The Heiress of Winterwood (10 page)

“Calm down, Amelia.” He stretched his hands out in front of him, attempting to settle her as one would a nervous horse. “You’re getting upset for nothing. You are right that managing an estate like this is a complicated business, but I’m a competent man. There’s no need for you to worry about it.”

“You are missing my point,” Amelia retorted. “Mr. Carrington is a trusted family friend. How dare you just cast him aside without even—”

“Your uncle and I spoke at great length about it. He agreed it was the best course of action for everyone.”

For you, you mean.
She bit back the words and focused on her
argument. “My uncle is not Winterwood’s heir. I am. That fact alone gives me the right to—”

“Egad, Amelia. Why would you worry about such things? Do not allow yourself to become agitated over something so insignificant.”

“Insignificant? I—” She shut her mouth as a painful realization registered. Edward was patronizing her. Treating her like a child. She studied his dark eyes, hardly recognizing the man who was speaking to her now. Yes, he was still handsome and confident, passionate and energetic. But this other side of him, abrupt and self-serving, almost frightened her.

She could not guess his motives, for nothing about him lately was as it seemed. But suddenly she knew one thing for certain. If allowed, this man would destroy everything important to her.

For weeks she had teetered on the cusp of losing Lucy. Now the one person who understood her father’s vision and cared for Winterwood as she did, Mr. Carrington, had been cut from her life. Once bound by marriage, Winterwood Manor would legally be more Edward’s than hers, and she would have little choice but to do his bidding.

Did she have any choice now?

She glared at Edward and fought the nausea swirling in her stomach. Arguing with the man would not get her what she wanted. She had to be smart, to act wisely. She looked out the window to the grounds below. As she did, her gaze fell on the one person who held the power to change her situation.

Captain Graham Sterling.

G
raham’s headstrong mount stopped midtrot and veered sharply to the right. Again. Graham lurched in the saddle and yanked the leather reins, struggling for balance. The obstinate horse’s uneven gait and strange penchant to change direction without warning would threaten to unseat the most experienced rider, let alone a man who had spent most of his days at sea.

“Need help controlling that beast?” mocked William, pulling his fine bay up next to Graham.

“Stubborn mule.” Graham assessed his steed’s crooked ear and squeezed his legs around the animal’s belly. He’d never been much of a horseman, and his years at sea had not helped. He resented having to buy the animal on his journey from Plymouth to Darbury, but he had been forced to when unable to secure a post chaise for a leg of the journey. He’d been so anxious to arrive that he had purchased the first halfway suitable mount he’d come across. He’d been paying the price ever since.

“We should have taken the carriage.”

William laughed. “Nonsense. Too fine of a day for that. Finally, an afternoon free of rain! Besides, ’twould be a bother to take the carriage for such a short drive.” He nodded toward Graham’s horse. “When the time comes to select a pony for that daughter of yours, I suggest you leave it to me. It appears you have little talent for it.”

Graham ignored his brother’s jab and tightened his grip on the reins. The feisty animal wouldn’t gain the upper hand again.

“I, on the other hand, have an excellent eye for horseflesh,” continued William, his light eyes twinkling. “Take Tibbs here, for example.” He gave a low whistle, and the stallion’s ears perked up. “Pity I must sell him.”

“What? Sell that one?” Graham nodded at William’s prized bay. “I thought he was your favorite.”

“He is, but he’ll also fetch a fine price at Abbott’s.”

“Eastmore seems to be doing well enough. Why worry about money?”

William shrugged. “Ah, you know, foolish decisions, bad bets. Nothing outlandish, but a few extra pounds lining my pockets could not hurt.”

Graham masked his surprise at his brother’s comment and followed William through Winterwood’s iron gates. Tall elms lined the drive. Autumn had blown most of the gold and crimson leaves to the ground, leaving a brave few to hold their stead against the insistent wind. Beyond the drive, Winterwood’s gray battlements jutted majestically into the crisp blue sky. The sun’s brilliant glow reflected from the numerous bay windows and cast shadows below the cornices and pediments.

They reached the main entrance, and two adolescent stable boys appeared to take the horses. Graham swung himself to the ground and handed a boy the reins, grateful to have both feet back on the ground. He started toward Winterwood’s heavy front door, then noticed that his brother hung back.

Graham paused. “Are you not coming?”

William removed his leather riding gloves and tucked them in his pocket. “Of course. Of course.”

Why was he acting so strange? Graham decided to overlook the alteration in his brother’s demeanor. Heading back to the door, he lifted the iron knocker and let it fall. The anticipation of seeing his daughter again brought lightness to his step. Would she remember him?

The butler answered the door and ushered Graham and William into the drawing room. Everything looked exactly as it had when Graham first arrived at Winterwood three days past. But how different everything seemed now.

“Captain Sterling!” Miss Barrett appeared in the doorway, her lemon-colored gown bright as the afternoon sunshine, Lucy in her arms.

“And Mr. Sterling.” Miss Barrett’s smile faded a little when she spotted William. A slight awkwardness hovered between them, and Graham made a note to ask William about it later. But right now he could think about little else besides his bonny daughter.

Graham stepped forward eagerly, remembering how easily she had come to him that first day. But today she shrank back against Miss Barrett, her eyes regarding him with trepidation. When he reached out to take her, she turned her head and clung to Miss Barrett.

“Come now, dearest,” coaxed Miss Barrett, her voice soft and low. “Go to your father. He’s come such a long way to see you.” As she tried to pass the child to Graham’s arms, Lucy shrilled with such vehemence that he had to keep himself from covering his ear.

Graham stepped back, alarmed that his own child should be so resistant to him. Lucy’s face reddened, and his eyes grew wide. “It is all right, Miss Barrett. She is clearly frightened. She does not yet know me.”

Miss Barrett’s eyebrows drew together. “I apologize, Captain Sterling. She’s been a bit out of sorts today. I am sure she will calm down after you have been here awhile.” She cooed at Lucy and bounced her gently, casting another cool glance over toward William.

“Welcome to Winterwood, gentlemen.” Helena Barrett’s energetic voice pierced the uncomfortable atmosphere. “We saw you coming up the path, so we had the servants set us up on the side lawn for our visit. It is fine out, perhaps the last beautiful day before winter, so we should take advantage, do you not agree?”

Graham and William followed the ladies and Lucy through the drawing room, down the corridor, and through the library to the same terrace he’d shared with Miss Barrett the previous evening. How different it looked bathed in day’s warm glow. Below them, on the lawn, two servants scurried about, setting tables and chairs for tea and spreading quilts on the fading grass.

The two women led them down the stairs to the lawn just as George Barrett rounded the south wall riding a great black horse and accompanied by a small pack of auburn and white dogs. He appeared every bit the country gentleman—cropped riding coat, dark brown breeches, and top-boots.

“Ah, there’s Father.” Helena Barrett looped her arm through her cousin’s and waved at her father with the other.

George Barrett pulled to a stop next to the ladies. “And how are you today, my dears?” he asked, smiling down at his daughter and niece before acknowledging the men.

“We’re very well, Father.” Helena Barrett pointed across the lawn. “We’re about to have some tea. You gentlemen can join us in a bit if you’d like.” Arm in arm, the cousins ambled toward the tables.

“Good to see you, Barrett.” William took hold of the horse’s bridle. “Been out hunting already, have you?”

“No, just out for a ride. Good for the constitution, or so Mrs.
Barrett tells me.” A smile crossed the round man’s chapped face, and he cast a glance over his stooped shoulder to the preparations on the lawn. “I think the women expect us to take tea, but I have something a bit more robust in mind. Can I interest either of you in a man’s beverage?”

“Uncanny, Barrett.” William gave the horse’s neck a pat. “You know my very thoughts.”

George swung down and slipped the reins over the horse’s head. “What about you, Captain? What say you to a little diversion? I am anxious to hear an account of the war against America and what our forces are doing to protect our interests in the region. As you know, we make our living in trade, much of it with the West Indies. I have had more than one ship captured by the scoundrel privateers. But I hear your journeys take you farther north? Closer to Halifax?”

Graham nodded, looking over George’s shoulder to where Lucy played on a blanket spread on the grass. “Yes, sir, we were in Halifax before our recent return to Plymouth.”

A look of approval brightened the older man’s ruddy complexion. “Very good. I look forward to hearing all about it. Shall we go to the house for some talk and libations?”

In another time and another place, Graham would have immediately accepted the offer. Now something else occupied his thoughts. “I believe I will visit with my daughter for a bit; it’s why I came. Perhaps I will join you later.”

George tipped his hat in Graham’s direction. “Don’t mind us, then, if we take our leave.”

Graham returned the nod and stepped to avoid the noisy flurry of dogs that swarmed around George and William as they returned the horse to the stable. The sun peeked out from behind silver clouds as he crossed the lawn, its yellow light streaming through the leafless branches and casting curved patterns on
the browning grass. A lively breeze blew in from the north, and if he closed his eyes, he could almost be shipboard again, standing on deck with the wind on his face. But instead of a sharp aroma of salty sea air, the mossy scents of the moors greeted him. And instead of the crass voices of hardened sailors, he heard only the polite tones of gentle ladies.

How different life was on land. He’d grown accustomed to the sea; indeed, it was the only life he knew. He could not help but wonder how different his life would have been if he had never been sent away, if he had been born first and inherited Eastmore Hall.

Miss Barrett’s words interrupted his thoughts. “Lucy loves the outdoors.”

“She comes by that honestly.” Graham bent to sit next to his daughter and then stretched out his legs. “I prefer to be out of doors any day.”

Lucy crawled from Miss Barrett’s lap and attempted to wiggle over Graham’s boot to reach the adorning tassel, apparently forgetting any qualms she’d had about him just moments ago.

“Where are you going, little miss?” he asked, drawing Lucy into his arms. She giggled when he crossed his eyes at her, then rewarded him with a lopsided grin. Her tiny legs punched him in the stomach as she inched back down to the quilt. He picked some grass and spread it before her. She squealed and reached for the treasure with her fists. He stopped her just before she put the grass in her mouth.

Just days ago thoughts of a child had intimidated him. But with every moment spent in her presence, he desired more. Lucy squirmed and yawned, and he scooped her up and kissed her plump cheek.

Miss Barrett stood and brushed grass from her skirt. “I think Lucy may need a blanket. There is a chill in the air. I’ll return shortly.”

Her footsteps crunched on the dry leaves as she walked away. The soft call of the warbler mingled with a nightingale’s song, and a red squirrel scurried to the tree line. The sounds conjured memories of a forgotten childhood, of long afternoons spent surveying the moors and cavorting amidst the purple heather and rocky terrain.

“Do you hear that sound, Lucy?” Graham said, recognizing a sound he’d not heard since his youth. “That’s a sparrow’s song.” The child, now worn out from her bout of play, drooped sleepily. Her eyelids gradually shut, displaying her long, pale eyelashes against her fair cheeks. He drew her close and tucked her head under his chin, enjoying the gentle rhythm of her breathing and the soft lavender scent of her hair.

What sounds of childhood would his daughter remember? Would it be the whistle of the wind over open spaces and the swish of the cotton grass beneath her feet? Or would it be of noisy carriages clamoring over cobbled city streets? He surveyed the main house, the lawns. The majesty of the grand estate was humbling, its beauty even surpassing that of Eastmore Hall. Miss Barrett’s strange proposal came to mind. If he accepted it, his daughter’s memories would be of this beautiful place. She could live here all her days, if she so desired. The place would belong to him, to Lucy, if he accepted Miss Barrett’s offer.