Anne Herries - Candlelit Christmas Kisses - Captain Moorcroft's Christmas Bride / Governess Under the Mistletoe

‘Please do not be tempted, dearest. I know the one you mean and it is quite valuable. Father inherited it himself, so it was not his personal property. Cousin Joshua would be sure to notice that—and I really do not care to have him preaching at me again.’

‘Oh …’ Amy sighed. ‘It is so hard to leave things we’ve known all our lives.’

‘Be grateful we have as much as we have,’ Selina replied. ‘It has been a long day. I am for my bed. Tomorrow we begin packing. I am determined to leave nothing behind that is ours—and I want to be ready within the three days.’

‘Supposing the earl’s nephew decides to come home to Banford Hall from Italy sooner rather than later?’

Selina frowned. ‘We must pray that he does not,’ she said. ‘Should he return we must take Mr Breck up on his offer to find us somewhere to rent, as we cannot afford to purchase even a small cottage. Or there is the possibility that I may be offered the position of housekeeper at Banford Hall for real.’

‘You wouldn’t truly take it?’

‘Only if we were desperate—and we are not that yet.’ Selina smiled at her. ‘Go up now, dearest. If you are not tired, you may begin your packing.’

‘What about the books?’ Amy asked. ‘I suppose all the books belong to the library and are therefore part of the entail?’

‘Mama’s own books are ours—but, yes, I suppose the others do belong here.’

‘I cannot leave my favourite poets!’ Amy wailed. ‘There are three books that never leave my bedside.’

‘I daresay Cousin Joshua will not notice those,’ Selina said with a smile. ‘Take them, but do not pack a trunk with books, Amy. I assure you he would notice if you cleared an entire shelf.’

‘No, just those three. After all, Mama did buy them for Papa—so in a way they are hers, or at least his personal possessions and therefore not part of the estate.’

Selina did not argue with her sister further. She was quite sure that Millie would also claim two or three books, as she might herself, but she could not truly deny any of them. Only an insensitive brute like Cousin Joshua would insist that they must leave their home so soon after Mama’s death. A kinder man would have allowed them to remain until Selina married and made other arrangements for her sisters.

She was thoughtful as she went to her own bedchamber and closed the door. Tears had been hovering all day, but she’d kept them at bay for the sake of her sisters. The prospect of leaving her home was tearing her apart inside, though she’d tried not to show it to her cousin or the lawyer. She knew that she was taking a huge risk by accepting Mr Breck’s offer. Here in her home, with all her familiar things about her and the servants who had known her all her life, she had managed very well, taking over the reins when her father died and her mama went into a slow decline. Being the mistress of an old house with just a handful of servants—some of whom she did not know—was a very different affair.

Selina’s head came up, and her expression was one of pride and determination, even though her eyes sparkled with the tears she still refused to shed. She would manage. Even if the nephew returned and they had to move to a tiny cottage, she would manage somehow.

She would contrive to give Amy a season next year, and with any luck, her vivacious sister would marry well and solve all their problems. With judicious economy, and by asking a favour of one of Mama’s friends, she might manage something for Amy, but it would be too much to expect the same for herself.

No, she must give up her hopes and dreams of a man she could love and respect—though if a presentable widower were to ask for her, she might just take him. All she asked was that he should be good-natured, and not a pompous prig like her cousin.

The thought of her cousin’s face when she’d accepted Mr Breck’s offer made her smile. Joshua had been so sure she would cave in and marry him that his indignation had been almost amusing—except that she knew he would find some way of paying her back if he could.

‘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?’