Captain Ingram's Inheritance (18 page)

 “You’re not burnt?” His voice shook. “My dear girl, of all the idiotish risks to take!”

 Her hands trembled in his. Though no flame had touched her, his touch sent a searing heat flaring through her body. Her pulse raced. Did he hear her heart madly beating?

 “Well done, little sister.” Felix had already retrieved the documents. He looked down benignly on Constantia and Frank, who dropped her hands abruptly, as though they were indeed afire. Her brother reached down to help her up, then gave the certificates to the lawyer.

 “Thank you, my lord,” said Mr Mackintyre. Stroking his white sidewhiskers with one forefinger, he aimed a bland smile at Oxshott. “It would have been a pity to lose these, but of no great importance. Admittedly, Lord Roworth and Lady Constantia might be considered biased witnesses, despite their consequence. However, I have copies in the safe in my office, attested as true copies by myself and my investigator, the estimable Taggle. You have finished your examination, your grace?”

 As the duke turned away with a snarl, Mr Mackintyre returned the parchments to Frank. Flustered, Constantia had sat down without seeing him rise from his knees. She did not know whether he had managed it himself, or if Fanny had helped him.

 Fanny sat beside her now, saying, “Bless you, Connie. They may not matter to Mr Mackintyre but they are precious to...”

 Creak, crack, CRASH! One rear leg of the Hepplewhite chair had finally surrendered under the assault. His grace, the Duke of Oxshott toppled over backwards with his feet in the air.

 In unison, Constantia and Fanny gasped and clapped their hands to their mouths. Over their hands, their eyes met, brimful of mirth. Fortunately Felix’s shout of laughter was almost drowned by the duke’s howl of rage. Felix and Mr Mackintyre rushed to the rescue, while Frank looked on, grinning.

 His grace righted and deposited upon a stout sofa, the lawyer brushed him down, murmuring solicitous tut-tuts. Oxshott pushed him away. His face was suffused with blood and Constantia feared he was about to suffer an apoplexy.

 After gaping wordlessly for a moment, the duke manifested his mangled sensibilities in a roar. “You needn’t think you’ve heard the last of this! I shan’t be robbed without a fight. I’ll go to law!”

 “I cannot advise such a course, your grace,” said Mr Mackintyre, unmoved. “It is highly unlikely that the testament I drew up will be overturned, but even if it were, the suit might take many years to come to judgment. Though I should be the gainer thereby, I must warn you that both parties are likely to be ruined by attorneys’ fees in the process. I have known many such cases.”

 “I’ll see you all ruined!” thundered the duke, and rushed from the room.

 Mr Mackintyre heaved a sad sigh. “There is no arguing with his grace in this mood,” he observed. “I shall try to have a word with him in the morning. At least he now recognizes that he cannot simply dispossess you, my dear Miss Ingram, or you, Captain.”

 “We might really be ruined, even if we won in the end?” asked Fanny in dismay.

 “I fear so.”

 “What can we do?”

 “Wait until morning,” advised the lawyer without much hope.

 “I believe, Fanny,” said Constantia, feeling utterly limp, “you had best ring for the tea tray.”

 Tea and Henriette’s crisp, wafer-thin, almond biscuits revived them all a little. However, Mr Mackintyre was forced to admit that Oxshott was by no means always susceptible to reason. The fact that he’d ruin himself in the process of ruining the Ingrams would not necessarily weigh with him.

 Constantia realized that Frank was not joining in the discussion. He was seated a little way apart, his head resting against the high back of his armchair. His eyes were closed and he looked exhausted. However splendidly indomitable he appeared when he stood up to the duke, he was still convalescent.

 As if he felt her gaze upon him, he opened his eyes and gave her a tired smile. She went to him, stopping him with a gesture as he made to stand up.

 “Will you take more tea? Or a glass of madeira? Or milk and stout?”

 His smile turned wry. “Tea will do very well, thank you, though I am a little weary. I confess I’m glad I don’t have to climb the stairs to my chamber.”

 “It has been a difficult day.”

 “You never spoke a truer word. It’s far more difficult to hold my temper than it would be to retaliate in kind, yet descending to his level can only make matters worse. If Wellington taught us anything, it’s to hold one’s fire until it will do the most good.” He sat up straighter, his expression grim. “But had anyone other than my mother’s brother impugned her morals as he did, I’d have called him out on the spot.”

 “I cannot for a moment suppose he really believed what he suggested,” Constantia said soothingly, though she had been excessively shocked when the duke claimed his sister had borne children out of wedlock. “He simply says whatever comes into his head that he hopes might help his cause.”

 “Such insults are not to be endured, whether intended or not.” Nonetheless, he relaxed again.

 Taking his cup, she refilled it and her own, balanced two biscuits on the edge of his saucer, and went to sit beside him. She refused to let the strange sensations his touch aroused in her become a barrier between them. What she needed was a cheerful, amusing topic of conversation to return their friendship to an agreeably lighthearted level.

 The duke’s tumble had been the funniest thing she had seen in a long time. However, she wanted to banish him from Frank’s mind for the moment. “You promised me an explanation,” she said tentatively, “but I shall not press you if you do not care to tell me.”

 “Explanation?”

 “Of your name.”

 He groaned, flushing. “If I’d guessed Mackintyre meant to show you that paper...! I’ll satisfy your curiosity if you swear on all you hold dear never to reveal my middle name to a soul.”

 On all she held dear? Felix, Vickie, Fanny now, and Anita-- and Frank himself. Her blush matching his, she said quickly, “Of course I swear. I should never have told anyway.”

 “I know, I do trust you, but it’s a sensitive subject,” he said ruefully. “It was all my father’s fault. Fanny and I were born in the middle of the monsoon floods and Father was distracted with worry for Mama and for his guns. Fanny was supposed to be christened first, named for Mama, but he handed me to the chaplain by mistake.”

 “So you were christened Frances Cyn...My lips are sealed.” And as solemn as she could make them.

 “Father realized what had happened as soon as he took me back. Though the chaplain agreed to use the masculine spelling of Francis on the certificate, he refused to leave off Mama’s middle name, saying he couldn’t revoke the solemn sacrament of baptism.”

 “Oh dear! But why was Fanny also christened Frances?”

 “Poor father was in such a state by then he couldn’t think of any other female name he liked. As we’re twins, most people don’t consider it odd that we share a name.”

 “I always considered it a charming notion. With Frank and Fanny there is no confusion.”

 “Now you know, you won’t snicker every time you see me?”

 “Heavens, no,” she promised. “Only occasionally.”

 “Wretch!” he said, grinning.

 They were back on their old, comfortable footing. Yet, as she sipped her tea, she felt that her sense of intimacy, of significant matters left unspoken between them, had not been lessened as she intended, but reinforced.

 Whether he felt the same, she could not guess. At least he looked less worn to the bone, crunching an almond biscuit with relish. She had succeeded in distracting him from his uncle’s animosity.

 Fanny soon reminded him. She came up to them and said to him, “Frank, Mr Mackintyre says there’s absolutely nothing we can do to prevent a lawsuit, short of handing over lock, stock, and barrel.”

 “That we shan’t do. Nor shall I leave Upfield Grange unless a bailiff comes to throw me out,” he said stubbornly.

 “We can stay, and the income is still ours, until the suit is settled, which may be years and years.”

 “Splendid.” Frank squeezed his sister’s hand. “There’s no sense leaving more than we must for his grace to set his greedy hands on. Until we’re ruined, let’s enjoy ourselves.”

 “With him in the house?” Fanny shuddered. “He still believes it’s his. He may stay forever.”

 “He has nothing to gain by staying,” Constantia pointed out, “now he realizes you are not easily cowed. Hotheaded as he is, he will want to set his lawsuit in train without delay. I daresay he will be gone by noon tomorrow.”

 “Besides,” said Frank, “he’s used to much grander surroundings. He only wants the Grange in order to tear it down, remember.”

 “Dreadful man!” Fanny exclaimed. “I’ll be heartily relieved to see the back of him.”

* * * *

 In the morning, Mr Mackintyre joined the family at breakfast prior to going up to Oxshott’s chamber to make a last attempt at reasoning with him. It was a gloomy meal. The lawyer felt he had failed the Ingrams, and Vickie and Miss Bannister were packed and ready to leave for Westwood. Anita sat on Frank’s lap, fearful of losing him, too. Constantia watched as he coaxed the little girl into drinking her milk and eating tidbits from his plate.

 Lord Westwood had never taken any of his children on his knee, let alone fed them with his own hands. What a wonderful father Frank Ingram would be! Constantia sighed.

 The dining-room door opened. Anita looked round, then shrank back against Frank’s chest as the duke came in. Yet his grace’s face was not distorted into a scowl, nor a frown, was not even wearing its habitual petulant expression. His grace’s face was twisted into a smile, more grimace than grin. He looked as if it hurt him.

 “Good morning, good morning!” he cried with a horrid approximation to geniality, rubbing his hands together. “All up with the lark, I see. Excellent.”

 Thomas, who had followed him in, hurried to set another place and pull up a chair. He served the duke from the sideboard, poured him coffee, and left with a backward glance, torn between curiosity and eagerness to inform his fellow-servants of this latest start.

 “Excellent,” Oxshott repeated, regarding his devilled kidneys and cold tongue with real satisfaction. He looked around the table at the flabbergasted company. His eyes held no warmth, Constantia noted. “Well, now, I expect you’re all wondering what brought me down so early. I wanted to tell you I’ve decided Mackintyre has the right of it. No one will profit from a lawsuit but the lawyers, ha ha.”

 “So it would seem, sir,” Frank said cautiously.

 “Call me uncle, my dear fellow! I’m determined to be better acquainted with my niece and nephew, dear little Frances’s children.”

 “How...how kind of you, Uncle.” Fanny forced the words through stiff lips.

 “So I’ll stay here at Upfield as long as I can be spared from business elsewhere.”

 Fanny blenched. “Pray don’t put off urgent business for our sakes, Uncle.”

 “No, no, I insist. What could be more important than newly discovered relatives, eh? You have been isolated from the family far too long. My son--your cousin Mentham--and his sister will be delighted to make your acquaintance, and your aunts also. I shall write this very morning and direct them to come and join us at once.”

Chapter 12

 “They couldn’t possibly all be like him, could they?” With a moan, Fanny dropped onto the one of the Jacobean hall chairs as the duke disappeared into the bookroom to write his letters.

 “The odds are against it,” Felix opined.

 “Have you never met any of them in Town?” Constantia asked.

 “It’s a good many years since I took much part in London Society.” He frowned in thought. “Come to think of it, I believe I’ve met the Marquis of Mentham at my club. He’s a bit of a slowtop as I recall. I may have come across his sister and your aunts, too, but I don’t remember them.”

 “Cheer up, Fanny,” said Frank. “Among so many, surely one or two will turn out to be agreeable.”

 Fanny moaned again. “Sisters, aunts, cousins! It’s all very well for him to wave his hands and say airily he’s sure I’ll find room for them, but where?”

 “Lay ‘em out in rows in here,” said her betrothed, glancing around the Great Hall. “Plenty of space.”

 “Do be serious, Felix.”

 “It’s not my problem, thank goodness. That’s what females are for. Come on, Ingram, let’s go and consult my father’s coachman about the sort of carriage that will best suit your needs. He’ll be off in half an hour.”

 “Men!” said Fanny in disgust as they turned to leave.

 “Perhaps I ought to go with Vickie,” Constantia suggested hesitantly. “That would give you an extra bedchamber.”

 “No!” Fanny clutched her arm. “Now of all times, don’t leave me in the lurch, Connie, pray don’t.”

 Frank’s footsteps paused, and then he turned back. “I can’t blame you, Lady Constantia, if you choose to flee my uncle’s unamiable presence and a houseful of what I fear may prove equally disagreeable company. But, for Fanny’s sake, I wish you will not leave.”

 For Fanny’s sake, not his. Once again his desire for her to stay was less than wholehearted. Constantia was torn. She anticipated no pleasure from the coming house-party; her chamber was needed; Fanny would have sufficient chaperons without her. On the other hand, she ought to be relieved that Frank showed no sign of becoming a suitor, since she would not be forced to reject him. She hated to turn tail and run from the challenge of the duke and his family. And as well as the practical support she could give Fanny, the friendship of an earl’s daughter was bound make her new relatives less likely to condescend to her or try to intimidate her.

 Felix echoed her thoughts. “Lord, Con, you can’t go. How is Fanny to manage a horde of starchy, stiff-rumped females without you?”

 “Fanny is equal to anything, but I daresay I can help. We had best go and talk to Mrs Tanner, Fanny.”

 Fanny gave her a grateful smile. “I’m afraid it will be a perfectly horrid affair, but perhaps they won’t all come,” she said hopefully. “How sadly mistaken I was to assume that being betrothed to Felix and inheriting a fortune was the end to all my troubles!”