“And if I continue to refuse? How long do you think you can keep me prisoner for?”
“I’m not a monster, Brother. I only want what is in your bestinterest. That said, I’d be willing to revise the situation in five years.”
“Fiveyears! Did you simply pick an arbitrary number out of your top hat and decide,that’s the amount of time I’ll banish my brother for?”
“I believe that ought to be enough time for you to mature and come to your senses. And why do you keep saying ‘banish’ as if you mean ‘abandon’? I am gifting you a valuable property and allowing you to keep your allowance. I would say that is quite generous of me.”
Of course, he would see it that way. “Where is it?” Nate asked.
“Northwest England. Westmorland, to be exact. I understand it is quite beautiful there. More and more people are being attracted to the area.”
Nate went cold.The Lake District?He’d imagined that he’d be sent to the countryside in Kent or Yorkshire, or even Cornwall, but the Lake District? What was there? A few scenic lakes and a handful of poets? “I told you before, I won’t go to some remote estate.”
“And I told you that you have a choice. Marry Miss Eamont or leave London.”
Nate chortled. He knew what game Edward was playing. He was threatening to banish him from London in order to force him to submit. That was exactly the type of manipulative game Edward liked to play, but two could play the same game.
“Your little scheme isn’t going to work.” Nate folded his arms. “I have no intention of getting married, especially to a woman you have chosen for me.”
Edward shrugged and pushed the deed and a quill pen toward Nate. “The choice is yours.”
Nate forced a smile. “Very well, if you insist on gifting me a property, I’ll take the house, but I want all of it. One hundred percent. If you only wish to retain ten percent to stop me from selling the property, put a stipulation in the deed that says I agree not to sell without your permission for five years.”
“Seven,” Edward said.
Nate looked into his brother’s cold blue eyes, and then, making his decision, he stood. “Very well, have the papers drawn up, and I will sign them.” Then he took a deep breath and strode out of his brother’s study. He would go to the remotest ends of the earth before he let Edward control him.
Chapter Three
Waking was themost painful part of the day. In her dreams, Bridget’s papa came back to life. Sometimes, she was a little girl curled up on one of the big leather chairs in his study while he sat behind his mahogany desk with a furrowed brow, studying his account books or penning letters. And other times, she was her full-grown self, meandering down the cobbled streets of York, arm-in-arm with Papa on one of their shopping trips. And sometimes, they’d be back together in the drawing room at Villa De Lacey, playing cards, taking tea with Aunt Marianne, or strolling along the shores of Lake Windermere. In her dreams, Papa’s blue eyes would twinkle with life again, and she’d feel the warmth of his embrace and smell his comforting, leathery scent. She’d wake up smiling until she remembered her new reality, and then a searing pain would hit her in the chest like a flame.
But most painful of all was the cruelty of his burial. She had not even had the comfort of burying her father’s remains. His body had been taken from his place of death and buried at a random crossroad—the whereabouts of which, she didn’t know—and, as was done to all those who committed self-murder, it was likely a stake had been driven through his heart. Her beloved Papa was a sinner in the eyes of the Church and the people, who would have insisted that his restless soul needed to be contained.
Fearing for her health, the magistrate had waited a week to break the news of her father’s burial to her. And when she’d finally learnedthat her papa’s body would not be coming home, a fit of anger so violent welled inside her that she risked damaging a great deal of crockery and other breakables. So, she’d run from the house and kept going until she’d reached a remote spot along the shores of Lake Windermere where she’d screamed her throat raw, battered the earth with her fists, and finally sobbed until she’d depleted her body of energy.
When she could cry and scream no more, she’d picked herself up and staggered back to the villa, her eyes swollen and her chest still heaving with pain. She was determined to do right by her papa. He would never rest in peace beside her mama in the churchyard. But she would give him a place close to home, so she took the only thing she had left of him—a lock of his golden hair—and placed it in a small chest with the letters her mama had written to him when they were courting. Then she searched for a peaceful spot amongst the trees behind the villa to bury it. The kind Sexton, Mr. Gould, who’d made her mother’s gravestone, agreed to carve one for her Papa, and she, Aunt Marianne, and the servants held a small, private funeral for him two weeks after receiving the news of his tragic death. Now, a little part of Papa lay close by, and she and her aunt had a grave on which to lay flowers.
That had been six weeks ago. Her papa was now two months gone, and each day she anxiously awaited the arrival of the dreaded lord who now owned Villa De Lacey. What was she to do when he came for her home? She could not—would not—leave her papa. Was she to dig up his lock of hair and bury him elsewhere? Tear herself from the home she loved—the only home she’d ever known?
“Oh, Papa,” she whispered as she lay a single rose on the small mound that was his makeshift grave. “What am I to do now?”
*
Seven years!Natefumed as his coach rumbled through the rugged, muddy landscape. The journey from London to Westmorland had taken almost a fortnight, but Nate had no idea how close they were to their final destination. It was dark and a torrential downpour had begun. If they didn’t find an inn soon, they were sure to get stuck in the mud for the night. Nate shivered, covered himself with a woolen blanket, and closed his eyes, willing the motion of the carriage to lull him to sleep. But it was to no avail.
He longed for his large, plush four-poster bed in his regency townhome, which now stood empty on his brother’s orders.Damn Edward!He missed the comfort and opulence of his home, its proximity to all the best gentlemen’s clubs in London, and the sweeping views of Regent’s Park from the many mullioned windows that let in the sunlight. He cherished that townhome, and Edward knew as much. But, like everything else, it belonged to his brother. As the eldest son, Edward had been bequeathed every penny and piece of property in their father’s estate, leaving Nate wholly at his brother’s mercy. And Nate hated it. Being the second son of an earl was little better than being the daughter of an earl—someone was always going to tell you what you could or could not do with your life.
Irritated, Nate threw off the blanket and peered out the window once again, but the night was so black he couldn’t see a thing. Rain pelted the carriage, which the exhausted horses seemed to be dragging rather than pulling up a hill. Nate wished he knew where they were. It seemed as if they’d been driving forever since their last stop, which he hoped was some twenty miles back, but with all the sludge and rain, it was impossible to tell for certain. He sighed and lay his head against the buttoned leather carriage seat.One day, brother, I will make you pay for this!
Edward had told him nothing about his new home but knowing his brother, it was a most undesirable property—after all, the goal was to force his hand into marriage. He only hoped it wasn’t some sort offarm. He could bear something remote if he had to, but he was not one for pigs, cows, and sheep.
The carriage suddenly slowed and soon came to a halt. Nate sat up, alert now and curious as to why they’d stopped. Were they stuck in some country sludge? Or had his driver located an inn? His stomach rumbled, crying out for a tall glass of ale and a large portion of mutton and potatoes. He envisioned himself sitting by a warm fire with a hot plate of food, and his mouth began to water. Then, the carriage door swung open, and a blast of cold air brought him back to reality. Nate’s valet, who’d been riding in his second carriage with his luggage, stood in the pouring rain, holding a large black umbrella and a lantern. “We’ve arrived, sir.”
“Where?” Nate felt he had to shout over the wind and rain, even though his valet had kept the same monotone he’d always used, and Nate had heard him perfectly. “Have we located an inn?”
“We have arrived at your new residence, sir.”
“Have we?” Nate’s heart sank. He wasn’t ready to spend the evening in a cold, remote estate that had no doubt been left to ruin by its bankrupted owner. All he wanted was a cozy inn that would provide him with a blazing fire and a hearty meal. Nate’s stomach rumbled again as he stepped reluctantly from the carriage. Grateful for the shelter of the waiting umbrella, he turned to look at the house, but all he could see in the darkness was the silhouette of a rather large structure.
