AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘Which colours do you like the best?’
‘Red and blue,’ he pointed out promptly. ‘What do we do now?’
‘We decide what we want to paint.’
James looked around quickly. ‘My soldier!’
‘Good choice. Let’s sit him on the table so we can see him better. First, we’ll make an outline of his body, then fill in with the colours.’
She showed James how to dip his brush in the paint, then stroke the brush across the sketchpad. She expected that after a few minutes of meticulous work he would get bored with the process, but he did not, continuing with rapt attention under her direction and suggestions until he’d completed a creditable soldier in a bright-red coat and blue trousers.
‘That’s very good!’ she said approvingly, surprised that it was true. Even more surprised that, with his head bent and a rapt expression on his face, James reminded her of her father, recording in deft brushstrokes the details of one of the plants he’d discovered.
Another wash of heat warmed her within. Perhaps Alastair was right. Perhaps there was more of her—and her father—in the boy than she’d thought.
Vastly pleased with his work, James was delighted when she set it above the mantel. ‘There, you’ll be able to see it from your bed and admire it as you eat your supper.’
‘Look at my painting, Minnie!’ he cried to the nurse, who, to Diana’s mild amusement, hovered nearby whenever Diana visited her son. Though the girl seemed to have somewhat relaxed her vigilance, Diana sensed Minnie still didn’t entirely trust her mistress’s sudden, unprecedented interest in her charge.
‘That’s wonderful fine, young master,’ the maid answered, a deep affection in her tone. ‘A right handsome soldier you’ve drawn.’
‘Mama, will you make one, too?’
‘If it would please you.’
‘Oh, yes! I’d love having something from you, something to keep.’
The artless words pricked her again, reminding her how little she’d offered her son since she’d forced herself to turn away from him as a toddler. True, she’d had a compelling reason for withdrawing from him—but no more. Silently she renewed her vow to do better.
‘What kind of picture do you want?’
‘Another soldier.’
‘Very well.’ Taking the brush from him, she deftly created a replica of the toy soldier. James looked over her shoulder as she painted, seeming entirely absorbed.
When she finished, he gave a little sigh of awe. ‘Oh, Mama, that’s wonderful! He looks just like my soldier. Will you put him on the mantel next to mine, so they can keep each other company?’
‘Of course.’
After she’d arranged the two pictures side by side and stepped back, James clapped his hands with delight. ‘It’s like having more soldiers for my army! Only maybe better, ’cause you and me made them together. Thank you, Mama!’
Jumping up, he ran over and wrapped his arms around her.
Still not accustomed to hugs, she started—then slowly wrapped her arms around him as well. From deep within, an impulse welled up to pull him nearer, hold him tighter.
Immediately she resisted it...until she realised that she didn’t have to restrain herself any longer.
Let him love you. You’ll find yourself responding.
Hearing Alastair’s words echo in her ears, she hugged James tighter, pressing her face against his soft dark hair. An aching warmth curled around her heart.
As much as she owed Alastair Ransleigh for his efforts to keep her son safe, she owed him even more for this.
* * *
Meanwhile, in the London office of his solicitor, Mr Reynolds, Alastair explained his need for some information regarding settlements.
A smile creased the older man’s face. ‘Dare I hope that means you expect a momentous occasion in the near future? Let me offer my congratulations!’
Startled at first, Alastair had to laugh. ‘I’m afraid not. A close family friend was recently widowed. Her father is now deceased, and she is not aware if settlements were ever drawn up.’
‘Are the circumstances not specified in her late husband’s will?’
‘The circumstances are rather...complicated. What would normally be set up?’
‘Normally, the dowry or portion brought into the marriage by the bride is guaranteed to her as an annuity in the event of the husband’s death. If a specific sum is not mentioned, usually she is deeded some property as her jointure, the income and rents from which are intended to support her after the husband’s death, when his estate passes to his heir.’
‘In the absence of settlements, she would be entitled to a dower?’
‘Yes, to one-third of the property and assets of the estate. Which, for a wealthy man, could be quite considerable, hence the desire for settlements to simplify the process and limit the annuity to a specific sum.’
‘If dower rights were invoked, how would the widow obtain the assets?’
‘The local sheriff’s court would have the handling of it.’
That was what Alastair had feared. ‘And if there were...ill feelings between the heir and the widow?’
Mr Reynolds sent him a questioning look. ‘Would this heir be a man of high rank?’
‘The highest.’
The solicitor gave him a thin smile. ‘Then obtaining her due could be difficult. The local sheriff would, understandably, be reluctant to antagonise a man of wealth and influence in the community. Your widow would require a strong solicitor and a prominent advocate to ensure the heir was compelled to recognise her rights.’
Alastair nodded. ‘Thank you, Mr Reynolds. I appreciate your expertise.’
‘If I can assist you further, please let me know. The poor widow is entitled to her due.’
‘She is indeed,’ Alastair agreed. ‘I will certainly call upon you again if circumstances require it.’
‘Always a pleasure to serve you,’ Mr Reynolds said with another smile as he ushered Alastair to the door.
As he paced the street to summon a hackney, Alastair mulled over what he should do next.
Would the new Duke really make problems for Diana? How much of her suspicion and foreboding were the results of her miserable existence as his father’s wife? Would the mature Blankford have outgrown his youthful resentment?
There was only one sure way to find out.
He’d just have to make a trip to Graveston Court.
Chapter Twelve
Several days later, Alastair passed through the entry gates and rode down a long, tree-bordered lane. Around one bend, set like a jewel against the hill behind it, its long columned facade reflected by a symmetrical pond before it, stood the huge Palladian mansion that was Graveston Court.
After turning his mount over to a waiting lackey, he was admitted by a grim-faced butler, ushered through the marbled entrance down a corridor flanked with what appeared to be Grecian antiquities, and shown into a beautifully appointed parlour. The Duke would be informed of his arrival, the butler intoned before bowing himself out.
So this was the prison in which Diana had been trapped for so many years, Alastair thought. He paced the room, whose arched windows, flanked by gold brocade drapery, echoed the Palladian influences evident in the mansion’s facade. More antiquities—vases embellished with Greek battle scenes, Roman busts and bas-relief carvings—were set on pedestals or artfully arranged on shelves.
The scale was oppressively overwhelming, everything about the room and its opulent furnishings designed to dazzle the visitor and intimidate him with a sense of his insignificance, compared to the wealth and rank of his host.
At length, losing interest in examining the various treasures, Alastair took a seat on the lavishly embellished gold sofa, and waited. And waited. And waited some more, his anger beginning to smoulder.
Of course, he had arrived without notice and the new Duke would have many pressing matters to attend to, taking over the reins of such a large estate. However, leaving him tapping his fingers this long, without an offer of refreshment or any other courtesy, was, Alastair felt sure, a deliberate insult.
Any deference to rank Alastair might once have felt had long since been dissipated by the refusal of his uncle, the Earl of Swynford, to support his younger son, Alastair’s cousin and best friend, after the scandal that had embroiled Max at the Congress of Vienna. A deference already worn thin by his army service, where experience and ability was worth far more in battle than rank or title, and his own previous dealings with a Duke of Graveston.
So he was not feeling particularly amiable when the Duke finally deigned to make an appearance.
After exchanging the obligatory bows and greetings, the Duke said, ‘So, Mr Ransleigh, to what do I owe the honour of this visit?’’
The sly smile accompanying those words gave Alastair the distinct impression that the Duke knew exactly who he was and why he was here.
