The Heiress (19 page)

D
aniel awoke to pain. It felt as if his chest were being ripped apart, and for one moment he thought he’d fallen off his horse and some predator was feasting on his wounded flesh. But then he opened his eyes and found himself staring up at a silver-haired woman who still showed signs of the beauty she’d once been. Catharine, Lady Woodrow.

“Mother?” he croaked with confusion, glancing around to see that he was in bed in the master bedroom at Woodrow. “How—?”

“Here.” She urged him to sit up and held a cup of liquid to his mouth. As he drank, she said, “Mr. Lawrence was returning from inspecting one of the tenant farms when he came across your horse plodding along with you slumped on its back. He brought you home at once for me to tend.”

Daniel nodded at the mention of his assistant and swallowed the liquid in his mouth as she took the cup away. John Lawrence was most competent and he hadn’t had any qualms at all about leaving the care of the estate in the man’s hands while he traveled to America.

“What happened?” she asked solemnly.

“I was shot.”

“Yes, I had noticed,” she said dryly. “In fact, I bandaged you up. But by whom were you shot?”

Daniel shook his head wearily. “I didn’t see. I was coming home to collect you, and I cut through the woods.” He frowned, thinking of the accident with the carriage when they’d thought the spokes cut halfway through, and then the carriage that had nearly run him and Richard down. They’d thought those to be attacks aimed at Richard by George’s killer trying to finish the job. However, George’s killer had claimed to know he’d succeeded in killing George and hadn’t been interested in killing Richard at all, and Daniel believed him. It had made him suspect that perhaps those other two incidents had not been aimed at Richard at all. The fact that he’d now been shot seemed to verify his suspicions. He didn’t say that, however. He had no desire to upset his mother, so muttered, “Perhaps a hunter mistook me for wild game through the trees and shot.”

Lady Woodrow frowned at the suggestion, but let it go for now and asked, “Coming home to collect me for what?”

“Oh.” Daniel blinked as he recalled exactly what he had been doing. If he didn’t return, Suzette would worry herself silly and send a search party out for him. Hell, knowing Suzette, she’d probably come after him herself, and then she’d see Woodrow and know—

“What time is it? How long have I been here?” he asked, sitting up and wincing at the pain it sent through his back and stomach.

“Lie down,” his mother ordered sharply. “And answer my question. Collect me for what?”

“My wedding,” he answered, but decided to lie back for just a little bit under her insistence. Just for a minute or two, but then he had to—

“Your wedding?” Lady Woodrow asked icily.

Daniel glanced at his mother warily. She only ever used that particular tone when very upset. And she did indeed appear upset now. Upset, shocked, horrified, bemused, perhaps even a hint relieved and happy, but mostly upset.

“Your wedding to whom? And how have you managed to plan a wedding without even mentioning it to me or my catching wind of it?” she asked grimly.

“Ah, well, it’s not exactly planned as such,” he said uncomfortably. “I mean it is, but it’s not a big do. We are going to Gretna Green, and—”

“Gretna Green!” she squawked, and then pressing one hand to her chest, gasped, “She is with child.”

“No, of course she’s not,” Daniel said with irritation.

“Then why the rush to Gretna Green?” Lady Woodrow asked at once.

Daniel shook his head helplessly. “It is complicated, Mother.”

She eyed him narrowly. “Then perhaps you should take your time explaining it to me.”

Daniel glanced away, and then said, “Her name is Suzette, and she—well, you will like her. She is much like you, strong and smart and sweet but with a temper. Suzette is nothing like the other women of the ton,” he said with a smile. “She never bites her tongue for politeness’s sake. She blurts out what she’s feeling and you always know where you stand with her. She does not smile to your face and then gossip and criticize you behind her fan.”

“I see,” she said softly. “This Suzette sounds special.”

“She is,” he assured her solemnly. “And I hope the two of you grow to be very good friends. She grew up in the country with just her sisters and her father. Her mother died when she was quite young and she hasn’t had a mother’s guidance, so she may not be as well trained at some household things as most ladies, but that doesn’t matter. It would be nice if you could like her for me.”

“I’m sure we shall be grand friends,” Lady Woodrow said soothingly.

Daniel nodded and then tried to sit up, but she pushed firmly on his shoulders to keep him down.

“Stay put, son. You have been shot,” she said sternly.

Daniel shook his head. “I have to get back. They are all waiting for me at the inn.”

“They?” she asked.

“Suzette, her sisters, their father, Richard and a fellow named Robert Langley. They are waiting for me to bring you back. They will be worried.” He frowned and glanced around. “What time is it? I do not even know how long I have been gone. They may already be looking for me.”

“Why ever did you not bring them all with you?” she asked, still trying to push him flat on the bed.

“Oh, er . . . well,” Daniel sighed, and sank back on the bed to admit, “Suzette thinks I am marrying her for her dower.”

Lady Woodrow blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said—”

“I heard what you said,” she snapped, interrupting him. “Now, please explain exactly why the poor young girl thinks you would marry her for her dower.”

Daniel winced at her tone. Every word was razor sharp and precise. She was angry. Grimacing, he said, “Well, Suzette has a rather large dower, huge really, and she wanted a husband who needed money and—” He paused abruptly as he saw her expression becoming befuddled, and sighed. “It is a long story, Mother. Just suffice it to say I couldn’t let her see how well set we are financially or she might not have agreed to marry me.”

“That makes absolutely no sense at all, Daniel,” Lady Woodrow said impatiently. “Women look for a good provider. They want a husband with wealth.”

“You didn’t,” he pointed out with amusement.

“Yes, well I am not like most women of the ton,” she said with a wry smile.

“Neither is Suzette,” Daniel assured her solemnly.

“So you mentioned. Still I—lie down,” she snapped when he tried to rise again. “You will lie there and rest and explain this to me.”

“There is no time. I need to get—”

“You need to rest and recover. I will send word to the inn, and—”

“No,” he cried, grabbing her hand when she stood up. “She will come here. You can’t let her come here.”

Catherine Woodrow raised her eyebrows, but sat back down. “Then you had best explain why. Or I will send for her and get to the bottom of this myself.”

Groaning, Daniel closed his eyes briefly, but then opened them again and glanced to the door as a knock sounded.

“Come in,” his mother called, and the Woodrow butler opened the door to look in.

“My lady, the Lords Fairgrave and Langley are demanding to see Lord Woodrow, and insist they will not wait any longer to do so.” He grimaced and pointed out, “They
have
been waiting two hours. I fear I will not be able to keep them downstairs much longer.”

“Why didn’t you tell me they were here?” Daniel asked his mother with irritation and then glanced back to the door as the butler cleared his throat.

Once the man had his attention, the butler allowed the corners of his mouth to curve just the slightest bit before getting his face under control and back to the expressionless visage of a proper butler as he said, “It is good to see you awake and recovering, my lord. We have all been quite worried since Mr. Lawrence brought you home.”

“Thank you, Watkins,” Daniel murmured, and then cleared his throat and asked, “Are Richard and Langley alone?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Thank God,” he muttered, sitting up again. This time his mother did not try to stop him and he said, “Please, send them up.”

“Daniel. Please explain what you have been up to and why this young lady you are to marry thinks you are poor, when you have worked so hard these last ten years to ensure we are not. None of this is making sense.”

He grimaced. “It’s really a quite convoluted story, Mother.”

“I don’t care. I have time.”

“Yes, but—” Fortunately, Daniel was saved from trying to put her off further by the arrival of Richard and Robert. The two men must have jogged up the stairs to arrive so quickly. They didn’t bother to knock, but strode right into the room, both looking quite grim faced and even angry until they got a look at him.

“What the devil happened to you?” Richard asked with amazement as he led Robert to the bed.

“I was shot,” Daniel said.

Richard frowned, but Robert snapped, “It was probably the Fates punishing you.”

“Punishing me for what?” he asked with surprise.

“For breaking Suzette’s heart,” he growled. “She was crushed when she got your letter.”

“What letter?” Daniel asked, glancing from one man to the other with confusion.

“The letter you left saying you had changed your mind,” Robert answered, but was starting to sound a little less angry. His expression turning uncertain, he asked, “You did send a letter to the inn for Suzette saying you were breaking it off and wouldn’t marry her?”

Daniel shook his head firmly. “I never sent any such letter.”

When Robert and Richard just stared at him blankly, Daniel’s mother said, “I can assure you he left no such letter. He has just told me he’d come to collect me to attend his wedding and has been trying to get up to return to the inn almost since he awoke. He appears quite eager to marry the young woman.”

“Hmm,” Richard muttered, his expression troubled as he glanced to Robert.

“I think someone had best start explaining things,” Lady Woodrow said firmly. “I hardly think it was an accident that this young lady received a letter breaking the engagement and my son was shot, all at the same time. There must be some connection.”

Chapter Twelve

F
or one blessed moment when she first woke, Suzette didn’t recall anything, but then she became aware of her sore throat and gritty eyes, and recalled crying herself to sleep and why, and a small pitiful sigh slid from her lips as memory came crashing in. She was a fallen woman, abandoned on the morning of her wedding and left sullied and unmarriageable. At least, most men would think so.

“You’re awake.”

Suzette stilled and glanced to the girl who had apparently been seated by the fireplace. Lisa. She was standing now and moving toward her.

“How do you feel?”

Suzette shrugged and sat up, avoiding her gaze as she did, but then she asked, “I suppose you hate me too?”

“No, of course not, and neither does Christiana,” Lisa said at once, hurrying the last few feet to sit on the bed next to her. “You ordered her from the room before she could say anything. She isn’t angry with you. She understands. You love Daniel and wanted to express that physically. It’s natural.”

“I don’t love him,” Suzette muttered.

Lisa looked at her with patent disbelief. “Suzette, you have been following the man around like a puppy for days now. And if you do not love him, you are certainly doing a very good impression of heartbreak.”

Frowning, Suzette lowered her head. She was sure she didn’t love him. She couldn’t. And yet the pain when she’d read the letter, the ache in her chest just at the thought of never seeing him again, the anguish as she’d wept . . .

“You love him,” Lisa said quietly. “I know you. You have probably been telling yourself it was just convenience, and handy that the two of you had needs that fit each other, one needing a bride with a dower, the other needing a husband in need of a dower . . .” She shook her head. “But your eyes lit up every time he walked into the room and you hung on his every word. And the passion you felt and shared with him . . .” She shrugged. “That is love. You do love him.”

“For all the good it does me,” she muttered with disgust.

“Oh,” Lisa hugged her tightly. “I felt sure he loved you too, Suzette. Maybe he is just afraid—or something. Maybe—”

“Maybe my loose behavior disgusted him,” she said dryly. “Maybe he fears I am like this with every man.”

“Oh, I am sure that is not true,” she said, her expression troubled. “He would have to know it was your first time. The streams of blood and horrible pain would have—”

“There were no streams of blood or horrible pain,” Suzette said unhappily. “In fact, there was hardly any pain. A little pinch perhaps, and an uncomfortable stretching sensation and that is all. As for streams of blood . . .” She shook her head. In truth, she wasn’t sure if there had been any blood at all. It had been dark in the stables. Certainly there hadn’t been streams of it. That would have been noticeable.

“Oh.” Lisa bit her lip. “It was your first time?”

Her head snapped up, eyes stabbing her sister.

“Of course it was,” Lisa backtracked at once, and then said, “Well, Fanny must have been wrong then. Or perhaps it is different for everyone.”

Suzette shook her head with disgust. “If you, who have known me all my life and
know
I have not been keeping company with men before this, doubts me, why would he not? He probably thinks I have been with half the royal navy.”

“Why would he think that? We live nowhere near the coast,” Lisa said with confusion.

Suzette glared at her and then shifted to get off the bed, crawling around her to do so.

“Where are you going?” Lisa asked, standing up.

“For a walk.”

“But I was going to read to you to cheer you up,” Lisa protested.

“I don’t want to be read to,” Suzette said grimly as she slipped her shoes on.

“I could tell you a story,” Lisa offered.

“No.”

“I could sing, or—”

“I want to be alone,” Suzette said impatiently, heading for the door. She just wanted out of there. She didn’t want Lisa’s pitying looks or attempts to cheer her. She wanted to be alone to consider what to do. If there was anything to do. Of course, there were things she
had
to do. She still had to marry to save them all from scandal. Here she was, just a day’s travel away from Gretna Green, where she would need to wed, but with no prospective grooms around to marry. If Daniel hadn’t wished to wed her, the least he could have done was say so days ago in London, where she could have found someone else. Now she was far away from the bachelors she had to choose from. What a bloody mess.

Daniel was an ass, and she was an idiot, and soon Richard and Robert would return and everyone would know just how much of an idiot she was, Suzette thought as she left the room and started down the stairs.

Although, she supposed, everyone probably did know by now. Christiana and Lisa did. No doubt by now Richard and Robert had caught up to Daniel and demanded an explanation, which he would probably give, and they would know. So that just left her father, and he would learn soon as well, she was sure. It was bad enough making such a mistake, but having everyone know just made it unbearable. Not that it mattered, Suzette supposed. Even losing their combined esteem did not hurt as much as losing Daniel’s. She had thought . . . Well, it didn’t matter what she’d thought. She’d obviously thought wrong. And now here she was, heartbroken, Suzette acknowledged, as she made her way through the main room and slipped out of the inn.

While she had instinctively denied it to Lisa, Suzette would acknowledge to herself that her feelings for Daniel had run very deep indeed. She had craved him like the very air she breathed, and still did. She’d wanted to touch every part of him, hear every moment of his life before their meeting and share every future moment there was. She’d sprung from her bed each morning since meeting him, eager to start the day and find him, not wanting to miss a moment with him. And he had seemed just as eager to spend time with her, which was why she was so crushed now to learn that he hadn’t ever intended to marry her, had been leading her to believe he would just to “get to know her better.”

Perhaps it had all been some plot to debauch her, Suzette thought. It wasn’t a pleasant possibility to consider. It meant she’d completely misjudged the man and hadn’t known him at all.

Avoiding even looking at the stables, the scene of her folly, Suzette walked around the inn and found a small path into the woods as she considered that perhaps Daniel was one of those bounders who went about deflowering unwary young debutantes naïve enough to—

Suzette shook her head. No. She couldn’t believe that. Surely, she couldn’t have loved such a bounder as that? In the end, she supposed it didn’t matter. That was what had happened. She’d lain with him, he was refusing to marry her because of it, and she now had to face the consequences alone. Virginity was expected from a bride and she would never lie to a man and claim to still possess hers. And yet she had to marry, and probably sooner was better than later since there may be even more consequences to that morning’s events in the stable.

Swallowing, Suzette placed a hand over her stomach, wondering if his seed had taken root. Was she carrying his child? Part of her hoped dearly that she was, that she would keep and have a reminder of their time together for the rest of their days in the guise of a Daniel Junior. Another part of her, though, was horrified at the thought, knowing that looking on that child would mean fresh pain every day as well.

Sighing, Suzette paused to lean against a tree and closed her eyes, wishing things had been different. Wishing he’d love her. Wishing she’d never met him. She could have happily gone an entire lifetime without knowing this pain . . . even if it meant forgoing the happy moments and pleasure that had preceded it.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

Suzette glanced around. A man stood, hesitating a few feet away, looking uncertain as to whether to continue on his way or stop. It was the fellow who had approached as she’d watched Richard and Robert ride off. The one who had asked, “Suzette, isn’t it?” She had thought he looked vaguely familiar then. Suzette felt sure she should know him, but couldn’t be bothered to work it out any more now than she had been then.

“You’re crying,” he said, concern filling his expression as he moved forward.

Suzette raised a hand to her face, surprised to find it wet. She hadn’t realized she’d been crying again, but suspected she would do a lot more of it in the coming weeks as she grieved her loss. Realizing the man was coming to stand before her, she turned to move away, but he caught her arm.

“Please, what’s wrong? Maybe I can help,” he said softly, drawing her to a halt.

“Nothing,” Suzette murmured, keeping her face turned away. “Please, don’t trouble yourself. I am fine.”

“Now what kind of gentleman would abandon a lady crying alone in the woods?” he chided, retrieving a handkerchief and turning her so that he could dab at her face and mop up the tears. “There, that’s better.”

“Thank you,” Suzette murmured as he put the handkerchief away.

He nodded, and then glanced around before looking back and saying solemnly, “You really shouldn’t be out here by yourself, you know. This close to the border between England and Scotland there is more crime than elsewhere and a young lady should never be unescorted in the area.”

Suzette peered at the trees surrounding them. It looked peaceful enough. On the other hand, there could also be a dozen bandits and highwaymen hiding behind the surrounding trees and she would not know it until they leapt out at her.

“Come, I shall walk with you,” he decided, taking her arm and urging her gently along the path. “There is a lovely little waterfall just a little further on. Perhaps we could sit there. I always find water soothing to my troubles, though I’m not sure why. But it has been that way since I was a small boy. Do you like water?”

Suzette mumbled a noncommittal reply. At that moment she wasn’t sure what she liked or disliked, or if she liked much of anything at all. Mostly she just wanted to go back to her room at the inn and curl up in a ball on the bed and cry herself back to sleep. She didn’t know why she hadn’t just sent Lisa from the room and done that earlier, rather than coming outside.

“London is nice with its entertainments, but there is just nothing to compare to Mother Nature’s artistry in the country, don’t you think?” the man continued, chattering soothingly. “The fresh air, the birdsong, the rustle of the breeze through the trees . . . I always feel refreshed after a visit to the country. Ah, here we are. Isn’t it lovely?”

Suzette saw that they’d moved off the path to the edge of a small pond with a waterfall pouring fresh water into it. It was quite pretty, she supposed with disinterest, and wondered if Daniel would have liked it.

“If I’d realized I was going to come across a beautiful young lady on my walk, I would have had the innkeeper’s wife pack a picnic for us,” her companion commented as he urged her to sit on a boulder next to the water. “However, I suppose we shall have to make do with what I did bring. You have your choice of a peach or a pear.”

Suzette eyed the two items he’d retrieved from his pocket. She wasn’t hungry, but took the peach to be polite and the fellow settled next to her on the boulder, leaving enough room that it could not be considered improper.

They were silent, watching the water cascade into the pond, and Suzette let her mind wander. Of course it returned to Daniel, to his smile, his kind eyes, his laughter, his kisses—

“Shall I dispose of the pit for you?”

Suzette glanced down with surprise to see that, hungry or not, she’d eaten the entire peach. And she hadn’t tasted a bite. She held out the pit and watched silently as he tossed it into the pond.

“There.” He relaxed on the boulder and then said, “It is none of my business, but you seem very melancholy, not at all the vivacious young woman I met at the Landons’ ball.”

Suzette stiffened and looked to him then, really looking this time. He definitely did look familiar, but she still wasn’t placing him.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally. “I danced with so many at the Landons’ ball, and it feels like a lifetime ago. I’m afraid I don’t recall—”

“I am the one man you
didn’t
dance with,” he said, smiling wryly, and then introduced himself. “I am Lord Danvers. Jeremy Danvers. I was on your card that night, but when I came to claim you for our dance, you seemed quite distressed and you rushed off.”

“Oh,” Suzette grimaced as the memory returned to her. He’d come to claim her just as she’d spotted Richard.

“Ah, I see the recollection on your face,” Danvers said with amusement.

“I apologize, I am not usually so rude, but there was something of a family crisis,” she said quietly, now recalling that Lisa had been alarmed at her not dancing with the man because he suited their needs and was not old or unpleasant. Suzette thought now that perhaps if Richard had arrived just a few minutes later, everything would be different. Perhaps she would have made her proposition to Danvers on the dance floor and never even given Daniel a second glance.

“There is no need to apologize,” Danvers assured her, and then smiled wryly and said, “Although, I suppose I could hold you wholly responsible for my broken heart because of it.”

Suzette blinked in surprise. “I’m sorry, I don’t—”

Jeremy patted her hand soothingly, and shook his head. “Forgive me. That was just a moment’s bitterness slipping out.” He sighed and turned his gaze to the water, but then confessed, “When you rushed off so precipitously and left me without a partner, I asked a lovely young blonde if I might have the pleasure. We danced and chatted and laughed . . . I fear I was quite taken with her. I even fetched her punch and then asked for a second dance later in the night.” He gave her a crooked smile and pointed out, “Very risky behavior, dancing twice in one night with the same lady.”

“Yes,” she murmured, turning her gaze to the water now.

“I met her again the next night at the Hammonds’ ball and again danced with her twice and fetched her punch, and then she grew quite warm and we went out on the terrace and I snuck a kiss.”