Chapter Two
By the time Miss Fortune and Miss Burnham joined them in the conservatory for tea, the Denworthys had arrived. And, as always whenever they arrived, chaos followed.
“Must we stay in the drafty old place, Mr. Fitzsimmons?” Amaris Denworthy Ashton asked with a greatly put upon sigh. “It’s positively wretched here.”
“Then perhaps you should have considered that before packing your stepmother here with a shrew of a nurse to care for her and not a soul to provide any actual companionship for her,” Felix said with no small amount of bite.
Amaris simply looked at him nonplussed. “How very droll you are, Grimsleigh. Of course, we did not simply pack her off here as you suggest. We encouraged her to make use of her family home and to leave the townhouse for people who actually needed to be in town! Why, our dear stepmother had not been in society for years!”
“Because she was ill. Terribly ill and growing more so by the day!”
Felix looked up to see Miss Fortune standing at the entrance, her face etched with fury as she stared at the other woman.
In truth, she and Amaris were not that far apart in age.
Amaris might be a few years older than her, but in terms of maturity they were eons apart.
Amaris would never grow up because she would never have to.
She would die a spoiled child even if she lived to be one hundred.
“Oh, look! The servants are joining us,” Amaris all but cooed. It was a warning, like the hiss of a serpent before it struck.
“I’m not your servant. I never worked for you… nor would I,” Miss Fortune snapped. “And you may poke your fun at me all you wish, but one day you will have to answer to a far greater authority for all that you did to Mrs. Denworthy. And no doubt to others, as well.”
“Let us not draw blood! Sheath your claws, ladies,” Archibald, the eldest of the Denworthy siblings urged though it was clear he enjoyed the friction.
“We are all stuck under this miserable roof for the night. Might as well make the best of it. Do introduce me to your friend, Miss Fortune. She’s a remarkably stunning creature! ”
“Keep a civil tongue, Denworthy,” Mr. Fitzsimmons warned, his tone hinting at the hot temper simmering beneath the surface.
“Stand down, Mr. Fitzsimmons… And that’s quite enough from you, Archibald. I’ll not have guests chased through the halls by some half-witted and self-styled lothario,” Felix admonished.
Archibald made a slight moue of distaste, as if the very notion of having his behavior curtailed was as distasteful to him as being reprimanded would be to a small child.
Of course, Archibald was very much like a small child, so that certainly would explain a great deal.
The truth was, not a single one of the Denworthy siblings could be considered a decent human being.
They were all self-serving, selfish, spoiled, dishonest, disreputable, and thoroughly irritating.
Alistair was at least quiet, if nothing else.
Odd—disturbing on many levels—but quiet.
There was something to be said for that.
Felix took note of the fact that Miss Fortune did give Alistair quite a wide berth.
It seemed as if he disturbed her as well.
Why that was, he would not hazard a guess.
But he had a sinking feeling that if he did know the answer, it would be infuriating.
Some things were best left unknown; at least then he would not be required to act upon them.
Still, they were in for a very long and difficult evening, and no doubt, once the contents of his aunt’s will were disclosed, things would get infinitely worse. He hoped that Miss Caris Fortune and her companion were prepared for all that might follow. He certainly was not.
As the afternoon wore on, they all drank their tea and ate the biscuits that had been prepared by the cook—dry as tinder and nearly as tasteless—but it kept everyone from talking, and that was, at least in his opinion, a boon.
When tea was done, everyone began to disperse, returning to their rooms or to other areas of the house where they might do whatever it was they all did when not in one another’s company.
But as she was leaving the room, Felix called out, “Miss Fortune, if you don’t mind, I would like to have a word with you, if you please. ”
She turned, glancing over her shoulder at him. “Certainly, my lord, I am happy to speak with you.” Then, to her companion, she said, “Grace, would you mind waiting for me in the corridor? I’m certain that Mr. Fitzsimmons would be happy to keep you company in the interim.”
Felix noted that it was very wise of her not to send her companion out there alone—not with Archibald and Alistair running wild in the place. Heaven knew what they would get up to.
When they were alone in the conservatory, he looked at her and said, “Did my aunt ever speak to you about the contents of her will?”
“No, my lord, she did not. I had no notion that she had left anything for me. I do hope that it isn’t something that would be of concern to other members of the family.
I do not wish to fight with anyone over a small request, or even a large bequest, if it comes to that.
But I would like to honor her wishes, if possible. ”
Felix nodded. “Her wishes were quite generous for you, Miss Caris Fortune. She had great plans for you, I think—had she been permitted to continue living out her life in town. Alas, she was not, and… so she took a different route to securing your future, if you will. I hope that when the will is read, you will keep that in mind—that she was trying very much to secure your future. And please greet whatever contingencies she has placed upon you with an open mind.”
Miss Fortune stared at him in confusion. “Do you know what the contents of the will are, then?”
He took a steadying breath. “I do. But I do not feel comfortable disclosing it just yet. I want to wait for Mr. Fitzsimmons to share that information with everyone at one time. It will be shocking for everyone, and I daresay there will be quite a commotion when it comes about. Are you prepared for that, Miss Fortune?”
She simply straightened her shoulders, her chin lifting upward with a stubborn tilt. “I am prepared for anything the Denworthys may do—as prepared as anyone can be when dealing with the lot of them.”
*
Caris was still puzzling over exactly what the viscount might have meant by all that he had said, following their very fraught and uncomfortable tea.
She understood, of course, that the Denworthys would fight whatever bequest Mrs. Denworthy had left for her.
It was in their nature to snap and snarl over every scrap.
They were worse than jackals in that regard.
Still, she wasn’t certain what she would do.
She couldn’t afford to obtain a solicitor to represent her interests if they did challenge the will, and she wasn’t even certain she wanted to do so after all.
How entitled was she to any of Mrs. Denworthy’s fortune when she had only worked for her for three months?
Caris was equally puzzled over his wording—that Mrs. Denworthy had had great plans for her and was attempting to secure her future.
Why would a woman so desperately ill, a woman whose entire life had been shrunk down to existing only within a small set of rooms in her very large home, her world growing smaller every day—why would a woman in such a condition be thinking about her? It made no sense.
Of course, Mrs. Denworthy had been fond of her.
They had spent every waking moment together for three months.
But did that really outshine the decades she had spent with her stepchildren?
Caris answered her own question. In most instances, no.
But given the identity of Mrs. Denworthy’s stepchildren—most definitely, yes.
Grace was standing at the end of the hall with Mr. Fitzsimmons, watching Caris very curiously. When Mr. Fitzsimmons departed with a curt nod, leaving them alone, Grace immediately whirled on her.
“What did he say to you?”
Caris shrugged. “Not very much, really—just that Mrs. Denworthy had wanted to secure my future, and that it was very likely the Denworthys would be most displeased with the contents of the will.”
Grace’s eyes widened. “She’s left you a bloody fortune.”
“Grace,” Caris said, “your language.”
Grace simply shuddered. “If ever there was a time to let loose with a few curses, Caris, this is certainly it. We are standing in the middle of enemy territory. You know as well as I do that those three reprobates she called stepchildren are only waiting for an opportunity to do something horrendous to you—or to me, or to both of us. We cannot afford to be alone. We cannot afford to be taken off guard. We must stay vigilant. Not just now, but once the will is read. Depending on what the contents are, Caris, you could be in more danger than ever.”
Caris shuddered, a shiver of fear racing through her at the very thought.
She had never liked being in the house when Archibald or Alistair were present, and had always felt rather like a fox with the baying hounds in pursuit.
She had managed to avoid them for the most part, encountering only a few uncomfortable moments in the corridors—until, luckily for her, a loyal servant of Mrs. Denworthy would pass by.
Now, she no longer had that luxury, that safety in the house. It appeared that all the servants here were loyal only to themselves—and perhaps to Hayton House—but certainly not to any of its inhabitants.
Grace preceded her up the stairs, Caris following slowly behind. As she reached the landing, she heard a faint whisper. She glanced around, searching for the source, but there was no one—only the stairs behind them, empty, and the stairs above.
Then, from the corner of her eye, she caught the suggestion of movement. Turning quickly in that direction, she saw only the swish of gray skirts—long and sweeping, brushing against the stone floor—and then they were gone, along with whoever had been wearing them.
She wanted to stop Grace, to ask if she had seen it, but she did not.
Caris feared that perhaps she hadn’t seen it herself—that it was merely a product of her own overactive imagination and the strain she was under.
Yet there was something about that wisp of a vision that felt distinctly otherworldly, in a way she could not explain, and in a way that made her feel she might possibly be losing her mind.
There were no ghosts; they didn’t exist. Such things were nonsense—fairy tales for children. And if they did exist, she certainly wasn’t seeing them in the bright light of day. It was utter foolishness. But even as she uttered those harsh reprimands to herself, she quickened her steps.