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~ One ~
THE EARL OF HALLOWAY stood, his hands clasped at his broad back, as he stared out the large panoramic window of his grandmother’s drawing room.
Its central location afforded a lovely view of the Grange’s extensive gardens. Halloway Grange was only one of four Halloway establishments, but it was the only estate that did not belong to the present, young earl.
This was because his late grandfather had purchased the estate and deeded it to his bride as a wedding gift all those years ago. It reposed in elegant state only forty minutes out of London, and it was where the dowager had come to stay permanently when her beloved husband died.
The earl smiled ruefully to himself, as it was most certainly, every square foot, all hers and yet als
o the earl’s very special, very favorite haven.
He adored his grandmother, and her personality was entrenched in the Grange. He brushed this sentiment aside, however, as it had no place at that moment in his active, frenzied mind. He was frustrated and irritated with his grandmother and not quite certain just what he could do about it all.
A good ten months had passed since Shawna and Roland had been married. He had thought that, by now, his grandmother would be at ease with it and gotten over what she could not change. However, something untoward must have ruffled her feathers. She was tighter than ever about his monthly spending and walked about as though she was on the warpath about something.
He had received a brief and somewhat curt note from her at his bachelor’s lodgings that had made it quite clear she required him at the Grange to attend her at once.
The earl was never one to take orders, even if it meant spiting himself, so he put the note aside, much inclined to ignore her command. His heart, though, that was another thing altogether. He loved her and told himself she was getting on in years. In the end, he allowed guilt and conscience to dictate his plans.
A string of mumbled curses escaped his lips. Frenzied pacing took over his steps, and he found himself requesting his man to put together an overnight portmanteau. No more than a few hours later, feeling reduced to schoolboy status, he stood in his grandmother’s drawing room, facing her.
One bloody look at her and a sure wariness tickled warning signals in his brain. Damn, but he was in for it, really in for it, and there was no escape. Hell and Brimstone! She had the power to reduce him to a child with one look. Absurd.
He fancied he saw a whirlwind in her eyes and a storm about to erupt from her lips. She dashed well meant to throw everything she had at him fast and hard, and he took a step back and warily considered her.
Diving right in, she wagged her bony finger at him and got right to the point. “I’ll not have your errant spending, do you hear me, young man? You are on the road to hell, and I won’t stand by and allow it to happen. No … this will not go on.”
Her voice became a buzz in his ears and a pounding hammer in his head.
She continued to rant at him for several minutes during which he found his mind wandering elsewhere. He had heard all this before.
Sadly, he was in a difficult position. His pockets were to let, and there was another three weeks before his trust fund would release his next quarterly payment. He was heartily bored with everything and everyone and damned sure he was, as she pointed out, on the road to hell.
When she paused for breath, he put up his hand and gave her a wry smile. “When you are done berating me, perhaps you will tell me what it is you want.”
“Marriage. You will get married, and soon!” His grandmother’s voice told him she meant to be implacable on this. “I will not have you diddling about gaming parlors with harlots and paramours. I will not have our name dragged through the mud as it is being done here and now and because of you!”
“A bit too—” he started to object before she cut him off. Why did she always over exaggerate? He gritted his teeth, and suffered in silence.
“Because of YOU!” she reiterated and made a clucking sound before she continued. “You will marry, because you don’t have a choice about that. However, I will allow you this: find someone who you could be comfortable with … for I have given up hope that you will fall in love. You don’t seem to have it in you,” she ended on a wistful note.
“Marriage is not for me. I can’t see myself doing the polite to the same woman day in and day out for the rest of my life. It wouldn’t be fair to some poor girl to marry me, expecting me to attend her. No, she would be bound in a loveless marriage, and I don’t think I could live with a woman who would be calculating enough to want to marry for my wealth or name.”
“Your wealth is something I can keep from you. Your name won’t be worth much if you continue on your present road,” she snapped back at him.
He studied her from the top of her gray hair piled high with its silver lacey scarf draped handsomely over her head, over her gray and mauve simple gown, down further to her feet. He didn’t want to meet her faded blue eyes. She was right, on both counts, but … marriage? Ah no, she expected too much, and he was too young to saddle himself with a missish bride.
However, his pockets were to let. It was damned annoying to be so wealthy and yet not be able to draw on his inheritance. He sighed heavily and looked out the window. He was in a bind, yes, but he would not marry unless his heart was in it.
On the other hand, a respectable life was what he owed his name.
Still, he would not foist himself onto some young maid. How could he hurt some young thing who would expect him to escort her about, do the polite, and end by falling madly in love with her? Indeed, he wasn’t about to shatter some young maid’s dreams, and if he entered into such an alliance, that was precisely what would happen, for he was sure he had no heart to give.
He tried to explain his situation to his grandmother, but she waved him off and would not listen. “You will marry,” she told him, and her eyes didn’t give him an inch.
“Not going to make such a despicable arrangement—a marriage of convenience? No, my dear heart, no.” He tore through his black hair with a frenzied movement of his hand. Such an arrangement did not suit his sense of self. Somewhere in the recesses of his brain—the part that belonged to his youth—he wished he was other than who he was. He wished he did not have such a jaded opinion about love.
Thus, it was, after a long and hard conversation, he and his grandmother bade one another a very cool good night before he managed to escape to his room.
He was definitely in trouble. She had the legal right to withhold his funds. The blasted will did not give him control until he either married or turned thirty. Of all the bloody damn things to do to a man …
~ Two ~
CHRISTINA KIGSLEY, KNOWN to all as simply Kitty, was in a sorry frame of mind. Her guardian, who had been father, mother, friend, and dear confidant to her since the day she had come to him, thirteen years ago, had passed away.
Death was too well known to Kitty. She had learned the word’s meaning when she was only seven years old. Death had no grays. Death was final. Death took … and left one feeling empty and lost. Death had all the control.
Her guardian, who she had learned to call Uncle Edwin, had created a safe and happy world for her, but now … he was gone and that world had tumbled into confusion. The process had left her feeling helpless.
She had watched him grow weak with an illness that had been so very drawn-out. She had been witness to his bravery when he had been in pain, always hiding it behind a fond smile.
He had told her once not to grieve for him when he was finally given release. He told her that death was something he welcomed. It had made her so angry … but she understood.
She roamed the house and grounds for weeks after his passing. She grieved his loss and missed his company, but she understood why he had wanted to go.
She had ridden through her beloved New Forest in an unhappy daze during those early days. Nothing at that moment in time had made any sense. Now, she had come to terms. Now that weeks had turned into months, she had accepted his passing.
Dismounting, she tethered her horse and plopped down at her favorite spot, deep in the woods. Her chestnut mare grazed contentedly within the confines of her lead line.
Kitty bent her head and rubbed her dirt-smudged face against her arm as she hugged her knees. Today, for the first time, she had struggled to recall his voice.
She finally recalled the first day she met him, the first time he had jovially called out her name, “Kitty!”
She had been so small and he had been so large, so robust. He had taken her hand in his and said, “Kitty! My own Kitty … you needn’t be afraid. I shall look after you.” And after that, he had become her hero.
He had told her once, “Kitty, you have the look of your father, and
you know he was my dearest friend.” She had liked that, and he often told her stories about her parents, brought them to life for her as she got older.
Another time, when she was missing her parents and sitting by herself, he had picked her up and spun her around until she giggled. He told her, “My own little Kitty … my daughter of the heart.”
So it had been, but now, he was gone. She hugged herself, fell onto her back, and stared up at the blue sky. Thank goodness for Nanny, although her dear Nanny had never approved of the way her uncle Edwin had spoiled her. Odd really, for he had been a frugal man in all things except in the lavish way he had treated her, both with affection and his easy way about her breaking rules.
She smiled as she remembered how her dear guardian, whom the servants would call tight-fisted, had never been so with her. He had taught her to ride, hunt, and enjoy a great deal of what he enjoyed. He had taken her with him on estate business, keeping her abreast of things most men would only teach their sons.
He took her fishing and sailing and allowed her every freedom—including the use of breeches when she rode. They were the best of friends.
