Apparently oblivious to the edge in his voice, Almeria went on to enumerate all the eligible men of rank and fortune who might reasonably be expected to have a chance of securing the daughter of an influential viscount. ‘For you know, she will arrive in town this afternoon, and I must be prepared,’ she said.
Again an odd flicker. This time of interest. Aberfield House was just across Grosvenor Square. Perhaps Thea would call. It would be good to see her again …
Aberfield House had not changed in the slightest in the eight years since Thea had seen it. Carnely the butler had a few more wrinkles, but otherwise she might have been stepping back in time. Thea checked her appearance in a pier glass in the hall as David knocked on the door of the library, reflecting on the futility of this even as she straightened her bonnet and tried to tuck a curl back into it. She was tired and travel stained, dusty from the journey. She wished that she could have gone to Arnsworth House first to change and wash, but apparently her father insisted on seeing her first. Perhaps it was better to get it over and done with. Besides, Lord Aberfield would find fault with her appearance, or, failing that, with her very existence no matter what she did. Grimly she reminded herself that even if Aberfield House had not altered, she had. The despairing young girl who had left here eight years earlier was gone.
David’s light knock on the door was answered by a loud injunction to enter. She did so, reminding herself to keep her face blank, her eyes downcast.
A swift glance located Lord Aberfield seated before the fire, one foot heavily bandaged, resting on a footstool. Thea uttered a mental curse: gout. He’d be in a foul mood.
David escorted her over to a chair. He smiled at her and cast a warning sort of glance at their father.
‘Good afternoon, sir.’
Aberfield shot a glare at David. ‘Took your damn time, didn’t you?’
David looked amused. ‘Next time I’ll arrange winged horses, sir.’
Aberfield scowled and turned his gaze to Thea. ‘Sit down. Hurry up. I’ve not got all day to waste on this. As for you, sirrah—’ he turned to his son ‘—you may wait outside to take her over to Almeria Arnsworth. You’ve no more to do here.’
‘I think not, sir,’ said David calmly. ‘I’ll stay.’ Grey eyes snapped fire.
‘The devil you will,’ said Aberfield. ‘You’ve interfered quite enough. Writing your lying letters.’
A satisfied look of understanding came into David’s face. ‘So that’s it. He did receive my letters before he died!’
‘Out.’ The softness of Aberfield’s voice did not disguise his fury.
‘Go to hell, sir.’
Thea blinked as she sat down. David’s tones were as polite as they had been when he bid their father good day, and she didn’t understand in the least what they were talking about. To whom had David written and what did it have to do with her coming to London?
Unable to quell his only son and heir’s outright defiance, Aberfield snapped his attention back to Thea. ‘Get that mealy mouthed look off your face,’ he shot at her. ‘You don’t fool me, girl. I know what you—’
‘Enough!’ said David sharply.
Aberfield’s eyes bulged, but he said only, ‘Suppose he’s told you already why I sent for you? Eh? Interfering cub!’
‘No,’ said Thea.
‘No?’ His colour rose. ‘If I say he’s an interfering—’
‘I’ve no idea why you sent for me,’ she interrupted him.
‘Don’t speak over me!’ he snarled. ‘Surrounded by worthless fools!’ He caught David’s eye and took a deep breath, evidently attempting to control himself. He continued in bitter tones, ‘Well, he’ll have told you that you are to go to Almeria Arnsworth for the Season?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, sir, but I don’t understand why.’
He snorted. ‘Aye. And well you might not! God knows what I did to be saddled with you!’ He caught David’s eye again and said, ‘Everything’s different now.’ He swept up a sheaf of papers from a wine table beside him and thrust them at her. ‘Read those—if you can! What a damned mess! Thought I’d made things plain to the fool; but a few fairy tales, spun by—’
‘I did what I thought right, sir,’ said David.
An extraordinary noise burst from Aberfield, but he controlled himself and said to Thea, ‘David must needs meddle, blast his eyes! I’ve no choice; but by God, if you’re to marry, you’ll marry as I say!’
Again she met David’s eyes. This time he shook his head, his expression faintly apologetic.
‘Read them, Thea,’ he said gently.
What had he done?
Leaning forward, Thea took the papers from her father, forcing her expression to utter stillness, her hands to steadiness, despite the shaking of her insides.
The first paper was straightforward enough—a letter from a firm of London solicitors, assuring Lord Aberfield of their humble duty and informing him that it was their sad task to apprise him of the death in Bombay, some months earlier, of his brother-in-law, Theodore James Kirkcudbright. Thea bit her lip. Uncle Theo had been her godfather. She had been his heiress. Once.
She continued reading. The lawyers drew Lord Aberfield’s attention to the enclosed copy of Mr Kirkcudbright’s Last Will and Testament, which they believed to be rather different from the previous one. There were also two letters from the late Mr Kirkcudbright: one to his esteemed brother-in-law, the fifth Viscount Aberfield, and one to his goddaughter, Dorothea Sophie Winslow, only daughter of the said Viscount Aberfield. They believed the letters would sufficiently explicate Mr Kirkcudbright’s intentions and remained his humble servants, et cetera, et cetera.
Puzzled, Thea turned to the letter addressed to herself. Her godfather had not written to her in several years … not since he had written to express his shame and disappointment in her.
My dear Dorothea,
I shall be dead and buried before you read this, and can only pray that your brother has not been misled by his Partiality into overstating your comparative Innocence in the Affair your father related to me several years ago. You will understand that in reinstating you in my Will I have placed the strictest controls upon your inheritance, so that you are not placed in the road of Temptation again. It is not my intention to reward any Transgression, but to show my Good Faith, and give you the opportunity to redress the situation by making a good marriage.
I remain your affectionate godfather and uncle,
Theodore Kirkcudbright
David had persuaded him to reinstate her.
Her stomach churning, she turned to the letter addressed to her father—then hesitated. ‘This one is addressed to you, sir—’
‘Read the lot!’ he said savagely. ‘Damn fool! I told him! Warned him what you were—and he does this!’
Sick and shaking, Thea looked at the letter to her father. And frowned. She was to have two hundred a year? From her twenty-fifth to thirtieth birthday, unless she married with her father’s approval in the meantime, after which she would have the rest of the income … that Mr Kirkcudbright understood from his nephew that not all the blame could attach to Thea … that Aberfield’s foolish attitude … She risked a glance at her father over the letter. No wonder he looked apoplectic.
Her world spun and reshaped itself. Two hundred a year—her twenty-fifth birthday was less than three months away … she would be free. Independent. What happened after her thirtieth birthday?
She turned to the will. Apart from various minor