Page 12 of The Widow’s Christmas Surprise

Hugh stared at his brother, a chill running through his body. Surely the circumstances of Kit’s desperate act would be seen as the work of an unhinged mind. If not, he and Bella stood to lose not only their brother, but their entire way of life. Their home and stables, the money set aside for Bella’s dowry, the modest but precious family jewels, indeed all manner of income save Hugh’s salary at Kersey Hall would be taken from them. And there was little Hugh could do to mitigate the circumstances. “Where is Mr. Preston?”

“He was called to the home of a woman in town who has terrible pains in her head.”

Hugh needed to speak with the man, the surgeon who served Lavenham and its environs, as soon as possible. “I’ll have Littles send to him immediately. I want him to tell me everything about Kit’s wound. Perhaps there is some indication that it was an accident.”

Shaking her head, Bella picked up her blue shawl that had slipped to the floor beside her chair. “Mr. Preston said Kit had placed the pistol to his head, here”—she indicated her right temple—“and held it there for quite some time. There was a little round indentation there.” She drew a shuddering breath. “But Mr. Preston thinks at the last moment the pistol slipped and that’s why the bullet entered at his jaw. That’s why he lives still. But . . .” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “There was so much blood, Hugh. I ordered the footmen to roll up the carpet and burn it.”

“Come here.” He opened his arms and she fled to them, her tears drenching his shirt once more. “Shhh. Don’t think about it. We will weather this.” He stared over her head at their brother. Pray God they could weather it if the worst came to pass.

“Bella. Look at me.”

She tilted her head back and raised her eyebrows.

“When did you last eat?”

“I’m not hungry, Hugh.” She shrugged away from him.

“You need to eat all the same. If you wish to stay with Kit, you will need to keep your strength up.” He was heartened to see the familiar stubborn frown appear on his sister’s face. “We can take turns sitting with him, and when we cannot, I’ll have one of the footmen here. I promise you, he won’t be alone for a moment.”

“Oh, very well.” She pulled the shawl up over her shoulders. “Come dine with me?”

“Presently. I’ll send to Cook to have dinner ready in an hour. Go change and I will meet you in the dining room.”

With a look back at Kit, she squeezed Hugh’s hand and left.

Hugh strode quickly to the chamber always kept for him in the house. He went directly to the writing table on which always sat a decanter and glasses. With a less than steady hand, he poured a good two-thirds of a tumbler and gulped it down. The long, slow burn of the brandy steadied him and his mind began to tick off what had to be done.

Send for Mr. Preston. Hugh needed to know every possible detail about his brother’s injury and what they could expect and when.

Write to the family solicitor and apprise him of his brother’s condition. Had Kit made a will? If not, what did that mean for Hugh and Bella? It was always best to know as much as possible in order to prepare for every eventuality.

And he must write to Lady Kersey, informing her that he would not be returning to Kersey Hall. The thought gave him a twinge of pain, for he’d have liked to have seen the lady once more. Not that anything would have come of his growing regard for her. Still, he regretted losing that tenuous connection he’d experienced with her in the garden this afternoon. God, had it just been this afternoon?

He took another sip of the spirits as his conscience smote him. What would she do now without a steward? If the heir continued to be elusive, she might tarry at Kersey Hall for a year or more. She’d need someone who could carry on the work of the primary estate as well as oversee the other properties that belonged to the earldom. Could he abandon her so completely without a backward glance?

Perhaps he could arrange to help her hire someone to replace him. Yes, that would be best. He could ride to the Hall for a day or two to help interview prospective stewards. Between Bella and the servants Kit would be well taken care of and if he did succumb to his wounds, Hugh would only be an hour or two away. If he died . . .

Hugh set his empty glass on the desk and scrubbed at his face with both hands. What was he thinking? If Kit died and the local magistrate did not rule his death due to “melancholy” or “lunacy,” he and Bella would be turned out of The Grange with nothing and no place to go. No, Hugh must keep his position at Kersey Hall at all costs. It provided a house and a salary that, with strict budgeting, could supply all their needs. And he would not have to burden Lady Kersey with the task of finding his replacement. He drew a deep breath and some of the gloom that had swirled around his head lifted.

He would need to beg a leave of absence only, in order to set all the affairs here in order. When he took up residence at Kersey again, Bella could come with him, although he understood there would be a disagreement with that on her part. But given time, he could sort it all out. Even having settled that much in his mind lightened his spirits considerably.

And if the idea that he would still be able to see Lady Kersey engendered a large part of that rise to his spirits, he needn’t admit that to anyone. Especially not to himself.

Chapter Five

Late November 1817

Wringing her hands, Maria sat tensely beside Jane on the soft leather seat of the carriage as it made its way slowly past dead grass and sodden leaves toward Kersey Hall, dread of the long-awaited meeting with the new Lord Kersey filling her heart.

A fortnight ago, Mr. Clarke had written her that his senior clerk had finally located and authenticated the claim to the earldom. A Mr. William Garrett, a gentleman owning substantial land in America, had been discovered, via birth records tracing the lineage back to a younger brother of Alan’s great-grandfather, to be the late Lord Kersey’s heir.

The month of November had thus begun extremely badly, for Mr. Clarke’s letter had come just upon the heels of the dreadful announcement of the death of Princess Charlotte of Wales in childbed. Maria had resumed her black mourning clothes and wept for two days, partly for the loss of the princess, who was everyone’s darling, but partly because her own future was now to be decided by an absolute stranger and she was as helpless in one tragedy as in the other.

A wave of superstitious fear had consumed her and she’d written hasty letters to her friends, formerly of The Widows’ Club—Charlotte, Elizabeth, and Fanny—to assure herself of their continued health after the births of their children in July. Jane had told her she was being foolish, but Maria could not throw off the unsettling feeling of impending doom and had sent the letters anyway. All had replied with glowing reports of the health of themselves and their children and had kindly asked after her own. Still, the feeling of alarm had continued to press upon her until now she trembled as if the carriage took her toward a gallows.

“Stop fidgeting, my dear. I tell you, it will be all right.” Jane patted Maria’s hands, then cringed as the wind whipped the rain against the glass pane, beating at it in blustery gusts. “I cannot imagine that Lord Kersey will dismiss you out of hand. Surely he will take your circumstances into consideration.” She turned back to Maria. “The fact that you have already removed to the dower house amply demonstrates your willingness to be both reasonable and practical.”

Upon receipt of Mr. Clarke’s letter, Maria had made the bold choice of moving her small household to the newly refurbished dower house. She, Jane, the baby, her lady’s maid, an undercook and a footman, hastily elevated to cook and butler, had settled into Francis House, named for the first Dowager Countess Kersey’s family, with amazingly little fuss. Some intuition had told Maria she should not be in residence when Lord and Lady Kersey took possession of the estate. Therefore, last week she and Jane had solemnly watched the stream of carts and carriages conveying the new earl’s belongings along the main road to the house from the cozy drawing room that faced the driveway. And yesterday she’d received an invitation to tea at Kersey Hall, expected perhaps, but daunting still.