To Wed an Heiress (5 page)

“
G
ood lord! The fiancée
and
her father!” said Torin when he heard the news about who would be accompanying them to Woldwick. “Don’t you think that is a bit much?”

“Mind your tongue, Torin,” said Haro. It was bad enough to have to deal with Eda’s pique, but combating two detractors was the outside of enough.

“I’m sure this Mr. Hastings wishes to examine his investment,” said Eda, as she directed the footman to bring her brass-bound trunk downstairs and outside to the coach. Dozens of hatboxes soon followed the trunk, carried down the stairs in a parade of bright colors.

“You certainly didn’t exercise economy in your packing,” observed Torin, and Haro raised an eyebrow as well.

“Best not to leave anything behind since we don’t know that we’ll ever be coming back to this house. I certainly don’t want any of my hats or dresses put up for auction!”

“By Jove! You’re right!” exclaimed the young man, and he rushed off to his own bedchamber to ensure that his prized books were added to the packing pile.

The weather that day was warmer than it had been in months, although Haro had a premonition that winter was far from over. Mr. Hastings insisted on traveling down to the countryside in a procession with the Emisons. Haro was invited to ride with the mill owner, his daughter, and Mrs. Rollo in the Hastings’ smart barouche. He surprised himself by accepting the invitation with enthusiasm, preferring the vulgar remarks of his future father-in-law to the needling remarks of his cousin Eda or the reproachful gaze of Lady Anglesford.

A coach followed them containing Miss Hastings’ lady’s maid, Mr. Hastings’ valet, and all of the luggage that would not fit in the barouche. Arabella seemed to have exercised as little economy as Eda in her packing. Haro wondered just how long she thought this visit was going to last.

“Nice country this,” said William Hastings approvingly as they tooled through the hillsides and the winter-worn copses. He squinted hard at every barn and pasture that they passed, figuring up in his head and sharing with the others what each of these farmers must be worth.

Arabella proved a more entertaining travel companion, quizzing Haro on various landmarks and drawing out stories from his childhood. “There is the tollgate I took at a jump when I was but sixteen.” He rubbed his knee ruefully. “My horse was not as keen as I, and I still have the scar to prove it.”

“You must tell us when we come close enough to see the manor house from afar,” said Arabella, her shoulder snugged up against his as they shared one side of the barouche.

“But of course,” said Haro with a smile, pleased to see her interest in his family home. He was making a devil’s bargain in order to keep it in the family, but somehow, as he basked in Arabella’s smiles, that bargain did not seem quite as burdensome as it had initially.

After a few hours of traveling and a long stop to rest the horses, the top of Woldwick’s towers came at last into view. “There she is,” said Haro proudly. The great house was a model of Elizabethan and Jacobean architecture. It was surrounded on all sides by a gigantic garden laid out in a sort of symmetry with intricate paths threading their way through the manicured plants. Outside the garden lay the country woods, leafless now in the wintry weather but still stately with their long limbs of white, gray, and brown.

“Who is that old man?” asked Arabella, her bright brown eyes catching sight of a pedestrian on one of the footpaths.

Haro leaned out the side of the barouche to get a better look. “Why, that’s old Uncle Harold, my grandfather’s brother, and my namesake. He lives up at Woldwick all the year round and haunts these woods like a friendly ghost.”

There was no room to take him up in the barouche, so Haro refrained from hailing him. “I daresay we’ll make his acquaintance at dinner tonight,” said William Hastings. Haro could see that he was much looking forward to his next meal after spending several hours traveling.

“Perhaps, although I should warn you that he takes most of his meals in his room and is quite shy of strangers. A bit of an eccentric, but a wonderful old fellow through and through.”

“Ah,” replied the mill owner, his tone laying bare his thoughts. While the up and coming middle class strove to meet every expectation society laid upon them, it was the prerogative of the aristocracy that they could afford to be peculiar. And it seemed that these blueblood families always had one crazy bat roosting in the eaves.

***

Woldwick was a large house with room enough to house a hunting party or host a ball. But somehow, William Hastings’ personality was large enough to fill the whole residence and to make it seem cramped and insupportable for the rest of its inhabitants.

“A bit too English, your cook,” Hastings remarked at dinner, disappointed by the style of cuisine and the paucity of dishes in each course. “Not exactly done up in the latest mode,” he pronounced upon seeing the décor in the great room and various salons about the house. “Quite inconvenient,” he groaned, upon learning how distantly the stables were located from the residence. It was the complaint of new money against titled tradition.

Arabella, although still doing her best to ingratiate herself with the family, was not without her share of Mr. Hastings’ censorious spirit. “I declare, this drawing room is as dark and drab as a tomb! There will be some changes made when I am mistress of the place.”

Lady Anglesford, adopting the role of martyr, endured the Hastings’ criticisms with unflagging patience. If she ever gave vent to her feelings, the ears of her lady’s maid were the only ones to hear it.

The younger members of the household, however, were less guarded and more bellicose in their annoyance. “If he makes one more remark about our ‘inefficient chimneys’ or ‘tarnished candlesticks,’” snarled Torin, “I’ll tell him where to take himself.”

Eda patted his arm in commiseration. “Strange to think that to save Woldwick we must endure these indignities to Woldwick. But much as it galls me to say it, I think we must tolerate Mr. Hastings as long as he holds the purse strings. And Haro would hardly thank you if you told his fine father-in-law to go to the devil, or some such nonsense.”

Torin pouted. “Yes, at first I thought Haro was much to be pitied, but now it appears he is the only one of the family quite pleased with the arrangement. He actually seems to enjoy Miss Hastings’ simpers. One wonders if he would hang on her leading strings even if her father were
not
the wealthiest mill owner in England.”

Eda’s fair hands clenched tightly into fists until the knuckles were bone-white, although Torin, schoolboy that he was, had not the presence of mind to notice.

“I don’t know if I could bear it,” continued the lad, “staying on at Woldwick with the Hastings ruling the roost. I assume the father would take his leave once the wedding had taken place—or perhaps he would presume upon his position of power and wear out the welcome we never gave him. Arabella I might be able to tolerate, although she is a bit imperious.”

Torin gave a weary sigh. “If the house grows too hot to hold me, I suppose I can always off to Oxford. That’s been my intent for a while now. And even the demands of the strictest teachers might seem like manna after the unsavory dish of William Hastings.”

Eda’s dark blue eyes closed momentarily as she heard of Torin’s escape plan. As a son of the house, he could come and go as he chose, and Oxford was an excellent stepping stone into society. Eda had no such options of her own. Like Torin, she recognized that the new Lady Anglesford—and her father—might soon make life at Woldwick unbearable. But unlike Torin, Eda had nowhere else to go.

***

“Do you ride?” asked Haro, the day after their arrival. Town had its own set of amusements, but one of the things he missed most while being in London was the opportunity to choose his own paces as he rode his favorite gelding through the forests of Woldwick. The temperature had plummeted after their arrival yesterday, but there was no sign of rain, and Haro always considered the cold air refreshing.

Lady Anglesford had retired to her room soon after breakfast. Mr. Hastings had retired to the library to read his newspaper and attend to his business correspondence. Mrs. Rollo had struck up a quiet conversation with the housekeeper and gone to tour the kitchen and pantry. And since Haro was left with only the young people to entertain, riding was the entertainment he selected.

“But, of course I ride!” replied Arabella, a little too quickly. “I should have had Father bring along my chestnut mare. She’s new, for this season, but I know her paces well, and she looks ever so smart with my red riding suit.”

“Perhaps we can match you with one of the mounts in our stable.”

“We certainly can,” burst in Eda. Her dark blue eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “I would be happy to loan you my mare Jenny.”

Haro wrinkled his nose. “Jenny? I don’t think th—”

“Oh, well, perhaps not, if you’re not good with the reins.” Eda sent an arch glance in Arabella’s direction.

“I am quite an accomplished horsewoman.” Arabella took up the challenge without knowing the whole of what it entailed.

Haro frowned. He disliked the way that the two women had taken the situation out of his hands. “I am sure of it. It’s just that riding in the country is different than promenading a horse through Town, and Jenny is—”

“A little skittish at times,” said Eda with a dismissive wave. “But I manage her well enough.”

“But if she’s to ride Jenny,” interjected Torin, “then who will
you
ride?” The thought of playing chaperone, all alone, to his brother and his brother’s intended was destroying all his interest in the projected outing. He had no definable grudge against Arabella, but the very fact of her existence was a galling reminder of how low the family had sunk.

“Oh, I daresay I shall stay inside and keep your mother company, and maybe practice my embroidery.”

“Ha!” Torin was well aware that embroidery was
not
a favorite pastime of Eda’s. In fact, there was nothing she liked more than a brisk ride in the cold weather—red nose, wind-chapped cheeks, and all. She gathered up some stray needlework from the workbasket, paraded over to the sofa by the fireplace, and sat down cozily in the corner.

Haro snorted as she began to sort out the threads. He doubted she had even caught sight of this particular embroidery until now—it was probably one of his mother’s works in progress. “Well, come along then, Torin.”

He took Arabella’s hand and kissed it. “We’ll to the stables and have the horses saddled and to the door by the time you’ve changed into your riding habit.”

“Don’t forget to bring an apple for Jenny!” Eda called after them.

“It would take more than an apple to sweeten that nag,” retorted Torin. But Arabella had already gone upstairs and thus missed the hint of warning veiled in the young man’s comment.

***

It did not take Arabella long to realize how much less appealing of a mount Jenny was than the chestnut mare she was used to riding. Jenny’s appearance was the first mark against her. When Arabella came out the door smartly clad in her riding habit, she saw Haro standing by the head of an oddly colored nag, with splotches of gray on dirty white. The side saddle on the ugly beast’s back indicated that this was, in fact, her mount. It was clear that Arabella was having difficulty reining in her own annoyance, but at last, she forced a smile onto her face and came forward for Haro to lift her into the saddle.

Haro put his hands about her waist and set her in place—it only took a second, for the girl was light, but he found himself wishing it had taken a little longer. The skirt of her red riding habit draped attractively over the side of the horse with her tight-fitting boots peeking out underneath. “Easy on the bit,” said the earl as he handed Arabella the reins. He tried not to stare at her trim ankles.

“Here we go then!” shouted Torin, swinging himself into the saddle. “To the village and back?” Without waiting for an answer, he flicked the reins on his own dark gray hunter, trotting away from the house and up the lane.

Arabella, determined not to be the dawdler of the party, followed his lead, urging Jenny onward with a less than gentle hand. The horse started moving, but none too happily. Haro, mounting quickly, brought his own black horse beside hers in time to see that all-too-familiar glint in Jenny’s eye. She had her hackles up now, and it was only a matter of time before she showed her displeasure.

They rounded the bend in the lane, hooves alternately thudding and squelching on the half-frozen mud. On every side they were surrounded by leafless branches and the warm mist of their own breath in the cold air.

Jenny began to pull a little to one side. Arabella shortened up the reins to guide her back into the center of the lane. And then, the thing that Haro had feared happened in all its horribleness.

Jenny balked.

If there had been a rabbit or a pheasant in the path, she might have had some excuse. But, no, Jenny balked because she was as ill-tempered a horse as ever lived. Jenny balked because she hated being ridden by strangers. Jenny balked because, somehow, she knew that Eda wanted her to.

Torin was far ahead on the road, almost out of sight, but, hearing Arabella’s high-pitched squeal, he slowed his horse to a halt. He turned around halfway in the saddle. There was his brother, helping the visibly shaken mill-owner’s daughter out of the muck she had fallen into. And there was Jenny, wandering riderless into the roadside hedge, pretending that she had no idea what all the fuss was about.

Haro, Torin noted, looked seriously concerned over the incident, and for a moment, the younger brother was afraid that the earl was going to clasp the distressed damsel to his manly bosom. But Arabella, it seemed, was more incensed than injured. “Wretched beast!” was only one of the phrases ricocheting off the bare branches. Neither her diction nor her riding habit were quite as elegant as when they had left the house a bare ten minutes ago. Haro was nodding, as if in agreement, and then, he put her up on his horse, sideways in the saddle, taking care to hold her steady as he walked beside the animal.