Page 23 of A Stroke of Luck
“Oh, well, as to that …” She exchanged an uneasy glance with her grandson before pasting on a bright smile. “Knowing the sort of company and activities a gentleman of your refined tastes is used to in Town, we feared you might find it much too dull here in the country. Alas, Highwood Manor is too small to play host to a proper house party. So, I took the liberty of writing to one of your close acquaintances, who happens to own a large estate close by, suggesting that a gathering of your friends might be a welcome distraction. After all, the Season is almost at an end.”
“Which friend?”
Her smile became more pronounced. “Lord Ellesmore.”
Prestwick’s fingers tightened upon the glass. Good Lord, this journey was fast becoming more hideous than a descent through Dante’s twelve circles of hell. His relative was always looking to further her own consequence, and that of her grandson, by using the family connection to a duke to gain admittance into the highest circles of the ton. But this was outside of enough. He had not imagined even she would have the audacity to try to ingratiate herself with such a notorious high stickler as the Marquess of Ellesmore.
Apparently, he had underestimated her gall, he thought to himself. It was clear that she had gotten wind of the on dits flying about Town linking him with the eldest daughter and was looking to squeeze whatever advantage from it she could.
“You really should not have gone to the trouble,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Oh, no trouble at all, Prestwick,” assured Harold, missing the thinly veiled sarcasm in the duke’s voice. He gave a knowing wink. “No doubt you would not wish to be away from the lovely Lady Catherine for too long a time, eh?”
Prestwick’s features hardened at the show of unwelcome familiarity. He put down his drink and straightened to his full height before fixing the young man with his most freezing look. “I cannot imagine why you presume that, cousin.”
“I-I thought … this is, I was under the impression …” stuttered the young man, his expression becoming far less certain under the duke’s cold gaze. “Er, perhaps I was mistaken.”
Without answering, Prestwick made a show of adjusting the set of his freshly starched cuff. His great aunt’s mistake, he vowed to himself, was in thinking he could be twisted around her little fingers like a piece of limp linen. In the past, he had tolerated the encroaching behavior of his relatives out of a sense of duty—and, if truth be told, because it had been easier to allow himself to be manipulated into allowing the occasional favor than to face an unpleasant scene. However, it suddenly bothered him greatly that they assumed he was too much of a coward to resist their machinations.
His fingers then moved to the single fob hanging from his watch chain, deliberately lingering over the ducal crest engraved upon its surface. “I applaud your discretion in putting off any sort of party here at Highwood, Aunt Hermione,” he said softly. “At least until the legalities have been sorted out.”
“B—but surely you cannot think we are in any danger of losing this all to a mere nobody?” Lady Farrington’s voice was shrill enough to set the Staffordshire figurines on the side table to rattling.
“We shall just have to wait and see, won’t we?”
“Straighten your jacket, Nonny.”Zara ran a critical eye over her brothers. ”And Perry, wipe the smudge of dirt from your cheek.”
There was little she could do about the threadbare state of their attire, or the battered appearance of the hired cart that was slowly wending its way up the curved drive. However, she could ensure that the three of them approached the coming meeting with their chins up. Not, she reminded herself as she smoothed a crease from her faded muslin skirts, that first impressions would matter much. They were hardly going to be afforded a warm welcome—unless one counted the rather pointed hints contained in the last letter that suggested the three of them go straight to hell.
The much-folded paper crackled in her pocket. Her relatives had made it clear through their solicitors that they would rather see her and her brothers go to the devil than allow them to set foot on the disputed estate. However, after much prodding, her father’s solicitor had admitted that Nonny had just as much right as they had to take up residence there until the dispute over the legitimacy of her father and mother’s marriage lines had been settled. Mr. Behan had gone on to advise her against such confrontation. Indeed, he had hinted that her only hope of ending up with so much as a penny was to accept the offer of a compromise.
Ha!And hell might freeze over! She and her brothers had come too far and endured too many hardships to be intimidated by power and privilege. If their rightful expectations were to be sunk upon the treacherous shoals of Society’s intrigue andinnuendo, she was determined not go down without putting up a good fight.
“Here you be.” The driver was already urging the horse into a shuffling walk as her half boot touched the graveled drive.
Zara paused no more than a fraction before marching up the steps and taking hold of the polished brass knocker.
The echoing raps died away into a lengthy silence.
“Er, perhaps no one is at home,” said Nonny, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another.
“Oh, they are home.” She hammered out another flurry of knocks.
“What if they won’t open the door?” Perry was staring at the thick oak paneling with some trepidation.
Seeing the uncertainty in their eyes caused her to push aside her own inner doubts. Her family had been adrift for far too long. Come hell or high water, she refused to be denied the safe harbor that was theirs by all rights. “Then we shall go in by the windows,” she said loudly. “Like we did on Genoa, when the innkeeper tried to lock us out of the room we had paid for.”
“Right.” Bucked up by her show of spirit, Nonny straightened his sagging shoulders. “That vine of wisteria looks able to hold my weight?—”
Resorting to such extreme measures proved unnecessary as the hinges swung open with a sharp grating of metal on metal.
“Yes?” The butler’s voice was just as rough-edged.
“The new Baron Kenworth has arrived.”
Before the man could recover from his obvious shock, she elbowed her way past him.
“B-but …”
