Heiress in Love (6 page)

She glanced at Constantine. His beautiful face was set in an emotionless mask but his green eyes glittered with fury. She didn’t want him here—she was almost certain she detested him—but her insides clenched in sympathy. He’d have expected to inherit dazzling wealth, not an albatross around his neck.

“Can nothing be done about it?” she asked. At the same time, Constantine said, “Surely Frederick didn’t have the power to strip the estate like that.”

Beckenham began to pace again. “I don’t know, Roxdale. You’ll need your own solicitor’s advice on that point. You could, perhaps, mount a legal challenge. But such things can take years—lifetimes—not to mention the crippling legal fees. Not a terribly practical solution.”

“And what about Luke?” said Jane. “I assume Frederick provided for him?”

Beckenham blew out a breath. “I’m afraid not. But that’s not the worst part.”

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Hell,” he muttered. “I don’t know how to tell you this.”

“What?” she said sharply, rising from her chair. “Tell me what?”

“Frederick consigned Luke to Roxdale’s guardianship.”

The shock was like a blow to the stomach. Jane sat down abruptly, clutching at the armrest beside her. Her throat closed over. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Oh, God, had Frederick grown to hate her, after all? Why would he do such a thing?

What sane man could think Constantine Black a proper preceptor for a six-year-old boy? Surely something could be done to save Luke from such a fate.

Denial pounded in her head. “No!” she gasped out. “That—that
scoundrel
is Luke’s guardian?”

Constantine was on his feet, glaring down at her. “May I remind you that I’m still in the room, ma’am?” he said icily. His gaze whipped to Beckenham. “Be so good as to explain to me who on earth this Luke is and why I must stand his guardian? That cannot be right.”

“I’m afraid so.” Beckenham sighed. “Lucas Black is a six-year-old boy. He is some sort of distant relation of Frederick’s—and of yours, too, Roxdale. He was brought here as an infant when his parents died and he has lived here ever since.”

Jane clearly recalled the first time she’d seen Luke, with his chubby little legs and his captivating brown eyes and his gummy grin. He’d instantly won her heart. She’d insisted they take him in. If not for her, Frederick would have abandoned the boy.

Desperation lent an edge to her tone. “You cannot have him,” she told Constantine. “I’m taking him with me to Harcourt.” It was inconceivable that she should be parted from Luke. She’d never dreamed Frederick would do this to them both.

His brows flexed. “Oh, I don’t think so,” he said coolly. “After all, I hardly know you. How do I know you’re a fit and proper person to look after him? I’d be derelict in my duty to allow it.” He turned his head to address Beckenham. “I presume my cousin didn’t stipulate that Lady Roxdale retain custody of the boy.”

Silently, Beckenham shook his head.

Constantine tilted his head, surveying her. “I wonder why.”

Fury and pain twisted inside her. She shot out of her chair and paced toward him. “Frederick was mad, that’s why! Surely even you must see he was not thinking rationally when he devised his will. The way he left the estate must testify to that. There’s nothing for it. You must renounce the office and appoint me in your stead!”

His gaze held hers. “No.”

She stared into his eyes, and could not mistake the implacable determination in them. Fear swamped Jane’s chest. Would he keep Luke just to spite her? Surely even Constantine Black could not be so callous.

Beckenham cleared his throat. “Having Roxdale here renounce guardianship was my first thought, too, Jane. But it’s impossible.”

She looked up sharply. “Why?”

“Frederick stipulated a replacement.”

“Who?” Jane was ready to do battle with any number of Blacks, if that’s what it took to get Luke.

“Lord Endicott.”

Constantine gave a crack of sardonic laughter. “That milksop! My dear Lady Roxdale, my aunt would never let her namby-pamby son hand the boy over to you.”

He was right. Panic tightened its grip on her throat. Endicott was renowned for being securely fastened to his mother’s apron strings. Lady Endicott lived to meddle in other people’s lives and had more than her fair share of family pride, besides. She would die before allowing her son to relinquish the care of a Black to a Westruther, particularly to Jane.

It seemed the lesser of two evils might be the man standing before her.

But how could she get him to agree to let Luke live with her? And even if she did, what guarantee did she have that he wouldn’t exercise his powers as guardian to take Luke away from her in the future?

A guttural cry wrenched from her chest. “I could kill Frederick for this!”

“A more redundant statement would be hard to imagine,” said Constantine.

Jane threw him a fulminating glance. She had the deepest, most unladylike urge to hit him.

The corner of his mouth curled. “Go ahead,” he said softly.

Oh, but she was tempted. She dragged her gaze from those mocking green eyes to the beautifully curved mouth. Her palm tingled with the urge to slap that half smile from his face.

Moments ticked by in silent challenge before Beckenham pointedly cleared his throat.

Jane shook herself and addressed Constantine, enunciating carefully. “Promise me one thing. Do not inform Luke of your guardianship until we settle this between us. I may not be his guardian, but I know him best. It must be for me to choose the time and manner of telling him the news.”

After a moment, Constantine bowed. “As you wish.”

Beckenham addressed Constantine. “Might I suggest that you confer with Mr. Greenslade, Frederick’s solicitor? He’s waiting on you in the old music room.”

“I’ll do that.” Deliberately, Constantine replaced his near-empty glass on the sideboard and bowed to them both. Jane turned away, too distraught for social niceties.

The crisp click of the library door told her he’d gone.

She raised her eyes to Beckenham. “He
could
grant me custody, couldn’t he, even if he continued as guardian? There’s no reason he needs to have Luke live with him, is there?”

Surely the blackguard was only being difficult to provoke her. On mature consideration, Constantine would realize he didn’t wish to be saddled with the upbringing of a small boy. What would it take to convince him to relinquish Luke to her? Money? She’d give him the full sum of her inheritance if that’s what it took.

She licked her lips. “I’ll pay him,” she said. “I’ll hand over the entire fortune if he will grant me custody of Luke.”

Beckenham shook his head. “You can’t, Jane. The trust Frederick established states plainly that it is for your own maintenance. You cannot simply give the money away. The trustees wouldn’t allow it.”

Beckenham rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He looked so grave, Jane saw hope slipping from her grasp. Her solid, dependable cousin always took care of things. If he thought there was no solution in this case …

“However…” Beckenham hesitated, then lowered his gaze. “Upon your marriage, your interest in the trust fund would become your husband’s property.”

The notion slammed into her like a sledgehammer.

“M-marriage?” she repeated faintly. “
Marry
Constantine Black?”

He blew out a breath. “No. Well, of course not. No one could expect you to. It’s merely … Jane, it would solve all of your problems, and Roxdale’s, too, for that matter. Marry him and the estate will be whole again. And you would get Luke.”

Stunned, Jane groped for the mantel beside her. Her knees felt watery, as if they wouldn’t hold her up. If marriage was the only way she could keep Luke with her … Ah, but she’d just escaped wedlock with one man who didn’t care the snap of his fingers for her. How could she fling herself into another loveless union?

She was tempted to take Luke and disappear. But how would they live? It wasn’t as if she had funds of her own. As Beckenham pointed out, everything was tied up in trusts. Even if she could find a way to support them both, they’d be fugitives. What sort of life could she give Luke then? He’d be better off with Constantine.

Beckenham came to her. He gripped her shoulder. “I am more sorry than I can say that it has come to this. Be assured, I will do everything I can.”

Dear Beckenham. But what could he do? She reached up to put her hand over his. “Thank you, Becks. Thank you for telling me.”

He waved away her gratitude, his dark eyes concerned. “Montford awaits you in the green saloon,” he said gently. “There are important matters to discuss.”

She couldn’t face the duke now. All he cared about was her inheritance. She couldn’t put her mind to such trivialities now. The only thing she wanted was to keep Luke.

“Then His Grace shall continue to wait.” All night, if she could manage it.

Beckenham began to persuade her but she fluttered a hand to stop him. “Please, Becks. I … I have an awful headache coming on. I cannot deal with the duke now.”

He eyed her for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll tell him you’re indisposed.”

Beckenham leaned forward to give her a brotherly kiss on her cheek. “Get some rest. We’ll face all this tomorrow.”

She nodded, forcing out a grateful smile.

But rest was farthest from her mind. She needed to find a way to keep Luke with her. She needed to think of a plan.

Marriage to Constantine Black? She shuddered. There
had
to be some other way.

*   *   *

“For the hundredth time, George, no!” Constantine held on to his temper, forcing his lips to curve in a smile of amused tolerance.

Why couldn’t his noble idiot of a brother accept that selling Broadmere was out of the question? Ordinarily so even-tempered, George could turn mulish when an idea fixed in his head.

George glared at him. “It’s the only way you can stop this place from coming to ruin.”

Constantine shook his head. “I’d let it all go to hell before I’d sell the family home from under you. What kind of a blackguard do you think I am?” He gave a humorless laugh. “No, don’t answer that.”

Constantine turned to stare out the window at the sodden landscape. Lazenby was his now. He’d made a promise to himself that this would be his fresh start. He would not begin his stewardship of this estate by losing a major source of income and employment. He’d find a way to save the mill. He must.

But that imperative did not extend to selling the house that had been in their father’s family for generations. The house they’d grown up in, where George’s family and their mother still lived. The house Constantine hadn’t set eyes on since his disgrace.

When the infamous affair with Miss Flockton became known, his father had banished him from Broadmere, vowing to leave the estate to George. A pity the old gentleman had died before he’d had the chance to change his will. As the elder son, Constantine had inherited everything.

Knowing his father’s wishes, Constantine considered Broadmere his brother’s in all but name. George had proven stubborn, however. He wouldn’t let Constantine formally transfer title to the property.

George held out a foolish, selfless hope that Constantine would relent and ignore their father’s dying wish. But he never had. He never would. Instead, Constantine had left everything in his brother’s capable hands, refusing to draw more from the estate than a younger son’s allowance. And he’d never set foot on Broadmere soil again.

Sell Broadmere to save Lazenby? Damn it all, marrying the Ice Maiden would be preferable to that. That’s what men in his position did, wasn’t it? Form strategic alliances in exchange for bloodlines or money or prestige. Why should he be any different?

But something in him rebelled against the very notion. He’d sacrificed a vast deal to avoid a bad marriage once before. What bitter irony that fate should throw him that lifeline a second time. On this occasion, however, he had more than his own reputation to consider.

“If you don’t sell Broadmere, you’ll lose the mill,” George persisted. “Will you risk the livelihoods of your tenants for your pride?”

Pride? Not a bit of it. The one good thing he’d ever done was to give the family home to George. He’d be damned if he’d mess that up, too.

He set his teeth. “I’ll find another way.”

George was correct on one point, though. Constantine needed a substantial influx of funds. Immediately.

According to Greenslade, Frederick had mortgaged the Lazenby woolen mill and the surrounding few acres to a northern mill owner called Bronson. Frederick’s death triggered the debt, so that both interest and principal—an astronomical sum—fell due within forty-five days. If Constantine couldn’t come up with the money in that time, Bronson would foreclose and take ownership of the mill property.

What the hell had Frederick been thinking, mortgaging the mill? He’d put the livelihoods of everyone on the estate at risk. Worse, he’d thrown the whole tangle in Constantine’s lap and denied him sufficient income to repay the staggering debt.