The Heiress of Winterwood (3 page)

U
ncertain if he had heard the slip of a woman correctly, Graham Sterling suppressed an incredulous chuckle. How is one supposed to respond when a lady—let alone an attractive stranger—proposes marriage?

“Are you always this direct, Miss Barrett?”

“The circumstances demand it, sir.” Miss Amelia Barrett’s gaze did not waver. “But I am sure you can see that the arrangement would be advantageous. You need someone to care for Lucy.” Her hand flew to her chest. “Who better than I, the person who has loved her since birth?”

Graham could not have torn his eyes away from the animated woman even if he wanted to. Her cheeks flushed crimson, and her sapphire eyes sparkled with brilliant intensity. Mere minutes had passed since he first encountered this young woman. But already Graham knew with certainty that Miss Amelia Barrett was a force to reckon with.

He cleared his throat. “Do you not think marriage a bit . . . drastic?”

Lucy’s whimper interrupted their conversation. Grateful for the distraction, Graham returned to his chair. Without a moment’s hesitation, Miss Barrett leaned down, picked up Lucy from the cradle, and propped the child on her hip. Lucy peered at him from over Miss Barrett’s shoulder. The child—his child—had brown eyes. Wide brown eyes.

Katherine’s eyes.
The fleeting thought stole the air from Graham’s lungs. What would Katherine look like, standing there, holding their child? Guilt’s familiar sting pricked his conscience. He’d been at sea for so long that his memory of Katherine’s appearance had grown faint and grew more so by the day.

Suddenly desperate to be anywhere else, Graham jumped to his feet and wiped his palms on his buckskin breeches. What did he know about being a father? About fathering a girl?

His daughter smiled at him, drool trickling down her chin, and guilt assailed him once more. He might not be comfortable, but she still belonged to him. He reached for Lucy and forced words through a dry mouth. “May I?”

Graham did not overlook Miss Barrett’s hesitation. But after eyeing him for several seconds, the woman relented and allowed Lucy to pass from her arms to his. The baby’s mouth hung open and she stared at him, her large eyes full of wonder. Miss Barrett released the bow under Lucy’s chin and pulled off her white bonnet, unleashing an airy mass of wispy curls.

An ache settled in the pit of Graham’s stomach as the child melted against his chest. News that Katherine was with child had not reached him until she was a few months from giving birth, and by the time he’d received news of his wife’s death, the child was already three months old. Lucy cooed and looked at him with Katherine’s velvet eyes. “My dear Lucille Katherine Sterling,” he told her, “I am very pleased to meet you.”

Lucy pulled his nose.

He bounced her, and she squealed. Her tiny fingers tugged his hair.

“Curious little thing, is she not?” He scrunched his nose and squinted. The child giggled in delight. Graham smiled. Perhaps being around a child wasn’t so difficult after all.

He glanced up at Miss Barrett and sobered as his eyes met hers. “How can I even begin to repay you for your kindness to Katherine and my Lucy?”

“I can think of the perfect way to thank me, sir. Consent to marry me.”

Her pointed reply caught Graham off guard, and he stared at her for much longer than was proper. The answer was clear and staring him in the face. Miss Barrett had comforted his wife in her final days and cared for his child since birth. Surely there could be no better guardian for Lucy when he returned to his duties.

But marriage?
The idea seemed preposterous.

Miss Barrett’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “I know how this must sound, Captain Sterling. But I promise you my only interest is Lucy. I am determined to keep my promise to her mother and ensure that she is well cared for. And if I must endure the humiliation of asking a stranger to marry me in order to keep her with me, then so be it.”

Graham picked up the toy horse Lucy had abandoned and handed it to her, attempting to buy himself more time. Miss Barrett’s argument was persuasive. But had his experience taught him nothing?

No, he would deal with this now. “Miss Barrett, I am indebted to you, and I am at your service, but I’ve no intention of marrying again at present. I am sure we can devise some other arrangement.”

His refusal seemed only to fuel Miss Barrett’s determination. Though her chin trembled with every syllable uttered, her voice
rang strong and determined. “Captain Sterling, if another arrangement were possible, I would never have proposed this one.”

Perhaps she saw him wavering. She took a step toward him. “You need help, Captain. Someone has to care for Lucy when you return to your duties. I can provide that assistance. I will love and raise her just as Katherine would have done. Upon my honor, she will want for nothing.”

Graham’s high collar seemed to tighten around his neck. Lucy’s happiness would have been Katherine’s final wish, of that he was certain. But marriage? He could not.
Would
not. It was too soon.

Miss Barrett’s words snapped him back to the present. “Please, at least consider the arrangement. What have you to lose? If we marry, you will be master of Winterwood Manor. You will be free to do as you choose, and you will be able to rest in the knowledge that Lucy’s future is secure, regardless of what happens. All I ask, all I
need
, in exchange is your name.”

Hazy thoughts raced through Graham’s mind, each fighting for dominance. He prided himself on being a man of sure decisions and swift actions, but for this, he needed time to think. He swallowed hard. “I will consider it.”

A cautious smile appeared on Miss Barrett’s face, and an awkward silence enveloped the spacious room. The fire’s warmth intensified, and Graham handed Lucy back to Miss Barrett before slipping a finger between his neck and cravat.

“What are your plans for Lucy while you are staying in Darbury?”

“I intend to take her to stay with me at Eastmore Hall. You’ve hired a nurse for her, correct? I was hoping to persuade the woman to stay on with us.”

Miss Barrett nodded and adjusted the child in her arms. “Mrs. Dunne is an excellent nurse indeed. But would you consider allowing Lucy to remain here until your decision is made? She is familiar
with this house and the people in it.” Miss Barrett tucked a wayward lock behind her ear and balanced the child on her hip. “It might be difficult for her to be surrounded by new people, especially if her home might change again in a few weeks.”

The hope in Miss Barrett’s voice tugged at Graham, and he realized she was right. He might be Lucy’s father, but he was still a stranger to her. And how could he expect the child to be comfortable in a house where he himself found little comfort?

“If you are willing to allow her to stay a little longer, then—”

“Then you must visit her as often as you can.” A hint of lightness returned to her expression. “Every day, if you wish.”

Outside, a fresh gust of wind slammed against the windowpane, rattling the glass. Before retrieving his cloak and hat, Graham pressed his lips to Lucy’s curly head. He had hoped for another smile from his daughter before he left, but she snuggled up against her guardian and paid him no mind.

The unread letter in his breast pocket weighed heavily on his mind.
If only there was another way.

“Good-bye, little one.” He bowed toward Miss Barrett, then donned his hat and flipped the collar of his cloak up around his neck.

There had to be another way. And he would find it.

Blast!

Graham kicked a rock, sending it tumbling through the carpet of wet leaves.

Amelia Barrett had him at a disadvantage. And he hated to be at a disadvantage.

Her outlandish offer had occupied his mind ever since he left Winterwood, and it continued to bother him now as he stomped
across the grounds of Eastmore, spattering mud onto his polished boots.

What maddened him most was that the proposition almost made sense. Not only would it ensure a safe and loving home for Lucy; it would also free him to return to his duties with a clear conscience. But even so, how could he possibly agree to such an arrangement?

He shook his head. Miss Barrett’s price was far too steep. He could not accept her offer.

Not even for Lucy’s sake.

He snapped a twig from a branch and absently broke it in half as the image of his infant daughter took his mind captive. Haunting—her eyes were haunting. Pure and innocent, the child represented everything he had wanted to protect in her mother . . . but failed.

The insistent wind from the moors nipped and bit. The unread letter in his pocket smoldered. He had wanted to be alone when he read his wife’s final words, and he knew of a place where he would not be disturbed.

The cast-iron gate to the Sterling cemetery loomed just beyond the hedge of holly bushes. Even as a child, he had hated entering those gates. Ghosts seemed to linger behind every tree, and memories crept amongst the gravestones. He hesitated, put a gloved hand on the rusting metal, and pushed. It creaked in protest, but the heavy gate eventually gave way and swung on corroded hinges. Before him, graves of generations of Sterlings stretched out in uneven rows.

To the left, under the protective boughs of ancient English oaks, stood two unfamiliar markers. Gerard Sterling and Harriet Mayes Sterling. His parents.

The site whispered for him to draw closer. The graves were overgrown. Shameful. He would speak with his brother, William,
about it when he returned to the main house. He knelt and pulled a faded, stubborn ivy vine away from his mother’s headstone and traced the carving of her name with his finger.

The span of eighteen years should have dulled his memory of the last time he saw her, but it had not. It had been late autumn then too. He could still feel the heated pressure of her grip on his arm as she clung to him before he left for the sea for the first time. He’d been little more than a child then—only twelve years old. The image of her tearstained face and the sound of her desperate pleas had burned themselves into his mind, never to be forgotten. The memories of his father’s hard expression were equally memorable, but very different, and haunted him with equal fervor.

His father’s decision to send him to sea had grown out of sound logic, regardless of the coldness behind it. Eastmore Hall, by law, would pass entirely to his older brother, so there had been a need for Graham to make his own way in the world, and indeed, he had done well for himself. He had grown to enjoy life at sea and excel at its requirements, achieving the rank of captain at a young age and amassing a small fortune in prize money for capturing both military and merchant vessels. At thirty years of age he had reached a level of success that few men would—and he still had the bulk of his career ahead of him. And now that England was engaged in war against America, his services to the Crown were needed even more.

A rustling nearby interrupted his thoughts. He jerked his head up and scanned the foggy landscape.
Was that a sob?
With silent steps he ducked below low-hanging branches to find the source. He spied the outline of a woman, shrouded in a dark cape, kneeling next to a headstone. The grave seemed fairly fresh. It had to be Katherine’s. But who was the woman?

He battled to hear her voice over the wind.

“I’m so sorry, Katherine.” Emotion broke the woman’s words. “I will not lose hope.”

The wind tugged at her gray woolen cape and pulled the hood free from her head, revealing an abundance of wild golden curls. As she reached up to re-cover her head, she turned. Graham ducked behind the tree, but it was too late. He stared straight into the eyes of Miss Amelia Barrett.

Feeling caught, Graham stepped out from behind the tree
.
She jumped to her feet and swiped her tears with the back of her gloved hand. Her azure eyes glowed in her pale face. Gone was the poise from earlier in the day.

“I’m sorry.” He took a step closer. “I did not see you . . . I mean, I was not aware . . .”

She did not pause for his explanation. She brushed past him so quickly that he barely had time to step out of her path. “Wait, Miss Barrett, please, I—”

But she disappeared through the gate, leaving him alone with the wind and his memories.

He considered chasing after her. If he ran, he could overtake her before she reached Eastmore’s outer walls. But if he caught up with her, what would he say?

Graham looked back to his wife’s final resting place, and the sight of her name carved in stone made him momentarily forget about the woman running from the graveyard.
Katherine.
All these months, he realized, something in him had clung to the hope that it was all a mistake. That the letter was wrong, and his bride still waited for him in their little cottage on the grounds of Eastmore Hall. But now all trace of foolish hope departed. He would never again see Katherine’s contagious smile or feel the warmth of her hand in his. Anger pulsed from his core. He’d always assumed that if one of them were to die, it would be he, so dangerous was his profession. How could a merciful God allow someone so pure to die so young?