Strangers at Dawn (45 page)

They looked as though he’d just announced a death in the family, so he took the opportunity of saying more. “I’ll tell you what my father told me when I came into some money. The money you are getting represents someone else’s hard work and sacrifice. If you use it frivolously, you dishonor your benefactor.”

“Good Lord!” Martin exclaimed. “You sound just like Sara.”

Max gave them his shark’s smile. “As long as you’ve got that right, Martin, we should deal well together.”

Simon winked broadly at his brother before turning back to Max. “So far,” he said, “all we’ve heard is how our father’s
estate is going to be settled. As head of the family, I have the right to know what provision you’ve made for my sister.”

“Quite right,” said Max, drowning out Sara’s sharp rebuke. “Perhaps Drew, as Sara’s attorney, wouldn’t mind answering that.”

“I have no hesitation in saying,” said Drew, “that Sara is well provided for. Her jointure comprises all the income from the
Courier
and Lord Maxwell’s other business interests. And, of course, the usual widow’s dower, you know, one-third of the income from any lands and properties Lord Maxwell may hold.”

Simon was trying to do sums inside his head, but gave up when he came to infinity. He nodded mutely.

“You don’t seem very impressed, Sara,” said Martin, looking at her curiously.

Sara was savoring her champagne, thinking that she had a lot of living to catch up on, and Max was just the man to help her do it. “I am impressed,” she said. “I’m rich in the things that really matter.” She gave Max a sideways glance. “Money is such a burden. I’m happier now without it. Max taught me that. Besides, it’s not as though I’ll have to take in washing to make ends meet. I’m content.”

Everyone thought this was a huge joke, and their laughter reverberated off the walls. Max was watching Sara with a veiled expression.

She said brightly, “Shall we go into dinner?”

S
ARA ENTERED HER CHAMBER TO LOOK FOR A
shawl, and noticed a copy of the
Courier
on her bedside table. She picked it up and had read only the first paragraph when Max entered. He came to stand behind her and cradled her in his arms.

“I haven’t been alone with my beautiful wife since the lawyers got here,” he said.

She turned in his arms and kissed him. “I know. There
will
be time later when we go to bed.”

His arms tightened when she tried to slip away. “Sara-”

“Yes, Max?”

“Would you still love me if I were a rich man?”

She gave a low throaty chuckle. “Now what has brought this on?”

“Just answer the question.”

She considered for a moment. “As you said yourself, Max, we’re rich in everything that counts. We have our health. We have each other. We have enough to live on comfortably from the
Courier
and my inheritance. And you’re the one who keeps telling me that money doesn’t matter. No. I like you just the way you are.”

He frowned when she pushed out of his arms and began to wander aimlessly around the room, touching first one object then another. She suddenly looked up and smiled. “At least no one can call you a fortune hunter now, Max. I’m worth only a fraction of what I was worth when I got up this morning. Do you know what I think? I think your family is going take
me
for the fortune hunter. Isn’t it ironic?”

He took a step toward her. “My family?” he asked carefully.

“You know, Lord and Lady Lyndhurst, who live in a broken-down castle on the other side of Winchester, and who just happen to be one step away from royalty.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “Actually, they’re two steps away from royalty, and they’re exactly as I described them to you. My father runs the estate and my mother is a great help to him. And I never said Castle Lyndhurst was broken down. In fact, it’s in perfect condition. My mother wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Hands on hips, she said indignantly, “I distinctly remember you saying at the dinner table that your parents lived in a decrepit ruin of a place.”

“And so it is, on the outside. But once you get past the ruined walls, it’s in perfect condition.”

“And you didn’t tell me my fortune wasn’t a patch on yours.”

“Oho! So you’ve finally figured it out. In my circles, my dearest love, it’s not considered polite to boast about one’s wealth. Honestly, Sara, I never gave it a thought. Right from the start, you marked me down as a penniless adventurer, a no-account Corinthian, and that impression was branded on your mind.”

“What’s wrong with being an adventurer? In fact, I was hoping you would teach me to be an adventuress.”

He caught the glint of amusement in her eyes. “And so I shall, my love, so I shall. Beginning right now.”

She shrieked when he made a dive for her. With a great whoop of laughter, he tossed her on the bed. She struggled madly but he soon subdued her.

“How did you figure it out?” he asked.

“Lady Neville taunted me with your great station in life. ‘The Worthes of Lyndhurst,’ she called your family. As though the Carstairs were nothing! Then Bea’s letter today. She said that Lord Lyndhurst’s heir was the most’ eligible bachelor in England, and I should kiss your boots for taking me on. Hah! Don’t you dare laugh at me, Max Worthe! I come from the Carstairs of Longfield, and I’m every bit as good as you. My great-great grandfather, let me tell you-”

He kissed her into silence. Laughing down at her, he said, “My parents are going to love you. You’re not really upset, are you, Sara?”

She fingered his neckcloth. “Well, at first, I was disappointed. I never wanted to marry into the aristocracy. I thought, if Max’s parents are anything like Sir Ivor and Lady Neville, I’ll divorce him.”

“They’re not!” he said, suppressing a shudder.

“Well, of course, they’re not, or you wouldn’t be you.”

That piece of flattery deserved another kiss and he gave it to her.

She smiled up at him, her heart in her eyes, and she murmured, “And because you’re you, you could never disappoint me. Rich or poor, whoever you’ may be, you’re the man for me. I love you, Max Worthe, with my whole heart. In fact-”

“You
adore
me,” said Max, and kissed her again.

Sounds of laughter drifted up the stairwell. A door slammed along the corridor. Someone began to play the piano. Max and Sara did not hear. The world outside themselves had slipped into oblivion.

About the Author

Best-selling, award-winning author Elizabeth Thornton was born and educated in Scotland, and has lived in Canada with her husband for over thirty years. In her time, she has been a teacher, a lay minister in the Presbyterian Church, and is now a full-time writer, a part-time babysitter to her five grandchildren, and dog walker to her two spaniels.

Elizabeth loves hearing from her readers.
Visit her at
www.elizabeththornton.com

Read on for a preview
of Elizabeth Thornton’s next
thrilling historical romance….

ALMOST A PRINCESS

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Chapter 1

December 1816

I
t was moving day for the members of the Ladies’ Library in Soho Square. Their lease had run out, and one of their staunchest supporters, Lady Mary Gerrard, had offered her mansion in the Strand. The house was buzzing as an army of ladies and their helpers set to work to transform their new quarters, room by room, from a palatial residence to a library with lecture rooms, reading rooms, and a bright and airy tearoom.

Lord Caspar Devere stood just inside the marble entrance hall, taking it all in. He was a harshly handsome man, thirtyish, well above average height, with dark hair and gray, gray eyes that, for the moment, were distinctly amused.

He left his hat and gloves on a hall table and wandered into the main salon. Some of the men who were helping the ladies were known to him, and that brought a smile to his lips. Not many gentlemen wanted it known that their wives or sisters were members here.

As the Viscount Latham passed close by, carrying a chair, Caspar called out, “Freddie, where can I find Lady Octavia?”

On seeing Caspar, the viscount registered surprise, quickly followed by amusement. In a stage whisper, he replied, “I won’t tell anyone I saw you here if you don’t tell anyone about me.” Then in a normal voice, “Try next door. That’s where she has set up her headquarters.”

Caspar wandered into another salon, and there she was, the library’s founder and driving force, Lady Octavia Burrel. Dressed all in white in something that closely resembled a toga with a matching turban, she directed her small army as they came to her for their orders. Though there was much coming and going, there was very little confusion.

Caspar was not there to help but to gather information, and when the crush around Lady Octavia thinned, he quickly crossed to her. He was sure of his welcome because he’d known her for as long as he could remember. She and his aunt were close friends.

When she saw him, her chubby face lit up with pleasure. “Lord Caspar,” she said. “This is a surprise! I had no idea you were interested in our cause.”

As Caspar well knew, there was a lot more to the Ladies’ Library than its innocent name implied. The cause to which Lady Octavia referred was improving the lot of women by changing the antiquated marriage and property laws of England. The Library was also involved, so rumor went, in helping runaway wives evade their husbands. In some circles, Lady Octavia and her volunteers were seen as subversives. In the clubs he attended, they were frequently the butt of masculine laughter. But there were others who supported the aims of Lady Octavia and her League of Ladies. His aunt was one of them. He had never given the matter much thought.

“I suppose,” said Lady Octavia, “I have your aunt to thank for sending you to help us?”

He avoided a direct answer. “I left her in Soho Square, directing things there. I’m looking for Miss Mayberry. My aunt told me she might be here.”

“She’s in the pantry. Turn left and go past the green baize door at the end of the hall.”

As
Caspar walked away, lady Octavia’s gaze trailed him. He was easy to look upon, she reflected, this young man who appeared to have everything. His aunt, Lady Sophy Devere, had kept her informed from the day he was born.
As
heir to his father, the Duke of Romsey, wealth, privilege, and position were already his, and it showed, not in arrogance exactly, but in something close to it. But it wasn’t unattractive-just the opposite, especially to women.

There wasn’t a woman born, his aunt said, who could resist Caspar, more’s the pity. It would do him a world of good to taste rejection. Lady Octavia wondered how Lord Caspar had come to meet Jane Mayberry. Jane didn’t go into society.

She frowned when another thought occurred to her: Lord Caspar and his volatile mistress, La Contessa, had recently parted company.

She dithered, debating with herself whether she should go after him, just to make sure that he did not have designs on Jane, when Mrs. Bradley came up and said that she was wanted in the old earl’s library.

This request cleared Lady Octavia’s brain. She was letting her imagination run away with her. The poor man was just trying to help.

He found her in the first room past the green baize door. She hadn’t heard him enter, so he took a moment to study her. She was perched on a chair, on tiptoe, fiddling with crockery on the top shelf of the cupboard. The first thing he noticed was a pair of nicely turned ankles. Unfortunately, they were encased in blue woolen stockings. He should have guessed. He’d made a few enquiries about Jane Mayberry and had learned, among other things, that she was a very clever young woman. Clever women, Lady Octavia and his Aunt Sophy among them, wore blue stockings as a badge of honor, a kind of declaration that their minds were set on higher things. “Bluestocking” was a derogatory term that had been coined to describe such women, and they wore that like a badge of honor, too.

With Caspar, it was silk stockings or he wasn’t interested.

Her fine woolen gown was a muddy green, “olive” his mistress would have called it, but it was not a color he particularly liked. All the same, it suited the honey-gold hair streaked blond by the sun. The gown was well cut and revealed a slender waist and the long, graceful line of her throat.

He coughed to warn her of his presence, then shifted his gaze when a tawny, bristling mass rose from the floor and positioned itself in front of him with bared fangs.