Deadly Inheritance (5 page)

‘I think that would be doomed to failure. But it would be nice to think I have converted at least one Englishman?’ Her head slightly on one side, she gazed at him with a hint of a challenge.

He put down his glass and held up his hands. ‘I surrender. But, having known Helen ever since she arrived, I am well aware that American women can be educated, sophisticated and charming.’

‘And there must be other American belles you have met; I understand English society is threaded through with our well-heeled sisters.’

Max laughed. ‘You mean, our poverty-stricken landed gentry have been looking to fill their coffers with the riches garnered by enterprising Americans?’

Her expression lost its vivacity. Max followed her gaze and saw Helen’s little sister ignoring Mountstanton, who was no doubt involved in dodging his mother’s inquisition into his activities. Instead she was looking down the table and smiling beguilingly.

Max followed her gaze and saw William Warburton give her the tiniest of salutations with his glass. He was rewarded with a blush from Miss Seldon, who then looked down at her plate.

Miss Grandison’s eyes narrowed and Max saw her glance at the Countess. As she turned her beautiful face to the aged Duke of Aberdare, seated on her right, her hand fiddled with the stem of her wine glass. A moment later, the glass had overturned. Benson retrieved the situation in a moment and the Duke never hesitated in whatever the story was he was relating.

‘What level of title is Miss Seldon expected to attract?’ Max asked as his empty plate was removed.

Miss Grandison looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Do you really expect me to answer that question?’

He shrugged. ‘You Americans are so open and frank, it was worth asking.’

‘Mr Russell, I am sure you realise my social training is sufficient to understand that, much as I have enjoyed our conversation, it is time for me to give my attention to the guest on my other side.’ She gave a polite nod of her head and addressed a remark to her other partner, Aberdare’s third son, a young man of little brain and less personality.

Reluctantly Max turned to do his duty to the female seated on his left. She was the eighteen-year-old, not-very-pretty, not-very-intelligent, but gentle and sweet second daughter of a local baronet. He knew her and prepared himself for a polite query on his mother’s condition.

Instead she looked wistfully up the table at Miss Seldon and said, ‘Mr Russell, that gown is the most beautiful I have ever seen. What must it be like to be very pretty and very rich?’

‘I imagine that, like everything else in life, Miss Cary, it has its problems.’

‘Problems?’ Her pale eyes widened.

‘For instance, it must be difficult to decide if someone, a young man for instance, likes you for yourself or because you are very rich.’

Her mouth formed an ‘O’ of comprehension. ‘I never thought of that.’

‘Then I also think it must be very, very difficult to decide which gown to choose if you have a vast number. And what about which shoes or hat?’

She stared for a long moment then laughed a little uncertainly. ‘Oh, Mr Russell, you are teasing me.’

He was very glad when the moment came in the long, drawn-out meal when he could reclaim Miss Grandison’s attention. She turned back to him with what, if he was not flattering himself, was similar relief.

‘In England do none of society’s young men occupy themselves with a profession, Mr Russell?’ she asked abruptly.

‘Work is beneath our station in life, Miss Grandison.’

Her eyes flashed, as though she suspected him of laughing at her. ‘Do you do nothing, then, Mr Russell?’

For a moment he saw himself through her eyes and inwardly winced. ‘I am something of an historian, Miss Grandison. I am currently studying the French Revolution and intend to write a book.’

She thought about this for a moment. ‘Is that what the male members of English society do? Study?’

He laughed. ‘Very few do. No, let me explain. Gentlemen in England only follow three ways of life. First they can be gentlemen of leisure. The eldest son will inherit the family estate. He will ride, travel, socialise, amuse himself in any number of ways. If he is a peer, he may take his seat in the House of Lords, attend and contribute to debates.’

She regarded him with fascination. ‘And the other sons?’

‘They may well also be gentlemen of leisure. They may indulge in politics as Members of Parliament. Or they have a choice of two professions. They can serve His Majesty.’

‘Which means they become a soldier or a sailor?’

‘Indeed. Or they are ordained into the Church.’

‘And do these professions produce a reasonable income?’

He shook his head. ‘The sort of regiment a gentleman desires to join requires a substantial income. The Church may well provide a stipend but it is unlikely to be generous.’

‘So what does a gentleman do if he has no money?’

‘Then he finds a wife who brings a large dowry, or he lives abroad.’

‘He doesn’t find an occupation that brings him in a suitable income?’

‘Only if he no longer wishes to be regarded as a gentleman.’

She applied herself to eating for a moment, her brow creased in thought. He was amused at her difficulty in grappling with the concept he had outlined.

‘In America,’ she said, ‘It does not matter how rich a man is, he works at a profession.’

‘And is regarded as a gentleman?’

‘Ah, that depends on his breeding and education.’

‘I think I would like America. Perhaps I will try living there. I have a desire to try my hand at prospecting for gold.’

She laughed. ‘The days of the gold rush are over. There are, however, silver mines,’ she added provocatively. ‘But there are many, many ways a man may make his fortune. Even in America, however, wealth does not guarantee a place in society. Mr Russell, what can you tell me about Mr Warburton?’

‘Ah!’ He remembered that look from the Seldon girl.

‘William is the grandson of a Marquis; his father was the second son and accepted a commission into the Hussars, one of the most fashionable of cavalry regiments. He died a Colonel in the Sudan some years ago.’

‘Mr Warburton has not become a soldier?’

‘No. He is a gentleman of leisure.’

‘With the money to follow the pursuits he enjoys?’

‘Alas, no. He relies on his uncle, the present Marquis, to see that he is not quite destitute.’

‘Whilst he searches for a rich wife?’

Max said nothing.

‘You know him well?’

‘Not well, no. I was at Eton with his cousin, who will eventually inherit the title, but, as you can probably tell, William is rather younger than I am.’

Again there was that steady gaze before she attended to her meal. Then she placed her cutlery neatly on her plate and said, ‘Mr Russell, I did not answer your earlier question about Belle, Miss Seldon. Perhaps I should tell you that her father hopes she will not form any connection during her London season but return to New York before the end of the year. He would like his younger daughter by his side.’

There seemed to be an unspoken warning in her words.

‘Miss Grandison, with you to keep an eye on her, I am sure her father will gain his wish.’

She made a curious sound that was almost a snort. ‘Applesauce, Mr Russell. You know as well as I, when a young girl takes it into her head to fall for a man, there is little anyone can do about it. Now, tell me about the French Revolution. I have read Mr Carlyle’s work on the subject and am interested to know whether you agree with his views on the causes of that uprising.’

There followed for Max the delight of a discussion on a matter close to his heart with a person of intelligence. The rising of the Countess to collect the women to withdraw came far too soon.

As the men regrouped around Mountstanton for their port and cigars, Max found himself studying William Warburton.

He was undoubtedly a handsome young man; little brain but a good deal of personal charm. Would he dare, Max wondered, to follow up that so-innocent invitation from rich little Miss Seldon? And just what would Helen do about it?

They did not remain long in the dining room. Instructions had undoubtedly been issued prior to the meal.

Filing into the drawing room, the men found that music was in progress. Max, bringing up the rear, looked around for Miss Grandison, but she was in conversation with Miss Cary.

Accepting a cup of coffee, Max moved out into the conservatory and settled himself on one of the wrought-iron seats beside a lush palm tree. Looking around, he saw he was not the only one who had sought a little peace and quiet – or was it privacy?

The weather had produced the first blush of summer and the doors onto the terrace had been opened, allowing a welcome breeze to freshen the air.

He half listened to the pianist, a local heiress whose looks if not her pearls left a great deal to be desired. He had decided to ditch his intention of securing a private conversation with Helen, however brief; now part of him wished to return home to his mother as soon as was polite, but another part of him wanted more conversation with Miss Grandison.

Polite applause signalled the end of the Chopin étude and he returned to the drawing room.

Almost immediately, he found Miss Grandison by his side. ‘Mr Russell, have you seen Belle, Miss Seldon?’ she said quietly.

She looked worried. He remembered the pink gown he had noticed at the far end of the conservatory.

‘Could she have needed a little fresh air?’

‘I do not see Mr Warburton either,’ Miss Grandison’s voice was low but tense.

He looked around the room. Helen seemed deep in conversation with a woman he knew was a good friend. She could not have noticed the absence from the room of her sister and William Warburton.

He smiled and offered his arm to Miss Grandison. ‘Let me show you the conservatory,’ he said pleasantly. ‘The ferns are extraordinary.’

The conservatory was empty. Through the open doors, across the lawn, he caught the flash of a pink skirt. Max felt unexpected anger. This was a cad’s trick.

Helen Stanhope had arranged the dinner party to introduce her sister to friends with offspring who might provide Belle with companionship, and assist with her debut into Society, and to a few suitable young bachelors.

Now it seemed Belle was threatening social disaster by disappearing from sight. Helen could see her nowhere in the drawing room. Nor could she see William. All around Helen were the almost imperceptible signals that indicated people would shortly be leaving. Belle had to be at her side. It was so important that the Dowager Countess should not be able to make any complaint about her behaviour.

Where was Ursula? She should be looking out for her charge. Why else had she come to Mountstanton? Fury began to build in Helen. She stopped one of the footmen attending to the supply of coffee and drinks. ‘John, have you seen Miss Seldon?’

His warm brown eyes that always seemed as though they saw a joke that had eluded everyone else, frowned slightly as he balanced a tray of empty cups. ‘No, my lady. Not for a little while.’

‘You haven’t seen her go to her room?’

‘No, my lady.’

‘Thank you, John.’

The footman moved away. Helen gazed after him thoughtfully. There went one who managed to keep just the right side of what Mrs Parsons called ‘getting above himself’. There was no doubt he was attractive. If Helen wanted to indulge in bedroom activities with a servant, a pastime followed by several upper-crust women she could name, he would undoubtedly be at the top her list. Her tastes, though, did not incline that way.

Could Belle have gone outside? Helen drifted gently towards the conservatory, exchanging remarks with friends as she went. If William had had the gall to take the girl out there on her own, she would have something to say to him; though she could hear the excuses he would give: ‘Helen, sweetheart, the girl begged for some fresh air, how could I refuse?’ Or, ‘Helen, I just happened to mention your astonishing ferns and nothing would serve but that she had to be shown them. What was I to do?’

Into Helen’s mind slipped the memory of a time when her father had, in his autocratic way, announced some project or other that ran counter to her mother’s wishes. Giving in, as she always did, her mother had said to Helen, ‘You Seldons won’t let anything stand in your way. Relentlessly self-centred, endlessly manipulative; I don’t know why I put up with you.’

Until now, Helen had not thought of Belle in that way. She hardly knew her young sister. Separated from her, firstly by her own schooling in Paris (an arrangement her mother had vetoed for Belle, triumphing for once over her husband’s wishes) and then by marriage to an Englishman, she and Belle had spent little time together. However, Helen had retained the impression, fortified on a visit home several years ago, of a deliciously malleable child growing into a docile young woman.

Now Helen was beginning to wonder if her sister was more like their father than she had realised.

She sighed. Were all her plans for Belle’s debut into Society going to be upset? And would it be fair to blame William for this small act of rebellion? Better to chastise him for not taking the girl over to Ursula.

Just where was Ursula? Helen’s slow burning anger focused on her sister’s keeper. Such had been her rage at Ursula Grandison’s appearance that Helen had not been able to bring herself to confront her ex-schoolfriend since her arrival. This, she now realised, had been a mistake.

A quick glance round the conservatory showed her it was empty. Then, through the open doors to the garden, Helen saw Belle and Ursula coming towards her, walking arm-in-arm. Strolling behind them, each smoking a small cigarillo, were William and Max.

For a moment all Helen could feel was relief. Then her anger ignited into rage. Rage against Belle, rage against William, even rage against Max, who could hardly be blamed for any part of the situation, but mostly rage against Ursula.

‘Helen,’ said Belle happily. ‘You surely have a splendid garden – such fun to view it by moonlight. William, Mr Russell, thank you sirs for showing it to me.’