The American Heir
The Estate of Brideswell Abbey
June, 1925
“I don’t care about scandal, Nigel.” Lady Julia Hazelton marched up to the desk in the study of her brother, the Duke of Langford, and set her palms on the smooth oak edge. “These women lost their husbands to war and now there is nothing for them. If they have farms or stores or homes, they are being turned out of them, despite having children to feed and clothe. I can help them. What do you think I will do? Do you really think I’ll be inspired, after spending time with a fallen woman, to stand outside the village public house, plying the trade?”
“Good God, Julia!” Her brother, startlingly handsome with raven-black hair and brilliant blue eyes, jolted in his chair. Fortunately he had a secure grip on the very precious bundle he held. Nigel wore his tweeds, but a lacy blanket hung over his shoulder. Napping on his shoulder was his eleven-month-old son, holding his father’s strong hands.
Nigel blushed scarlet. “The fact you know so much about such things speaks for itself.”
“I thought Zoe finally cured you of your stuffiness, Nigel,” Julia said.
Zoe was her brother’s American bride, the “American Duchess” famous in the British newspapers—once famous for her wild style of living, now famous for her brilliance in investing and in turning Brideswell into the most modern yet beautiful house in England.
Cradling his son, Nigel said, “Julia, I agree that the plight of the war widows is terrible. But the responsibility for it doesn’t rest on your shoulders. You have been loaning money to them out of your pin money—”
“What I am supposed to do? Simply pretend I don’t see the women who look as if they’ve lost their souls, because they are hoping some man gives them a few pennies to—to poke at them?”
“Julia! Where, for the love of God, did you learn expressions like that?”
“Nigel, there was a war on. I’m afraid that one of the casualties of war is innocence. You were there. You know how brave those men were, and how wrong it is that they are dead.”
“I know that. As a result, Zoe and I have given to many charities—”
“But once these women sell themselves, they don’t go to charities for help. Some of these women were left alone, with babies even younger than Nicholas. I would go to terrible lengths if my child was starving.”
“Yes, but—”
“These women do not have a choice. With money, they would!”
“Yes, but—”
“Many of them have skills—they have run households and farms.”
“Yes, but—”
“They could start businesses. They could better themselves. They could give futures to their children.”
This time her brother didn’t bother with a yes, but.
“Julia, this work is not helping your marriage prospects.”
“Oh, that’s what you all are worried about.”
Now that Zoe and Nigel were married and Julia’s dowry was restored—from the investments made from Zoe’s fortune—her brother, her mother and her grandmother wanted to see her wed.
“I’ve lost two men that I loved, Nigel. I lost Anthony to the Battle of the Somme. And Dougal to the idiocy of our class system. Frankly, I’ve given up on getting married.”
Nigel shifted his son in his arms. “Don’t, Julia.”
“Well, I have.” Julia crossed her arms over her chest defiantly. “But I can still do something worthwhile. I have the power to help these women. No bank would loan them money. But—”
She knew people thought her to be a cool, controlled, reserved English lady, but there were times when her heart hammered passionately and she was willing to fight to the ends of the earth if she had to. Two years ago, accompanied by her American sister-in-law, Zoe, Julia had begun to be daring. She had put mourning behind her and taken risks, only to have her heart broken again, this time by the brilliant Dr. Dougal Campbell, who believed they could never bridge the divide between their positions. She’d retreated back into the world she knew. She’d hidden all her emotion behind ladylike behavior.
Until now. Last week, she had seen a woman named Ellen Lambert struck by a brute of a man on the village street. The man had run when Julia approached, waving her umbrella and shouting for help. She’d learned Ellen’s story and Julia had seen, with horror, how insulated her life had been.
“But?” Nigel prompted.
“But I would. I want a loan against my dowry, Nigel. I can use that to provide money to widows like Ellen Lambert of the village. They can pay it back over a reasonable time and with a reasonable interest.”
“Julia, your dowry is there—”
“To bribe men to marry me.”
“That is not true. For a start, no man would need a bribe to propose to you.”
“Really? No gentleman looked at me twice when the estate was close to bankruptcy and I didn’t have the dowry.”
Nicholas stirred. Nigel ran his large hand over the baby’s small back, gently soothing. “That had nothing to do with it. Everyone knew you were still grieving Anthony and you weren’t ready to move on.”
Oh, how Julia’s heart gave a pang as her brother stroked his son. Without marriage, she would never have such a moment with a child of her own.
Was it worth marrying a man she didn’t love to have a child she could love?
Once she would have emphatically said no. Now, with adorable baby Nicholas in the house, a strange madness would sometimes overtake her. She had to fight the dangerous idea that marriage without love could somehow work. She knew it didn’t. She knew that from living with unhappily married parents.
And she didn’t believe she could ever fall in love again. She had been in love twice—she’d lost Anthony to war, and Dr. Campbell when he’d left her to go to the London Hospital. Her heart had been broken twice. She didn’t think she could survive a third time.
Nigel looked up from his infant son. “Julia, promise you will not give up on the idea of marriage.”
“Nigel, I—” She broke off. Suspicion grew at the hopeful look in her brother’s blue eyes. “Oh no. Say you didn’t—”
“Did not what?” he asked innocently.
“You didn’t invite a prospective husband to the house...again?”
“No, no. We are dining at Worthington Park tonight. But a friend of mine is going to be there. A friend from Oxford. An admirable chap. He’s now the Earl of Summerhay.”
“Nigel, I am not exactly out of love with Dougal yet.” She had just received a rather devastating letter from Dougal, but this would give her an excuse. “I am definitely not ready to fall in love with anyone else.” That was certainly true. She didn’t even think it could ever be possible.
Her brother lifted an autocratic brow. “Dr. Campbell did a sensible thing. You couldn’t be a doctor’s wife. You should be running a house like Brideswell.”
“I think I would have been very happy as a doctor’s wife.” True, but it was pointless now, wasn’t it? “But Dougal believed we could not circumvent the difference in our social positions.” In fact, like her brother, Dougal thought she needed a grand estate and a title. “Grandmama and Mother worked at Dougal until he went away to London. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if Grandmama paid a gamekeeper to escort Dougal to the train station with a rifle at his back.”
“She wants you to be happy.”