Page 68

“I t begins.”

The happy golden hues on the overstuffed damask furniture brought Lora little pleasure as she raised a steaming cup of tea to her lips.

Another sleepless night had delivered her to her usual perch in the parlor window.

There, pensive and poised, she daydreamed about a certain duke—as she often did without reprieve, gazing outdoors—longing to be free like birds fluttering from limb to limb in the gardens and the rotunda beyond.

Creatures of the air cared nothing for fashion or manners, house parties or dances or marriage or revenge, though the weather played a significant role in their bountiful cheerfulness.

A higher power had clothed each bird magnificently for what lay in store on a day-to-day basis.

If only someone had shown her that same kindness.

She longed to be like a bird, soaring high above the fray, able to avoid hazards with equal finesse.

This morning, however, fog and rain threatened to swallow the terrain, offering her no contentment. Like a bad omen, gloom settled over her and snuffed her spirits like a vulnerable candle in the wind, reminding her of the pain that accompanied every errand.

Grumbling with displeasure, she glanced down at her teacup.

The medicinal effects of tea usually soothed her agitation.

But her plans were thwarted when Miss Margaret Percival, her mother’s sister, decided to open Winterbourne for guests.

Aunt Meg intended to find her a suitable match, and before the summer was over.

As a result, and with or without Lora’s approval, a deluge of people would flood the premises, promoting goodwill and conversation, and making it nearly impossible to escape at whim.

The doors of Winterbourne would also receive her cousin, Lieutenant Samuel Hawkesbury, who had just returned from Waterloo.

His long-standing animosity and burning desire to take her brother’s place in the line of succession made clear he would inherit everything—and in his irrational mind, her, too.

Over my dead body.

She choked, setting her teacup down with a clatter.

The very idea of Samuel assuming her father’s role as the Marquess of Putney was an appalling reminder that she could not reverse time.

And why shouldn’t she abhor the idea? Throughout his life, Samuel’s envy had influenced everything, dampening the mood, ruining family gatherings, and careening conversation into a fiery pit.

Now, with Nicholas gone, the only thing standing in Samuel’s way was Papa and her uncle, Thomas Hawkesbury.

Once they were gone, the estate and Papa’s title would subsequently fall to her cousin, polluting the halls of Winterbourne forever.

I will do whatever it takes to prevent such an outrage.

Meg cleared her throat, effectively putting an end to her ruminations.

Lora glanced at her aunt, quickly discovering that her ill-tempered musings had earned another of Meg’s infamous glowers.

A minor slip like this, even in private, had the potential to undo all that she’d strived so hard to achieve these many months in her pursuit of Nicholas’s killer.

Nervously, she picked up her teacup and saucer, the porcelain clattering in her hands.

“Is it your intention to break every tea set in this house?”

“No, Aunt. Truly. I have no notion what has come over me.” Liar!

“Do you not?” Aunt Meg didn’t seem convinced as she bent diligently to her embroidery once more.

Lora couldn’t resist saying, “An impulsive female wouldn’t stop at this teacup. She’d break every dish in the house if it meant a certain person would never be able to use them.”

“Lora!” Meg pricked her finger and gasped, any sign of humor gone.

She sucked on the digit, wincing. “I applaud your wit, my dear, but what good can come from breaking the dishes? How will we feed our guests? Think, my dear. You are too willful. I urge you to practice more diplomacy. Trust me when I say that it is never right to resort to violence. Nothing can be gained?—”

“By resorting to hostility. Anger thoroughly shatters people’s lives.” Lora drew in a deep breath, trying not to engage, trying without fail to push her brother’s death stare out of her mind. “Let us pray my cousin does not test the violence of my affections.”

“Lora.” Meg frowned, but Lora did not care.

She meant every word because she believed Samuel’s lust for Winterbourne made him somehow responsible for her brother’s death.

“You are my sister’s only child, my pleasing, practical, philosophical niece.

Since Evie’s passing, we have been indulging you, if you’ll allow me to say so. ”

Lady Evelyn, the Marchioness of Putney—Lora’s mother—faded from Lora’s mind with every passing year, no matter how hard she clung to the memories or stared at the portrait hanging over the mantel.

“We must all accept that your mother is gone, that Nicholas is gone, and that no one can take their place.”

Unless Papa remarried and his new bride conceived a son. The jarring thought quickly rattled Lora’s brain. Yes. Papa simply must recover from his injuries and marry again.

But how was that possible when his spirits were so low?

Meg swiped at an errant tear, the solemn act stirring waterworks in the backs of Lora’s eyes.

“Nicholas’s death was tragic, as was your father’s accident.

Without hope for his full recovery, however, you will need a husband to provide protection.

It is only fitting and right that your uncle should acquire Winterbourne in the event your father’s condition takes a sudden turn, and then his son. ”

“Aunt!”

“The fact remains. Hawkesbury and Samuel are the rightful heirs.”

Her lips curled in distaste as she placed her teacup and saucer on the side table, causing quite a clatter. “Samuel intends to marry me.”

“Would that be so terrible? Happenstance, you would not have to leave Winterbourne.”

She stared at Meg in horror. “He is my cousin. What’s more. He’s a vile, distasteful, miscreant. I want no part of him. He’s a stain upon all, and?—”

“Enough!”

Lora bristled at her aunt’s tone.

“Harness your tongue. It does you no credit.”

But Meg did not know Samuel like Lora did. She had not been privy to his endless taunts and mean-spirited tricks. The times he’d broken expensive family heirlooms and blamed Nicholas. Or the despicable ways he’d tortured harmless animals.

Pausing and sighing, Meg studied her embroidery.

“You and I were born into a world where women rarely get what they want, let alone deserve. I will not hear another word of you never marrying. My own bitter disappointment of never bearing children should be example enough, and I despair that kind of future for you, forced to rely on kind relatives.” She gazed at Lora fondly.

“Your father is a compassionate man. It behooves me to remind you that you are two and twenty and headed for the same fate, dearest. And I owe it to my beloved sister to help you make a prudent match.”

“I will not leave Papa, not in his condition.” Lora vehemently shook her head. “And I cannot leave you .”

“Perdition! You cannot put my needs over yours. Oh no! That does not suit. Not when this house is more than either of us can manage.”

“Never mind that.” You do not know the extent of my cousin’s shortcomings. More’s the pity. If she did, Meg would sing a different tune. Only one of us needs to carry that burden. “We are managing very well.”

“But for how long?”

“As long as it takes,” she said, gazing out the window once more.

The drizzling rain mirrored the melancholy constricting her heart.

She dared not think about the future. It was a nauseating affair devoid of Nicholas.

She neither wanted to marry nor needed a husband, especially not until she caught the person responsible for her brother’s death.

Papa was alive and thriving, though still slightly unstable on his feet.

There was no need to worry about her safety, yet.

Indeed, she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

If her aunt found out what she did in the dark of night— “Papa will be back on his feet in due course. And perhaps this party will be exactly what he needs to make it so.”

“I do hope you are right, Lora. Oh,” Meg added energetically. “Did I mention your uncle was here earlier?”

“Uncle Thomas?” Her heart sank and a sudden queasiness took hold as tension built inside her. “You did not.”

“We have received word that he is finally coming home.”

“Who?” Though she knew the answer as a letter had arrived stating that her cousin Samuel had cashed in his commission at war’s end.

“The Duke of Beresford.”

Lora gazed at her aunt in shock. “The Duke of Beresford?”

This, indeed, was not the revelation she expected.

She perched on the edge of the window seat, unexpectedly euphoric.

He has returned. Myles Rutland, the Duke of Beresford, had been back to Kingston only once in two years—for his father’s funeral—claiming London as his primary residence.

The city she could not access due to her father’s convalescence.

Predictably, he was the most sought-after bachelor in Town.

“I see something finally piqued your interest.” Meg’s endearing smile offset a teasing brow. “I am told he is keen to explore Kingston, and am happy to say that he will be joining our little house party.” After a slight pause, she added, “As will Hawkesbury’s son.”

Lora’s heart sank into her belly like an iron bucket plummeting down an empty well. “Thank you for apprising me of this news.”

“’Tis not a plea for you to take precautionary measures. I beg you, give the man a chance to prove himself. War has changed men.”

“Of course.” Bile rose in her throat. A leopard cannot change its spots. “I shall try.”