The spinster and the wastrel (2 page)

private bottle of brandy—if you don't begrudge it, Miss Courtney."

"Of course, I do not," she answered tartly. "It is yours."

"I am not sure what is mine anymore." He spun on his heel to leave and then faced her once more. "Miss Courtney, don't get too comfortable with my money and spend it all. I will get it back. I promise you that."

He marched from the drawing room, leaving the door wide open behind him. His friend followed him out. In the taut silence that ensued, Annette could hear Sir Gerard stamp up the stairs. When the sound of a distant door crashing reached the drawing room, it acted like a plug yanked free from a drain. A torrent of chatter arose as everyone spoke at once, offering an opinion about what had occurred.

Annette faced the solicitor and smiled weakly. "Mr. Keller, could you explain what has happened? What does this will mean?"

Slamming the door behind himself may have been a childish act, but Sir Gerard Montfort found satisfaction in hearing it crash. At least something obeyed him. He strode over to the brandy decanter the butler kept filled in the master suite.

After splashing some of the amber liquid into a crystal glass, he turned to survey his room. His uncle's servants had kept it clean. No smell of damp hung in the air, but the furnishings represented an era fashionable before Sir Gerard's birth. The once rich yellow bed hangings were faded with age, and the bed itself was of an oppressive dark wood. The chair by the fire showed a newer fabric pattern, probably because the original had worn out past mending. Sir Nigel had disliked spending a farthing on anything

other than what was strictly necessary for his personal comfort. Against one wall, an armoire squatted, so small that not even half of Sir Gerard's wardrobe would fit into it. He would have to replace it Actually, he intended to replace all of the furniture, preferring the more delicate lines now in style.

Yet, his plans took money. He gave a muffled oath. He had none. The furniture might not even be his to change. Everything depended upon what the entail included. Indeed, the brandy he now held in his hand was probably not his, since it was not likely to be included in the entail. All of it belonged to that woman.

When he had noticed her studying him, he had assumed her to be one of his uncle's pensioners who worried about her future. His smile had meant to reassure her. but she had turned away. From shyness he had thought! Intrigued by the youth of this "charity case," he had intended to become better acquainted after the reading of the will.

Well, his eyes had been opened. She was no poor pensioner, but an adventuress. She stole his money, but she would not keep it. She probably would have taken his title, too, if she could have.

Like his uncle, she apparently judged him of little account. Someone she could rob with impunity. His uncle had named him a wastrel and worthless, but this time he would prove the insults wrong.

At last he was the fifth Baronet Westcourt. He would get the money back and take his rightful place at the head of society. A man others respected.

With a proud sneer, he toasted himself and drank some of the brandy. It burned going down his throat, although

the vintage was a good one. He could not fault his uncle's concern for his personal comfort.

A knock sounded on the door, and he growled, "Come in."

Robert Linton ambled in. His closest friend had accompanied him on the trip from London to support him through the bereavement process. Average in height, Linton wore his brown hair in a simple fashion and dressed in black mourning clothes as a sign of respect—respect Sir Gerard no longer felt his uncle deserved. He saw the concern in Linton's hazel eyes and turned away to conceal his own emotions. The brandy sloshing in his glass betrayed his shaking hands. The precipice of social disaster loomed too close.

"Care for a drink?" Sir Gerard asked, indicating the decanter on the table. "After hearing that will, I needed one."

Linton nodded his agreement as he poured himself a glass. After sipping it, he asked, "What are you going to do now?"

"I have to break the will. I must get that money."

His friend compressed his lips. "It will not be easy."

"Do I have a choice?"

Linton knew the true state of his circumstances. "Breaking a will takes time," he said. "You do not have much of it."

"I know." Sir Gerard swirled his brandy. "My gambling debts must be settled soon, or else every door in London will be closed against me. I will be an outcast. I could not bear that." Recalling Linton's financial problems, he cast an apologetic glance at him. "I regret I cannot help you out of your difficulties as I had planned."

The other man shrugged. "No matter. The moneylender will just have to be patient a bit longer."

Sir Gerard frowned. Linton had introduced him to that same money-lender where he borrowed a sum that now seemed to be a staggering amount. "I dislike the interest mounting up while he waits. I did not expect to have to pay him very much when I gave him my note."

"Perhaps you celebrated your elevation to the title a little too soon."

Sir Gerard cast his friend a sour look. "As I recall, you were right there alongside me."

A reminiscent smile flitted across Linton's face. "It was certainly dashed good fun. Who knew what evil your uncle had plotted? To give you the title, but not the means to support it." He shook his head in disbelief.

Sir Gerard strolled over to the fire and leaned against the mantel. "Perhaps it was not all my uncle's fault. Perhaps an adventuress lurks beneath the facade of a spinster. Did you get a look at her? I knew my uncle to be eccentric, but not that he was a fool, too."

"She does not look like the typical adventuress," Linton agreed. 'Too tall and skinny. And the way she dressed! Her clothes looked like rags hanging on a pole." He shuddered at the picture.

"We plainly underestimate her charms or her abilities, since she was able to worm her way into my uncle's affections. I was never able to do it, even though I was his heir." He took another swallow of his drink, but this time the taste seemed as bitter as his memories. "She is obviously a dangerous woman, but she will discover I can be an equally dangerous opponent. This is one contest I do not intend to lose."

Gkaptei &wo

"\7bu inherited all the money!'* Lucille Downes's squeal JL of surprise sounded just like that of the pigs her fanner husband used to raise. In her late forties, her face was as round as her body, which she draped with ruffles and furbelows. The circle of her mouth copied her wide brown eyes as the woman stared at Annette. The shock registered on her face echoed the reverberations the new heiress still felt within herself.

"I could not believe it either."* Annette told her companion.

The two women were seated in the genteelly furnished drawing room of the cottage they shared. Despite the small fire flickering in the grate, the room remained chilled, and they sought both warmth and sustenance from their tea.

After the vicar had passed away. Annette and her invalid mother moved from the church manse, but the new cottage s rent was a heavy expense. When Lucille was widowed, she. too, was required to move. Without a son to inherit the farms tenancy and no living daughter obliged to care for her surviving parent. Lucille was in desperate straits. She faced the dreaded parish poorhouse. When An-

nette suggested they share the cottage's expenses and care of Mrs. Courtney, Lucille welcomed the opportunity.

Annette had overheard her neighbors' puzzled speculation about the success of two such disparate women living in the same house. She knew she was renowned in Upper Brampton village for her managing ways. She met every one of life's hurdles with squared shoulders and a no-nonsense approach, while Lucille bowed before life's difficulties with a quiet resignation. Even though Annette could not understand her companion's approach, she had always been grateful for the extra care her invalid mother had received from the other lady. No one denied Lucille's generous heart.

Now hope warred with disbelief in the widow's brown, puppylike eyes. "This isn't a joke, is it?"

"I could not believe it myself, at first, but it is true," Annette assured her. "The solicitor wants to meet with me tomorrow to sign the papers."

"How much money is there? There must be pots of it. Old Sir Nigel was such a miser."

"That will be one of my questions to Mr. Keller."

Lucille's sigh of satisfaction drew from deep within. 'To think you will never have to worry about the tradesmen again!"

"You're right!" At the realization, the great burden of anxiety she had carried for so long slipped from Annette's shoulders with almost a physical lightening. A buoyant feeling of freedom now filled her.

She looked around the small drawing room, where they worked to keep up the appearance of gentility. The dark wood furniture remained dust free because their labor was free. Expense forced them to do the light housekeeping, while relying on an intermittent maid to do the heavy

work. Beautiful embroidery from the needle of her late mother adorned the seat covers. Although an invalid for many years before her death, Mrs. Courtney had left behind a colorful legacy of fabric that still surrounded her daughter.

The small fire seemed more for show and to provide light in the winter afternoon gloom than for warmth. Setting down her teacup, Annette rubbed her hands, still chilled from the walk home. She stood, took some wood from the box, and built up the flame until it roared. Ashes swirled from her vigorous efforts, and she coughed as one lodged in her throat.

"What are you doing?" Lucille asked. "Why are you making the fire so high?"

"Starting as of now, we never have to be cold again." Annette held her hands out to the blaze, feeling its heat clear to her bones. She shivered with delight and turned back to her friend. "How wonderful it will be to never fear the collier, or the butcher, or the apothecary, or anyone else again."

Lucille clapped her hands at the prospect. "Yes! Oh, Annette, what are you going to do with all that money?"

"Why, I had not considered it." She blinked as she tried to order her thoughts. "Most important, of course, is to pay off all the tradesmen's bills."

"Pooh! Why must you always be so practical! This is your chance to gain what you have always wanted. Picture something more—your heart's deepest desire."

"Paying off the tradesmen is one of my deepest desires." Yet a picture of a village school sprang into her mind. At Lucille's frown, Annette added, "What did you have in mind?"

The other woman tittered. "My wishes are of no concern because it is not my money."

Uncertain, Annette slowly sat on her chair. For one of the few times in her life, she was confused. All of her upbringing had taught her to stretch a penny, not manage pounds. "You are my dearest friend. Certainly your wishes are my concern. I do not know what to do, and I need your help."

"Help you spend the money?" Lucille exclaimed. "Gladly! Have you never wanted to travel? Go to London? Buy new dresses?" She twitched her skirt with a disdainful air and shook her head at her friend's dress. "We can begin with that right now."

The prospect tempted Annette, but she continued to hesitate. "It sounds so frivolous to spend the money that way."

"You have not had enough frivolity in your life to enable you to enjoy it when the opportunity appears," Lucille replied tartly. "This is your chance."

"I thought opening a school for the local children would be a more worthy cause."

Lucille threw up her hands. "Why must you only spend the money on some type of charity? If you want a worthy cause, use it to find yourself a husband."

"Buy one, you mean."

The other woman defiantly met Annette's gaze. "Why not? You are thirty years of age."

"Yes, and passed the age of marrying." Annette picked up her teacup and sipped from it. The tea was cold, just like her prospects for falling in love and marrying.

The widow sighed. When she spoke again, her tone had lost its stridency. "You did your duty when you cared for your mother throughout the years of your maidenhood.

Lo

Perhaps this inheritance i you can still have a husb

Annette tried to smik dren were her deepest de When I was younger, I v tract any man willing to mother's care. Now I do money. I want love and \

"You could pretend," her teacup.

Annette pretended no) her inheritance, a small science. Her good fortun thought the money shoul fort."

"The new baronet?" continued, "It is plain tlu opinion of his heir. You s as 'that wastrel.' Was the

"Yes," Annette answe

"No surprise there," L

The Spinster and the Wastrel

She tried to explain the mystery to Lucille. "I what I had expected for someone known to be a

"I have never seen a wastrel."

"Neither have I, but he looked far better ths have thought one did."

Lucille brightened. "Is he handsome?"

Resting her chin on her hand, Annette c "Handsome seems the wrong word. He was notit though he ignored everyone else in the drawing were aware of his presence."

"Naturally, since he is a new face in the area if he will attend any of the local Assemblies."

"We are likely too provincial for him. Remei used to London society."

"Pooh! With your money, you can now affon into society." She snuggled deeper into her hugged her wool shawl closer as she contempla hire.

Unwilling to disillusion her friend, Annettt was only a noncommittal, "Perhaps."

She believed it took more than money to ent

of the suffering within the village of Upper Brampton. Her life had been spent in service to others. She would continue along that path, but now she no longer needed to beg for the coins.

A smile tugged at her lips. Tomorrow she would discuss the possibilities for Lucille's future and a village school with Mr. Keller. She would hire the solicitor to help her with her plans. Sir Gerard Montfort might dislike her gaining his inheritance, but Annette no longer had to worry about pleasing the Baronet Westcourt. It was a very agreeable feeling.