Johanna Lindsay - The Heir

Duncan would swear the man's lower lip just quivered. He sighed. He wasn't a mean man, just one set in his own ways. Yet he had no desire to be responsible for someone's being "quite ruined." Bedamned, he didn’t like compromising.

"Verra well, you can see tae the pressing and cleaning o' what's tae be worn, but I'll be doing the dressing, is that clear?"

"Thank you, m'lord," Willis said, returning to his haughty and gratingly condescending tone. "And may I summon the marquis's tailor for some fittings, or do you have more trunks that will soon be arriving?"

Duncan just stared at the man. Give an Englishman an inch . . .

Sabrina didn't see it as such a tragedy, the revelation of her family history. But then the London ton was so funny, in their reaction to it, that she was more amused than not. Where people had previously looked at her with the mere curiosity reserved for any newcomer on the scene, they now gave her looks that said clearly, You’re still alive? But not for long, I'll warrant. One silly lady had even screamed, thinking her a ghost. Sabrina could just imagine how distorted the rumors had been before they reached the screamer's ears.

Her prospects of finding a husband in London were now quite done in, of course. After all, what gentleman marrying to get himself an heir, and that was why a good many of them married, would want a wife who might not live long enough to produce that heir? Both her aunts were still living many years after the tragedies, obviously breaking the chain, but did anyone take that into account? No, that was definitely overlooked by the sophisticated London ton.

It did no good, really, to tell anyone the truth about her family. They would believe what they wanted to believe, and didn't the evidence support their belief? Hardly, but then the truth didn't make such juicy gossip. Much more interesting to insist that it must run in the family, the inclination to end one's life before it was ready to be ended.

Unfortunately, Sabrina's great-grandfather Richard had done just that, and his flighty wife, unable to bear up under the tragedy of it, had followed suit. That might have been the end of it, though. Their surviving daughter, Lucinda, after all, was already married at the time to William Lambert, an earl of strong constitution, and they already had two daughters themselves in Hilary and Alice. Sabrina's father, John, had yet to be born, which was why the old duke's title went to another distant branch of the family whom the Lamberts had never even met.

No one, in the family at least, was quite sure whether Lucinda jumped from that upstairs balcony or accidently fell off. Her health had declined somewhat after she bore William a son, and she'd been blue-deviled for months after John's birth, so it was quite possible that she had taken the same route as her parents. But whether she did or not, no one else doubted for a minute that she did, thus the scandal resurfaced and stayed around long enough to ruin Hilary and Alice's chance of a successful London Season.

It should have ended there. After all, there was new blood in the family now from the earl's side. And the talk of "bad blood" did die down by the time John married Elizabeth, and Sabrina came along from that union.

But then her parents had the misfortune to consume some tainted food and they both died of it before the doctor arrived. Even the dog died, having been given the scraps. And two of the kitchen maids, having had only a small taste of it, had been severely cramped as well. The doctor himself claimed it had been bad food. But it didn't take long for the rumor to start that they had taken poison—deliberately.

Hilary and Alice knew better. Their brother and his wife had loved each other and were very happy. Their deaths, at least, were truly accidental. But once again, no one else would believe that.

Her aunts, not surprisingly, were devastated that the scandal was running wild once again, all these years later, but then they'd had such high hopes for Sabrina, which were now quite dashed. They couldn't imagine who had been mean and spiteful enough to reintroduce that old scandal to the London gossip mills, not that it would make any difference to know who did. The damage was done. And because of it, there was really no point in staying any longer in London.

Sabrina was actually glad to be going home. London, she had found, with all its bustle and glitter, just didn't suit her at all. It was much too crowded, mostly dirty, the air more often than not thick with soot and smoke. She sorely missed the pristine cleanliness of a walk in the snow-covered countryside, and the earthy scents of animals and foliage in warmer months, rather than people and garbage.

She was glad that she had attended at least one ball, since she wasn't likely to ever find another to attend at home, and a few other parties before the gossip about her ran rampant. She at least knew what it was like now, London. Better to know than to always wonder, so the trip wasn't a complete waste of time in her mind.

And unlike her aunts, she wasn't worried that she would probably never marry now. On the contrary, she figured she would find a nice man someday, one intelligent enough to see through the rumors to the truth. So a few of her ancestors had actually killed themselves. That hardly meant that her entire family was fated to do the same. And if she didn't find anyone, well, that would be no great tragedy either, and her aunts were proof of that, too.

Ironically, their hosts, the Reids, found it necessary to travel to Yorkshire as well, since they had received notice to present themselves at Summers Glade to meet Neville Thackeray's grandson, who would soon be arriving there himself. Quite naturally, it was suggested that they all travel together. This was Lady Mary's idea. Her daughter, Ophelia, though, went beyond what could be considered good form in beseeching the Lamberts to join them at Summers Glade as well.

Alice and Hilary no doubt would have declined if they hadn't been so despondent over why they were leaving London, and not thinking clearly. They didn't even like the marquis, after all. But Ophelia admitted that she'd already invited many of her other friends to come to Summers Glade, and it was going to be quite the festive country gathering.

Sabrina's aunts were possibly seeing this as one last chance for Sabrina to catch some young gentleman's eye, so they had readily agreed. They were also anticipating the many parties that Ophelia would no doubt be having at the Glade after she was wed, which would be even more exposure for their niece. The very thought had cheered them up some small bit, so Sabrina didn't have the heart to object herself, though she at least saw the impropriety of descending on the Marquis of Birmingdale without his personal invitation.

Nor was Sabrina ignorant of Ophelia's real motives in inviting them and a slew of other people to Summers Glade, which were twofold. She had been furious, and didn't mind who knew it, that she was being dragged away from the London Season, and this was her silly way of bringing the "Season" to her. More to the point, though, she apparently felt she needed reinforcements to bolster her courage, but then she'd made it quite clear that she was terrified of the Highland barbarian whom her parents were forcing her to marry.

Though Sabrina was still disgusted over how Ophelia was going about getting rid of her fiancé, she did sympathize somewhat. It was so antiquated, after all, in this day and age, to be engaged to marry someone you'd never clapped eyes on. Her fear was understandable.

Sabrina might have sympathized even more if Ophelia had expressed a desire to marry for love instead, but that, apparently, wasn't on her list of priorities at all. She had merely been too impatient to wait and see if the marquis's grandson might suit her well enough, and besides, she aspired to a grander title than his. That there weren't a great many young dukes running around who would fit the bill of having a grander title was beside the point. She was sure she could find one, or a prince, even a king if she set her mind to it. She did think that highly of herself.

It was quite an embarrassing moment, though, facing the Glade's stern-faced butler, who had been expecting no more than three visitors but was met with eight instead—two of Ophelia's admirers had joined them on the road—and more still to come. Ophelia handled that in her typical way, however, dismissing the man as a menial.

"If must stay here," she told him, "so must my friends. I am rarely without visitors, so you will just have to get used to it."

Fortunately for Ophelia, her parents were still outside and hadn't heard that haughty remark, or she would probably have got a dressing down for it. The butler's look said clearly that the marquis would hear of it, though. Ophelia no doubt hoped so. She didn’t want the marquis to like her. When either he or his grandson could end the unwanted engagement, she was determined to be unpleasant to both to speed up that ending.

At least Sabrina and her aunts wouldn't have far to travel if the worst happened and the marquis kicked them all out. Their own house, closer to the nearby small town of Oxbow, was only twenty minutes away, so it would be no hindrance to leave, even at night. They would just have to wait and see whether Lord Neville would be of a mind to pamper his soon-to-be grand-daughter-in-law.

Unaware of the arriving London guests, Duncan and his grandfather were at that moment upstairs meeting for the first time themselves. Duncan had insisted on waiting in Neville's sitting room for him, while Neville's valet had refused to wake him any sooner than the marquis's customary hour of arising. So Duncan had waited, nearly two hours, for the old man to bestir himself and make an appearance.