Once an Heiress (4 page)

“Thorburn? Is that you?” asked a tired voice.

Ethan straightened. He set the miniature upright on a table. “Yes, Nessa, it’s me.”

The woman wept softly. “I asked for you and asked for you. Where have you been?”

His body responded to her distress with a pain in his heart. He couldn’t bear her tears. “I’m sorry, darling.” Ethan crossed the distance to the bed. “I came as soon as I could.”

He drew the curtain aside, revealing the bed’s occupant.

Vanessa’s long white hair lay like silvery rays of moonlight against blue pillowcases. Her skin was deeply lined and thin as vellum, showing the veins in her face and hands. Her eyes, though, were as bright and vivid as they had ever been, a rare violet that had inspired poetry and beguiled royalty on both sides of the Channel.

Now those eyes, brimming with tears and childlike fear, turned upon him.

Ethan lowered himself onto the edge of the bed. “I heard you argued with your nurse.”

Vanessa thrust out her lower lip. “She hides my things, just to be mean. Today, she took my brush and wouldn’t give it back.”

Ethan glanced at the vanity. As he knew it would be, the silver brush lay alongside the comb and hand mirror, right where they always were. “I think I see it,” he said in a patient tone. “Would you like me to get it for you?”

“No!” Vanessa’s hand shot out and caught his. “Don’t leave me, Thorburn,” she whispered. “You’ve been spending so much time with that wife of yours, and hardly any with me. Are you … Are you tired of me?” Though her voice was reedy with age, her eyes pinned him with a ferocious intensity.

His heart lurched. “No, my love,” he said, reciting the script that would calm her, words from a time long past. “I could never tire of you.”

Vanessa tugged his hand. “Then come to bed.”

Ethan sighed and stretched out beside her, on top of the coverlet. He propped up on some pillows and reached for her.

Vanessa nuzzled into Ethan’s chest and made a contented sound. The frail woman felt insubstantial in his embrace. He rested his cheek on her forehead and kissed her brow, just to assure himself she was really there. “What shall we do this evening, Nessa?”

“I’d like to go to a ball,” she answered on a happy sigh. “You buy me so very many pretty things. All the ladies will be jealous. Their husbands don’t do half for them what you do for me and it infuriates them. They can look down their noses at me all they like, but I see their envy. They wish they had things like mine. They wish they had a love like ours … ”

Her voice trailed off into a mutter, and then she was quiet. She inhaled and exhaled slowly. Her weight increased against him as she sank into sleep.

When he judged it safe to do so, he reached for the bell pull beside the bed.

A maid opened the door and crossed the room, her eyes wary upon Vanessa.

“Could I have something to eat, please?” Ethan asked in a whisper. “Something I can manage with one hand.”

The maid glanced at her sleeping mistress and offered Ethan a sympathetic smile. “Of course, my lord. And may I say,” she hesitated before continuing, “God bless you, sir. The care you give Madam … ” She shook her head. “Well,” she concluded, “we’re just fortunate you don’t have bigger things on your mind.”

She curtsied and tiptoed from the room. Ethan stared after her, stupefied.
Didn’t have bigger things on his mind?

For the first time since he’d arrived, he remembered that when he went home, it would be to a house stripped to the bones, and creditors banging down the door.

Ghita’s insistence that he marry once again floated through his mind. The Italian woman had even mentioned a name, to which Ethan had paid no attention. Brock-something, maybe? Marriage was repugnant to him, thanks to the twice-damned Earl of Kneath. Ethan didn’t want a bride, but gaming had driven him to ruin.

If only he possessed a useful skill, he could seek respectable employment. Perhaps a diplomatic post or a royal appointment?

But no. He could never abandon Vanessa. She was his responsibility — the only one he’d never fouled up. If he left London, she’d be alone, vulnerable to malefactors who would take advantage of her condition. Long ago, he’d vowed never to let that happen. He didn’t dare lower his guard.

Which left him, in regards to his debts, with little in the way of options. Did he risk losing more money to Ficken and his ilk and digging himself deeper into debt, or did he enter into a detestable marriage of convenience? Both were intolerable.

Ethan glanced down at the frail old woman sleeping in his arms. He had wanted to come here to escape his problems.

Even in that, he’d failed.

Lily disembarked from the carriage and joined her father’s solicitor on the walk. In the last two weeks, they had viewed numerous properties under consideration as possible homes for the school.

She looked up and down the row of stately homes. “Isn’t Bird Street a little much for what we have in mind?”

It would be the matter of only a few minutes to walk to Brook Street, turn the corner, and find oneself in Grosvenor Square, where scions of the wealthiest, most influential families lived in imposing grandeur.

Lily’s friends, the Duke and Duchess of Monthwaite, would reside on the Square when they returned to England from their South American expedition.

“Ordinarily, I’d agree,” said Mr. Wickenworth, the solicitor. He was a short man, round in the middle, balding on top, and almost always smiling. Lily had no idea the law could prove to be such a jolly profession, but Mr. Wickenworth seemed to find handling Mr. Bachman’s affairs the epitome of good living.

He removed his spectacles and wiped them with a handkerchief. Then he dabbed the bit of forehead showing beneath the brim of his hat before returning the spectacles to his face. He wrinkled his nose and blinked. “However,” he said, “the owner is eager to sell and might be persuaded to accept an offer more in line with our budget.”

She looked up the walk, where a fashionably dressed lady and gentleman strolled arm in arm, along with a small terrier on a lead. A fine phaeton rolled past, drawn by a matched pair.

She looked at Mr. Wickenworth. “Even if we can convince the owner to sell to us at a reasonable price, I’m concerned the neighborhood might not be appropriate for the school.”

The solicitor patted his belly. A gold ring circling his pinky finger winked in the sun. “That is something to consider,” he agreed. He gestured to the front stairs. “Still, we’re here. Let’s have a look.”

Lily ascended, careful to hold her skirt and dusty blue, military-style pelisse free of the water collected on the steps. A general air of neglect hung about the property. Spots of rust blemished the wrought-iron rail, and the brass knocker was tarnished.

She wrinkled her nose. “How long has this house stood vacant?”

“It isn’t.” Mr. Wickenworth reached past her to knock. “I’m told the owner lives here.”

Lily raised a brow. She very much doubted anyone possessed of the fortune required to reside in this neighborhood would permit his house to go without such basic maintenance as sweeping the front steps or polishing the brass hardware.

Several minutes elapsed with no response from inside the house.

“There, you see,” she muttered. “This has been a wasted trip.”

Mr. Wickenworth’s features drew together, putting Lily in mind of a punched ball of dough. “I made an appointment through the solicitor handling the sale,” he insisted. He reached for the knocker again and rapped a full ten times.

After another minute passed in silence, Lily said, “Maybe they left the door open for us.”

She reached for the knob, but jerked back at the sound of a loud clatter, followed by a muffled voice. A moment later, footsteps pounded down stairs and the door opened.

The eyes of the man standing there hit Lily with a stunning force. They were deep blue — the color of the restless sea after a storm, and their scrutinizing regard took in her face and then boldly roved down her length and back up again.

Heat prickled the back of her neck. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t remember
how
to breathe.

The man’s hair was cut very short. It was reddish-brown, and the top was tousled and stood up about two inches in short twists that would curl, given another inch. She realized with horror that her hand had begun to reach toward that hair and snatched it back.

He wore a black suit, rather than livery.
He must be the butler
, she decided. The coat seemed reasonably well-tailored, but it was hard to tell for certain because it was rumpled to within an inch of its life, as though it had been slept in. She frowned and shook her head at the ludicrous thought.

“Yes?” the butler said in a bland tone, seeming not to have noticed her wayward extremity. “What do you want?” His eyes flicked to Wickenworth, giving Lily opportunity to further study his face. His brows were long and heavy, but not oppressively so. Rather, they complemented the firm, straight line of his nose. Dark stubble shaded his strong jaw. She clutched her reticule tighter to keep from reaching for him again.

“I’m Wickenworth,” the solicitor announced, “representing Mr. Bachman.” He gestured to Lily. “This is Miss Bachman.”

The butler’s heavy-lidded gaze fell on her again. Lily’s stomach flipped.

“We’ve an appointment to tour the property,” Wickenworth continued.

The man stared blankly at the solicitor for a moment, then he shook his head as though clearing it. “Oh. Yes. Come in.”

As Lily passed the handsome young butler, every nerve in her body stood on end.

The door banged into the frame behind them. She startled.

“Sorry,” the butler muttered.

For a moment, the three of them stood in the dim entrance hall. The walls were bare. In one spot, a nail protruded from the plaster with a bit of hanging wire dangling from it. A layer of dust lay on the parquet floor. Next to the front door stood a ladderback chair. A gentleman’s hat hung on the top of one of the back posts, while a great coat had been draped across the seat.

Something tugged at her attention. She turned to see the butler watching her with frank interest. Their gazes locked. Lily unconsciously bit her lower lip and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The man followed each minute movement with his fathomless eyes, a mocking smile twitching the corners of his lips. She swallowed, willing her nerves to calm.

“May we look around?” she asked with more confidence than she felt.

He nodded slightly, his gaze holding fast to hers.

Lily turned away and closed her eyes; her heartbeat pounded in her ears. What on earth was wrong with her? She’d seen handsome men before — she’d even kissed one or two. This was only a man, and a servant besides. She scolded herself for acting like a ninny.

She walked up the stairs, glad that Mr. Wickenworth had placed himself between her and the butler. From the landing, she crossed to a door and opened it. The room appeared to be a parlor. Carefully, she made her way through the gloom to the windows. When she pulled the drapes open, sunlight streamed through the glass and illuminated a cloud of dust stirred up by her movements. It was as though no one had touched the room in weeks.

The parlor was bare, except for a decorative plate in a stand atop the mantel. The carpet was marked by the footprints of chairs that were no longer there.

She wrinkled her nose as she dragged her finger across the windowsill. It looked for all the world as if the most recent occupant had long since moved away. Mr. Wickenworth must have been mistaken. Surely.

“Does someone
actually
live here?” she asked, turning toward the door.

The butler stood just inside the room, casually leaning with his shoulder propping up the wall. His eyes narrowed at her question. “Yes,” he said in a jeering tone, “someone
actually
lives here.”

“That was uncalled for,” Lily muttered.

Handsome as he might have been, the man had no sense of his station. She stalked past the rude servant to a door across the hall. She reached for the knob.

“Wait!” He grabbed her upper arm, bringing her to a halt.

Lily’s startled gaze flew to his face. He was a few inches taller than she. Being quite tall for a female, this was a little out of the ordinary. Lily stood equal in stature to — or even taller than — most men of her acquaintance. The butler radiated an intensity of presence; his maleness oozed from every inch. His warm, spicy scent softened her other senses. Awareness flared between them, and Lily once again felt herself drawn in. She started to sway, shifting her weight closer.

“Yes?” she said breathlessly, her lips parted in a pout.

His eyes were riveted to her mouth. Then his brows puckered slightly, as though it took some effort to remember what he’d wanted to say. “I’d rather you didn’t go in there,” he said at last. “That’s my — ”

“Nonsense!” Mr. Wickenworth cut in brusquely. “How can we appraise the place if we don’t see the entire property?”

Lily looked from the solicitor to the man. She looked down at his hand still on her arm. Annoyance flared through her as she realized that a perfect stranger — and a servant, at that — had manhandled her.

She pulled her arm out of his grip and drew a breath, fighting to regain mastery of her suddenly traitorous body. “Mr. Wickenworth is quite right,” she said. “We’ve come to view the property, and view it we shall.”

The butler’s lips drew into a thin line as though he wanted to argue.

Lily’s eyes narrowed in a challenge.

She saw the instant the man’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. Lily felt her equilibrium returning. His handsome face had briefly thrown her off balance, but she was once again in control of herself and the situation. She turned on her heel and marched into the room.

Several steps in, she stuttered to a halt; she felt herself enveloped by … him. The entire room smelled like the gorgeous stranger. A twinge of uncertainty gave her a moment’s pause before she continued to the window on the nearest wall. She opened the curtains, once again kicking up dust.

This was a study. A desk at the far end of the room was buried under messy piles of papers. She thought of her father’s massive desk, exactingly neat. No one could function in chaos such as this.