropriate.”

A small break in Lady Arden’s voice robbed her words of callousness. Moisture glazed her eyes, and Jane realized she’d never seen the grande dame of the Black clan look so human.

“It was sudden,” said Jane softly. “There was no time to prepare anyone, though we’ve known for the past year or so that it was only a matter of time.”

Lady Arden nodded her understanding. “The funeral was yesterday, was it? Yes, I thought so.”

“I’m sorry,” Jane said. “I did write.”

“Not your fault, dear. The letter didn’t reach me in time. I was touring the Scottish holdings.” Her ladyship stiffened her spine, as if determined to shake off her melancholy. “Shall we go somewhere we can be cozy? I would give my eyes for a cup of tea.”

“My sitting room.” Jane smiled, leading the way upstairs.

She pulled the bell to order tea and invited Lady Arden to sit.

A smile playing about Lady Arden’s mouth, she said, “I hear that rogue Constantine is here.”

“Yes,” said Jane. “I believe he’s closeted with our estate agent and solicitor. Things have been left in rather an awful tangle.”

“Really?” said Lady Arden. “How tiresome for him.”

“Not only for him,” Jane muttered.

“Oh, there is nothing so tedious as business. Let’s not talk of dull matters.” Lady Arden dismissed her relative’s financial crisis with an elegant wave.

“So!” she continued, her eyes sparkling. “You’ve met the blackest of all the Blacks.” Lady Arden propped her chin in her hand. “My dear Jane. Tell me all!”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Constantine glanced at the clock in the muniments room. Half an hour until the dinner gong.

He scanned the various maps, account books, legal documents, and other paraphernalia scattered over tables and stacked on chairs. They’d made good progress, considering. He had a much better picture now of exactly how his finances stood.

The time had sped by, which surprised him. Even more astonishing, he’d warmed to his task after a short while, assimilating information, drawing conclusions, issuing orders as if he’d been born to it.

Which of course, he had been, hadn’t he? Broadmere was his birthright as the elder son and he’d been trained to manage it. Now, he found that habits ingrained young died the hardest deaths. Clearly, his schooling had not been in vain.

Papers crackled and fluttered as his cousin’s land agent and solicitor pored over them. He’d worked them hard for more than six hours without a break. Time to let them go.

“We’ll leave it there for today, gentlemen.”

Murmuring assent, Mr. Greenslade and Mr. Larkin gathered up their papers.

“No, leave those,” said Constantine. “I wish to go through them one more time.”

The lawyer sent him a startled look. As if he’d suggested he might fly to the moon rather than stick at this work until the wee hours, as he planned to do.

Constantine said gently, “Perhaps I’ll find something you’ve missed.”

He was clutching at straws, of course, trying to find some hidden value in the estate’s account books. In fact, today’s exercise had shown him more areas in which money needed to be spent.

To his credit, the solicitor merely blinked at the suggestion that such an infamous and indolent rogue could be more thorough than he. “Yes, my lord.”

“Shall we say noon tomorrow?” said Constantine.

The lawyer bowed. “I am entirely at your disposal, my lord.”

“For that, I thank you most heartily.” He leaned one hip against the desk. “Where are you putting up?”

“At the King’s Head.”

“Yes?” Constantine raised one eyebrow. “I hear they serve an excellent breakfast there.”

The solicitor permitted himself a smile. “Indeed, my lord.”

Mr. Greenslade bowed himself out, but when the land agent made to do the same, Constantine said, “One moment, Larkin.”

The man jumped and took on a hunted look, like a rabbit scenting a fox. The pale, carrot-topped fellow was far too thin for the prevailing fashion to do him any favors. He resembled nothing so much as a dandelion, with his stalky physique and puffball hair. The slightest breath of opposition and he’d blow away.

As far as Constantine could tell, the young man was conscientious but ineffectual. Had he been in Frederick’s confidence? Unlikely. But then, one never knew.

“How long have you been employed here, Larkin?”

“Almost three years now, my lord.”

“Would you say you were well acquainted with Lord Roxdale?”

Larkin’s Adam’s apple wobbled. “No, my lord. The former Lord Roxdale did not concern himself too closely with the day-to-day running of the estate.”

“Left it all to you, did he?”

“N-not to me, my lord. To Mr. Jones. He was agent here until he … retired about a year ago.”

“Ah. I remember Mr. Jones.” He recalled all too vividly some scathing reprimands from the hardheaded steward, too. He’d most likely deserved them. As a boy, Constantine had always been up to mischief.