Major Westhaven's Unwilling Ward

‘What makes you say that?’

Lily stared at her maid in disbelief. ‘Did you see him? The man can barely exchange pleasantries—and Robbie says that is honour and integrity?’ And he had spoken of her at the ball so rudely—as if she was his to judge. Perhaps he considered that she was.

Jo bit her lip. ‘True, he is a little rough around the edges. But he has been out of society a long time, Miss Lily. Perhaps he has forgotten how to deal with ladies.’

Lily was wiping her eyes in a vain attempt to stop crying. ‘He wants me to visit his home in Richmond. He says I can live there if I do not wish to live with him. But how can I go—it will look as if I am agreeing!’

Jo took her hands. ‘Miss Lily. May I give you some advice?’

Lily nodded, helpless.

‘Trust your brother. You need not trust the Major, you don’t know him from Adam, after all. But give Robbie a chance, at least.’

Very still, Lily stared at her. ‘I have always trusted Robbie.’

‘Then don’t stop now.’ Jo smiled wryly. ‘Besides, this house is to be sold out from under you, and you’ve no money. What choice do you have, really?’

Lily frowned.

‘Just visit him, at least.’

‘But then I am as good as accepting his ridiculous proposal!’

‘It is not his ridiculous proposal,’ said Jo gently. ‘It’s Robbie’s. What was that you were just saying about trust?’

Lily took the letter from Jo and read her brother’s bold scrawl again. This was the last wish he had, Major Westhaven said, that she would be looked after. The last thoughts he had on earth had been regarding her, and her safety. Did that not merit something?

She sighed. ‘Very well. I will visit him, and see if he can at least be civil. But that is all.’

Jo smiled, and squeezed her arm. ‘It’s a start, Miss Lily. It’s a start.’

Chapter Four

It was overcast on Wednesday afternoon, the flinty grey of the sky matching Lily’s mood as she climbed into the carriage Major Westhaven had sent for her.

‘Do move over—there is no room for me!’

She looked over her shoulder as Kitty clambered in beside her, burnished ringlets springing everywhere.

‘I do not know how anyone would ever consider you a suitable chaperon, Lady Stanton,’ Lily said, smiling despite herself.

‘How dare you? I am an old married woman now—I have the moral fibre required!’ Kitty gave a wicked smile. ‘Besides, you have no need of one anyway—Major Westhaven is your legal guardian!’

‘I still want you with me.’ The mere mention of his name dampened Lily’s spirits anew. ‘He is the most conceited and unfeeling of men, Kitty. The sooner we can conclude our visit and come home, the happier I will be!’

‘I still do not understand why you say such things,’ her friend protested. ‘He seemed perfectly lovely at the ball. And he is so handsome.’

‘He was different when you left—I have told you. And when he visited me at home he was awfully high handed.’

‘Do not despair.’ Kitty leaned into her friend, and gave her a little nudge. ‘He may yet be the perfect host!’

‘Nothing would surprise me more,’ Lily muttered.

She tried not to dwell on her dread of meeting him again as the streets of London gave way to country and the carriage drew ever closer to Richmond. Perhaps he would be more bearable in his own home.

And she had to admit, as they eventually turned into an almost hidden entrance and the trees fell away from the long driveway, revealing Oakridge in all its white-stoned, columned glory, that his home was beautiful. The house was set in a large park, sitting before an oval lake on which swans glided. There was a wood off to one side, and a chapel was visible in the distance. Lily bit her lip. He was clearly very wealthy. Perhaps that accounted for some of his arrogance.

The carriage drew up on a sweeping circular drive, and Lily and Kitty were greeted by an ancient but distinguished-looking silver-haired servant, who gestured them up the imposing stone steps and into the hall and took their things.

‘Welcome to Oakridge Park. His lordship will be with you shortly.’

His lordship? Lily frowned a little. If he had a title, why did he call himself merely Major Westhaven? She was given little time to ponder this before there were footsteps behind her, and he said, ‘Miss Pevensey.’

Lily turned. He was, again, immaculately turned out, in a dusky red jacket and fawn breeches, the boots he favoured over less militaristic footwear polished to a high sheen. He looked every inch the haughty landowner.

She reminded herself to smile, though he barely had. ‘My lord. Thank you again for the invitation.’

‘Thank you for accepting.’

She ignored the trace of irony in his voice and held her smile. ‘I could not have done otherwise.’ It was, after all, perfectly true. He himself had told her that she was responsible to him under the law.

He looked like he doubted this, but made no further comment.

‘You know Lady Stanton, of course,’ she said belatedly, remembering Kitty, uncharacteristically quiet beside her.

He bowed. ‘Of course. Welcome to Oakridge, Lady Stanton.’

Kitty, who had been watching them both with a look of calculating fascination, roused herself to smile dazzlingly at him. ‘Thank you, my lord. How lovely to finally be here—and how beautiful your home is. I was quite enraptured coming up the drive. My parents did not exaggerate, it seems.’

He nodded slightly, his smile a little distracted.

Kitty, clearly expecting him to have something to say to this mouthful of compliments, looked a little taken aback by his lack of response. Lily wanted to elbow her and mouth I told you, but he was watching her too intently.

‘I have ordered afternoon tea,’ he told them. ‘But first, would you care to walk in the long gallery?’

She nodded. ‘Very much.’ At least looking at paintings would give her something to say to him. ‘Kitty?’

‘Oh!’ Her friend was lost in contemplation again. ‘Yes, lovely. Do not mind me, I shall follow on behind.’

‘Excellent. This way.’ He gestured for Lily to walk before him. Reluctantly leaving Kitty’s side, she did so.

The gallery was bathed in the full sun of the afternoon, slanting through the huge windows that ran from the wooden floor to the high, vaulted ceiling. Stretching out before them were dozens of paintings of Westhaven ancestors—mostly long dead, Lily imagined. They went forward slowly, footsteps echoing on the floorboards, the air between them palpably awkward. Out of the corner of her eye Lily could see Kitty hanging back, apparently deeply enthralled with a vase that stood by the wall.

After a few moments, when it seemed Major Westhaven would make no attempt to start a conversation, Lily cleared her throat discreetly.

‘Has Oakridge been in your family long?’

‘Several generations.’