To Wed an Heiress Read online

  Haro leaned out the side of the barouche to get a better look. “Why, that’s old Uncle Harold, my grandfather’s brother, and my namesake. He lives up at Woldwick all the year round and haunts these woods like a friendly ghost.”

  There was no room to take him up in the barouche, so Haro refrained from hailing him. “I daresay we’ll make his acquaintance at dinner tonight,” said William Hastings. Haro could see that he was much looking forward to his next meal after spending several hours traveling.

  “Perhaps, although I should warn you that he takes most of his meals in his room and is quite shy of strangers. A bit of an eccentric, but a wonderful old fellow through and through.”

  “Ah,” replied the mill owner, his tone laying bare his thoughts. While the up and coming middle class strove to meet every expectation society laid upon them, it was the prerogative of the aristocracy that they could afford to be peculiar. And it seemed that these blueblood families always had one crazy bat roosting in the eaves.

  ***

  Woldwick was a large house with room enough to house a hunting party or host a ball. But somehow, William Hastings’ personality was large enough to fill the whole residence and to make it seem cramped and insupportable for the rest of its inhabitants.

  “A bit too English, your cook,” Hastings remarked at dinner, disappointed by the style of cuisine and the paucity of dishes in each course. “Not exactly done up in the latest mode,” he pronounced upon seeing the décor in the great room and various salons about the house. “Quite inconvenient,” he groaned, upon learning how distantly the stables were located from the residence. It was the complaint of new money against titled tradition.

  Arabella, although still doing her best to ingratiate herself with the family, was not without her share of Mr. Hastings’ censorious spirit. “I declare, this drawing room is as dark and drab as a tomb! There will be some changes made when I am mistress of the place.”

  Lady Anglesford, adopting the role of martyr, endured the Hastings’ criticisms with unflagging patience. If she ever gave vent to her feelings, the ears of her lady’s maid were the only ones to hear it.

  The younger members of the household, however, were less guarded and more bellicose in their annoyance. “If he makes one more remark about our ‘inefficient chimneys’ or ‘tarnished candlesticks,’” snarled Torin, “I’ll tell him where to take himself.”

  Eda patted his arm in commiseration. “Strange to think that to save Woldwick we must endure these indignities to Woldwick. But much as it galls me to say it, I think we must tolerate Mr. Hastings as long as he holds the purse strings. And Haro would hardly thank you if you told his fine father-in-law to go to the devil, or some such nonsense.”

  Torin pouted. “Yes, at first I thought Haro was much to be pitied, but now it appears he is the only one of the family quite pleased with the arrangement. He actually seems to enjoy Miss Hastings’ simpers. One wonders if he would hang on her leading strings even if her father were not the wealthiest mill owner in England.”

  Eda’s fair hands clenched tightly into fists until the knuckles were bone-white, although Torin, schoolboy that he was, had not the presence of mind to notice.

  “I don’t know if I could bear it,” continued the lad, “staying on at Woldwick with the Hastings ruling the roost. I assume the father would take his leave once the wedding had taken place—or perhaps he would presume upon his position of power and wear out the welcome we never gave him. Arabella I might be able to tolerate, although she is a bit imperious.”

  Torin gave a weary sigh. “If the house grows too hot to hold me, I suppose I can always off to Oxford. That’s been my intent for a while now. And even the demands of the strictest teachers might seem like manna after the unsavory dish of William Hastings.”

  Eda’s dark blue eyes closed momentarily as she heard of Torin’s escape plan. As a son of the house, he could come and go as he chose, and Oxford was an excellent stepping stone into society. Eda had no such options of her own. Like Torin, she recognized that the new Lady Anglesford—and her father—might soon make life at Woldwick unbearable. But unlike Torin, Eda had nowhere else to go.

  ***

  “Do you ride?” asked Haro, the day after their arrival. Town had its own set of amusements, but one of the things he missed most while being in London was the opportunity to choose his own paces as he rode his favorite gelding through the forests of Woldwick. The temperature had plummeted after their arrival yesterday, but there was no sign of rain, and Haro always considered the cold air refreshing.

  Lady Anglesford had retired to her room soon after breakfast. Mr. Hastings had retired to the library to read his newspaper and attend to his business correspondence. Mrs. Rollo had struck up a quiet conversation with the housekeeper and gone to tour the kitchen and pantry. And since Haro was left with only the young people to entertain, riding was the entertainment he selected.

  “But, of course I ride!” replied Arabella, a little too quickly. “I should have had Father bring along my chestnut mare. She’s new, for this season, but I know her paces well, and she looks ever so smart with my red riding suit.”

  “Perhaps we can match you with one of the mounts in our stable.”

  “We certainly can,” burst in Eda. Her dark blue eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “I would be happy to loan you my mare Jenny.”

  Haro wrinkled his nose. “Jenny? I don’t think th—”

  “Oh, well, perhaps not, if you’re not good with the reins.” Eda sent an arch glance in Arabella’s direction.

  “I am quite an accomplished horsewoman.” Arabella took up the challenge without knowing the whole of what it entailed.

  Haro frowned. He disliked the way that the two women had taken the situation out of his hands. “I am sure of it. It’s just that riding in the country is different than promenading a horse through Town, and Jenny is—”

  “A little skittish at times,” said Eda with a dismissive wave. “But I manage her well enough.”

  “But if she’s to ride Jenny,” interjected Torin, “then who will you ride?” The thought of playing chaperone, all alone, to his brother and his brother’s intended was destroying all his interest in the projected outing. He had no definable grudge against Arabella, but the very fact of her existence was a galling reminder of how low the family had sunk.

  “Oh, I daresay I shall stay inside and keep your mother company, and maybe practice my embroidery.”

  “Ha!” Torin was well aware that embroidery was not a favorite pastime of Eda’s. In fact, there was nothing she liked more than a brisk ride in the cold weather—red nose, wind-chapped cheeks, and all. She gathered up some stray needlework from the workbasket, paraded over to the sofa by the fireplace, and sat down cozily in the corner.

  Haro snorted as she began to sort out the threads. He doubted she had even caught sight of this particular embroidery until now—it was probably one of his mother’s works in progress. “Well, come along then, Torin.”

  He took Arabella’s hand and kissed it. “We’ll to the stables and have the horses saddled and to the door by the time you’ve changed into your riding habit.”

  “Don’t forget to bring an apple for Jenny!” Eda called after them.

  “It would take more than an apple to sweeten that nag,” retorted Torin. But Arabella had already gone upstairs and thus missed the hint of warning veiled in the young man’s comment.

  ***

  It did not take Arabella long to realize how much less appealing of a mount Jenny was than the chestnut mare she was used to riding. Jenny’s appearance was the first mark against her. When Arabella came out the door smartly clad in her riding habit, she saw Haro standing by the head of an oddly colored nag, with splotches of gray on dirty white. The side saddle on the ugly beast’s back indicated that this was, in fact, her mount. It was clear that Arabella was having difficulty reining in her own annoyance, but at last, she forced a smile onto her face and came forward for Haro to lift her into the s
addle.

  Haro put his hands about her waist and set her in place—it only took a second, for the girl was light, but he found himself wishing it had taken a little longer. The skirt of her red riding habit draped attractively over the side of the horse with her tight-fitting boots peeking out underneath. “Easy on the bit,” said the earl as he handed Arabella the reins. He tried not to stare at her trim ankles.

  “Here we go then!” shouted Torin, swinging himself into the saddle. “To the village and back?” Without waiting for an answer, he flicked the reins on his own dark gray hunter, trotting away from the house and up the lane.

  Arabella, determined not to be the dawdler of the party, followed his lead, urging Jenny onward with a less than gentle hand. The horse started moving, but none too happily. Haro, mounting quickly, brought his own black horse beside hers in time to see that all-too-familiar glint in Jenny’s eye. She had her hackles up now, and it was only a matter of time before she showed her displeasure.

  They rounded the bend in the lane, hooves alternately thudding and squelching on the half-frozen mud. On every side they were surrounded by leafless branches and the warm mist of their own breath in the cold air.

  Jenny began to pull a little to one side. Arabella shortened up the reins to guide her back into the center of the lane. And then, the thing that Haro had feared happened in all its horribleness.

  Jenny balked.

  If there had been a rabbit or a pheasant in the path, she might have had some excuse. But, no, Jenny balked because she was as ill-tempered a horse as ever lived. Jenny balked because she hated being ridden by strangers. Jenny balked because, somehow, she knew that Eda wanted her to.

  Torin was far ahead on the road, almost out of sight, but, hearing Arabella’s high-pitched squeal, he slowed his horse to a halt. He turned around halfway in the saddle. There was his brother, helping the visibly shaken mill-owner’s daughter out of the muck she had fallen into. And there was Jenny, wandering riderless into the roadside hedge, pretending that she had no idea what all the fuss was about.

  Haro, Torin noted, looked seriously concerned over the incident, and for a moment, the younger brother was afraid that the earl was going to clasp the distressed damsel to his manly bosom. But Arabella, it seemed, was more incensed than injured. “Wretched beast!” was only one of the phrases ricocheting off the bare branches. Neither her diction nor her riding habit were quite as elegant as when they had left the house a bare ten minutes ago. Haro was nodding, as if in agreement, and then, he put her up on his horse, sideways in the saddle, taking care to hold her steady as he walked beside the animal.

  Once he saw that Arabella was unharmed, Torin began to laugh—a loud, lively, boyish laugh that resonated through the four corners of the Woldwick woods. Seated precariously on Haro’s black, Arabella could not help but hear it. That laugh—and the knowledge that Eda, snug by the fire in the sitting room, would soon be laughing too—was not something the daughter of William Hastings would easily forget or forgive.

  7

  “Goodness!” exclaimed Eda. “Whatever can have happened to you, my dear girl?” She had risen at the sound of the returning hoof beats and come quickly to the front hall to see the ignominious entrance of Haro’s fiancée.

  Spangled with dirt and badly crumpled, Arabella’s riding outfit had lost all its allure. The heightened color in Arabella’s cheeks was the brightest thing about her.

  “I’m sure you can guess very well what happened to me.”

  “But, no, I cannot! Please tell me.”

  Arabella set her teeth with a growl and, grabbing the folds of her riding skirt with her right hand, ascended the stairs with as much dignity as she could muster.

  Torin, who was seeing to the horses, had not come in yet, and so Eda and Haro were left alone in the marble-floored hall.

  “Temper, temper,” tsked Eda with raised eyebrows.

  “I’ve seen you lose yours on much less provocation.” There was an edge of steel in Haro’s voice that few people had ever heard.

  “I’m flattered that you still find the need to compare her to me.”

  “Don’t be. You do not come off the better for it.”

  “Pish! Simply because I can ride and she cannot?”

  “Simply because you are a vindictive beast and she is an innocent victim.”

  Eda’s eyes glowed like the coals in a recently raked hearth. “So now we are down to slinging insults, are we, cousin?”

  “No insult—just the truth. Arabella Hastings has done nothing to harm you in any way. You maliciously goaded her into riding that monstrous mare of yours, knowing full well that it would do her some injury. She never had a thought in her head that you would play her such a vicious trick.”

  “You speak as if you had known her all of your life instead of me.”

  “Perhaps I wish I had.”

  The door flung open between them. “Upon my word, it’s chilly out there!” Torin rubbed his gloved hands together and stamped his feet. “I say, Haro, I’ve put away your black and my gray, but—”

  “You left Jenny out in the cold?” The question should have been directed at Torin, but Eda’s eyes were focused accusingly on the face of the tall, blond earl.

  Haro’s eyes did not waver. “I left her right where she threw her rider in the mud, and I’ll be damned if I go back and fetch her now.”

  The gulf between them had widened until it was now uncrossable.

  “I see your Arabella is not the only one to lose her temper. Very well, I’ll fetch Jenny myself.” And without a further word, Eda opened the door and stepped outside into the wintry landscape surrounding Woldwick.

  “Eda! Eda!” It was Torin running after her. “I’ll get her! Go back inside.”

  “No.” Eda’s arms were already so cold she wondered if they would fall off from frostbite.

  An older man would have known how to take charge of the situation, and head off a lady from such a foolish endeavor, but Torin was only sixteen and used to giving in to Eda’s whims. “Well, then, at least you’ll take my coat.”

  “No, thank you. I’m quite well without it.” That settled the matter, and a worried Torin retreated into the house.

  The air was so cold that it hurt to breathe, but what did it matter? Jenny would be put in her stable and Haro would be sorry for what he said—those were the only two things that were worth thinking about.

  ***

  Haro ascended the stairs in a towering rage, prepared to be angry with Eda indefinitely. But it did not take more than a couple glances from the upstairs window—at a black-haired girl braving the winter wind in a thin dress—to make him question his harshness. And when his mother, who had heard the story from Torin as well as from her shocked lady’s maid, took him to task a few hours later, it was not long until he felt completely miserable over the whole affair.

  He needed to say something to Eda. He needed to make things right.

  Unfortunately, when Eda returned with a blue nose and the smell of the stables on her, she had good reason to retire for the rest of the afternoon. Haro saw several ewers of hot water being transported to her room for a hot bath.

  Arabella, the other object of his concern, stayed closeted in her apartments as well. And so Haro found that all his sympathy and regrets must be expended on Mr. Hastings.

  “What on earth do you mean, Anglesford, giving my daughter a mount like that to ride?”

  Haro flushed red and mumbled an apology.

  “I hope I’ll see you taking better care of her safety in the future. You wouldn’t want me to revoke my decision of allowing you her hand….”

  “Oh, wouldn’t he?” said Torin under his breath. Arabella’s reaction to the accident had only served to deepen his dislike of her.

  Haro continued to placate Mr. Hastings by uttering all the right sentiments. The only good thing seemed to be that Mr. Hastings had—as yet—no idea of Eda’s involvement in the debacle. Haro could stand being taken to task himself, but
he reflected that he might bear things very poorly should the mill owner set into Eda this way.

  Not that she didn’t deserve it. But, well, it was natural for the girl to be jealous since he had thrown her over rather suddenly. Her actions were childish, but they were understandable.

  As the long afternoon drew to a close, Lady Anglesford entered the drawing room, bringing a welcome intermission to Mr. Hastings’ scoldings, but also an unwelcome reminder that dinner was about to be served. The probable reappearance of the two ladies in question gave Haro something else to ponder. How could he mend matters with Eda without seeming like a co-conspirator in the plot against Arabella? He sighed.

  Arabella came downstairs first. She was in full dress fit for the finest ball—not quite the expected attire for an informal family dinner at Woldwick. Her high-waisted gown was made of pale blue silk, the neck swooping down low enough to expose the upper portion of her small breasts. She wore a few jewels on a gold chain, their fire flickering over her smooth skin. Three sleek feathers nestled against her brown curls, and Haro found himself admiring her ankles again as he saw her dark blue satin slippers peeking out beneath the hem of her dress.

  “Enchanted.” He took her hand. It was warm to the touch, and as Haro’s lips met her skin, he discovered that his greeting had more truth to it than just a mere pleasantry.

  Eda entered at just that moment, and the enchantment fizzled away like a fire doused with a bucket of cold water.

  “Are we ready to go in to dinner?” Her own dress—a simple black gown noting the fact that the family was still in mourning—stood in harsh relief to Arabella’s elegance.

  “No, we are still waiting on Torin.”

  The clock struck five, drawing a disapproving glance from Mr. Hastings. Haro suspected that he ran his household with the precision of a factory foreman. Going in late to dinner was as unacceptable as leaving early from a shift in the weaving room.

  Arabella released Haro’s arm and made an exaggerated show of sitting down in one of the armchairs.