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Ariana clenched the folds of her rumpled gown, wishing for the hundredth time that she could recall more details of the months prior to Vanessa’s death. Perhaps then she could separate actual facts from exaggerations born of rage and grief. But as a mere child of twelve, she had hardly been her older sister’s confidante. In truth, they rarely even saw each other. For while Ariana had been engrossed in learning the names of all the flowers that filled Winsham’s gardens
, Vanessa had been perpetually out, swept up in a storm of fervent suitors, each vying for her elusive hand.
And who could blame them? At two and twenty years of age, Vanessa had been extraordinarily beautiful, in love with life, eager to experience it all. With scores of avid escorts, settling down seemed the farthest thing from her mind. And with both parents succumbing to a fever in 1858, Vanessa had savored her freedom, answering only to Baxter, who was three years her senior and ever indulgent of his charming sister.
So despite Ariana’s deep love and admiration for Vanessa, her memories were dim and few: quick good-night pecks on her cheek amid a flurry of dressing and the lingering scent of roses. And a vague but endless flow of handsome, earnest gentlemen callers.
Until Trenton Kingsley.
Vanessa had whispered his name to Ariana, implied that he was different, special. She would slip out mysteriously each night, staying away until dawn. Ariana could remember overhearing arguments between Vanessa and Baxter … the first they’d ever had. From what Ariana had understood, Baxter vehemently objected to Vanessa’s new suitor, and Vanessa deeply resented Baxter’s interference.
Ariana could recall nothing more, other than the shock and grief of that final nightmarish day and the lethal accusations that had followed in its wake.
But while she wasn’t quite certain what had occurred the night Vanessa died, of one thing she was certain: She had never seen Trenton Kingsley before this night. For the turbulent Duke of Broddington, with his steely blue eyes and disturbing, feral sensuality, was a man she would never have forgotten.
With a shiver, Ariana recalled the penetrating intensity of his stare—as hypnotic as her white owl’s—and the hatred that had blazed within when he learned she was a Caldwell.
Why in God’s name did he hate them? If anything, it should be they who hated …
Baxter’s groan interrupted her troubled thoughts, yanked her from her musings.
“The bloody madman has achieved his goal. I’m ruined.”
Ariana frowned at her brother’s melodramatic words. She knew his distress was not rooted in head-over-heels love for Suzanne Covington. Baxter’s capacity for feeling was simply not that great. Then … what?
“How will severing your betrothal ruin you?” she asked.
“Because without Suzanne’s money I am practically destitute,” he snapped. “And Kingsley obviously knew that.”
“Destitute?” Ariana sat up straighten “But what about your inheritance, all the money Mother and Father left you?”
Baxter leaned forward and stared moodily out the window. “That’s been gone for some time now.”
Ariana started. She knew Baxter had always been extravagant with money and that lately he’d been gambling more than usual. Still, their parents had left Baxter a sizable sum when they died. How could he have squandered it all away?
Irate words crowded Ariana’s mind, rushed to her lips. And just as quickly were silenced. Watching the quiver in her brother’s taut jawline, she felt her anger waver and a surge of sympathy tighten her chest.
Life hadn’t been easy for Baxter, she of all people knew that. From age sixteen, he had been forced to manage the Caldwell estate and simultaneously act as guardian for his two younger sisters. In truth, Ariana could scarcely remember her mother and father. Other than Theresa, her treasured lady’s maid, Baxter and Vanessa were the only parents she had ever really known. And despite their impatience and occasional disinterest, Ariana truly believed that her brother and sister had done their best.
With that sentimental thought in mind she made a decision. “If your inheritance is gone, we can use mine,” she declared with an encouraging smile.
If gratitude and elation were the reactions she’d expected, she was severely disappointed.
“I already have,” Baxter muttered, without meeting his sister’s gaze. “Most of that is gone as well.”
A stunned silence filled the carriage.
“You spent the money Mother and Father left me? … Without asking, without even mentioning it?”
Baxter tossed her a dark look. “How else was I to run the estate?”
“Perhaps with the funds you squandered at the James Street gambling houses.”
Baxter scowled at Ariana’s uncharacteristic display of defiance. “I didn’t gamble away your funds. I gambled in an attempt to recover them.”
Ariana opened her mouth, then just as quickly shut it. Baxter’s matter-of-fact tone told her he actually believed his actions had been justified. Further confrontation would serve no purpose. “How will we live?” she asked instead.
Baxter’s fists clenched in his lap. “My marriage to Suzanne would have solved all our problems. But Kingsley deliberately obliterated that prospect.” He fell silent, apparently deeply engrossed in the pattern of his trousers. At length, he lifted his head, giving Ariana a measured look. “Now our only hope is you.”
