Bane Beresford

The earl glowered, but said nothing.

She strode over to the solicitor, whose forehead was beaded with sweat. He pulled out a kerchief and mopped his brow. ‘Well, Mr Savary, is it true?’ she asked. ‘Does the late earl’s will require me to marry …’ she waved an arm in the earl’s direction ‘… him?’

‘It is silent on the issue, Miss Wilding.’ He swallowed. ‘Under the law, no one can require your marriage to any particular person. However, if you wish to inherit the money, you must marry someone. Perhaps there is someone….’ His words tailed off at a low growl from the earl.

Someone. She wanted to laugh. And then she wanted to cry. Someone. She was a schoolteacher. A charity case. And a beanpole to boot. Suddenly a very rich beanpole. She glanced over at the earl. ‘No doubt there will be many someones lining up at my door on the morrow.’

The earl glared at her. ‘Over my dead body.’

‘Or over mine,’ she said as the full enormity of it all solidified in her mind.

‘There is that,’ he agreed.

‘Are you saying you intend us to marry?’ she asked.

He looked at her for a long moment and she had the feeling that sympathy lurked somewhere in those flat grey eyes, then they hardened to polished steel and she knew she was mistaken. ‘Marry to suit my grandfather?’ he rasped. ‘Not if I can help it.’

She flinched at the harshness of his reply and was glad that he did not see her reaction as he turned at once to the solicitor.

‘There must be some loophole you have not considered. Bring those papers to my study. I will review them in detail.’

He strode from the room.

Mrs Hampton gave Mary an accusatory glare. ‘Come, Gerald. Jeffrey. We need to talk.’ She departed in what appeared to be high dudgeon for some unknown destination with the two young men in tow.

Unsure what else to do, Mary gathered herself to return to her chamber. She needed time to think about this new development. She could only pray the earl would find a way out of the conundrum. She certainly did not want to, nor would she, marry him. Or anyone else for that matter. She’d put away the hopes for a husband many years before

‘Er, miss?’ Savary said.

‘Yes?’

‘There was one thing I forgot to mention to his lordship.’

She gazed at him askance. Forgetting to mention something to his lordship sounded like a serious mistake given the earl’s present mood. She had not thought the man so stupid. ‘What did you forget?’

‘He should have let me read things in order.’ He fussed with the papers on the desk. ‘You must have his permission. Whoever you choose to marry, he must approve.’

A burst of anger ripped through her at being required to bend to the earl’s wishes on this or any matter. Especially one so altogether personal. Proving herself to be suitable to work as a teacher, to gain her independence, had taken years of hard work. She wasn’t about to give it up on some stranger’s whim. ‘I suggest you hurry and tell his lordship the good news. I expect it will make him feel a great deal more sanguine about what has happened here today.’

‘Do you think so?’

A laugh bubbled up inside her. Hysteria, no doubt. ‘I have not the slightest idea of what goes on in his lordship’s mind.’ That much was certainly true. ‘Please excuse me.’

She stalked out of the room. Whether anger improved her sense of direction, or she was getting used to the Abbey, she found her way back to her room without any problem.

The room was chilly. It was the stone walls, she thought, rubbing her arms with her hands, then wrapping her old woollen shawl around her shoulders. Stone walls needed tapestries and blazing fires. She poked at the glowing embers and added more coal. Then she sat on the edge of the bed and stared through the diamond window-panes. From here she could see the crumbling walls of what had been the abbey church. And beyond it, the sea pounding on rocks.

Finally, she allowed herself to think about what had happened back there in the library.

Oh, heavens! Marry and inherit a fortune? How could this be?

Not for years had she imagined she would ever be married. She was not the kind of woman men took to wife. They liked little dainty things, simpering girls like the ones she helped train at Ladbrook’s School. Years ago, the idea of being a wife and a mother had made her heart miss a number of beats. How it had raced when she thought that Mr Allerdyce who had been so attentive, walking her home from church, treating her like a lady of importance, would come up to scratch, until Sally had discovered it was all a front. He was currying favour with Mary in order to get close to one of her pupils. An heiress. His parting words had made it very clear just what he thought of her as a woman. As hurtful and mortifying an experience as it had been, it had forced her to realise she would never be a wife.

Instead, she’d decided that her true vocation lay with her girls, being a teacher. That they were her family. She only had them for a short while, it was true, and their departures were always a wrench, but they were planned. It was not as though they abandoned her, but rather that she sent them out into the world with her blessing.

Now, this stranger, this deceased earl, had somehow engineered her into a marriage to a man she knew nothing about. She swallowed. What would it be liked to be married to such a man? He’d want an heir. Children. A family, just as she’d always dreamed. Her heart raced. Her chest tightened at the thought of being a mother.

It wouldn’t be a marriage born of romantic love. It would be for convenience. A practical arrangement such as people from the nobility entered into all of the time. For mutual gain.

He’d hardly been thrilled at the idea of marrying her to obtain what was rightfully his, now had he? He’d looked positively horrified when he realised what the will intended. As if he faced a fate worse than death.

She gripped her hands in her lap to stop them from shaking. Oh, great heavens, please let this all be a bad dream. Please let her wake up and discover it was a nightmare.

But she was awake. And it was horribly real.

What would Sally advise? Don’t trust a man like him an inch. Mary could imagine the hard look in her friend’s eye and the knowing edge to her voice. She’d been right about Allerdyce. And look at how easily her father had abandoned her after her mother’s death. But she couldn’t ask Sally for her opinion. She had to rely on her own judgement. And, so far, nothing the earl had said or done made her want to trust him.

Gradually she became calmer, her breathing less shallow, the trembles less pronounced. One thing she knew, she wasn’t going to force any man to the altar. Especially not a man like the new earl.

Her heart gave an odd little kick. The sort of pang that someone less practical might describe as disappointment. Not her, though. Let other women have their romantic notions. There was no room for them in her life.

There had to be some way out of this dilemma. And no doubt the earl would find it. Once more the uneasy prickles of a ghost walking across her skin rippled across her shoulders.

The earl did not come down for dinner, nor did any of the other members of the family. Mary dined in splendid solitude in the dining room and felt like an idiot. Three footman and a butler wasting their time serving her. If they had told her, she could have taken a tray in her room. She finished as quickly as she could and waved off an offer of tea in the drawing room.

‘Do you know where the earl is, Manners?’

‘In his study, miss.’

‘And where is that?’

‘In the south wing, miss.’ He bowed and withdrew, leaving her none the wiser, but determined to seek him out and try to come to some agreement with him about the future.

Outside the dining room, she turned right, because left was the direction towards the north tower and her room. It stood to reason the south wing must be in the opposite direction, if the corridors were straight. But they weren’t.

After a half an hour of criss-crossing various parts of the house, and once arriving back at the dining room, she was ready to give up.

There was one hallway she hadn’t explored yet, because it looked narrow and darker than most of the others. She took a deep breath and gave it a try. It had only one door.

A door that was ajar and throwing a wedge of light into the corridor. She peeped through the crack. Aha. She had found the study and the earl. It was a small room, filled with ledgers on shelves rising to the ceiling behind a battered desk covered in papers. The earl was standing with one foot on the brazier in the hearth and his elbow on the mantel, staring into the flames of a merrily burning log fire. His dog lay prone at his feet.

He wasn’t an elegant man, his physique was too muscular, his shoulders too broad, his features too large and square, but there was nothing about him to displease the female eye, especially not now when his expression was pensive rather than hard and uncompromising. He looked not much older than she was. Early thirties, perhaps. And not really so very overpowering from this distance.

Her heartbeat picked up speed and her mouth dried. All right, he was really intimidating. Afraid that if she dallied longer she would flee, she tapped sharply on the door.

Both he and the dog looked up. Thankfully, the dog’s head dropped back to its paws and its eyes slid closed.

But his lordship was a whole different matter. His whole attention focused on her. She could feel it like a touch on her face. For a moment, a very brief moment, warmth flickered in his eyes as if he was pleased to see her.