Candlelit Christmas Kisses: Captain Moorcroft's Christmas Bride / Governess Under the Mistletoe

CHAPTER TWO

‘MY UNCLE is dead?’ Robert Moorcroft looked up from the glass of wine he had been staring into and glared at his secretary. ‘No, damn it! I understood he expected to live at least a year or more. It was the reason he left England to find a warmer climate.’

‘He had a nasty chill,’ Henry Norton explained. ‘I daresay it was the stress of the journey from England or being caught in a sudden rainstorm. You knew he was a sick man, Robert. It was always on the cards that he might go suddenly.’

‘Poor devil. He expected to have a few months of peace and quiet—away from that barn of a place. It must have been hell for him these past few years. First his wife dead of a fever and then two of his sons—both succumbed to the same sickness.’

‘I daresay it was an inherited weakness. You told me Eliza Benton was always sickly.’

‘Yes, I imagine so.’ Robert nodded morosely. ‘It didn’t help living in that draughty old house, I daresay.’

‘Why do you dislike it so?’

‘I spent the worst two years of my life there. Uncle William was in mourning for his wife and then his sons—and my father was recently dead from that carriage accident. My mother died when I was born, of course, and my uncle’s family was closer than my own because my father went into himself and forgot he even had a son. That same year I’d been sent down from college. The atmosphere at Banford was positively oppressive. I wanted to escape as quickly as I could, and I did. After the freedom of the army, I vowed I would never return.’

‘Well, you’re the earl now,’ Henry said, and smiled affectionately at his friend. After being invalided from the army, he’d taken the position of Robert’s secretary, though he was a gentleman’s son and had his own small estate in Devon. Perhaps he, too, was hiding—in his own case because of physical scars. Robert’s scars were mental; they might not show, but they were just as crippling. ‘You owe the old man a duty—even if you only stay long enough to sell the place and see the old retainers right. At least you have no entail to worry about. You are the last of your line.’

Robert groaned. ‘Don’t remind me, Nor.’ He used the nickname from their army days. ‘I suppose you’re right, as always. I told that lawyer fellow to get a housekeeper, so if we leave in a couple of weeks, she should have the place in good heart—wouldn’t you think?’

‘I doubt she’ll have changed it much in that time. You should give her a month—besides, you’ve business here. That’s if you intend to ask the comtesse to marry you?’

Robert wrinkled his brow. ‘The fair Adelaide. She is a beauty, Nor. I could do a lot worse. I suppose I ought to think about an heir—but not for that damned house. If I do settle back in England, I shall pull the house down and build something modern—or simply sell the place.’

‘Don’t you think that would be rather a shame? It does have a certain charm. You could use the money to put in some decent plumbing and refurbish it … repair the roof where necessary.’

‘Why should I throw good money after bad?’ Robert asked, and yawned. ‘That house drained my uncle of the will to live … or at the very least, it contributed to his decline. I inherited a fortune from my mother’s family. Why should I waste it on that place?’

Henry shrugged. ‘It’s entirely up to you, my friend. In your place I would want to make it into a home again. But if you have bad memories associated with it …’

‘What of you?’ Robert asked. ‘You came here with me because neither of us could face the thought of going home after that last show in France. Too many friends lost … too much death and pain. The weather suits you here, Nor. Will you be able to stand the cold at home?’

‘My leg still pains me,’ Henry admitted, then touched the puckered scar on his left cheek. ‘This doesn’t hurt at all; it’s just ugly, though better than it was at first. I have no hope of finding a woman to marry me, for I shan’t be married for pity—and who could love me looking like this?’

‘You are an ugly devil,’ Robert said cheerfully. ‘But I love you for yourself, Nor—and any girl with half a mind would see your worth if you gave her the chance.’

Henry smiled wryly. ‘I thank you for your kind words, milord. However, I should not want to inflict this on some poor girl who needed to marry for the sake of a place to live. No, I’ll rub along nicely as your secretary—until you’re bored with me. Then I’ll go home.’

‘In that case you’ll be with me for life.’ Robert grinned. ‘You can see your scars, Nor—but mine are too horrible to bear. Only you could have got me through these past few years. I think I should have gone mad without you.’

‘We need each other,’ Nor agreed, and smiled. ‘Well, are we going or not?’

‘We’ll go—but not for a few weeks. I’m not sure about the lovely Adelaide. She fancies herself as my wife—but could she stand me when I’m having a nightmare? I’ll think about it for a couple of weeks or so, and then, depending on her answer, we’ll go back to England.’

‘All right,’ Nor said, and nodded. ‘Now, what about this other business?’

‘You mean was my uncle right to suspect that he was being cheated?’ Robert frowned. ‘If I’m going to make enquiries, I might as well start now. You can write to my lawyer in England and set an agent on it. I cannot see why anyone would wish to harm my uncle, for he was a generous employer and a decent landlord.’

‘Some twisted revenge for past hurts? A man sacked or a poacher arrested?’

‘I suppose revenge might be the reason.’ Robert lifted his wineglass and drained it. ‘Remind me to have a few cases of this shipped back when we go, Nor. I doubt my uncle has anything drinkable in his cellars.’ He rose to his feet and ran long, sensitive fingers through his dark hair. He was a handsome devil, strong and lean, with a face that reflected his emotions all too often. ‘I’ll ride over and visit Adelaide. I suppose you don’t want to come? Miss Bartlet is very pretty, too, you know. I am certain she doesn’t want to be a poor relation all her life.’

‘That may be the case, but Miss Bartlet shudders every time she sees me. No, thank you, Robert. I’ll stay here and write your letters—and I’ll see about shipping some wine. We might sell a few dozen cases. It would be worth looking into the idea of shipping wine home, especially if we’re going to live there for a while.’

‘Leave it all to you, Nor,’ Robert drawled, and laughed huskily. ‘I’m a lazy devil. What would I do without you?’

‘Go to the devil a little faster than you are already?’ his friend suggested, giving a snort of laughter.

Shaking his head, Robert Moorcroft, lately become Earl Banford, left the villa that had been his home for the past two years or so, since Napoleon’s surrender. Obviously he couldn’t hide away here for ever. Despite his reluctance, he was the heir to an old line, and he would have to provide an heir for the future one day. The only thing in doubt was whether he did it in that draughty old barn or built himself a new house …

‘Oh, my goodness,’ Amy said as the coach drew to a halt in the courtyard of the house they’d caught glimpses of for the past ten minutes or more. ‘Those towers and the tiny windows. It’s like something out of Udolpho … so romantic …’

‘It’s big,’ her more practical sister said, and felt her stomach catch with nerves.

She really hadn’t expected the house to be this large. It was impressive, with its towers and the soft, faded grey stone of its old walls, but daunting, a little forbidding. A myriad of tiny windows sparkled in the late-autumn sunshine, their leaded panes like so many diamonds twinkling as they caught the dying rays of the sun on a day that had been unseasonably warm.

‘A place like this needs an army of servants to keep it as it ought to be.’

‘Mr Breck told you that only one wing is in use for the family. The other two were closed up years ago—and the folly is actually unsafe.’

‘How do you know that, Millie?’ Selina looked at her. ‘Were you listening at the door?’

‘No, I read the letter he left for you—the one that tells you where all the keys are kept and all the other things he thinks you ought to know.’

‘Indeed?’ Her sister gave her a quelling look. ‘Since I did not give you permission to read my letter, you were prying, miss.’

‘If you don’t pry, you never know anything,’ Millie said, and looked pleased with herself. ‘I may only be twelve—thirteen next birthday—but I’m old enough to understand. You shouldn’t treat me as if I were a child, Selina.’

‘No, I shouldn’t. You are old enough to understand, miss—which is why I was cross when I caught you trying to pack that Book of Hours. It is medieval and far too valuable to hope that Cousin Joshua would not notice if it went missing.’

‘He’s a mean pig,’ Millie said, forgetting that she was a young lady. ‘Why should he have it? Papa said it was to be mine when I was sixteen. He promised me I should have it.’

‘Well, he ought not to have made a promise like that,’ Amy said. ‘Anyone knows that book is entailed, Millie. We were allowed to bring only personal things—that book must be worth near a thousand guineas. Cousin Joshua would certainly come after us if we took something so valuable. I had to leave that painting I liked, too.’

‘It just isn’t fair …’ Millie bit her lip as she looked at the house. ‘It looks a bit creepy. I bet there will be ghosts.’

‘Papa told us all there was no such thing as a ghost—not the kind who rattle chains, anyway—only unhappy spirits tied to a place or house,’ Selina reassured her calmly.

‘I hope there are ghosts,’ Amy said, and opened the door to jump down before the postilion could do it for her. ‘I can’t wait to see inside.’

As she began to walk towards it, the front door opened, and an elderly man dressed in black came down the steps to greet them. At his back was a woman of a similar age and two male servants who appeared to be outside workers.

Selina’s servants had travelled in a second small coach behind them, with the baggage on a wagon at the rear. They had arrived now, and by the time all three girls had got out, the servants were grouped behind them. When Selina moved forward, they followed, rather like guards of honour, as if prepared to defend her.

‘Miss Searles?’ The butler came forward, his eyes flicking to the women behind her, his expression wary. ‘I expected you earlier.’

‘We suffered a small delay at the last posting house,’ Selina told him with a smile. ‘You are Trent, of course. I am so relieved that you have remained at your post. I am sure your help will be invaluable.’

‘Well, ma’am,’ Trent said, visibly melting under the warmth of her smile, ‘I am sure I felt it my duty to the new earl. If traditions are not to be lost, he will need someone who recalls the old days when he decides to come home.’