The Widow's Christmas Surprise Page 5

  “I have not said I was setting my cap for him, Jane.” Maria smoothed out her pelisse, avoiding her cousin’s eyes.

  “You might as well have done so publicly just now. It was written plainly on your face. Thank goodness I was the only one there to see it.” Her cousin gave a little shudder. “So you must snip any incipient feelings you are fostering for Mr. Granger before they can grow. Prune them now, before they can bloom and land you in yet another unwise marriage.”

  Opening her mouth to defend her feelings—even if she didn’t quite know what those feelings were—Maria drew in a breath, then shut her mouth, her words unspoken. Perhaps Jane was right. She hadn’t known Alan at all when she’d allowed him to seduce her and worm his way into her bed. Neither did she know very much about Mr. Granger, although at her innermost core she was certain he was not the cad Alan had been. Still, it would be prudent to wait, to learn more about Mr. Granger, both from him and from others, before allowing herself to even consider any sort of alliance.

  Much as she regretted it, she must make Jane’s advice about providing for herself and her child of paramount importance when deciding anything to do with her future. Mr. Granger would remain at the estate and Maria could not only observe his behavior, but could engage him in conversation and discover any potential prospects he might have. She wasn’t ready to give up on the kind steward so soon. Especially not when he stirred her in a way no one had since she’d married William.

  The carriage arrived back in front of Kersey Hall, and Jane and Maria preceded Mr. Granger into the entryway. As two footmen assisted them in removing their outer garments, Chambers hurried forward, a silver salver in his hands.

  “My lady, my lady.” He bowed to them both. “Mr. Granger, this arrived for you about a half hour ago. I would have sent it out to the dower house, but I wasn’t sure how important it was.”

  Mr. Granger frowned as he gazed at the square of foolscap, folded and sealed, though the latter lay crooked across the paper. “It is from my younger sister. She has written the direction almost illegibly, which is not her usual way.” A frown furrowed his brow as he popped the seal off, unfolded the missive and began to read. “I hope all is all right at home.”

  “Thank you, Chambers.” Maria nodded to the butler. “John, Martin, that will be all.” The footmen took her and Jane’s outer wraps and left. “Please bring a pot of tea to the drawing room, Chambers.” She wanted to get the servants out of the entry hall as quickly as possible, for Mr. Granger’s face, though it had not so much as twitched as he read the letter, had grown alarmingly pale. “Mr. Granger, will you have some tea with Lady John and me?”

  Jane shot her a glance and nodded.

  “Mr. Granger.” Fearing the worst, Maria carefully placed her hand on his arm. Anyone deserved comfort at a time of such great distress. “Has something happened?”

  He looked up at that, his lips drawn into a thin line, his entire body taut as if steeled for a blow. “I beg your pardon, my lady, but I must leave at once.”

  “Leave?” Maria and Jane echoed the word at once.

  “What has happened, Mr. Granger?” Maria gripped his arm, as much for his comfort as to steady herself for whatever blow must have fallen.

  His countenance remained immobile, though his lips trembled slightly. “My sister writes that our elder brother with whom she resides has met with a terrible accident.” Once more the crystal-blue eyes locked onto hers. “They fear the wound is mortal and . . .” Glancing away, he straightened his shoulders, regained his composure, and stepped away from Maria. “I take my leave of you, Lady Kersey. I regret that I must leave you with the work of the estates at such a time, but I dare not delay even an hour.” He tore a slip from his sister’s letter and scribbled words upon it. “If you are in dire need, write to me here, at my family home in Lavenham, Suffolk. I will try to advise you from there.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Granger.” Maria raised her chin. She would ease his burden of leaving as best she could. “Do not worry about the estate. With my cousin’s help, I can assume much of the day-to-day management. But I will write to you if the new Lord Kersey is found.” She grasped his hand again, willing her warmth into his cold flesh. “I will pray each day for your brother’s recovery.”

  With a nod to her and Jane, Mr. Granger withdrew his hand, turned on his heel, and strode back through the entry hall. A moment later the front door boomed and a sudden silence descended on Kersey Hall.

  Chapter Four

  The distance between Kersey Hall and Hugh’s family’s home, some two miles beyond the wool town of Lavenham, was not great. Still, he feared it would be too much to allow him to arrive at The Grange in time to bid his brother goodbye. Despite the gathering shadows of the late afternoon, he urged Galahad to greater speed, the melancholy refrain of “what on earth had happened to Christopher” running through his head.

  His sister had written the barest minimum of words before sending the cryptic message, the words seared into his brain.

  Hugh, Come home at once. Christopher has been shot. God alone knows if he will live. The doctor has been fetched. I need you now, Brother.

  Arabella

  Poor Bella. To have been home completely alone, save for the servants, when this tragedy occurred must have been devastating to her. For that, if for nothing else, he blamed himself. He’d been amenable for Bella to have a companion this year, to help dispel some of her painful shyness during the few social occasions she managed to attend. But Kit had insisted that their sister’s lady’s maid was perfectly capable of seeing her through any party without the need of another mouth to feed.

  His brother acted as though their coffers were bare, although that was hardly the case. Hugh had gone over the books with The Grange’s steward last quarter and it had been correct down to the last ha’penny. No money was missing and the crops had done well last year, despite the cold summer. This was cause for rejoicing, not for fighting. His first thought had been a hunting accident, which did happen out in the woods from time to time. Then the memory of Lord Kersey had sent Hugh down the pathway leading to a duel as the explanation for the injury. Still, what could have provoked a duel? Certainly not a woman, as had been his lordship’s case. Kit had written a month or more ago that he was about to become betrothed to Margaret Westgate, daughter of a prosperous gentleman farmer, much as Kit was himself, but recently come to the neighborhood. He’d been taken with Miss Westgate more than a little, for his letters to Hugh had bordered on the boring as they recounted every moment he’d been in the lady’s company. So a jealous husband couldn’t be the problem. Had Kit offended someone? That seemed very odd behavior for his mild-mannered brother, but stranger things had happened. Perhaps someone had insulted Miss Westgate and Kit had taken it upon himself to defend her honor.

  Hugh shook his head as he and Galahad flashed through the village of Lavenham. Only a couple more miles and his conjectures would be at an end. He leaned forward and spoke in Galahad’s ear. “Come on, boy. Give me that last spurt of speed and you’ll have oats enough and all the hay you could want.”

  The horse seemed to understand, for he miraculously picked up the pace to a gallop, leaving the half-timbered Tudor houses behind in a flurry of yellow and brown leaves. In what seemed like moments, they sailed through the stone gateposts, huge figures of wolfhounds guarding the entrance to the estate. Hugh pulled Galahad down to a canter as they neared the circular driveway, and to a trot as they turned onto the crushed gravel. Fred, the head groom, stood waiting for him.

  “Praise God you’re home, Mr. Granger.” The stocky man had Galahad’s bridle in his hands before the horse had quite stopped.

  “Thank you, Fred.” Hugh jumped down from the saddle, tossed the reins to the groom and took the steps two at a time. He came to a full stop at the front door, knowing he must enter, but dreading what he would find just inside. Clenching his jaw, he knocked.

  The door jerked open revealing Littles, the family’s usually unflappable
butler, looking harried for the first time ever and much older than Hugh remembered, with lips drawn in and shoulders stooped.

  “So good to have you home, Mr. Granger. Come with me, please. Miss Granger is waiting for you in your brother’s bedchamber.” Littles moved quickly toward the stairs.

  “Is my brother still alive?”

  The butler stopped on the first step and turned toward Hugh. “He was when I came down to await you, sir.” He closed his eyes and winced. “I cannot say if he yet lives.”

  Hugh bounded past the servant, taking the steps two at a time until he reached the landing on the first floor. He raced down the left-hand corridor to the suite of rooms at the far end where he stopped, a sudden dread settling over his heart. When he opened this door he might find his life had changed irrevocably. Grasping the door handle, the polished metal cold on his palm, Hugh sent up a prayer for his brother’s life and opened the door.

  It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior. Someone had drawn the curtains but neglected to light more than one candle. The single flame sat high atop the chest-on-chest to the side of the massive four-poster bed, flickering in some unseen draft and casting lurid shadows throughout the room. In the middle of the bed lay Kit, eyes closed, a stark white bandage wound around his head and jaw.

  Holding his breath, Hugh crept forward, trying to divine whether or not his brother still breathed. As he neared the foot of the tall bed, a low, keening sound rose from somewhere to his left.

  Hunched over in one of the Queen Anne chairs, Arabella sat with her head pressed to the burgundy spread that covered Kit. Her dark hair had blended into the coverlet in the uncertain light, so he’d not noticed her at first.

  “Bella.”

  With a gasp she darted up. “Kit?” She leaned over the prone figure, searching his face.

  “No, Bella.” Hugh strode around the bed. “It’s me.”

  She jerked her head around, her face lighting up as recognition dawned. “Hugh!” Launching herself into his arms, she burst into tears. “Hugh. Oh, Hugh, I am so very glad to see you.”

  “Shhh. I came the very moment I received your letter.” He moved her away from him and fished his handkerchief out of his pocket. “Here. Dry your eyes.” Dread mounting, he turned his gaze toward the still figure that had not moved despite their sister’s outburst. “Is he gone, then?”

  Wiping the tears from her cheeks, Bella shook her head. “No. At least I don’t think so. Look.” She pointed to the covers over Kit’s chest, rising ever so slightly, like a bellows that worked badly. “But Mr. Preston said he cannot live much longer.” Her tears began again, flowing down her cheeks in shiny streams. “The wound is mortal.”

  “Dear God.” Pulling his sister back to his chest, he wrapped his arms around her slim body, now shaking with grief. His own anguish burned like a roaring fire, sweeping through him until his chest tightened, ready to explode with unshed tears. The older brother he’d always adored lay dying and there was apparently nothing he could do to save him. He swallowed hard against the bile that crept up his throat, forcing it down, keeping the tears at bay. His sister needed him to be strong. He could not fail her in that. Clearing his throat, Hugh breathed deeply, steeling himself. “What happened?”

  “Miss Westgate.” Bella’s sobs muffled her voice.

  Hugh’s breath caught. Had a duel indeed been the cause of his brother’s demise? “What about Miss Westgate?”

  Bella raised her head, mopping her streaming eyes with the already sodden handkerchief. “Yesterday morning, Kit rode over to visit the Westgates. He didn’t tell me what he was about, but he was all smiles at breakfast. Quite excited. But he was always that way when he visited Margaret.” She glanced at the still figure and sighed. “He absolutely adored her, you know? Whenever he came back from a visit he would talk about her for hours.”

  Hugh nodded. His brother’s letters to him, infrequent though they were, had been filled with all kinds of little details about his visits to Miss Westgate.

  “She must have known of his deep regard for her. I mean, she’s not a stupid person, from what I know of her.” Bella’s voice had grown cold, making Hugh glance sharply at her.

  “What do you mean?”

  Frowning, Bella shook him off and stared into his face, her blue eyes rimmed in red and snapping with anger. “She must have known he loved her, Hugh. Anyone could see it. Kit could never mask his feelings about anything.”

  “Well, that is true enough.” Hugh had always teased his brother that he wore his heart upon his sleeve. “So what did he do?”

  “He asked her to marry him, of course.”

  An icy chill raced down Hugh’s spine. “And?”

  “She refused him.” Anger twisted Bella’s beautiful face, giving her a grotesque look, like the mythical Gorgon Medusa. Indeed, had Miss Westgate been present she might very well have been turned to stone. “She thanked him and told him, of course, that she understood the honor he bestowed upon her, but that sadly she must decline his offer.” Bella’s frown deepened even more. “Wretched girl.”

  “But surely Kit must know he should try again.” He glanced at the form on the bed. “I have been given to understand that a woman may refuse a proposal one day and accept one the next.”

  “Not Miss Westgate.” Bella followed Hugh’s gaze to their brother. “When he arrived back home, there was a huge commotion at the front door. I was practicing at the pianoforte but the great noise drew me down the stairs. Kit was shouting, Hugh. Shouting at the servants.” She turned back to him, fixing her stare on his face. “Shouting at Littles to bring him a bottle of brandy.”

  Her words staggered him. In his lifetime, Hugh had never heard Kit raise his voice to anyone. That he would do so to his servants, and especially to the butler who had been his staunchest advocate Kit’s whole life, was almost beyond belief. The fact that his brother had demanded spirits was also so much out of his normal character as to make Hugh believe Kit had lost his reason. “What happened then?”

  “Littles went off to get the brandy and I was so amazed at the scene I’d just witnessed, I stumbled on the steps. He looked up at me and his eyes were so cold, Hugh.” Bella hugged herself and shivered. “Then he snapped at me. ‘What do you want?’ I scarcely knew what to think. It was like a stranger stood before me. I asked what had happened and he told me Miss Westgate had refused his proposal. She said she had come to an understanding with Mr. Fairchild, although only her family had known of it. And she was sorry if his hopes had been raised, but she had tried subtly to make him understand her circumstances.”

  Hugh raised his gaze to his brother’s still form. Poor Kit. Such a betrayal from a woman he’d convinced himself he loved must have been devastating.

  “When Littles brought the brandy, Kit locked himself in the library for hours, drinking, I’m sure.” Putting a hand over her eyes, Bella sobbed again. “I should have sent for you then, Hugh. You could have talked to him, one man to another. Made him see this was not the end of the world.”

  “That is not your fault, my dear. He was so distraught I doubt there would have been anything I could do to persuade him. . . .” Hugh frowned, the horrific truth of the situation finally dawning on him. “Dear God. He shot himself, didn’t he?”

  Nodding and crying, Bella covered her face with the handkerchief.

  Dumbfounded, Hugh cringed at the very thought. How could his brother have done such a horrible thing? From childhood they had always gone to church. His brother must have known it was a mortal sin to take his own life. How could his despair have become so egregious? Hugh paced to the end of the bed and back, worries about Bella’s future suddenly taking precedence over his grief for his brother.

  If Kit actually died of such a wound, it could have profoundly disastrous effects on their sister, and on Hugh himself as well. The former Lord Kersey had confided in Hugh, not long after he’d come to work for the gentleman, that a friend of his, Lord Ainsworth, had hanged himself
after losing twenty thousand pounds gaming. Contrary to the usual leniency in such appalling deaths, instead of giving a verdict of lunacy or melancholia, the courts had ruled his demise a true suicide—felo-de-se—and the family had, by law, forfeited all their property to the Crown.

  Hugh stared at his brother, a chill running through his body. Surely the circumstances of Kit’s desperate act would be seen as the work of an unhinged mind. If not, he and Bella stood to lose not only their brother, but their entire way of life. Their home and stables, the money set aside for Bella’s dowry, the modest but precious family jewels, indeed all manner of income save Hugh’s salary at Kersey Hall would be taken from them. And there was little Hugh could do to mitigate the circumstances. “Where is Mr. Preston?”

  “He was called to the home of a woman in town who has terrible pains in her head.”

  Hugh needed to speak with the man, the surgeon who served Lavenham and its environs, as soon as possible. “I’ll have Littles send to him immediately. I want him to tell me everything about Kit’s wound. Perhaps there is some indication that it was an accident.”

  Shaking her head, Bella picked up her blue shawl that had slipped to the floor beside her chair. “Mr. Preston said Kit had placed the pistol to his head, here”—she indicated her right temple—“and held it there for quite some time. There was a little round indentation there.” She drew a shuddering breath. “But Mr. Preston thinks at the last moment the pistol slipped and that’s why the bullet entered at his jaw. That’s why he lives still. But . . .” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “There was so much blood, Hugh. I ordered the footmen to roll up the carpet and burn it.”