Page 16 of A Stroke of Luck (Intrepid Heroines #4)
Seven
T he brusque ringing of the silver bell broke the awkward silence.
A moment later, the butler appeared, still looking somewhat befuddled by the recent turn of events. “Yes, Your Grace?” he said, addressing the duke after an uneasy glance at Lady Farrington and her grandson.
“Have tea brought in immediately, along with a cold collation,” said Prestwick. His own shock and dismay at discovering his erstwhile companions in the parlor of Highwood Manor had not prevented him from noticing the hollowness of the young lady’s cheeks and the bruised shadowing under her eyes.
As soon as the servant had hurried from the room, Lady Farrington fixed him with a sharp glare. “Prestwick! Have you taken leave of your senses?—”
He cut off the rebuke in mid-sentence. “No, I have not. Nor have I taken leave of my manners, Aunt Hermione.”
Her eyes widened, then her mouth shut with a near audible snap.
“Miss Greeley, will you and the lads please be seated?” he continued, indicating the sofa. “I am sure you must be tired after your journey.”
Pride warred with fatigue upon her drawn features, and for a moment, the young lady looked as if she might refuse. But a sideways glance at the pinched faces of her brothers seemed to make up her mind. Nodding curtly to Nonny and Perry, she moved with a stiff dignity to take up the proffered place.
“Once the Greeleys have had a bit of refreshment, perhaps we may all discuss this situation in a civilized fashion.”
“Civilized!” huffed his great aunt. With a snap of her wrist, she raised her lorgnette and made a show of surveying the dusty faces and travelworn garments of the three siblings.
“Speaking of civilized, I must ask that you kindly refrain from such outbursts, Aunt Hermione.” Prestwick’s voice was measured, but the show of calm authority masked the cross-currents that were pulling at his own emotions.
Of all the cursed luck! he swore to himself. Greeley was not an uncommon a name—it had never occurred to him that the tattered travelers might be related to his rackety uncle and repellent cousin.
His mouth thinning to a taut line, the duke continued to regard the hostile faces seated before him in grim silence.
He had been just as displeased as the young lady to discover that chance had once again tossed them together.
Between the scheming of his relatives and the impending visit of his Society friends, he had enough tricky shoals to navigate without having the feisty Admiral of the Amazons sail into his life again.
After all, she was nothing but trouble—a headstrong hellion who managed to churn up storm waves wherever she went.
And, if truth be told, he was still a bit angry and offended at her tempestuous dismissal of his parting gesture, for it had been so stormy, he had never even had the chance to voice his thanks for saving his life.
Yet a sideways glance at her defiant face tempered his lingering ill feelings.
Beneath the martial expression, he saw the rippling of apprehension in the depths of her eyes, and it made him feel a bit ashamed of himself.
Here she was, a young lady alone and without influence pitted against a hostile branch of the family, one possessed of power and prestige.
And despite being unsure and afraid, she had the raw courage to walk into a nest of vipers.
His teeth set. That her outrage was motivated by loyalty and a sense of honor rather than greed and a selfish desire for privilege only added to his grudging admiration.
The duke twisted uncomfortably at the signet ring on his pinkie, unable to keep from wondering whether he would have even half the same strength of spirit.
“You must forgive Grandmama, for she only speaks up out of concern for the family name,” said Harold smoothly. “I’m sure once you have heard the facts, you will agree that your own kinsman’s claim is the legitimate one, Twick.”
Prestwick saw indignation swirl up a storm in Zara’s eyes at the oblique insult.
“As you suggest, cuz, civility dictates that we extend the hospitality of Highwood Manor to these young people.” Harold gave an oily smile. “Until they decide on … a more permanent place of residence.”
The arrival of the tea tray forestalled further comment.
Seeing his great aunt make no move to play hostess, the duke had the maid serve the new arrivals with the steaming beverage and a generous selection of the cook’s pastries before responding to his cousin’s statement.
“Perhaps we should begin with you telling me the facts.”
“Why, I should be happy to.” After shooting a triumphant look at Zara, Harold gave a dismissive tweak to the tail end of his cravat.
“It is really quite simple. This Parthenon’s claim to being next in line for Uncle Aubrey’s title and lands is valid only if their father actually married their mother.
” He gave an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders, nearly causing the seam of his fitted coat to split.
“Which our lawyers say is doubtful. Highly doubtful.”
“Doubtful?” murmured Prestwick. His brows winged upward. “I would hope they have proof of such a serious assertion.”
His cousin’s face lost a touch of its smugness.
“Well, er, yes. I imagine they do. But it has to be false! After all, Greeley was a loose screw, choosing to gallivant across the Continent and consort with unsuitable people, like … artists and Italians. It would be only natural that such an unreliable fellow would not bother with the basics of propriety.”
“And what have you to say in answer to my cousin Harold, Miss Greeley?”
The duke saw that her hands were shaking slightly as she set down her cup.
“That his words are scurrilous lies, sir, designed to deprive Nonny of his rightful inheritance. If my father and mother were happier abroad, it was due to the fact that his unbending family refused to accept his love match and made life miserable here in England.”
Her chin came up in a jutting tilt Prestwick had come to recognize all too well. “I do have proof!. Proof that my parents were lawfully wed. You and your relatives may use your influence and your money to twist the outcome of this dispute, but that does not alter the truth.”
Did she really think he was part of a deliberate attempt to cheat her and the lads out of their heritage?
Prestwick sucked in his breath, trying to summon up a surge of indignation.
Instead, the air leaked out with an inward wince.
Her accusation had stuck a raw nerve, more so because he could not blame her for thinking him in league with his cousin.
He turned to the window, only to catch a reflection of the two lads watching him, their pulled features taut with disappointment.
“No matter what you think, Miss Greeley, I have no intention of twisting the truth,” he said quietly.
“Uncle Aubrey’s legal advisor is an honest man—I promise you he shall examine the facts very carefully before coming to any decision.
” The bell sounded another sharp ring. “In the meantime, while we are awaiting his arrival, you must make yourselves at home here. I shall have Rusher show you upstairs?—”
His great aunt make a choking sound as her face darkened to an ugly shade of puce. “Good Lord, Prestwick, surely you don’t mean?—”
“What I mean is that the Greeleys will be treated with equal respect while they are under this roof,” he announced with an emphatic tug at the hem of his embroidered waistcoat.
“After all, until the legalities are decided upon, it seems to me that Master Parthenon must be considered to have equal claim to Highwood Manor as Cousin Harold.”
Lady Farrington looked as though he had just announced that Lucifer had equal claim to pass through the Pearly Gates as St. Peter. “You were always an odd fish,” she grumbled under her breath. “No sense of duty or?—”
A poke of Harold’s elbow nudged her to silence.
“We will, of course, defer to His Grace’s wishes,” said his cousin, though the brittle note of his voice seemed to echo his grandmother’s less agreeable sentiments.
What he wished, thought Prestwick wryly, was a spade—a very large spade—so that he might dig a hole clear to China and drop the lot of them into it.
“ Hmmph! ” An aggrieved snort was the extent of Lady Farrington’s comment.
“I will see that Rusher has the maids bring up hot water.” Turning away from his relatives, the duke addressed the new arrivals.
“You have only to ask if there is anything else you require.” Seeing the young lady’s features were still as flinty as Islay stone, he essayed a bit of humor.
“Perhaps a dram of Bruichladdich to bring the color back to your cheeks?”
The fiery tinge of red that flooded her face had naught to do with malt whiskey. “I shall accept your hospitality, for in truth, I have little other choice.”
But, noted Prestwick, that did not mean she had to like it.
“At breakfast we can discuss in more detail the particulars of your stay,” he offered.
“Very well …” She rose quickly on seeing the butler appear in the doorway, and motioned for the lads to follow her.
The duke was glad to see they, at least, had cracked shy smiles at his earlier attempt at lightening the mood.
However, her countenance remained as immutable as Scottish granite.
And as she marched past him, he thought he heard her mutter under breath, “Just as long as they include steering well clear of each other.”
What perverse trick of fate had blown the wind from her sails?