Page 40 of The Earl’s Forbidden Temptation

The recollection discomfited him far more than it ought.

A knock sounded, the door opened, and his butler entered to announce that his man of affairs, Mr. Williams, had called. A short time later, the man was shown into Sebastian’s study, and Sebastian noted the gravity of his expression at once.

“Have you found Peabody?” Sebastian asked without preamble.

“Not as yet,” Williams replied, taking the seat indicated by Sebastian’s silent gesture. “However, I have uncovered sufficient evidence in the papers left behind at his place of business to confirm that your father made a generous provision.”

Something tightened beneath Sebastian’s ribs. “You are quite certain?”

Mr. Williams adjusted his spectacles. “Quite certain, my lord. Your late father made provision of ten thousand pounds for each of the younger daughters.”

“And the eldest?” Sebastian asked.

Williams hesitated, which in itself was answer enough.

“Nothing explicitly designated,” Williams said at last. “We are still examining whether a separate settlement was intended for Miss Whitley or for Mary Whitley’s maintenance. Until we have that clarity, Miss Whitley remains dependent upon whatever goodwill may be extended to her. The funds intended for the three younger girls must be properly secured.”

Sebastian’s mouth flattened. Goodwill. The word struck him as faintly absurd. What reason could his father have had for failing to provide for Mary Whitley and the child he had raised as his own? Had his tender words to them meant so little when measured against action?

Sebastian inclined his head. “Leave every document you have found. I shall examine them myself, and you will continue until we know where every farthing was meant to go.”

“Yes, my lord.”

A few minutes later, his man of affairs departed, leaving Sebastian alone with the matter. He took his seat and began a careful study of the documents Williams had gathered. Some time later, he lifted his head and rubbed the back of his neck.

He rose and moved to the window, his gaze settling upon the garden below while the implications arranged themselves with unwelcome clarity. Sebastian did not write a reply to Sarah. Instead, he called for his carriage. The decision felt less like an intention than the inevitable consequence of a thought he had neglected too long. By the time he was seated within the carriage, hat in hand, he found himself already resigned to the course it had taken.

It was a matter of practicality, he told himself. The girls’ future required firm arrangements. Their settlements must be recovered, placed beyond another Peabody’s reach, and administered by trustees Sebastian trusted to ensure their inheritance was properly administered. He must also decide what provision, if any, he would make for Miss Whitley, who had kept the household together when his father’s negligence left them exposed.

The letter had nothing to do with his decision to call upon them.

Or so he told himself. Irritation stirred beneath his skin, for he was not a man inclined toward self-deception. There was, he admitted at last, a certain interest in seeing Miss Whitley again and, perhaps, a smaller but no less inconvenient regard for the other girls.

Before long, he stepped down from the carriage and mounted the shallow steps to the front door, lifting the knocker and letting it fall once. It was opened almost at once by the butler, who admitted him and relieved him of his hat and coat.

“Have Mrs. Whitley attend me in the drawing room,” Sebastian said.

“Yes, my lord.”

A few minutes passed before he heard the quick approach of light, hurried footsteps. Then she appeared. For a moment, he did not move. Miss Whitley stood in the doorway, a vision in a deep amber gown that clung delicately at the waist before falling in soft lines about her form. Her dark brown hair, threaded with honey-gold streaks, was arranged in a loose chignon, a few tendrils escaping to frame her face in a manner that seemed too artless to appear deliberate.

His jaw tightened. She had plagued his thoughts the night before, slipping into his dreams with an intimacy that had no right to exist, taunting him with a softness and warmth he had no intention of seeking. And now she stood before him, entirely real, outwardly composed, and wholly unaware of the effect she had wrought.

Something sharp and restless stirred low within him. Sebastian inclined his head, forcing his expression into one of polite composure, though nothing within him felt remotely so. Their gazes collided, and her composure faltered in a manner that was most instructive. The blush upon her cheeks made him wonder what thoughts had put it there.

“My lord.” A perceptible pause preceded the greeting.

“Miss Whitley.”

Her gaze flickered briefly, as though measuring the purpose of his call, and he was struck once more by the quiet strength of her bearing. Before she might inquire further, the younger sisters entered the room.

“Sebastian!” Sarah exclaimed, all propriety abandoned in her enthusiasm.

Jane followed more sedately, though the warmth in her expression was no less evident, while Emelia lingered only a moment before stepping forward with quiet eagerness. Sebastian inclined his head in greeting, though something in his chest shifted at their reception, a response entirely disproportionate to so simple a welcome.

“I received your letter,” he said, his gaze settling briefly upon Sarah.

She beamed.