A Rival Heir (21 page)

Hugh looked uncomfortable. "He spoke of some plans he had, which I am not at liberty to disclose. It might be best if we said nothing for the time being."

"I can't think that’s right," Nell argued. "Difficult as it might be, he should know what we've learned."

"Perhaps." The baronet tapped a finger restlessly on his chair arm. "Would you let me think about this, Nell? Let me consider the ramifications?"

"But..."

"Please. Just overnight."

Nell could not understand his hesitation, but he looked so earnest and so concerned that she capitulated. "Very well. Until tomorrow."

When he rose, she stood also, but indicated the remaining letters. "What of those? Did you not wish me to read them?"

A slight flush tinted his cheeks. "I'll leave them with  you. Some of them concern your mother, others Miss Longstreet's . . . ah . . . role as my godmother."

Nell reached out a hand for the aging sheets of paper. Her fingers brushed his and she felt an unaccustomed flutter in her chest. Briefly, so briefly that she might have imagined it, he clasped and pressed her fingers before letting them go. "Thank you,” she said. “I shall take good care of them."

"Miss Armstrong... Nell... I was loath to withhold any of your aunt's letters, but you must remember that some of them were written at the height of your grandparents' anxiety about your mother. Your grandmother was always a conciliating and generous woman, but your grandfather... Well, let us say that he was not always reasonable, and that on occasion his judgments were harsh and unfair. I remember that as a lad; you probably encountered it as a young lady."

Keeping her eyes on the letters in her hands, she nodded. "He could be a harsh man on occasion."

A note of anger crept into Sir Hugh's voice when he said, "I would not forgive him if he was ever harsh with you."

"No, no, not harsh. He was... unforgiving of my mother, you see, and therefore could never accept me as I should have liked."

"Well," he said gruffly, "read the letters, but do not despair over them. They were penned a good many years ago and time would have softened the worst of his attitudes, I dare say."

Nell smiled faintly. "Perhaps, but I shan't be surprised if I recognize them."

"Poor dear," Hugh murmured.

"Nonsense," she said stoutly. "I am a fortunate young woman to have been accepted into the family home. I might well have been placed in an orphanage and trained to domestic service when my parents died, sir. I hope you will spare no pity for me."

He regarded her stubbornly thrust out chin and laughed. "Oh, no. Pity is the last thing I feel for you, my dear Nell."

And he was gone, before she could do more than blink at him.

Because her aunt might return at any moment, Nell carried the letters up to her bedchamber. It was a pretty room, with dainty furniture and wispy curtains. She moved immediately to the window, which looked out on the square, and was fortunate enough to see the baronet just disappearing around the corner onto Gay Street.

What had he meant by that: "Pity is the last thing I feel for you, my dear Nell"? She touched her fingers to her lips and allowed herself to drift into a daydream where the baronet was escorting her to a ball. She was dressed in her emerald gown and he was resplendent in his most elegant evening clothes with a cravat so starched and shining that his face rose above it like a portrait.

The strains of the music just reached her and she felt a thrill when she realized it was a waltz they played. He took her in his arms and effortlessly guided her about the dance floor. And though there was a scent of jasmine and the glow of a thousand candles in gleaming chandeliers, they were the only people on the floor. His hand at her waist so intimate, so confident. Whirling about until she was dizzy with the movement and the nearness to him...

Nell's lovely daydream was dispelled by a loud hammering on the front door. She gazed down to see that her aunt had returned and was demanding entrance in her best fashion. Nell sighed, slipped the letters into a drawer under her reticule, and went down to greet her aunt.

* * * *

Hugh thought best when he rode, so he went directly home from Queen Square to change into his riding clothes. He instructed that his horse be brought round, and found himself within half an hour south of Bath and galloping across parkland. Despite the beauty of the day, and the interest of his surroundings, his thoughts never seemed to veer from Nell.

He wished there had been some way he could protect Nell from the mean-spirited nature of many of the comments in the letters he had left with her. His godmother was in the habit of quoting her Papa on the subject of Margaret's elopement and the legitimacy (or lack thereof) of Nell's own birth.

More, he was not sure it was in her best interests to let Lord Westwick know of her having read those old letters. Would he be so inclined to find a way to give her an independence if he thought she held him in contempt? Not that she would, of course. Nell had been shocked by the revelation, but she was far too open-hearted a young lady to completely change her good opinion of the earl on the basis of that one (admittedly distressing) action of his.

But there was her loyalty to her aunt. Had she not instantly sympathized with Rosemarie Longstreet at the destruction of her hopes and plans? This, despite her knowledge of her aunt's irascible nature. Of course, Hugh admitted as he slowed his horse to a walk when they approached a stand of trees, that irascible nature had no doubt been aided by the earl's rejection of her when she was young.

Hugh had not been born at the time of that event. And even as a boy coming to Longstreet Manor he had not suffered from it. As a young man his godmother had seemed to take him in dislike, and Hugh could now see that her disappointment and the memory of her own betrayal were at work.

He well remembered receiving a letter from her excoriating him on his behavior toward one particular young woman. "You have raised her hopes of an offer!" Miss Longstreet scolded. "Your carelessness and cruelty could ruin her life!" Of course, his godmother had not had an intimate association with this particular courtship, where in fact he had been rather casually dismissed by the young lady in question, rather than the other way around. But Miss Longstreet had not forgotten--or forgiven, apparently.

As he emerged from the small wood, Hugh saw his brother-in-law approaching along the road below. Once again he was south of town and not on the western side where someone coming from Bristol might have been expected. Hugh drew his horse to a stop and stayed in the shadow of the trees in order to watch where John Holmsly went.

Hugh was familiar with the horses the Holmslys had brought to Bath, since he had ridden out with Emily and Nell on so many occasions. John was not riding one of them. In fact, Hugh could have sworn that the horse he was riding was the one which Hugh himself had ridden when he visited Combe Park with Nell. Had his financial situation been more robust, he might have made the earl an offer for the stallion, but he had learned to be cautious in his expenditures.

John Holmsly appeared to be putting the horse through his paces. He was not merely out riding, but using the stretch of road below as a proving ground. Back and forth he went, urging the horse to walk, to trot, to canter, to gallop. Reining the animal in to test his obedience. Encouraging him to accept the pressure of a heel or the tightening of a rein as instruction. Hugh frowned down on the scene, perplexed. Was John planning to buy the animal? It looked almost as though he were training him.

Why? If it was indeed Lord Westwick’s horse, and belonged at Combe Park, why would John be working with the horse on this stretch of road?

Hugh had the greatest hesitancy about confronting his brother-in-law. The man had a right to his privacy, and he no doubt had a perfectly legitimate reason for being where he was and doing what he was doing, but Hugh couldn't imagine what it could be.

Did Emily know where John was? In all likelihood she did not, as evidenced by her frequent complaints about her husband's absence and lack of information on his dealings. And Hugh was reminded that both Nell and Hopkins had told him they'd seen John Holmsly in this area, on different occasions. Which suggested that John made a habit of being in the area, didn't it?

And not in Bristol, as he claimed.

Hugh had just made up his mind to confront his brother-in-law when he realized that John had ridden off. Hugh was not certain which of the three directions below was the correct one to follow, and so he abandoned his intent and, more puzzled than ever, returned to Bath.

Chapter Fifteen

When Nell had settled her aunt into a chair in the front parlor, covered her legs with a warm rug, and seen her drift off to sleep, she returned to her room. She pulled the old sheets of paper from her drawer and once again set herself to read the faded ink. The dates on the letters were widely spaced, but none appeared to be missing. Aunt Longstreet only wrote when there was some important news to convey.

As though we didn't have enough to bear here
, she scribbled in one quick note,
now my sister Margaret has run off with a local farmer!

Nell knew that this was an exaggeration. It was true that her father had been the son of a small farmer, and not a prosperous landowner, but he had been educated and was intended for the clergy. No one could have been less suited to such work, and he had made an effort to find some other occupation which would more closely match his talents. Unfortunately, his was a light-hearted nature, one given to the joyous living of each day as it came. His true talent lay in coaxing others to share in his enjoyment, a talent which was not easily aligned with remunerative employment. He had been fairly proficient, Nell remembered, in selling goods, including her mother's jewelry when things got particularly desperate.

There was Aunt Longstreet's letter which announced:

 
My father has disowned Margaret. He cannot find that she married Mr. Armstrong and he believes they are living in sin. Mama is distraught, and my spirits are decidedly low. He was such an amusing boy, Mr. Armstrong. At the assemblies he would tease all the girls and flirt with the married women. He could make anyone laugh, and I remember a time when he even had old lady Wilson chortling. Not that he should have aspired to someone of Margaret's birth, but he was an amusing rascal.

There were eventually letters about Sir Hugh's birth and the choice of Aunt Longstreet as godmother to him. Letters making arrangements for him to visit Longstreet Manor for the summer, plans for making him heir to the property. Years later there was a note which announced her own birth:

Margaret has written me (she will not write my father) that she has given birth to a daughter named Helen. Papa refuses to acknowledge the birth and insists it would have been better had the child never been born. Mama is anxious to see her only grandchild but Papa will not allow it.

And there was eventually the brief note expressing Aunt Longstreet's profound sense of loss when her mother died. Shortly after that the letters stopped. Nell realized that Sir Hugh's mother must have died then, and her letters bundled away.

She sat for a long time with the correspondence spread around her on the bed. Since the letters had stopped before her own parents died and she came to Longstreet Manor, she had no idea of her aunt's feelings about that eventuality. Her grandmother was already gone, so Nell suspected that it was Aunt Longstreet's influence which had brought her to the manor. Had the decision been left to her grandfather, she might well have ended in an orphanage.

But he had already been failing, and whether her aunt had brought her there to take care of the old man, or because she genuinely wished to welcome her niece, Nell could not then or now be certain. She only knew that she was grateful to have been taken in.

Gathering the sheets of aging paper together, Nell experienced a little guilt at having caught this glimpse into her aunt's life. She knew very well that that lady would not like it one bit that not only Nell but Sir Hugh had read all of her letters to his mother. But Nell reminded herself that she would not have done it save for her concern about Aunt Longstreet's suspicious activities regarding Lord Westwick.

And what was Nell to do about that? She could--and would--warn the earl of what her aunt might have in mind, but there was really no way to stop the older woman if she was determined. Nothing would be simpler in the Bath society Nell had observed than to ruin someone's reputation with a few well-chosen words--especially if they were backed up by a trustworthy woman such as Mrs. Dorsey.

And why had Sir Hugh insisted that Nell give him a day to consider the consequences of speaking with Lord Westwick? What else was there to do? Oh, it had all become so complicated that Nell was developing the headache--and she could hear her aunt's strident voice calling for her from the parlor. With a sigh she returned the letters to her drawer and hastened down the stairs.

* * * *

When Hugh stopped by his sister's house that evening and inquired for her husband, he was told that Mr. Holmsly was gone to Bristol. "And Mrs. Holmsly?" he asked the butler.

"Madame is with the child, Sir Hugh. He has a cough and she decided to stay home to care for him."

Sir Hugh said he would make his own way to the nursery, and when he did so, he found his sister rocking and singing a lullaby to her son. When she caught sight of him she placed a finger to her lips, singing, "Dear sir, not a peep, not a peep. This little baby is almost asleep. Where he'll dream of clouds and trees and dogs and bees and awake in the morning to ... creep!"

Suppressing a laugh, the baronet moved back into the shadows of the large, sparsely furnished nursery and watched his sister with her son.

It was a remarkable sight. Emily, so vivacious and eager amongst her contemporaries, was quiet and tender with the child. She stroked his hair and kissed his brow as she laid him in his crib, and stood for several minutes gazing down at him. Then slowly she backed up, watching to see if he would waken. Finally, she gestured to her brother that they should leave the room.