Marshal and the Heiress (6 page)

He hadn't wanted to assert his power. He'd never liked bullies or arrogance. But it had been a long time since he'd felt like anyone's puppet, and he had no intention of ever being one again.

Sarah Ann had been placed on a floor overhead, a far distance from his own assigned chamber. The nursery was the only proper place for a child, the old butler had proclaimed, obviously horrified and distressed that Ben had found the arrangement unsuitable. Looking around, he had to admit the room was pretty and filled with toys, including a rocking horse. But Sarah Ann, upon learning she was expected to stay there alone, had started wailing.

It had all been too much for her—the loss of her mother, of Mrs. Culworthy, the long, seemingly endless trip, and now all these new people. She probably also detected some of the tension in the household; she was too sensitive to moods not to have noticed.

So he'd balked at the separation. The stiff, elderly butler, saying he would have to consult with Lady Lisbeth, had stalked off.

Ben looked down at Sarah Ann. She'd stopped crying, but she still had a death grip on Annabelle's basket and her doll. When she tilted her head and looked at him, his heart nearly broke at the lost look in her eyes.

“Come over here with me,” he said, giving her a wink as he tempted her toward the window. It offered a view of what lay behind the house. “Look,” he said, lifting Sarah Ann so she could see the heather-covered hills beyond the house and, in the distance, a lake shimmering in the late afternoon sun.

It was a far cry from the dry, gray winter of Texas.

The scene drew an “ahhh” from Sarah Ann. “Can we go on a picnic?” she asked longingly. “Like the ones Mama took me on.”

“It's a bit cold for that,” Ben said, “but we will go exploring.” He would see about obtaining a horse for himself and a pony for Sarah Ann. He also wanted to go to Edinburgh fairly soon and talk to the estate trustee. But Sarah Ann needed a few days to rest and get settled, and he needed some time to discover the politics of Calholm.

Suddenly she turned from the window and hugged him tightly. Annabelle's basket, still in her hand, was flung around his neck. He wasn't sure whether he would ever get used to those hugs, to the trust and sweetness inherent in them.

“You won't go away?” she whispered.

“No, Sugarplum,” he whispered back, shifting her into his arms. “You're stuck with me.”

She giggled, but her arms didn't relax their hold, and he felt the insecurity, the fear, that still haunted her. His own hands tightened around her. He still couldn't believe the richness she had brought to his life, wondered how he could exist without it. He had survived readily enough before simply because he hadn't known what he was missing. His mother had died when he was very young and his father had been a taciturn man consumed with his law practice. He'd seldom smiled and never touched or, God forbid, kissed his child. There had only been duty.

“Mr. Masters.”

The sound of his name caused Ben to whirl around.

Lisbeth Hamilton stood in the doorway, her head tilted slightly as if she were curious about something. He swung Sarah Ann to the floor, keeping her small hand in his.

“Mrs. Hamilton,” he acknowledged. The various titles confused him, and even if they didn't, he was uncomfortable with them. “I'm not quite sure of the proper address.”

“Barbara and I are both formally Lady Calholm,” she said. “But the servants—and many of our acquaintances—call us Lady Lisbeth and Lady Barbara. Otherwise it would get terribly muddled.”

“Lady Lisbeth, then?”

“In the family, we dispense with all that. Lisbeth will do.”

“Lisbeth, then,” he said, searching her face. Despite the words that were almost friendly, her eyes reflected something else.

“I understand you are displeased with your accommodations,” she said abruptly.

“Not having seen mine, I have no reason to complain about them. But I do understand the nursery is on the third floor and that my room is on the second. I would prefer to be closer to Sarah Ann.” He watched her carefully as he spoke. “She's just turned four and is too young to be this far away from anyone.”

“I thought we might try to find a nursemaid,” Lisbeth Hamilton said. “It's customary—”

“I don't give a damn about ‘customary.'”

The tiniest glimpse of a smile played across her lips and her eyes widened with surprise—whether because of his vehemence or the apparent impropriety of his demand, he didn't know.

“Would a room next to yours be close enough?” she asked.

He hesitated. Sarah Ann had been in his cabin on the ship and in the inns along the way. He had become very adept at stringing curtains between them while he dressed.

“I want to stay with Papa,” Sarah Ann whispered almost desperately.

“And so you shall,” Lisbeth Hamilton said, then added, “To bloody hell with convention.” Ben was reminded of the masculine clothing she'd worn earlier and how she'd soared over a five-foot stone wall astride a stallion few men could handle.

“There's another room in the west wing,” she continued. “It's not so fine as the one I intended for you, but it connects to a smaller room.”

“I don't need fine,” Ben replied. “I've often slept on the ground.”

One of her eyebrows lifted in question, but he offered no explanation.

“I'll have Duncan show you the room. He's hovering somewhere in the hallway.” With a soft smile, she added, “He's rather set in his ways.”

Ben thought her manner toward the servant more suited to an indulgent daughter than to the mistress of a grand estate.

“I'm afraid the room needs airing and dusting,” she said. “Perhaps Sarah Ann could eat her supper in the kitchen while we have dinner.” She turned to go.

“Ah …”

Lisbeth stopped.

“Sarah Ann and I eat together.”

She turned around again, and this time a real smile curved her lips. It lit her face.

“I'll inform Barbara,” she said. “She and Hugh will be delighted to have you both at the table.”

From the mischief in her voice, he gathered Barbara and Hugh would be no such thing. He felt a powerful urge to smile back at her, but he wasn't ready to take sides in what appeared to be a royal family row.

“I'm glad we'll be welcome,” he said dryly, and her grin spread. He had the strangest notion that she realized exactly what he was thinking.

“Tonight, then.” She turned to say a few words to Duncan, who was waiting outside, then left.

Duncan was at least seventy and probably more like eighty, Ben figured. No wonder the butler didn't like changes. The man should have retired years ago—an observation that did little for his opinion of Lisbeth Hamilton. He'd heard about loyal family retainers but this was ridiculous. Depending on what kind of power he would have, he would try to see to the servant's retirement as soon as possible.

Ben and Sarah Ann followed the ancient down a flight of stairs, Ben wondering all the way whether the man would make it. They passed through a long hallway until, near the end, the butler opened a door. The room was large and obviously unused. It smelled of dust, and the furniture was old, the fabrics faded. But it had a large window that looked over the lake. Compared to the hotels and barracks he'd used, Ben thought it was rather grand. He opened one of the inner doors and saw that it led into a small room that once might have been a sitting area. It too had a large window overlooking the lake.

Duncan was sniffing disapprovingly. “It needs an airing.”

“It's beautiful, and awful
big,
” Sarah Ann said, peering out the window.

The butler's stiff face relaxed slightly. “Geordie will bring the horse and other toys down when he finishes fetching your luggage. Effie will bring some water and air out the rooms during dinner.”

Sarah Ann released Ben's hand and tried the bed. Ben and Duncan watched as she climbed up—it was very high—and bounced happily. Not thirty seconds had passed, though, before she had stopped bouncing and was spread out within the folds of a great comforter, her eyes closing despite her obvious attempts not to let them.

“She's a bonny wee lass,” the butler said wistfully.

“Aye, she is,” Ben agreed, automatically using the Scottish term he'd heard so much in the past few days.

“Calholm has not been a happy house since young Ian left, and the old Marquess died,” Duncan said softly. “Perhaps she can bring some life back to it.”

Ben only nodded. He wasn't sure whether she could. The atmosphere was so stifling, the tensions so high, and that only reinforced his misgivings about the wisdom of this venture.

He looked at Sarah Ann, who was nearly invisible in the great bed. She was smiling in her sleep. He had discovered that small things would make her do that. A wink. A kitten. Now a cozy bed.

He leaned down and took Annabelle from her basket and tucked her under Sarah Ann's arm. Surprisingly enough, the kitten stayed there. She too was probably tired from her great adventure, though he felt sure she had no fear in her. Annabelle thought she could lick the world, both figuratively and literally.

He wished he felt as certain about his own abilities in this misty green country. He was more used to directness than subtlety, to open hostility than concealed distrust, to declared outlaws than people who hid behind titles and fine clothes. Ben had sensed in the few hours he'd been at Calholm that with every step he took, he would be walking between charges of dynamite, never quite sure when one would explode.

Chapter Four

Currents raged around the Calholm library as predinner sherry was poured and sipped. And “raged” was the word, Ben thought, his gaze flickering among the three adult members of the Hamilton family. The small room, with its leather sofa and huge walnut desk and lingering, civilized smell of brandy and cigars, could hardly contain the swelling of hot emotions bouncing off the book-lined walls.

With Sarah Ann at his side on the sofa, Ben continued his deceptively casual perusal of the others. Barbara was being openly seductive; the cousin, Hugh appeared hostile; and Lisbeth merely watchful. Warmth was a distinctly missing ingredient. Only Sarah Ann's tentative smile provided a small glow.

Hugh eyed him with disdain. “Ben? What kind of name is that?” he said with scornful superiority. “Surely it must be Benjamin or—”

“No,” Ben replied with a shrug. “Just plain Ben. My father had no use for fancy monikers.” It was a lie. His real name was Bennett Sebastian Masters, but he felt no inclination to divulge that information. A choking noise behind him made Ben turn. Lisbeth was coughing, or more likely, hiding a chuckle. He couldn't be sure whether she was amused at his feigning to be lazy and not very bright or at Hugh's ready acceptance of it.

Hugh, who had introduced himself as Hugh George Alexander Hamilton, looked briefly startled, then his features settled back into their previous self-satisfied smirk. Ben could read his mind.
The American is a country bumpkin, a man easy to sway and use.
It was exactly what he wanted the man to think.

“Ben is such … a straightforward name,” Barbara said in the silence that followed. “And how do you and little Sarah Ann like Calholm?”

Sarah Ann, who was hanging on to his left hand, moved a little closer to him.

“It's … impressive,” Ben responded.

Just then Henry the Eighth announced his arrival with a loud bark. He ambled in, yawned loudly, and went over to Sarah Ann, reaching out his giant tongue to lick a finger; then emboldened by that success, he started slobbering happily all over her. Sarah Ann giggled and reached out to pet him. She loved all animals and had no fear of them.

Barbara's face paled. “I warned Lisbeth not to allow the dog in here tonight.”

“It's not your place to warn me of anything,” Lisbeth said mildly. “This is Henry's home, too.”

Barbara looked at Ben pleadingly. “It's unhealthy for the child.”

Everyone was suddenly looking at him, as if waiting for Moses to come down from Mount Sinai. The first test, he realized. They all waited for his judgment: Lisbeth leery; Barbara expectant; Hugh gloating; and Sarah Ann pleading. At least, he knew what
she
wanted.

He shrugged. “After sharing close quarters with the devil's own cat, I doubt Henry can do any harm.” His gaze went to Lisbeth. Approval flickered in her eyes.

Ben turned back to Barbara. Her violet eyes had widened with something close to astonishment, but she recovered quickly.

“I was just thinking of the child,” she said. “I should hate for her to become ill, and animals carry all kinds of diseases.”

“So do people,” Lisbeth inserted quietly. “How is the kitten doing?”

Sarah Ann's face lit like a candle. “Papa said I had to leave her upstairs, but she likes the bed. Someone brought her some milk, and she's very happy. But I don't think she likes Henry.” She frowned. “Do you think they will be friends?”

“After they get to know one another, perhaps,” Lisbeth hedged diplomatically.

The devil cat and the huge, friendly beast of a dog? Ben had to smile. So far, Annabelle only liked Sarah Ann, and he doubted whether Henry would join that short list anytime soon.

“However, Sarah Ann,” Ben said, “I think you've had a sufficient bath for the moment.” He guided her out of the reach of Henry's tongue and looked toward Lisbeth, who obviously took the hint.

“I think it's time for dinner,” she announced, moving toward another room. Ben followed with Sarah Ann, leaving Barbara and Hugh to follow. They entered a large room, dominated by an enormous table that would easily seat thirty people. Five places were set at the far end of the table: the one at the head was flanked by two settings on either side. One of the chairs on the left side held a big plump pillow.