Anne Barbour (13 page)

And none of it made any difference, she realized with chilling clarity. It was obvious that this was what the Standish heir had been searching for. This was why he had crept into Ravencroft in disguise—why he had not simply ridden up to the front door with barristers and bailiffs and magistrates at his back. For how long, she wondered, had he suspected that his home had been stolen from him through greed and chicanery—and, yes, murder. How had he discovered that there was hidden somewhere in the house... No, his search had been specific. He knew the information was concealed in a book—but he did not know which one. She smiled in grim amusement No wonder he had been dismayed to find so many of the library’s volumes gone. It must be that without the evidence he sought, the rightful heir had no legal claim to Raven-croft.

No legal claim to Ravencroft.

The words slid into her mind slyly, like a thief reaching into a pocket. She was the only person in the world who knew of the existence of the papers. My lord butler could search till his eyes bubbled, but without her help, he would never find the information he so desperately sought.

Who, she reflected fiercely, had the greater right to Ravencroft? The stranger, who had not lived here for years, and in all probability remembered little about the place, or herself, who had labored to bring the estate back to beauty and prosperity? Surely, this man could never love Ravencroft with the passion and single-minded dedication that now seemed part of her soul. Surely, except for a legal technicality, Ravencroft was hers by any moral or ethical standard that could be applied to the situation.

She rose and strode to the window. For a long time she gazed blankly at the lawns and lakes of Ravencroft, and the fields that lay beyond, all folded in the rolling landscape of the Cotswolds piedmont.

Belowstairs, Jem entered his chambers and wearily stripped off his stable clothes. As had become his habit, he had spent the hours between dinner and bedtime working with Jonah and Lucas. He was daily growing more impressed with Claudia Carstairs’s business acumen. Despite her lack of horse knowledge, she had made remarkable progress in restoring the stables to the reputation they had held when his father had been the owner. Under Jonah’s tutelage, she had made intelligent decisions in the breeding end of the operation, and her management of cost and income was astonishing. She had an excellent grasp of sales principles. As she increased her stock, she had contacted a select group of his father’s old customers with highly satisfactory results. These men—or their sons—all renowned for their knowledge of prime horseflesh, had purchased colts, geldings, and mares, and had returned to buy more. Their friends were now beginning to appear at the Ravencroft stables, as well.

Mrs. Carstairs had accomplished all this in only two years, reflected Jem. She had worked at accounts night after night in the loneliness of the hours when everyone else slept. No task was too menial to turn her hand to, and she inspired the same devotion to the estate in those who worked for her.

He sighed deeply. It was becoming more and more difficult to face the prospect of turning Claudia out of Ravencroft. The fact that he would make an adequate settlement on her no longer seemed appropriate. She had poured her strength and her sustenance into this place, and he had the feeling she would be miserable living out the rest of her days in genteel boredom in Bath or Brighton. Or Gloucester.

With her beauty, she would not be condemned to live alone with her aunt for very long. Perhaps she would marry that insufferable twit, Botsford. Lord, he thought with revulsion, surely she would not consider that. When he had interrupted their embrace that afternoon, she looked as though she were about to become ill. But, if not Botsford, there would be someone to covet her golden loveliness.

Of course, Jem reflected with a grim smile, her brother-in-law would not be so assiduous in providing her with a compliant bridegroom when she no longer owned Ravencroft. On the other hand, Jem had no doubt that Thomas, bereft of the chance to virtually own Ravencroft would salvage what he could of the situation by attempting to sell his beautiful sister-in-law to the highest bidder. Claudia was pluck to the backbone, but for how long could she resist her brother-in-law’s constant pressure?

He sighed again, thinking again of the indomitable spirit clothed in that slight, lissome frame. It was unfair that she must be forced to make her own way in the world. He brought himself up short. That was the way of things, wasn’t it? He had learned long ago that life is not fair, and Claudia, having been married to Emanuel Carstairs for four years, must realize it as well.

Jem moved to the washbasin near his bed and began sluicing away the day’s grime, wondering uneasily as he did so how long it might take him to find the papers he sought. He had so far managed to thrust the dismaying possibility from his mind that he might not find them at all, but he had been through nearly every volume in the library with no result. There were other books in the house, to be sure, but what if the volume he needed had been sold?

He shrugged resignedly. Surely, with the evidence he had already accrued, he would eventually see himself settled in as master of Ravencroft. Wouldn’t he? He had the sworn statement of the man who had aided Carstairs in his filthy scheme. That statement had been wrung from Daventry, however, under the threat of a lifetime spent in jail, as opposed to transportation to the penal colonies in Australia. Would it hold up in court? The fact that Daventry was now halfway around the world would not help.

There were still people—such as Jonah—who could testify as to Carstairs’s villainous character, but would that be enough?

Jem sat down on the edge of his bed and ran his fingers through his hair. Dear God, he could not have come this far merely to have Ravencroft snatched from him again. His head sank into his hands, and he sat thus for a long time before slowly beginning to remove his boots. So immersed was he in his unpleasant thoughts that at first he did not hear the soft knock that sounded at his sitting room door. When it was repeated, he lifted his head, and rising, shrugged into his shirt. His first thought was that Jonah had sent for him, and in stocking feet, he padded to the door.

His eyes widened as he beheld the small figure standing there, the candle she carried creating russet highlights in her tumbled hair.

Claudia took a deep breath. “I must talk to you,” she said baldly.

Silently, Jem opened the door to admit her and gestured her to a small armchair. When she was seated, he sank into one nearby.

Claudia stared into eyes that returned her gaze with a certain quizzical amusement. She flushed as she realized he must think she was seeking an assignation with him. She stiffened, and perched on the edge of the chair. At her first words, the amusement faded abruptly.

“I think it is time we hbad an honest discussion, my lord.”

If she had expected to discompose him, she was disappointed. His eyes were calm and unreadable, and he said simply, “I beg your pardon?”

“No need for that,” she said flatly. “And no need for further dissembling. I know who you are and why you’ve come.”

In the long pause that ensued, Jem did not take his eyes from Claudia’s face. “I see,” he said at last. “And may I ask what has led you to this, er, surprising conclusion?”

“You bear a striking resemblance to the portrait I discovered of one of your ancestors.”

Claudia was startled at his sudden laughter. “Of course. That would be Great-uncle Philip.
My mother often noted our similarities. I always thought him a rather shambling fellow, myself.”

“And,” continued Claudia, “it is obvious that since you have gone to such lengths to gain access to the house, you must be the heir.”

“I see,” repeated Jem. “May I ask why you have chosen this particular time to announce your discovery?” His tone was light, but Claudia had no difficulty in discerning the tension that lay beneath it.

“I believe I shall not tell you that just at present, my lord,” she said composedly. “It is equally apparent that you have come with the intention of establishing your ownership of Ravencroft.”

This time, Jem made no response, but his eyes had taken on the glitter of rainwashed pebbles. Claudia simply stared at him until at last he nodded in an unwilling gesture of assent

“May I ask,” she proceeded, feeling as though she were making her way along a tightwire, “on what you base your claim to the estate? As you must know, my late husband—acquired it from your father in payment of a gambling debt.”

Jem rose and paced the floor, his thoughts tumbling over one another like stones flung into a pool. Good God, he had known from the start of his charade that he could not keep his identity a secret for very long, but he had not expected the widow to penetrate his disguise so soon. What was he to do now? His mind raced, assessing the implications of her discovery, and in another few moments, he reached a decision. He returned to where Claudia sat, rigid and tense.

“You have arrived at the correct conclusion, Mrs. Carstairs, and I do indeed owe you an explanation of my admittedly bizarre activities.” He sat down again and pulled his chair near, gazing at her with that intensity she found so unnerving.

‘To begin with, my name is Jeremy Standish, and yes, I am Lord Glenraven. Ravencroft was my home for the first twelve years of my life.” He paused for a moment of reflection. “That life was a relatively happy one, until the day that Emanuel Carstairs swung into the orbit of our family, which consisted of my father and my mother and my two sisters.

“Carstairs was the guest of one Giles Daventry, the nephew of a neighboring squire. Daventry used the squire’s estate as a second home, to which he repaired frequently from his, er, busy life in London. Daventry and Carstairs had found each other sometime before, and had become partners in various unsavory enterprises. When Carstairs found himself the target of a group of gamblers he had duped, he found it prudent to rusticate for a bit, hence his presence at the squire’s house.”

Again Jem paused, and for the first time, Claudia sensed a slight uncertainty in his demeanor.

“Father,” he said at last, “was—a good man, but more than somewhat weak. He rarely visited London, being uncomfortable with the ways of the Polite World, and supremely content with his horses and his estate and the family he loved dearly. But he did share one flaw that besets so many of the
ton;
he was addicted to gambling. This being the case, it was perhaps inevitable that he would come to the notice of a man like Carstairs, who had, by the way, grown immensely popular in the neighborhood. He had a gift—as you no doubt know—of drawing people to him, with his hale-fellow-well-met joviality and his ability to counterfeit the air of a prime go. A regular top-of-the-trees, everyone thought him.”

Claudia said nothing, but nodded in grim agreement.

“He became a frequent visitor in our home, and when my father was not about, he made my mother the object of his gallantry. During this time, I grew to dislike him, though I knew not why. I learned much later that he was pressing his attentions on my young, still beautiful mother.”

“Dear Lord,” murmured Claudia.

“Father enjoyed many late-night card sessions with Carstairs and Daventry, and somehow did not find it strange that he was so frequently in debt to these gentlemen at the end of the evening. At about this time, things began going badly in the stables. Mysterious illnesses and accidents cost us our finest stud and several mares. In a short time, Father found himself in serious financial difficulties.”

Claudia writhed in her chair, and listened in growing apprehension.

“He could not stop gambling, however, and the card games with Carstairs continued. He began to drink heavily, as well.” Jem rose and crossed to the window, where he stared into the night. ‘To cut a long story short, it came to pass that the point was soon reached where Father could not pay what he owed to Carstairs. Carstairs, being the good fellow he was, brushed all that aside, and allowed Father to pile debt upon debt, until one night, he made a kindly proposition.

“As incredible as it sounds, he persuaded Father to put up Ravencroft as security for the amount owed. Ravencroft, unlike the estates of most peers, had never been entailed. It had originally been a minor holding for the Lords of Glenraven, their primary seat being in the Scottish border country. Weary of the constant skirmishes that threatened life and harmony there, they abandoned it some two centuries ago and settled here. For some reason, they never saw to the entailment of Ravencroft. Thus, it was possible for my father to sell it at will. Carstairs assured him that things would surely come about, and that it was simply not possible that Carstairs would ever feel the need to actually call in the debt.”

Jem swung about to face Claudia, his face a mask of despair in the candlelight “And my poor, weak father believed him. He was in his cups, of course, and he signed a note that very night, promising to sell Ravencroft to Carstairs for the sum of one pound, if his entire debt were not paid by a certain date.”

“Dear God,” gasped Claudia. “What did your mother say?”

“He never told Mother—or anybody else—anything about it. Matters went from bad to worse after that. Father, of course, did not come about, but the drinking became worse, and the debt mounted. The day of reckoning came and went.”

By now, Jem’s voice had sunk to a rasping growl, but Claudia had no difficulty in catching every word.

“It was not long after this that Father went for a late-night walk, and tumbled into an abandoned well that lies not far from the house. He was found the next morning, with his neck broken.”

Claudia reached her hand involuntarily to him, but Jem continued, oblivious.

“He was drunk, of course, and the coroner had no hesitation in ruling his death an accident. A week later, Carstairs came to my mother and showed her the title to Ravencroft. It had been signed over to Carstairs.”

White-faced, Claudia uttered a little moan. “But...” she began, only to be silenced by Jem’s curt gesture.