Naturally, Vane had used his visit as an excuse to press his aim in purchasing Stoneford Castle and availing himself of the defunct kilns yet again, regardless of the fact Sterling had made his stance abundantly clear: Neither Stoneford Castle nor the surrounding lands which Sterling owned were for sale. Not now, and not in Sterling’s lifetime.
He didn’t bother to explain that the lands on Holy Island bequeathed to him by his grandfather made the property one of incalculable worth to him.
His grandfather, who had died nearly a year before, had brought Sterling here many times, starting when he was a mere toddler, instilling in him a love for the desolate land, just as he’d imparted a fascination with the stars.
These last ten months were the first time he’d been here without the old man, yet he saw his grandfather everywhere. Behind his desk, bent over his charts tracking the constellations. He could practically hear his rich baritone extolling the mystery and grandeur of the Milky Way and the phenomena of the Aurora Borealis, could feel his reassuring presence at his side when he combed the plains and pebbled beaches.
No, the castle was not for sale.
As for Vane’s desire to reopen the kilns—something his grandfather had vehemently opposed—Sterling could only conclude the man, for all his apparent wealth, was short-sighted as far as economics went. Across the country, limestone production was at a decline. Add to that the added cost of transportation of the final product necessitated by the island’s unique topography, and reopening the castle kilns seemed a fool’s errand.
Of greater import to the man, seemingly, was the matter of his dwelling place. In short, he felt nowhere else on Holy Island, where he was a frequent visitor, thanks to his commitment to seeing the abbey restored, nor on his Beadnell estate, measured up to his lofty standards. He coveted the stately castle and lamented his frequent stays at the rustic wharf inn.
Sterling hoped he didn’t expect an invitation to be his guest here. If so, he was destined to remain sorely disappointed.
“I suppose I must return to the inn,” he finally said when the conversation waned, mostly thanks to Sterling’s refusal to bedrawn into a meaningful discussion. “Just my bad luck, there’ll be no chance of leaving today, not via the Pilgrims’ Way, nor by sea.”
“I fear you’re right,” Sterling agreed. “Come, I’ll escort you out and have Chip bring your horse ‘round the front.”
On a positive note, apparently Vane’s near obsession with acquiring the castle had wiped Annabelle from his mind.
Or not.
En route to the front door, Vane, walking slightly ahead of Sterling, threw a commiserating grin over his shoulder. “I say,” he began in a low voice, “your late cousin’s widow, Lady Woodville…”
Something in the man’s tone aroused his hackles in an instant. “What of her?”
“Has she…er…been a guest here long?”
“No,” Sterling said, his clipped reply meant to ward off any further inquiry.
The man went on, evidently blissfully ignorant of the implied menace. “Pretty bit of muslin, there, eh? You never mentioned how long she intends to reside here at the castle.”
Anger, swift and fierce, rose up in him and had him halting in his tracks. “I beg your pardon?” he articulated in a lethally soft voice.
This time, Vane seemed to comprehend he’d blundered. He eyed Sterling, his normally ruddy complexion paling. “I…meant no disrespect to the lady.”
“Of course not. For your information, my late cousin’s widow and her traveling companion arrived last night to pay me a courtesy visit. They are merely passing through en route to Manchester.”
“Of course. Passing through. She and her companion,” he stammered. “Of course. Pity. I’d like to have shown her the priory.”
“Pity, indeed.” Sterling lifted his hand, gesturing the man forward.
Vane wasted no time obeying the directive, leading Sterling to wonder just how ferocious his expression had been.
Bloody hell.What was wrong with him, stirring up trouble where there wasn’t any? Vane had almost certainly accepted Annabelle's story concerning her supposed identity. Sterling should be glad for that, and the unlikelihood the impropriety of her presence here might become common knowledge. The man’s none-too-subtle declaration that he found Annabelle physically appealing was nothing for him to concern himself with.
Besides, he thought, minutes later, face freezing, stomping his booted feet on the front stoop against the chill as he watched Vane ride away,if she didn’t want Vane’s sort of attention, she shouldn’t flirt so outrageously.
Indeed, the lady herself had initiated this whole irritating business, showing up uninvited and then brazenly waltzing into his parlor during Vane’s unanticipated visit as he’d expressly ordered her not to do. Lady Annabelle was a thorn in his side.
And yet…she was also a lady and owed all due respect.
Remember that the next time you get a notion to barge into her bedchamber before she’s had a chance to dress,came an irritating inner voice that sounded remarkably like his grandfather’s.
Vexed and worse, guilt-ridden, he yanked open the front door and entered the foyer. There he peeled out of his greatcoat and gloves and considered what to do next.
Seek out Annabelle, he supposed, to finish their conversation—if she was speaking to him. His guts already tightening with anticipation, he started for the stairwell.
