The Earl's American Heiress Page 3

  “It’s far from ruined, only wet. It will dry out right as rain.”

  “I’ll see you home then.” He crooked his arm thinking how silly it must look, two dripping people in the wee hours of the night observing the formal gesture.

  “There is no need.” She arched a brow, shaking her head. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

  “I assure you, I’m not a blackguard, but they are out there.” He waggled his elbow at her. “You saved my life. I will escort you home.”

  “As I said, there is no need.” She glanced over her shoulder at the apartments on the far side of the garden. “I am completely capable of walking from here to there.”

  But she didn’t walk. She lifted the hem of her drenched skirt, spun about and ran. Her slippers made squishy noises across the stones.

  She opened a door mostly used by servants, nodded to him and then vanished inside.

  And like a dream in the night, she was gone. Who was this woman? A servant? Not likely, given she was an American. A lady’s companion hired by someone renting one of the apartments across the shared garden? More likely that, or something of the such.

  While he stared at the door, a fairy-tale character came to mind. The mysterious Cinderella. Although Cinderella was not seductively dripping but merely missing a shoe.

  Leaves rustled. The cat leaped from a bush. It crossed in front of him, tail waving smartly in the air.

  Was it good luck or bad luck that he had met the beautiful and self-minded American?

  Heath supposed he would never know for certain. In his sphere, the titled and the common people lived side by side but in vastly different worlds.

  * * *

  Since breakfast was a private affair, Clementine ignored proper etiquette and propped her elbows on the table. She folded her fingers under her chin and stared across at Grandfather.

  He seemed distracted, glum. It bothered her to see him so downcast. It was uncommon for him to be anything but cheerfully confident.

  She lifted a biscuit from a dainty plate and spread clotted cream on it while she thought how she might best cheer him up.

  But given that she was one of the reasons for his frown, it might be difficult.

  Surely he must understand that he could not simply decree that she would take Madeline’s place and marry a stranger in a foreign land and expect her to smile blissfully and fall into line with his wishes.

  She had wishes of her own—dreams that his ambition had ripped from her—of teaching children, to put a fine point on it. Every day she wondered how her students in Los Angeles were faring with the new instructor. She hoped he would be patient with Billy’s slow speech and Anna’s progressive mind.

  Would it even be possible to teach again once she bowed to Grandfather’s demand? She honestly had no idea what a countess was and was not allowed to do. She did know it was a rather lofty position in society, so maybe she could do as she pleased and no one would speak against it. Then again, perhaps everyone would speak against it.

  She wished she could ease her grandfather’s mind by agreeing to the marriage before her next bite of biscuit and cream, but she was not quite ready to make that commitment even though she had crossed the Atlantic Ocean to that supposed end.

  Indeed, she was less ready this morning than she had been last night.

  For some reason the man she’d pulled from the fountain was capturing a good deal of her attention. No matter how she tried, she could not put away the image of water dripping off the corners of his mouth, of the handsome turn of his lips when he smiled or of the easy conversation that sprang so naturally between them.

  It was not an easy thing to make a decision to marry a man when another fellow’s face was all one could see. What a shame Mr. Ramsfield was not the earl. Her outlook on the marriage might be slightly different if that were the case.

  At the heart of it, Grandfather’s heavy spirit was not her fault. It was Madeline’s. Had her cousin lived up to what she had been groomed for rather than running off, Grandfather would be celebrating an engagement rather than fearing there might not be one. Also, he would not now be fearful that Madeline would come to a desperate end.

  Yes, it was all completely Madeline’s fault. Clementine was only here in London facing a decision that might break Grandfather’s heart because of her cousin’s reckless decision.

  “Life for a bastard child is—” Grandfather’s voice faltered. “I only hope that Madeline will remember and behave—”

  He would know this since he had been one.

  The circumstance of his birth was not something he spoke much of—not in words—but the struggles of his young life had formed the man he was.

  To his mind, amassing a fortune was vital. At the same time he believed that no amount of money would keep his granddaughters secure.

  After all, wealth hadn’t helped his mother. At eighteen she had made a brilliant match, at twenty she had become a widow, a year and a half later her solicitor had squandered her fortune and left her pregnant.

  “Madeline will do the right thing, Grandfather. You raised her to be strong and resourceful. She will not make that mistake. I know she will not.”

  For all that she said so, she knew her cousin had acted rashly and followed her heart as she tended to do. Clementine wondered if she had given more than a passing thought to what might happen to her by going off with—well, a stranger. No matter what Madeline might feel for the fellow in the moment, he was surely a philanderer.

  “Maybe so, but she’s used to having money to rely upon and now she does not. She might cling to the wrong sort of man.”

  Was he picturing the faces of the many wrong sorts of men his mother had clung to? If the faraway look in his eyes was anything to go by, he was remembering them.

  “Madeline,” she pointed out, “is not your mother.”

  “No, but she is a woman and thereby helpless.”

  “Well, she does take after you in being resourceful. I’m sure she will be fine.” As long as the Pinkerton agent found her before she was not fine.

  “A woman is only as fine as the man in charge of her funds is honest. You’ll know that a part of the reason we are here is because I’m going to earn a fortune in Scotland. You being titled will ensure the venture is a success. But Clemmie, my girl, it won’t be enough. Wealth on its own will not keep you secure.”

  “So far it has.”

  “Because I’m a man. All I ever earn will be mine. All I give you will belong to your husband. But a title will protect you.”

  “But why is this business in Scotland so important to you? Surely there is money to be made back home.”

  “Diversification. You’ll recall that I’ve lost a fortune and then gained it back again. By having ventures in more than one country I am not depending upon only one country to be prosperous. I’ll be more likely to stay afloat financially with ventures in other parts of the world.”

  “If your business succeeds, I’ll be financially secure on both sides of the ocean and have no need to marry.”

  “Did you not hear me when I said money can vanish in an instant? Look at your cousin. She was a wealthy young woman a short time ago, and now? You must marry well, Clementine.”

  She must not have looked suitably convinced, for a worried expression flitted across his face, which made her more than uncomfortable.

  Grandfather was the most confident man she’d ever met. She had never seen the anchor of the family defeated in anything. His strength had always been her refuge.

  Many years ago—she’d been only three then—he had snatched both her and Madeline from certain death while a flash flood washed the rest of the family away. He had held them secure in his strong arms while hell surged all around. He would not give them over to the killer current. She vaguely remembered how his muscles trembled, how he groaned with the effort to keep them locke
d to his chest. Even though he was being pelted and cut by debris, he’d shielded them and refused to let death have them.

  Afterward, those wounded arms had held them through the grief of losing their parents, even while he dealt with his own. Over the years he had kept them fed and clothed, despite being busy rebuilding the fortune he’d lost.

  He’d raised them and loved them. Truly she and Madeline owed him complete devotion.

  And now he was asking her to give up everything.

  While she did owe him everything, could she really pay the price he wanted?

  “We’ll have word of a good outcome soon enough,” she said, focusing the conversation on Madeline.

  Someone came into the dining room and set a plate of bacon on the table between them.

  Grandfather did not speak again until the servant had left the room.

  “Do you understand the reason you will marry the earl?”

  She understood why he wanted her to. Things from her perspective looked a bit different.

  “You cannot assume that I will. I do have a say in it. For all we know the earl might be as greedy as most of the suitors I’ve already crossed paths with. You are aware that they wanted your fortune and not me?”

  “I am, indeed. Still, you’ll need to marry someone. And have you forgotten that I’ve met Fencroft? I’d hardly arrange a marriage that was not in your best interest. I will not see you bound to a common fortune hunter.”

  “But you would a titled one?”

  “Yes, indeed, I would. Please understand that a title is more enduring than money. No matter what, your children will never face one day of humiliation. They will never go to bed wondering about their next meal or what might go bump in the night. The respectability that comes with being a peer will be a hedge about them.”

  “My children! Surely you are ahead of yourself. The earl is a complete and utter stranger.”

  And surely not half as compelling as the stranger in the garden last night. Given that she was here in London to consider wedding an earl, she was giving far too much thought to the intriguing fellow.

  “He’s not a stranger to me. I spent considerable time with him during the negotiations. He’s a decent sort, and while not in the best of health, he enjoys his entertainment. In fact, he would have suited your cousin quite well had she given the union a chance.”

  “And you truly believe I would be happy doing so?”

  “I do, Clemmie. We would not be here if I thought otherwise.”

  “While that assurance might be fine for you, I can’t simply hand my life over to some man! Why, I don’t even know what he looks like.”

  “Oh, he has a pleasant face. Fair hair and friendly brown eyes. He’s slight of build.”

  Quite unlike the tall, muscular man in the pond whose eyes were—well she didn’t know the color, but they were quite mesmerizing.

  “He seems a merry fellow who laughs easily and does not look at life in an overserious manner. He attends all the grand balls.”

  “You know I dislike grand balls.”

  “Yes, I do know that, Clemmie. The earl would have suited your cousin grandly. It’s why I picked the man for her. But here we find ourselves. Try to look at the good side of this. You will have a fine London town house—there it is. You can see it just out the window across the garden. If you don’t like that there is a lovely country estate, even a seaside cottage, I’ve been told. I’m certain that would be to your liking. A lovely spot by the seashore?”

  Truly, there was not much she would not do for the man she loved above anyone else—but this?

  How could she possibly?

  * * *

  As he walked in the garden late at night, Heath’s steps felt heavy. His fate was nearly sealed.

  He was to become betrothed, again.

  As much as he tried not to think of Willa it was impossible not to, given the turn his life had taken. He’d always been smitten by her, he supposed. As a boy his heart had swelled whenever she deigned to look his way. He’d grown and given his heart to a few others for a time, but he’d never really forgotten her.

  Nor would he now. She continued to influence his life in a way he would never have imagined.

  Heath walked slowly about the perimeter of the garden, reliving what had happened.

  He shook his head. For once the tinkling of the fountain did not bring to mind his former fiancée’s desperate weeping.

  Apparently Cinderella in all her dripping glory had replaced the grim reminder with something delightful. She had become a happy vision in his mental angst.

  He didn’t often dwell on Willa’s betrayal, but with another marriage looming, it all came back.

  It had seemed a miracle at the time: his Willa seeking him out after so many years. They had become engaged within a week—she was in a hurry to marry him. Not for any tender feelings she had toward him, he’d discovered later on, but because she was pregnant. She confessed it before they wed, so he thought she must have come to care for him a bit. Even so, it was not the fact that she was expecting a child that made him break the engagement. He might have accepted it had Willa loved him. But she did not. He’d been broken for a bit by the way she’d used his affection.

  Heath sat down on a bench and watched as wispy clouds drifted across the moon.

  While he hadn’t gone through with the marriage, he could not find it in him to cast her out. He’d put her up in an apartment away from everyone she knew, so that her shame would not be exposed. He visited her, brought her what she needed to live in comfort. Oddly enough, a friendship had grown between them during that time, a true one. He wanted to confront the cad who had left her in this state, but she would not say who it was.

  One day, when he paid his weekly call, Willa was huddled in her bed, weak and feverish. She admitted to giving birth the day before and walking two miles to Slademore House to give her baby over to the charity there, run by Baron Slademore. As soon as she’d done it, she regretted it. She looked in desperate condition, cursing Slademore in her near delirium. Perhaps he was the culprit and that was why she had taken her child to him and not because it was a well-reputed orphanage? Willa claimed it was not true, but still, Heath had wondered. In the end there was nothing to be done but send for the doctor.

  Even now, sitting here on the bench, he felt the cold lump that sickened his belly when the doctor reported that Willa would not likely see the dawn. She’d wept, clutching Heath’s shirt, and begged him to bring back her daughter.

  That trip to Slademore House had changed his life in a way that nothing ever had before.

  It had surprised him when Baron Slademore—a man respected by the highest members of society—denied receiving a newborn. Perhaps Willa, in her fevered state, had imagined she’d come here. If not, the baron was lying. But why? Was Heath correct and the baby his? Was he lying to keep from being caught out?

  In any event, he had to try to bring Willa’s baby home. When it seemed the orphanage had gone dim for the night, he’d gone in search of the child. Luckily someone had left the back door open. Indeed, he’d sensed a presence just out of sight, seeming to lead him down this ill-lit hallway and down another until he came to the half-open door that led to a dark, dank room. He found the baby there, wailing in a strident newborn voice. While there was no nurse present, there were other children sleeping on cots with thin blankets offering scant warmth. It was so different a picture from how he’d seen them treated earlier that day.

  He’d snatched up Willa’s child, tucked her under his coat and raced back to the apartment. Willa had held her daughter to her heart for an hour before she passed away.

  Baby Willa was the first orphan to be kidnapped by the villain whom the papers named “the Abductor,” and the first he sheltered at the seaside in Rock Rose Cottage.

  That had all happened two years ago, and now, suddenly,
marriage was in his future again.

  “Hello, cat,” he said to the feline twining about his trouser leg. It looked a bit like the one that had spooked him in the dark and led to his meeting with his mystery woman.

  “What do you think?” he asked the fluffy creature looking up at him with great, dark eyes. “Perhaps a marriage of convenience is for the best. No secrets, no expectations. No heartache, either.”

  No passion, no love. Eyes wide open. The cold, formal circumstances of this union were for the best.

  The cat, in apparent agreement, gave a hollow meow and then went on his way toward the fountain.

  Earlier today he’d gotten word from James Macooish that he was in London and prepared to present his granddaughter at Lady Guthrie’s intimate gathering a few days hence.

  From past experience, he knew that the intimate gathering would be grand rather than cozy. He wondered if his future bride was any more prepared for this meeting than he was.

  As vibrant and socially accomplished as he understood Madeline Macooish to be, he could not help guessing that the duchess’s soiree would be different than what the American would be accustomed to. For all that the lady was admired in America, England was a vastly different place. He feared she might be shunned by the other women because she was an outsider. And not just any outsider, but one who threatened to dash their ambition of gaining a titled marriage.

  Heath pitied his bride-to-be as much as he did himself. He could not imagine why she had agreed to marry Oliver. It was not as though her family would fail without the money like his would. And not only the family of his blood but those he was now responsible for: parlormaids, footmen, butlers, cooks and farmers. Even the merchants Fencroft frequented could suffer if he failed to keep the estate solvent.

  If he could choose the direction of his life, it would not be this.

  Heath was far better suited to the bucolic life of the estate. Helping farmers tend the land and the livestock—it was all he’d ever needed of life. He’d been grateful to be born the second son.