Simon and Claire jumped to their feet as well. “Yes, sir,” Simon said. “I shall be looking forward to that.”
Simon held out his hand and Jarvis shook it. Then Claire held out hers, and her handshake was as firm as Simon’s. They both were suddenly radiant. Jarvis wished he knew what was going on here, but contented himself with the knowledge that the man who had the purse strings had the control, and he was that man.
Simon and Clare stood side by side and watched until the carriage was out of sight. Then Simon turned to her, a brilliant smile on his face. “I’m going to have an allowance. I may even have a job. We can get married, Claire! We can get married!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Welbourne filly won the Oaks. Liam was beaming as he came into the cottage and found Elise having tea in the parlor with two of her friends. She took one look at his face and clapped her hands.
“You won!”
“We did that. She’s not a big girl but she ran like a champion. I expect to get some grand foals out of her.”
The two ladies added their congratulations. The squire’s wife said, “My husband will be devastated he couldn’t make it. He’s so very grumpy about these poachers.”
“We’ll run her again,” Liam said. “At Ascot, perhaps. He’ll have a chance to watch her then.”
The two women tactfully made their goodbyes to Elise and left Liam alone with his wife. She smiled up at her tall husband and thought how little he had changed since she had fallen in love with him so many years ago. She had loved him almost from the first moment she saw him, and had married him against the wishes of her father, the exiled Comte de Sevigny. She had not ever regretted her choice.
He bent his head and kissed her. “I missed you,” he said.
“I missed you too.”
He kissed her again, and she put her arms around his waist and leaned into him.
I am a happy woman,
she thought.
How good God was to me when he sent Liam into my life.
“Where is Claire?” he asked.
“Simon took Tim Tam for a ride and Claire went with him.”
“Good. I think I may have a buyer for the horse, someone I met at Epsom. I’ll have Simon school him over a few fences to make certain he’ll jump.”
“I’m sure he will.”
“I’m starving,” he said.
Their housemaid had come into the room to clear away the tea things and Elise said, “Leave the seed cake, Nancy. And can you bring a fresh pot of tea for Mr. O’Rourke?”
“Of course, Mrs. O’Rourke.” The girl put the seed cake back on the table and picked up the almost empty teapot instead.
Elise said, “Come, sit down and tell me about the race.”
Liam took a seat on the sofa beside his wife and described his week-long stay in Epsom, all the while eating the rest of the seed cake and drinking fresh tea. He had just finished the last drop when the parlor door opened and Simon and Claire came in. Nancy brought in some more teacakes and another pot, and Liam once more recounted the story of his filly’s victory in the Oaks. Then he told Simon about the possible buyer and the two of them discussed how they would try Tim Tam over fences.
While the men were talking, Elise stood and drew her daughter aside. Claire still rode astride when she went out with Simon, and Elise still sewed divided skirts for her. Claire owned a sidesaddle, and she rode in it when she went into the village or to pay calls on friends. She had protested at first, but when she saw how upset Elise would be if she persisted in riding astride outside the estate, she had given in.
Elise looked now at her daughter and repressed a sigh. Occasionally she reminded Liam that Claire was his daughter, not his son, but she felt guilty that she had never given him a son and so usually she let them do as they pleased. She treasured the closeness of her happy family and wanted nothing to disturb it. But Claire was almost seventeen and Elise knew it was her duty as a mother to look toward her daughter’s future.
“Ada Weston was here earlier,” Elise said to Claire. We were talking about the first assembly room ball of the summer. I have agreed to be one of the patronesses this year since you’re old enough to attend.”
“A ball?” Claire said in bewilderment.
“Yes, a ball.” Elise smiled. “You’re almost seventeen, the appropriate age for a girl’s first dance. You and Charlotte can go together. Mrs. Weston saw to it that you both learned to dance, and Geoffrey and his friends will be there to dance with you. You’ll have a wonderful time.”
Claire glanced toward Simon, who was still talking to Liam, then looked back at her mother. “When is this dance?”
“In two weeks.” Elise did not want Simon to attend and tried to think of a way she could prevent Claire from inviting him. “You’re not a child any longer, my love. You’re a young lady. You should be looking to the future, to your own husband, your own children, your own life. You cannot go on forever being your father’s daughter and Simon’s sister. We all have to grow up sometime, and your time has come.” Elise smiled and smoothed a finger along her daughter’s high cheekbone. “You’ve turned into a beautiful girl, ma petite. Mrs. Weston tells me Geoffrey is quite taken with you.”
Claire didn’t know what part of her mother’s speech surprised her more, the fact that Elise thought the relationship between her daughter and Simon was that of brother and sister, or her comment about Geoffrey.
“Why are you looking so surprised?” Elise asked gently.
Claire picked the lesser to two evils. “
Geoffrey?”
Elise smiled encouragingly. “Wouldn’t it be lovely if you married Geoffrey? He’s a fine young man from an excellent family. And, just think, you would be living close to us.”
“I have never thought about Geoffrey that way,” Claire said flatly.
“Well maybe you should start.”
Liam finished his conversation with Simon and crossed the room to ask her a question. Elise judged she had said enough to plant an idea in her daughter’s mind.
# # #
The earl came back from Epsom brimming with good humor. He had bet heavily on his filly, and she had won for him. His Jockey Club friends were openly envious of his amazing string of winners. All in all, it had been a splendid week of racing. He had even won some money on other horses.
The only shadow on the earl’s horizon was, as usual, his eldest son. Woodbridge was going to inherit one hundred thousand pounds. Every time the earl thought of that large sum of money he wanted to throw something. He could make far better use of it than Woodbridge. Over the years the earl had won money on his own horses, but his bets on horses that were not his own had been disastrous. He had also lost a great deal of money at Watier’s. Honor demanded that those debts be paid immediately, which had put him in the position of having to borrow from a moneylender. The sad fact was, he had gone through both Annabelle’s and Helen’s fortunes, and here he was, in debt again. And now one hundred thousand pounds, which the earl desperately needed, would go to Woodbridge!
Well, he would pack the brat off to Oxford until he turned twenty-one. After that …. The earl scowled and poured himself a large brandy, which he drank in one gulp. What would happen to the money if Woodbridge died, he wondered? As his father,
he
would be Woodbridge’s heir. Did that mean the money would come to him?
The earl poured himself another large brandy, sat on the velvet sofa in front of the fire, stared into the flames, and thought.
CHAPTER NINE
The earl and countess did not celebrate Simon’s eighteenth birthday. The only event that marked the day as more significant than his previous birthdays was that his uncle, Richard Jarvis, paid a visit to Welbourne. Jarvis’ purpose was to discuss the trust money and tell Simon what he had decided would be an appropriate allowance for the next three years.
The earl and countess had removed themselves from the distasteful proceedings by visiting friends in Yorkshire, leaving five year old Charlie at home with his nurse. Simon and Charlie were kicking a ball around the side lawn of the abbey when Jarvis pulled up in his carriage. The two boys went to greet the newcomer.
Jarvis smiled at the picture they made. Charlie was almost as fair-haired as Simon, but his eyes were a darker blue and his features less finely cut. He was an attractive youngster, however, and was happy to meet Simon’s tall, broad shouldered uncle.
“Me and Simon kicked the ball,” he confided. “I kicked it all the way over there.” He pointed to a lofty oak spreading its welcome shade across the lawn. “Simon says I’m strong for my age.”
Jarvis smiled down at the eager little boy. “I’m sure you are. Does Simon kick the ball too?”
“Simon kicks really far. He can kick it all the way into those trees!” Charlie pointed to an attractive group of beeches that were shading a curved stone bench from the warm sunshine.
Simon picked up his little brother and put him on his shoulders. “Come along, old man. It’s time you had your luncheon, and I need to talk with my uncle.”
Charlie beamed down from his elevated position. “Are you my uncle too?”
“No, lad. You and Simon had different mothers.”
Charlie’s face sobered and he said anxiously, “You won’t tell my mama that I was playing with Simon, will you?”
Jarvis threw Simon a startled glance. Simon turned away, refusing to meet his eyes. “Of course he won’t say anything,” he said to Charlie. Then, over his shoulder to Jarvis, “We can go inside. My father isn’t home.”
At the front door Simon turned Charlie over to one of the footmen to be returned to the nursery, then he led Jarvis into a small reception room that opened off the hall. Jarvis had been inside the abbey for his sister’s wedding, so he knew how magnificent the rest of the house was. He himself preferred comfort to splendor, although he was a collector of English landscapes and had a number of fine paintings hanging in his own country home.
There were several yellow silk-covered chairs lining the reception room and an elegant desk that looked to Jarvis as if it was French. A tall gilt mirror hung over the desk and long yellow silk drapes hung at the single tall window.
“Is this all right?” Simon asked, looking at the folder of papers in his uncle’s hand. “We could go to the library….”
He clearly felt uncomfortable about taking his uncle to the library, and Jarvis gave him a reassuring smile. “This is fine, lad. Just fine. I wanted to speak to you about what plans I have made and then I’d like to hear your thoughts.”
Simon nodded gravely. A slant of sunlight from the window caught his hair, making it look as if there was a silver halo around his head. Again Jarvis felt a stab of sorrow and guilt at the way Simon had been neglected.
Jarvis began, “You have been at school for most of your growing up years, am I correct?”
“Yes, Uncle. I started when I was six and finished a few months ago. I know my father wants me to go to Oxford, but that’s only because he wants me out of his way. I don’t want to do any more school.”
He had told Jarvis that once before. “Are you certain, lad? Boys of your class almost always go to Oxford or Cambridge. I thought it was expected of you.”
“I’m not going.”
Simon’s face was set and his eyes were shuttered. It wasn’t right for a young boy to look like that, Jarvis thought. He nodded slowly. “All right. But if you’re not going to continue with your schooling, what plans do you have for your future?”
The boy was so still he scarcely seemed to breathe. When he didn’t answer right away, Jarvis went on, “Do you wish to live in London? If that is your plan, I must tell you that I think eighteen is far too young …”
Simon lifted a hand to stop him. “No, Uncle. I don’t want to live in London.”
Thank the Lord for that, Jarvis thought. He looked once more at that closed face. What could the boy be thinking to make him look like that? He tried again, “Do you want to remain here at Welbourne? Learn about the estate, about what you will need to know when you become the earl? If so, I think that is…”
Simon was shaking his head. Emphatically. “I can’t live here at Welbourne. I told you that my father doesn’t like me, but the real truth is, he hates me. I don’t know what I’ve done to make him feel that way, but there it is. He hates me.” The boy pressed his lips together and shook his head, clearly unable to continue.
To give him time, Jarvis picked up the folder he had laid on the French desk and took a paper out. How dreadful to be made to feel hated by your own father. Welbourne had a lot to answer for, Jarvis thought grimly.
“You get along well with your brother,” he said. “He seems to be a nice little boy.”
“He is. We have fun together.”
“Why did he ask me not to tell your stepmother you were playing with him?”
“She hates me too. She acts as if I’m going to contaminate Charlie by being near him. I would never hurt Charlie. I love him.”
Something was deeply wrong with the picture Simon was painting. This was more than neglect … this sounded out-and-out ugly. Jarvis dropped his eyes to the folder he was holding, drew a deep breath, and returned his gaze to Simon. He spoke softly, “Do you remember your mother at all?”
The boy’s eyelids lowered and he shook his head. “Not very much. I was only five when she died.”
“She was only twenty two. My family was shattered when we got the news. Annabelle was the youngest and the only girl. My father never got over her loss.”
“She died in Ireland. She was all alone; my father hadn’t gone with her.” Something in his voice made Jarvis’ throat tighten.
“I know, son. By the time Welbourne informed us, she was already in the ground. My father was livid, but there was nothing he could do. He didn’t even have the comfort of being able to visit her grave. His health wouldn’t allow him to make such an exhausting trip.”
“I’ve never seen her grave either.” The simple words went straight to Jarvis’ heart. He cursed himself again for not having made more of an effort to know this nephew. “Perhaps you and I can go together some day,” he said.