“But that is a family matter. What stake do I have on that?”
“If I may speak plainly, Your Grace?”
“Please do.”
“The relative who is contesting the will is the heir presumptive. The late earl had misgivings that the man and his wife might not be kind to his child. He even feared for the child’s safety.”
The words chilled Michael to the bone. He wished he could dismiss such concern as overly dramatic, except he had recently come face to face with such a case. The heir presumptive had tried to kill the infant Duke of Stanhope. Thank goodness the baby’s real father had been able to prevent such an atrocity. But if this child fell under the guardianship of the people who meant him harm, who would protect him?
Michael took a deep breath as he felt the shackles of his conscience lock him into this duty. He couldn’t leave a child unprotected. Even a child of that family.
“You said the father named another guardian. Who is this person?”
“A spinster aunt.”
“And you think this lady is a good choice? Being guardian to a peer of the realm is a massive undertaking. On top of the normal child-rearing duties, someone has to manage the estates until he reaches his majority. Do you think this lady is capable of all that on her own?”
“While she doesn’t have experience managing estates, she’s a smart woman. I believe, with some help from Your Grace, she could do an amazing job. Most importantly, she loves the child, and the child loves her.”
“I see.”
What he saw was a damnable mess. A small, orphaned child being argued over by an ambitious man with possible sinister intentions who, at best, wanted to take advantage of the child’s inheritance and, at worse, planned to get rid of him to appropriate his title; and a dotty old aunt with likely good intentions but lacking the capacity to properly oversee the child’s inheritance.
And by some strange twist of fate, it had fallen to him to mediate in this delicate situation. Insert himself in the affairs of a family he would rather stay far away from.
He could foresee nothing but heartache and the reopening of old wounds if he took this on. And yet, when an innocent child's life was at stake, did he really have a choice?
Twodayslater,Michaelarrived at Dunn Towers, the Earl of Dunhaven’s estate. He came as fast as he could and had informed no one he was arriving today. He preferred the element of surprise to appraise the situation.
At first glance, everything appeared normal. No chaos or obvious neglect met him. The sprawling manor house was as ugly and oppressing as he remembered. The memory of the last time he had been here rose up in his throat like acid. Like a fool, he had been looking for Josephine while she was in London, cavorting and ultimately eloping with another man.
At least the house and grounds appeared well kept. Although appearances could be deceiving, of course, and that is why he was here unannounced.
The butler who opened the door took his card and bowed with the appropriate amount of respect but without fawning over him, then took his coat and hat and promptly led him to a sizable and well-appointed drawing room.
He looked around him, echoes of Josephine hitting him like a punch to the gut. Over the years, he had become adept at blocking such useless reminiscences. He had had to, in order to preserve his sanity. But the ability to ban her from his mind had deserted him the moment he set foot in this place. Was it simply because this had once been her home? No.
It was her scent. That’s what brought all the memories rushing back. He fancied he could still smell her perfume here; that unique scent of violets, roses, and musk, interwoven with hidden unfathomable depths. So complex. So unique. Like the woman herself. He had never encountered that scent again but had never forgotten it. The perfume seemed to cling to the stone walls, permeating the very soul of this house, even though she had been gone for a long time.
“Hello, Michael.”
He whipped around so fast he almost unbalanced himself. The voice that was as familiar as his own, even though he had not heard it in twelve long years, pierced through his chest like a sword. It seemed to call to him from the recesses of the distant but never forgotten past.
He had not heard her enter the room, but there she was. A vision of loveliness in a pale blue gown. It was as if no time had passed at all. He just stared, his eyes drinking her in while his mind grappled to understand if she was real or conjured by his intoxicated imagination.
“I’m told this place has its share of ghosts, but I assure you, I’m not one of them,” she added with an uncertain little smile at his protracted silence. He had been gawking for too long. He must look like a veritable idiot. The first words that came out of his mouth did nothing to dispel that impression.
“What are you doing here?” His voice sounded harsh, even to his own ears.
Her brow furrowed. “Didn’t the solicitor tell you? Isn’t that why you came? The business about the child’s guardianship?”
Too late, it occurred to him that he should have asked for the name of the aunt. But the phrase “spinster aunt” had conjured up the image of a dotty old lady. Who the hell would describe young, beautiful Josephine as a spinster aunt?
“He told me about the document drawn up years ago that, by some twist of fate, makes me joint guardian of Lord Dunhaven. He told me the child’s current guardian was a spinster aunt. And that some cousins are contesting the guardianship,” he replied stiffly.
Maybe the solicitor had done it on purpose. No doubt he knew the history between Josephine and his family, even if he didn’t know the extent of his personal feelings for her, and he sought to manipulate him by obscuring this information.
“Didn’t you ask for names, details?”
