The Inheritance (7 page)

“You aren’t a proper escort, let alone an eligible suitor, for my daughter. I’ll thank you not to come here again.”

“Charles!” Priss exclaimed.

“Papa!” Roanna cried.

“Oh, no, Charles,” Daisy said. “You can’t mean
such a thing. I won’t believe you would hold the boy’s birth against him.”

The earl turned flinty eyes on the duchess. “Where my daughter is concerned, I’ll do what I must.”

When Colin turned to Roanna, his face was bleached white. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Lady Roanna.” He bowed formally to her before turning to Priss. “And you, Lady Rotherham.” He bowed again before turning to the earl, who got nothing faintly resembling a bow. “No one tells me where I can or can’t go. Good day, sir.”

A moment later he was gone from the drawing room. They could hear his hurried footsteps on the tiles in the hallway.

Daisy turned on the earl the instant Colin was gone. “How could you do such a thing! I would never have brought Colin here if I’d thought he would have to endure such an insult. I thought you were a better man, Charles.”

“A bastard, even the bastard son of a duke, isn’t what I have in mind for my daughter,” Charles said.

“He isn’t here to propose,” Daisy said in disgust. “He only came to keep me company. And so long as he’s unwelcome here, I won’t be darkening your doorstep. Don’t bother coming for dinner, either. You won’t be welcome!”

Daisy turned to her friend. “I’m sorry, Priss.”

“Daisy, don’t go like this!” Priss pleaded. She turned her eyes to her husband. “Oh, Charles. Please change your mind. Please.”

For a moment Daisy thought Priss might sway the earl. But he turned to Daisy and said, “We all do what we have to do, Your Grace.” He bowed, a gesture with not the least bit of condescension in it.

Daisy felt the tears welling in her eyes and fought them back. “Good-bye, Priss.”

Priss held herself aloof from both Daisy and the earl. “I won’t say good-bye, Daisy. Only
au revoir
. Charles will come to his senses. I’ll send a note when he does.”

Daisy wanted to laugh at the look of chagrin on the earl’s face at his young wife’s pronouncement. Daisy hugged Roanna and left the drawing room.

She hurried downstairs, anxious to speak with Colin, to apologize for putting him in such an uncomfortable situation. She found the young American already mounted and holding the reins of her horse.

“Do you need help mounting?” he asked.

Daisy accepted the assistance of the groom who stood waiting nearby. When she was settled she accepted the reins from Colin. “I’m sorry, Colin. Let’s go home.”

“Severn Manor isn’t home to me,” Colin said. “And the sooner I see the backside of this place, the better.”

“The earl will mellow. Give him time.”

Colin looked at her with blue eyes that reminded her of his father, cold and ruthless. “I don’t need his approval to see Lady Roanna.”

“Oh, but you do,” Daisy cautioned. “There are rules about that sort of thing in England.”

“I’m not an Englishman,” Colin reminded her.

“No,” Daisy said, “I suppose you’re not.” But he might become one if Daisy married the duke and father and son remained in England. She could imagine what Nicholas would have to say about a society that rejected his son because of his birth.
Even more to the point, she wondered how the local English gentry were going to greet Nicholas, the prodigal bastard son. Daisy supposed the duke’s case was somewhat different, because he had been born in the parish. And there had never been any proof he was a bastard, only rumors and gossip.

Daisy and Colin rode the rest of the way in silence. Daisy didn’t regret her visit to Priss. The countess had forced her to see she had few alternatives if she hoped to save Severn Manor.

Plainly, she would have to marry His Grace.

Daisy fought the rosy heat that raced to her cheeks as she realized what that would mean. She would have to lie with the duke and allow him to make love to her. Daisy found the thought as frightening as it was thrilling. It would be far safer to ask for a marriage of convenience. But she had no real hope the duke would agree to it.

Ashamed as she was to admit it, maybe marriage to the duke wasn’t going to be such a sacrifice after all.

Nicholas sat behind the Sheraton desk in the library with Phipps on the other side. The solicitor was explaining something about the estate. Nicholas was listening, but he didn’t hear a word Phipps said. His mind was totally occupied with Daisy Windermere, or rather, with memories of their confrontation that morning.

He shouldn’t have kissed her. It had complicated everything. Not that it hadn’t been a gratifying experience. In fact, he couldn’t remember a time when he had been so devastated by a kiss. The feel of her defiant little mouth under his, as it softened and yielded, had aroused him beyond rational thought. He had taken liberties with her that were far from acceptable. But she had been right about one thing. He was no gentleman. He had little use for women, and none at all for ladies.

She had gumption, he would give her that. And grit, too. He would have enjoyed taking her to bed. Not that there was much chance of that happening. He imagined all that spit and fire between the sheets, and his body responded accordingly. He
shifted and leaned forward at the desk, forcing his mind back to what the solicitor was saying.

“So I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to find a buyer for Severn Manor in the immediate future. At least not at a price equal to its worth.”

“What?” Nicholas exclaimed. “After you’ve gotten me here on the pretext of all the wealth to be had from Severn Manor, are you saying I won’t be able to sell this place?”

“Not unless you can make it a more profitable undertaking, Your Grace.”

Nicholas wished he had been paying attention. “Why isn’t it profitable now?”

The look on the solicitor’s face made it plain he had already explained the matter. He tugged at his waistcoat and dutifully began again, speaking more slowly, as though that would aid Nicholas in understanding the problem the second time it was presented to him.

“To be frank,” Phipps said, “competition from American wheat has depressed prices in England. Since your property is planted primarily in wheat, it’s worth less to a potential buyer.”

“So we plant something else,” Nicholas said. “Something worth more on the market.”

“That’s not as easy as it sounds, Your Grace.”

“Why not?”

“You would need the cooperation of your tenants. You would have to supply them with information about planting and tending crops with which they have no prior experience.”

“They’ll do as I say, or they’ll leave,” Nicholas said.

Phipps ran a finger around the buttoned collar at his throat. “Your Grace, if I may be so bold—”

There was a knock on the library door. Daisy entered without waiting for permission. She marched over to stand beside Phipps, her hands laced together in front of her. She looked straight ahead, ignoring Nicholas.

“I’m here, Phipps. Thompson gave me your message when I returned from my ride.”

Nicholas raised a brow and focused a hard gaze on the solicitor. “I thought this was supposed to be a private meeting.”

Phipps ran a finger around his buttoned collar a second time. “Well, Your Grace—”

“Unbutton the damned thing, Phipps, if you’re having trouble breathing.”

Phipps stiffened. “I couldn’t possibly, Your Grace. It wouldn’t be proper.”

“Get on with it then,” Nicholas said irritably. He refused to look at Daisy, even though she drew his eye.

“To be blunt, Your Grace—”

“Sit down, Daisy.”

Nicholas felt a grim satisfaction when her eyes shot to his at the use of her name. She looked lost and vulnerable for an instant, an instant in which he yearned to take her up in his arms and hold her close. The expression in her eyes was gone a moment later, replaced with a look of scorn so contemptuous he felt himself flinch.

Nicholas couldn’t keep his eyes off Daisy as she crossed to the other leather chair in front of the desk and sat down. He knew a great deal of the rigidity in her carriage was due to the whalebone corset she
wore, but that couldn’t account for the regal tilt of her chin or the frost in her green eyes. She perched on the edge of the chair in a different brightly colored gown from the one she had worn that morning, looking like nothing so much as an exotic green and yellow bird about to take flight.

Somehow he knew she wouldn’t flee. Her resolve was evident in the set of her jaw, in the tightly clenched hands in her lap, and in the flash of mutiny in her eyes.

“You may continue, Phipps,” he said.

“As I was saying, Your Grace, you’ll need the cooperation of your tenants to achieve any kind of success in such a monumental undertaking. I mean, to restructure the entire workings of the estate, it’s an almost overwhelming task, and nearly unprecedented, I might add. I asked Her Grace to be here this afternoon because I believe she can be of assistance to you.”

“I don’t want her help,” Nicholas said flatly.

“Good,” Daisy retorted, rising immediately. “Then I’ll excuse myself.”

Phipps rose and blocked Daisy’s path, but he had to keep backing up to avoid coming in contact with her, which would have been an outrageous breach of decorum. “Please, Your Grace, don’t make a hasty decision. Think of the tenants. They’ll be the ones who’ll suffer if His Grace fails. And he surely will, without your help.”

They were halfway to the door when Daisy stopped in her tracks. She kept her hands clasped before her, though she desperately wanted to put them to her temples to stop the pounding in her
head. “Surely you’re exaggerating,” she said to Phipps.

“I’m not,” Phipps replied. “Not at all.”

“I’d like to know what you think she can do that I can’t,” Nicholas snapped. He came around his desk and joined the couple at the center of the Aubusson carpet. “Who’s in charge here, anyway?”

“You are, Your Grace.” Phipps swallowed audibly. “But Her Grace has been managing the estate for the past year, and the tenants have learned to trust her and respect her decisions.

“In short, Her Grace has earned the goodwill of the tenants. To be perfectly frank, they love her, and if I may be so bold, Your Grace, they will do anything for her. Even endure the sort of upheaval this change is bound to cause.”

“Are you saying they wouldn’t obey the current duke as they would the previous duchess?” Nicholas inquired.

“Begging your pardon, Your Grace, you
are
a foreigner.”

“My father grew up in this house. My parents lived here after they were married. I was born in a bedroom upstairs,” Nicholas said in an ominous voice.

Phipps flushed painfully. “But your father banished—”

“Am I the duke here, or not?”

“You are, Your Grace,” Phipps conceded.

“What I believe Phipps is trying to say,” Daisy interceded, “is that your absence has put you in an awkward situation.”

“You’re telling me,” Nicholas muttered.

“Would you excuse us, Phipps,” Daisy said. “I
would like to speak to His Grace privately. We’ll call you when we need you again.”

Phipps looked anxiously from Daisy to the duke and back again. “Are you certain—”

“I’m not going to ravish her, Phipps,” Nicholas snarled. “Now get out of here and leave us alone.”

“Very well, Your Grace.” Phipps showed his disapproval through his icy tone, but he left the room without a backward glance.

“Now, Daisy,” Nicholas said, crossing to the door and leaning against it, crossing one booted ankle over the other, effectively blocking her escape. “What did you want to say to me?”

Daisy turned to face him. “Phipps is right,” she said, getting directly to the point. “You’re going to have difficulty managing the tenants on your own. At least in the near future. I’m willing to help.” Her fingers curled until her knuckles were white. “However, there is a price for my services.”

Nicholas remained in his lazy pose against the door, but he was anything but relaxed. “Oh?” He felt a bitter taste in his mouth. He knew about mercenary women. He was surprised Daisy hadn’t shown her true colors before. He felt more comfortable now that she had taken off her false mask of innocence and vulnerability. She was just another conniving, calculating bitch. Like all the women he had ever known.

His lips curled in contempt. “How much do you want for your … services? A quarter of the estate? Half?”

She had the grace to blush. “I don’t want money.”

He raised a dark brow but said nothing.

“I want you to marry me.”

Nicholas laughed, a harsh, raucous sound.

Daisy hurried to speak before he could refuse her. “It can be a marriage of convenience.” She felt a sharp pang at the loss, and the long years of loneliness, she would suffer if he agreed to a marriage without intimacy. “Even so, our marriage would be an obvious sign to the tenants that I accept you and approve of what you’re doing. We can approach them together as husband and wife, urging them to make the changes necessary for the benefit of everyone.”

“And when I sell Severn Manor and return to America? What then?”