An Heiress at Heart (4 page)

He gave her an encouraging smile. Lizzie studied him carefully. He was a slender man of about thirty, with curly brown hair and cornflower blue eyes. And well dressed. He wore a fine gold vest and white shirt under
a tailored blue coat that showed off his square shoulders to their best advantage. A cravat of the same color as his vest was tied in an expert knot at the base of his crisp shirt collar. The only thing marring his handsome features was the tiniest bump on his nose—a souvenir, Ria had called it, of a day long ago when he had fallen out of a tree.

The man must be James Simpson. He met every one of Ria’s descriptions of her favorite cousin. His clothing proclaimed that he was still a dandy, and Lizzie wondered if he was also, as Ria had said,
“a wastrel and a wild one, the sort who was always getting into the kind of trouble that requires ‘hushing up.’ ”

Certain as she was, Lizzie was still anxious as she answered him, hoping fervently that her instincts were correct. “It appears you have not changed, James.”

“That’s a girl!” He laughed and slapped his knee. “You see, Geoffrey, it
is
Ria.”

This last remark was addressed to a man standing on the opposite side of the parlor. Lizzie could just see him beyond the large round table in the center of the room, upon which sat a brightly painted vase of yellow roses.

Geoffrey?

The only “Geoffrey” that Ria had ever spoken of was her husband’s younger brother. Ria had never met Geoffrey, but Edward had once described him as staid and scholarly, destined for a life in the church. Given this description, Lizzie had envisioned a short and nondescript man, perhaps wearing spectacles, shabbily dressed, and stooped from too much studying.

The man watching her from the fireplace was
nothing like that. He stood tall and straight. His fine brown hair was clean and expertly cut; his short side whiskers trimmed a face that was pleasantly intriguing, if not classically handsome. His dark eyes, unguarded by spectacles, watched her intently. His black suit was far more understated than the royal blue coat James was wearing, but it was new and fit him well.

No, this could not be Ria’s brother-in-law. And yet James had called him by his Christian name. Was there someone else in the family by that name? Was Lizzie not as well prepared as she thought she was?

She tried not to panic, telling herself he was probably not a family member. Ria had said that James had a wide circle of acquaintances. Given his easy and irreverent manner, he might well refer to his close friends so familiarly. But this thought did not reassure her. How many of James’s social set might Ria have known? How many would Lizzie be expected to “remember”?

Lady Thornborough gently moved the hair back from Lizzie’s face. “Ria, I have worried myself sick,” she said. “I have no doubt you’ve taken some ten years off my life.”

“Years off your life, Aunt?” James repeated. “I doubt it. You’ll live to be a hundred, that’s my wager.”

Lady Thornborough gave him a disapproving look. “Do not speak of betting in this house. I will not have that shameful language used here.”

James tilted his chin in acquiescence. Once his aunt had turned her attention back to Lizzie, he gave Geoffrey a smile and a wink.

The man by the fireplace did not respond to James’s playful gesture. He was studying Lizzie—taking in
every inch of her with an expression that hovered somewhere between curiosity and contempt.

Who was he?

Lizzie’s face burned—whether from the fever or the man’s unwavering scrutiny, she could not tell. She found herself riveted to his dark eyes as she tried unsuccessfully to regulate her breathing. Suddenly the room seemed quite close.

Lady Thornborough’s cool hand on her forehead provided some relief. She inspected Lizzie’s wound. “And now James has managed to run over you as though you were a dog in the street.”

“It was not I,” James protested.

Lady Thornborough ignored him. “Why were you alone and on foot, like a common servant? And why, in all these years, did you never contact us? Do you realize what agonies we have been through on account of you?”

“I will explain everything, Grandmamma,” Lizzie said, trying out the word for the first time. It came off her tongue easily enough. Surely this was a good sign. She was Ria now, and she would soon discover what secrets this family was hiding. The Thornboroughs held the keys to her own history, one she had never dreamed of until the day she met Ria.

Kind, sweet, silly Ria. Given to impulsive actions, yet resolute once she’d made up her mind on something. Yes, they had shared those traits as well as their looks. When Lizzie had agreed to this plan so far away in Australia, she had thought it was a good one. Now that she was here, the magnitude of what she was doing washed over her with more force than her fever.

Lizzie fought to keep her mind in the present, here in this room. One misstep could be disastrous. But she was so hot. Her head was pounding and the room was beginning to spin again. She sank back heavily on the sofa.

“Ria!” Lady Thornborough cried.

“I’m terribly sorry… I did not plan to arrive this way…”

She was assailed by a rush of heat from her fever, followed by a rising tide of nausea. She closed her eyes, willing her stomach to stay put. Her plan was going well, she thought. Except for the fact that she had nearly gotten herself killed on the way in. And except for the man staring at her whom she could not identify.

The room was once again spinning dangerously out of control…

Geoffrey crossed the room and knelt beside her, his eyes fierce. “Please forgive me—I can see you are not well, but I must ask you. I have to know. I have waited ten years with no news. What is this talk of Australia? Where is my brother?”

Lizzie pulled together a few remaining threads of thought. “You are my brother-in-law?” she asked dazedly. How tall he was. How striking. How different from what she expected. And yet… how like Edward. She could see it now; see vestiges of Edward’s confident bearing and the way he looked at people—really observed them—when he was talking to them. How odd, she realized now, to think it could have been anyone else.

“But where is he?” Geoffrey demanded, as though he wanted to drag the information out of her. “What has happened to him?”

“He…” She shut her eyes. Now that she saw the
resemblance, it was too painful to look at him. Too many memories. Her mind was drifting, she knew. All she could say was, “He… described you… quite differently.”

She had just enough time to see his look of frustration and anger before the darkness enveloped her.

                                                          
Chapter 3

G
eoffrey strode briskly down the street, glad to be free to move and to think. The walk to his home was not far, and he had left his coachman with instructions to take Dr. Layton wherever he needed to go after he had finished tending to Ria.

Ria.

Geoffrey’s pace quickened, giving much needed vent to his irritation. She’d been on the verge of giving him the answers he desperately wanted, only to lose consciousness before she could make any sense.

Dr. Layton had confirmed that Ria’s injuries were not life-threatening, but that her fever could be. This pronouncement had set off a maelstrom of panicked activity. Lady Thornborough had been beside herself, dispatching all the servants on multiple errands, from preparing a room to heating water and bringing food—all the while commanding them to stop and give the doctor whatever assistance he needed. She’d been far from her usual steady calm, issuing contradicting orders
and expecting them to be carried out with unrealistic speed.

Geoffrey was glad to be away from the chaos, if only for a few hours. He needed time to recover from the shock of the day’s events. Time to reflect upon what they signified.

William’s death last winter had forced Geoffrey to confront the question of the family estate and the title. He had been compelled to resign his small parish in order to assume the barony and all the responsibilities that went with it. He had been uneasy about doing this, not wanting to take the necessary step of having Edward declared dead for legal purposes. It struck him as traitorous to his brother’s memory. He’d never been able to shake the belief that Edward was alive.

Geoffrey pulled up short and squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the frustration that threatened to overtake him. Australia! Why had Edward gone to such a harsh and dangerous place? And where was he now?

He blinked and took a deep breath, considering the sad irony of his situation. His official period of mourning for both his brothers had ended weeks ago. If Edward’s death was now confirmed, no one would expect him to begin the process again. But he knew he would be doing just that—in his heart, if not publicly.

As Geoffrey turned onto his street, he bowed a greeting as he passed those he knew, but did not stop. He moved swiftly up the steps to his town house and let himself in through the front door.

As he set down his hat on the small side table, he noticed that the silver tray for receiving calling cards was piled high. A stack of letters and notes lay next to it. He did his best to stifle a groan. All of society, it seemed,
was taking the first opportunity to cultivate the acquaintance of the new Lord Somerville.

Geoffrey lifted one of the cards to read the name printed on it. His nose crinkled as a rich fragrance wafted up from the card, signaling the real reason for his sudden popularity. Women who had ignored him before were now angling to fill the position of baroness.

Did any of these elegantly engraved cards hold the name of someone who would understand his aspirations and share his dreams? Not likely. It had been difficult enough trying to find such a person among those willing to marry a clergyman with a modest living. Although the ranks of ladies desiring to become a baroness were considerably larger, Geoffrey had no illusions that the search would become any easier. Frowning, he returned the card to the pile. He would not have a marriage that was based solely on the dictates of society. He would take a wife whom he could truly love and cherish, as the Bible commanded. No woman who cared only for his title or his wealth could gain his heart.

He turned at the sound of footsteps to see Mrs. Claridge, the housekeeper, coming down the stairs. “Oh, Reverend, I beg your pardon for not opening the door. I didn’t hear you come in.”

Mrs. Claridge was a sturdy and sensible woman who had known Geoffrey since he was five. She should now be addressing him as Lord Somerville, but she preferred “Reverend,” and he was glad of it. To be a member of the peerage was so contrary to his former way of life that he appreciated having someone who could remind him of his true calling. “You were listening for my carriage, I expect. However, I walked home.”

He consulted his pocket watch. Six o’clock. Less than two hours since Ria had walked in front of his carriage and turned his life around completely.

Something in his tumultuous thoughts must have shown on his face, which Mrs. Claridge was an expert at reading. “Is everything all right, sir?” Before he could reply, she spotted the blood on his shirt and exclaimed, “What has happened? You’ve been injured!”

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “The blood is not mine. I was… helping another.”

“How very like you, sir,” she said with pride. Her kindly face looked up at him with concern. “Shall I have tea brought up? You look as though you could use a bit of food, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

Geoffrey was sure the news of Ria’s arrival would spread quickly, and he wanted Mrs. Claridge to be among the first to know. She had been loyally serving the Somervilles for over twenty years, and she deserved to be kept abreast of such important family news. “Would you be so kind as to bring it yourself in about half an hour? There is something I must relate to you, but I should like to have time alone first.”

She gave him a sympathetic smile. “Of course, sir. I’ll make sure you are not disturbed.”

Mrs. Claridge bustled off to the kitchen as Geoffrey took the stairs to his study. He sank into a leather chair by the fireplace, glad to finally be alone. The weather was too warm for a fire, but this was still his favorite spot to relax and think.

He let his thoughts move freely, with memories of his brothers coming to him in random order. He recalled the games they’d played as children and the fights and
childish arguments that sometimes ensued. It had often come down to two against one, but which two against which one had been different on any given day. Sometimes it was Geoffrey who was outnumbered. More often, it was Edward or William. Geoffrey had usually been the peacemaker.

As they grew older, William became more distant. He’d been caught up in learning his duties as a future baron. He’d spent hours in discussions with their father or accompanying him on visits to nearby landowners, enjoying the honors and privileges of being the heir.

Edward had been the first of the three to develop a keen interest in women. He had learned how to dance, how to behave at social events, and how to speak in ways that were pleasing to the ladies. And Edward had pleased them. They found his good looks and warm demeanor irresistible. Many a time Geoffrey had seen a young lady casting her gaze around a crowded ballroom, searching for Edward while trying not to appear to do so.