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The Duke of Cleybourne let out a low curse. “You don’t look like any governess I have ever seen.”

Jessica’s hands flew instinctively to her hair. Her thick, curly red hair had a mind of its own, and no matter how much she tried to subdue it into the sort of tight bun that was suitable for a governess, it often managed to work its way out. Now, she realized, after the long ride in the carriage a good bit of it had come loose and straggled around her face, flame-red and curling wildly. Embarrassed, she pulled off her bonnet and tried to smooth back her hair, searching for a hairpin to secure it, and the result was that even more of it tumbled down around her shoulders.

Cleybourne’s eyes went involuntarily to the bright fall of hair, glinting warmly in the light of the lamp, and something tightened in his abdomen. She had hair that made a man want to sink his hands into it, not the sort of thought he usually had about a governess—indeed, not the sort of thought that Richard allowed himself about any woman.

“Readers who enjoy historical regencies by Christina Dodd and Amanda Quick will find this book utterly irresistible.”

—Booklist on So Wild a Heart

The Hidden Heart
Candace Camp

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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The Hidden Heart

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Prologue

The Duke of Cleybourne was going home to die.

He had decided it the night before, as he was standing in his study, gazing up at the portrait of Caroline that Devin had painted for him as a wedding present. Richard had looked at the picture, and at the smaller, less satisfactory one of their daughter, and he had thought about the fact that it was December, and the anniversary of their deaths would be coming up soon.

Their carriage had overturned and skidded over the slick, icy road and grass into the pond, breaking through the skin of ice on top of the water. It had been only a few days before Christmas when it happened.

He could still smell the heavy scent of fir boughs that decorated the house for the holiday. It had hung in his nostrils all through his illness and convalescence, like the cloying odor of death, long after the boughs had been taken down and burned.

It had been four years since it happened. Most people, he knew, thought he should have gotten over the tragedy by now. One mourned for a reasonable period of time, then gathered oneself together and went on. But he had not been able to. Frankly, he had not had the desire to.

He had left his country estate, taking up residence in the ducal town house in London, and he had not returned to Castle Cleybourne in all that time.

But last night, as he looked at the portrait, he thought of how tired he was of plowing through one day after another, and it had come to him, almost like a golden ray of hope, that he did not have to continue this way. There was no need to walk through the days allotted him until God in his mercy saw fit to take him. The Cleybournes were a long-lived group, often lingering until well into their eighties and even nineties. And Richard had little faith in God’s mercy.

He did have faith in his own pistols and steady hand. He would be the bringer of his own surcease, and the dark angel of retribution, as well.

So he rang for his butler and told him to pack for the trip. They would be returning to the castle, he said, and felt faintly guilty when the old man beamed at him. The servants, who worried about him, were pleased, thinking he’d thrown off his mantle of sorrow at last, and they packed both cheerfully and quickly.

And it was true, he told himself. He would end his sorrow. In the most fitting way and place: where his wife and child had died, and he had not saved them.

1

Lady Leona Vesey was beautiful when she cried. She was doing so now…copiously. Great tears pooled in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks as she took the gnarled hand of the old man lying in the bed. “Oh, Uncle, please don’t die,” she said in a piteous voice, her lips trembling slightly.

Jessica Maitland, who stood on the other side of General Streathern’s bed, next to the General’s great-niece Gabriela, regarded Lady Vesey with cool contempt. Her performance, she thought, was worthy of the best who trod the stage. Jessica had to admit that Leona looked lovely when she cried, a talent that Jessica suspected she had spent some years perfecting. Tears, she had heard, worked enormously well with men. Jessica herself hated tears, and when she could not keep them at bay, she gave in to them in the quiet and solitude of her own room.

Of course, Jessica, a supremely fair woman, had to admit that Lady Leona Vesey was beautiful when she was not crying, as well. She had been one of the reigning beauties of London for some years now—though she was considered far too scandalous to be admitted into the best houses—and if she was reaching the last few years of that reign, the golden glow of candlelight in the darkened room hid whatever ravages time and dissipation had worked upon her.

Lady Vesey was all rounded, succulent flesh, soft shoulders and bosom rising from the scooped neckline of her dress, more suitable for evening wear than for visiting the sickroom of an aging relative. Her skin was smooth and honey toned, complementing the gold of the ringlets piled atop her head and the tawny color of her large, rounded eyes. She reminded Jessica of a sleek, pampered cat—although she was apt to change into something more resembling a lioness when she was angered, as yesterday, when Leona had slapped a clumsy maid who had spilled a bit of tea upon Leona’s dress.

Jessica had itched to slap Leona herself at that moment, but, being only the governess of the General’s ward, she had kept her lips clamped firmly together. Though in normal times Jessica kept the General’s household running efficiently, Leona was not only above her in rank but, being the wife of General Streathern’s great-nephew, also had a claim of kinship. From the moment she and Lord Vesey had swept into the house, Leona had taken over, treating Jessica as if she were a servant.

“Oh, Uncle,” Leona said now, dabbing at her tears with a lacy handkerchief. “Please speak to me. It lays me low to see you this way.”

Jessica felt Gabriela stiffen beside her, and she knew what the girl was thinking—that the General was no real relation to Lady Vesey, being the great-uncle of her husband, and that Lady Vesey’s spirits were anything but lowered at seeing the General lying in his bed at death’s door.

In the six years that Jessica had been at the General’s house, the Veseys had visited but rarely, and usually those visits had been accompanied by a request for money. She had little doubt that it was money that had brought them flying to the old man’s bedside now. Less than a week earlier, General Streathern had received a letter telling him of the death of an old and dear friend. He had jumped to his feet with a loud cry. Then his hand had flown to his head, and he had crumpled onto the carpet. Servants had carried him to his bed, where he had lain ever since, inert and seemingly insensible to everything and everyone around him. Apoplexy, the doctor had termed it, with a sad shake of his head, and held out little hope of recovery, given the General’s advanced years. The Veseys, Jessica was sure, had dashed to his bedside because they hoped to be named in the General’s will.

Jessica had tried her best to put aside her antipathy to Lord and Lady Vesey. They were, after all, Gabriela’s only living relatives besides the General, and, as such, she knew with a cold queasiness, in all likelihood Lord Vesey would become Gabriela’s guardian if the General did indeed die, which seemed more likely with each passing day.

She told herself that some of her dislike of Lady Vesey stemmed from that woman’s voluptuous beauty. Jessica had grown up stick-thin, with a wild mop of carrot-colored hair, her eyes and mouth too big in her starkly thin face. As an adolescent, she had towered over all the other girls—and most of the boys, as well—gangly and awkward and feeling hopelessly unfeminine next to the soft, small, rounded females all about her. And even though her figure had eventually ripened into womanhood and her face had filled out and softened, and her hair had deepened into a rich, vibrant red, so that she had become a statuesque and striking-looking woman, Jessica still felt twinges of envy and awkwardness around women like Leona Vesey, who used their lush femininity as a form of weapon.

Also, she admitted that she had prejudged the woman because of letters from Viola Lamprey, the lone friend who had stuck by Jessica through all the scandal concerning Jessica’s father. Viola had married rather late but startlingly well, becoming Lady Eskew three years ago and living at the height of London society. She and Viola had continued to correspond all through the years after the scandal, and Viola loved to keep Jessica amused with her witty, entertaining tales of the scandals and excesses of the Ton.

Lord and Lady Vesey were often the topic of gossip. He, it was said, was much too fond of very young females, and she had been carrying on a very well-known “secret” affair with Devin Aincourt for over a decade. A few months ago Viola’s letters had been full of the stories circulating through London concerning Aincourt’s sudden marriage to an American heiress and the subsequent termination—by Aincourt, not Lady Vesey—of the long-standing affair. The ladies of London were gleeful. Leona Vesey had few friends among them, having often made it a point to demonstrate how easily she could take away any of their husbands or suitors.

Jessica knew she should not have judged Lady Vesey on the basis of gossip. After all, she had certainly been at the center of a great deal of unfair gossip herself ten years earlier. When the Veseys had arrived here, she had made an effort to look at Lady Vesey afresh, untainted by preconceptions and prejudices. But it was soon clear to her that gossip had, if anything, not painted the lady black enough. Leona Vesey was selfish, vain and mean-tempered. She was contemptuous of all those of lower station than she, and she was pleasant only to those whom she thought could help her, usually men. The Veseys had been here for only three days, and already Jessica could barely stand to be in the same room with either of them.

She felt Gabriela tense beside her, and she suspected that the girl was about to unleash her anger on Leona, so Jessica quickly linked her arm with Gabriela’s, casting her a warning look. She was worried for Gabriela’s future. If the General should die and she was given to Lord and Lady Vesey as their ward, her life would be hard enough without her already having earned the enmity of Lady Vesey.

“Oh, please, Uncle,” Leona said, her voice breaking as she bent over the still form of the old man, waxen in the dim light. “Please say some parting word to me.”

Suddenly the old man’s eyes flew open. Leona let out a small shriek and jumped back. The General stared at her with piercing hawk eyes.

“What the devil are you doing here?” he asked, his voice scratchy and fainter than his usual bark, but his annoyance clear.

“Why, Uncle,” Leona said, recovering some composure, though her voice was still a trifle breathless. “Vesey and I came because we heard you were ill. We wanted to be with you.”

The old man glared at her for a long moment. “Afraid you might lose your share of my estate is more like it. Ha! Well, I have news for you. I ain’t dying. And even if I was, I wouldn’t be leaving anything to you and that roué of a husband of yours.”

“Uncle…” Lord Vesey, standing behind and to the side of his wife, tried an indulgent laugh. “You will give everyone the wrong idea. Others are not aware of your little fondness for jokes….”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” the General pointed out sharply, sounding stronger with each passing moment. “Damme! Nobody invited you here. You’re a damned nuisance.”

“Oh, Gramps!” Gabriela burst out, unable to restrain herself any longer. “You’re all right! We thought you were dying.”

The General turned his head and saw Gabriela standing on the other side of the bed, Jessica behind her, and he smiled.

“Now, would I do a thing like that?” he asked, extending his hand to the girl.

Tears spilled out of Gabriela’s eyes, and she leaned forward to take her great-uncle’s hand. “I am so glad you are all right. We were horribly scared.”

“I’m sure you were, Gaby.” The old man squeezed her hand with only a remnant of his former strength. “But no need. I’m still breathing.”

He looked toward the foot of the bed, where his doctor and the village vicar stood, staring at him in astonishment. “No thanks to you, I’m sure,” General Streathern went on, talking to the doctor. “Go away. You look like a couple of damned crows standing there. I’m not dying.”

“General, you must not excite yourself,” the doctor said in a calming voice. “You have been unconscious for almost a week now.”

“No, I haven’t. Woke up last night. Just went back to sleep.”

“It must have been the sound of Lady Vesey’s voice that got through to you,” the vicar said, with an admiring smile in that woman’s direction.

“Humph!” the General responded. “Well, you were a fool when you were young, Babcock, so no use expecting you to be any better when you’re old. Hearing that baggage’s voice is more likely to send me over than bring me back.”

“What!” Leona exclaimed, setting her hands on her hips indignantly. “Well, I like that. We left London and drove all the way up to this godforsaken place just because we heard you were ill. And this is the thanks we get?”

“I didn’t ask you to come here,” the General said reasonably. “Nobody did. You came because you hoped there was money in it for you. It’s the only reason the two of you ever set foot in this house, and I told you last time not to return. You’re damned nervy, that’s all I can say, to come strutting back in here. You are a conniving bit o’ muslin, Leona, and I thank God you’re not my blood relative. I wish I could say the same about that piece of trash you’re married to.” He broke off his harangue long enough to shoot Lord Vesey a malevolent glare. “Now get out, both of you. I don’t want to see your faces again.”

“Perhaps we had best go back to our rooms,” Lord Vesey suggested to his wife, looking a shade paler than he had a few moments before.

“Your rooms? You’re staying here?” The General’s face reddened alarmingly.

“Why, yes, of course,” Leona replied. “Where else would we stay?”

“I told you you were not welcome in this house,” the General snapped, struggling weakly to sit up.

“Please, General, calm yourself,” the doctor said, hurrying around the bed to put his hands on the old man’s shoulders and push him back down flat on the bed. “You will bring on another apopolexy if you don’t watch out.”

“The devil take it!” General Streathern glared at the doctor, but he didn’t have the strength to defy him. “I want them out of my house, do you understand?”

“But, General,” the vicar protested. “Lord Vesey is your nephew. And Lady Vesey—”

He broke off abruptly as the General fixed him with a glare.

“This is my house,” General Streathern said coldly, “and I am in charge of who does and does not stay here. Don’t tell me who I can have in my house, Babcock.”

“No, of course not, General,” the vicar said, forcing a smile. “I did not mean to be presumptuous. It is just—they traveled so far, and where are they to stay?”

“Let ’em stay with you, if you like them so much.”

Reverend Babcock chuckled indulgently, a sound that seemed to irritate the irascible old man even more.

“There’s an inn in Lapham,” he said, naming the local village. “Let them stay there if they’re so bloody-minded they have to remain. But I refuse to let them torture me with their whinings and cryings and making my servants unhappy. Nothing worse than having the maids weeping all over the place because he’s backing them into corners and taking liberties or she’s screeching at them like a harpy and slapping them. If a man cannot have peace when he’s been at death’s door for a week, then I don’t know what the world’s coming to.”

“Of course you can have peace,” the doctor told him soothingly, sending an expressive look in the direction of Lord and Lady Vesey. “My lord…”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Lord Vesey gave a smile that looked more like the death rictus of a corpse. “Anything to make the General feel better. Lady Vesey and I will take our leave right away.”

He took his wife’s hand, and they started from the room. The General turned his head toward Jessica. “Jessica. Make sure they leave.”

“Of course, General,” Jessica told him with a smile. “I shall be happy to.” She faced the others remaining in the room. “Gabriela, Vicar, why don’t we let the General talk to the doctor now?”

The clergyman was obviously eager to leave the sickroom—whether because he feared the General or was hoping to find Lady Vesey, Jessica wasn’t sure. Gabriela fairly skipped down the hall, keeping up a constant stream of chatter directed at Jessica.

“Oh, Miss Jessie, isn’t it wonderful? I was so sure that Gramps was going to die! I should have known that he was tougher than some old apoplexy.”

Jessica smiled at the young girl. At fourteen, Gabriela was already promising to turn into a beauty. Though her figure was still as slender and flat as a boy’s, there was a litheness to her walk that promised a future grace, and her skin was fresh and creamy, her face lively and well put together, with large, dancing gray eyes and a tip-tilted nose.

Jessica was glad to see her charge so happy, but deep inside she could not keep from having a few doubts herself. The General might have awakened and seemed his old self. He might regain his full strength. But Jessica had noticed, even if Gabriela had not, that the left side of the old man’s face had not moved much when he talked, and his left hand had not curled around Gabriela’s in response to her taking it in hers. He had been unconscious for some time, and if nothing else, he was bound to be far weaker than normal. He was an old man, and the old were always susceptible to fevers and coughs, especially when they were weakened by illness.

She worried about the General, not only because she was fond of the him, but also because his sudden illness had brought home to her how vulnerable Gabriela was. Underage, orphaned, she might very well be left to the mercies of such people as the Veseys. Jessica had taken care of Gabriela, been her companion, teacher and confidante since the girl was eight, and she loved her as if she were her own sister. But in the eyes of the world, hers was only a paid position, and if the General died, whoever became Gabriela’s guardian could terminate Jessica’s employment, and she would have no recourse. She had worried over the matter ever since the General fell ill.

Gabriela went upstairs with the promise that she would work on the studies she had neglected during her great-uncle’s illness, and Jessica turned into the kitchen to find the butler, Pierson, and inform him of the General’s miraculous recovery and his subsequent banishment of the Veseys. Nothing, she knew, could make the servants happier than those two events.

As she expected, the butler beamed when she told him what had taken place in the General’s bedchamber upstairs and assured her that he would assign two maids, not one, to packing up the Veseys’ baggage and would personally escort them to their carriage.

Jessica returned to the nursery upstairs, where her and Gabriela’s bedrooms lay, separated by the schoolroom. As she passed the Veseys’ room, she heard the sound of something breaking, followed by Leona’s high-pitched, angry voice and Lord Vesey’s lower-pitched but no less furious one. Jessica smiled to herself and continued on her way.

The doctor left, and not long after that, Lord and Lady Vesey also quit the house. Humphrey, the General’s valet, stayed by the old man’s side throughout the rest of the day and that night, relieved—after great resistance—for a few hours at a stretch when Jessica or the butler or the housekeeper took over his role of nursemaid.

The General slept much of that time, waking up now and then to complain of feeling hungry and devouring first a bowl of consommé, then gruel and, finally, demanding soup with some substance to it. With each irascible command or gripe, the spirits of the household lightened. The General was becoming more and more normal.

Jessica visited the old man with her charge every morning and evening, and she could see visible improvement in him each time. She was very happy, not only for Gabriela’s sake, but because she was fond of the General. When the scandal broke and her father was cashiered out of the army, most of their acquaintances and friends, even the man she had thought loved her, had turned away from her, but General Streathern had not. He had come to pay his condolences after her father’s death, a courtesy few other of his military friends had seen fit to exercise.

Her father’s death had left Jessica penniless. She had refused to seek the help of her father’s family, who had scorned him after the scandal. For a time she had stayed with her dead mother’s brother, but it had been an untenable situation. He had five daughters of his own, all coming up to marriageable age and making their debuts. The last thing they needed was another young female about the place, and Jessica, whose father had raised her to be strong-minded and independent, was accustomed to running a household, not living meekly in one. She and her aunt did not get along, and she had soon seen that she could not live with them, either. There had followed a series of positions as governess or companion, but she was generally considered too young or too attractive or too tainted by scandal to be hired, and when she was, she often found herself leaving because of the unwelcome advances of a male of the house.

It had struck Jessica as grimly ironic that she, who had struggled through her younger years as a gawky, clumsy ugly duckling of a girl, had now somehow become the unwelcome object of male lust. She knew that the development of her late-blooming figure had had something to do with it, but she had difficulty recognizing that her despised riot of flame-colored hair was a lure to men, or that her features, once too large for her face, had matured into striking beauty. So, rather cynically, she laid the bulk of the blame for her attraction for men on the fact that they were drawn to her because she was no longer under her father’s protection. They wanted her, in short, she decided, because they thought she was an easy target now, a woman who was at their mercy because she had to work for a living.

Dismayed and embittered, she had stopped applying for positions as a governess and had managed to scrape out a living taking in fancy sewing. She had a good eye and hand for needlework, and when she swallowed her pride and went humbly asking for work, a number of women of wealth and position had paid for beautiful embroidery. Still it was a difficult and minimal living, and there were times when she despaired. Winters were the worst, for it cost more to live, as she had to heat her small room. She tried to save on coal, but she could not do the fine threadwork with fingers that were freezing. One winter, about six years earlier, the amount of sewing that she had been given had fallen off, and then she fell ill and had to turn away work for a week. She found herself suddenly on the brink of disaster, and she was forced to consider going back to live with her uncle or even asking her father’s stiff-necked family for help.

It was then that the General had appeared on her doorstep, a gruff, unlikely angel of mercy, and had offered her a position as companion and governess to his great-niece, Gabriela, whose parents had died a month earlier, leaving the General her guardian. The General had immediately thought of Jessica, with whom he had retained contact throughout the years. In fact, she had long suspected that he was behind some of the bonuses and gifts that she had received from her customers over the years. Jessica had seized on the offer of a position with joyful relief, and she had never regretted her decision.

Her time here had been happy. She soon grew to love her charge, and as she stayed, she took on more and more of the running of the household. The servants relied on her for advice and orders, quick to realize her competence, and the General was happy to turn such “women’s things” over to her. She enjoyed her life here, and it seemed almost as if General Streathern and Gabriela were her family. She did not think she could have been more concerned for the old man or happier that he was coming out of his illness if he had been her own grandfather.

After another day of convalescence, the General informed his valet that he did not need a “damned nursemaid sitting up and staring at me all night,” and ordered him to go to bed and end his nightly watch. The following morning he sent Humphrey to Jessica with the request that she come to his room. She left Gabriela with a paper to write and went to see the General, wondering what he wanted. Knowing the General, it could be anything from an accounting of the household budget to a game of chess to alleviate his boredom.

In this instance it was neither. General Streathern was sitting up in his bed, looking much stronger than he had the day before. He smiled when he saw Jessica, and she noted that the expression still did not reach the left side of his face. His left arm, too, was held across his lap and did not move much as he talked. But his color was much better and his gaze was alert, and when he spoke he sounded much like his old self.

“Well, girl, had you given me up for dead, too?” he barked.

“I was very worried,” Jessica admitted.

“Doubter.”

“You had been unconscious for a week, General,” Jessica pointed out. She had grown up speaking her mind, for it was the way her father had trained her, and she had been greatly relieved to find that the General was the same sort of man.

The old man chuckled. “I can always count on you to tell me the truth, Jess.” He patted his bed. “Come, sit down where I can see you without having to break my neck.”

Jessica went forward and sat down on the edge of his bed, facing him. “I am very glad to see that I was mistaken.”

“I am, too, my girl.” General Streathern let out a sigh. “I have to tell you, I gave myself a scare. I wouldn’t let on to that old sawbones, of course, but I know I had a close brush with death. I can feel it.” He patted his left arm. “Haven’t got full movement here, you know.” He shook his head. “It’s a frightening thing, your brain attacking you.”

“I imagine it is. But you are better now. And perhaps your arm will grow stronger.”

“I hope so. It’s damned irritating. Not as irritating as waking up and finding that scoundrel Vesey in my room, though. Don’t know how my sister could have produced a grandchild like that. Nothing wrong with her daughter—course, the Vesey line has always had bad blood. I told Gertie that no good would come of it, but it was out of her hands. Her son-in-law always did have batting for brains.”

“I am sorry they were here.”

“Not your fault. But I told Pierson not to let them back in. Now that he has my orders, he’ll keep them out. And if he does go all weak, you remind him of what I said.”

“I will.”

“Gave me a turn, seeing Vesey.” The General fell silent for a moment, looking down at his hands. He was not one to speak of personal feelings, a military man to the bone. “It made me think. I could die. I am seventy-two years old. I’ve had more than my time on earth. I guess I always thought I could somehow fight it off. But it was sheer luck this time. When I read that letter, saw that Millicent had died…”

“I am sure it was a shock to learn of your friend’s death.”

“It was indeed.” Sadness fell over the old man’s features. “I loved her, you see.”

“Of course.”

“No. I mean, really loved her. Loved her for almost fifty years.”

Jessica, startled, looked keenly at the General. There was a softness in his eyes that she had rarely seen there.

“She was married to another man. Not a bad fellow. I knew him. I met her at a party Lady Abernethy gave. I was thirty-four at the time. I hadn’t married. I had been too busy with my career for things like that. After I saw Millicent, I knew I never would. Terrible thing to live with, knowing that you would be ecstatic if a good man died. Course, he did, many years later. But by that time, we had gotten old. Grown into the way of being friends, settled in our own lives and neither of us too eager to give that up. It was enough for us the last few years just to see each other now and then, and to maintain our correspondence. I would have done anything for her, though.”

He sat lost in reverie. Jessica remained silent, too, trying to absorb this new picture of the crusty old military man as a devoted swain, loving a woman he could not have.

“Ah, well.” The General seemed to shake off his thoughts. “That’s not what I called you here about. Not directly, anyway. The thing is, when I read those lines, there was a terrific pain in my head, and then the next thing I knew I was waking up here with that silly cow Leona blubbering all over me. Now I realize how presumptuous I was all these years, thinking I could fight off death, as if it were an enemy soldier. I couldn’t do a thing. I was just lucky to come back. Next time, I might not be so fortunate.”

Jessica did not know what to say. The General was right, and it was hard to say something optimistic in response.

“Seventy-two. Some would say it’s about time I figured out I wasn’t invincible.” The General let out a little chuckle. “Thing is, what about Gaby? Oh, I’ve provided for her in my will, no worry about that. And her father left her a nice trust. She will have plenty of money. But she needs more than that. She needs someone who loves her.”

“I will stay with her, General. I promise. You know how much I care for her.”

The General smiled at her, and it touched Jessica’s heart with sorrow to see how one side of his mouth did not curl up with the other. “I knew I could count on you. But I wanted to make sure you understood what to do if anything should happen to me. I have provided for a guardian in my will. It’s the same man that her father named as successor should anything happen to me. I don’t know him well, but he was a friend of her father’s and reputed to be an honorable sort. He will look after her money and her welfare. I just wrote him a letter. There…”

He gestured toward the small table beside his bed, on which lay a letter, closed by a blob of red wax bearing the General’s seal. “Take it. I want you to escort Gaby to his home if anything further should happen to me. Give him this letter, as well as the will. In it, I’ve asked him to keep you on. I told him that Gaby relies on you and trusts you.”

“I will. Don’t worry. But let us hope that there will be no need for it. You will recover and live long past Gaby’s marriage, I’m sure.”

“I hope so. But I haven’t said all I want to say. Once Gaby is with her new guardian, I won’t worry. He is a powerful, influential man—the Duke of Cleybourne. Vesey would be able to do nothing to him. But until then…I fear Vesey.”

“Lord Vesey? But surely, if you name someone else her guardian, that will put a stop to any danger from him.”

“I would count on nothing when it comes to that man.” General Streathern’s lip curled. “He is vile, and his wife is no better. I would not trust him not to seize Gaby if he has the opportunity. I left the man nothing, and he would love to get his hands on Gaby’s money. And that witch of a wife of his is able to twist honest men around her finger. I don’t trust the pair of them.” He frowned, then went on slowly. “I would not otherwise sully your ears with such a tale, but you must know the full extent of his wickedness. The man is a lecher, and I have heard that he has a…a preference for young girls. Girls of Gaby’s age.”

Jessica sucked in her breath sharply. “General! Do you mean—you think he would—”

“I do not know how low the man would sink, but I would not be surprised at the depth of his depravity, either. Let us just say that it would be safer if she were never under his control, even for a day.” He looked at her sharply from beneath his thick white eyebrows. “Your father was one of the best soldiers I ever commanded.”

“Thank you, General.” Jessica felt emotion swell unexpectedly in her throat.

“I am counting on you to have his same spirit.”

“I hope and pray that I do,” Jessica replied, adding firmly, “You can rely on me to keep her away from Lord Vesey.”

“Good.” He relaxed, easing back against the pillows. “Thank you, Jessica. If I should die, either now or later, he will come like a vulture. Get her away from here as soon as the will is read. Be packed and ready to go. You understand me, don’t you?”

“Yes, I will waste no time. I swear it to you. She and I will leave immediately after the will is read, even if it means leaving the luggage for later.”

He nodded. “You’re a sharp, sensible girl. I know I can trust in you. Take her to the Duke of Cleybourne. His estate is in Yorkshire, near the town of Hedby, no more than a hard two days’ ride by carriage.”

“I will.” Jessica reached over and took the old man’s hand. “But, please God, that time will not come for many years, and Gaby will be a married woman by then.”

“God willing.”

It was late at night and the house was dark, everyone tucked up in their beds, when a side door opened quietly and a dark figure slipped inside. The man stood for a moment, still and watching, then moved with equal silence down the hallway and up the servants’ stairs to the second floor. Once again he waited, poised at the top of the stairs for the slightest sound before he went on to the door he sought. He opened it and peeked inside. There was no sign of the General’s valet or a nurse keeping watch over the old man.

He slid through the door and closed it softly after him, then glided across the floor until he stood beside the bed. He stood for a moment, gazing down at the old man. The General looked so frail that for a moment he wondered if this was really necessary. The man had just, after all, almost died. There was always the possibility that he would not regain his health, and then General Streathern would be of no danger to him.

As he watched, the old man’s eyes opened, as if he had sensed the watcher’s presence. His eyes narrowed. “You!” he rasped. “What the devil are you doing here? Didn’t I tell you—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” the younger man said lightly. “I am never to taint you with my presence. But, I thought it best to talk to you. You see things have changed.”

“Yes, they have.” The General pulled himself up into a sitting position against his pillows. His uninvited guest noted that it was something of a struggle for him.

“I wanted to make sure that you were not thinking of doing anything foolish.”

“You mean revealing what really happened? What makes you think I wouldn’t?” the General shot back, rather injudiciously. “I have no reason to keep silent anymore.”

“There is the slight problem of your not having brought the matter up years ago, when it mattered. It would not reflect well on you. Your name would be ruined.”

“Perhaps that is as it should be,” the old man remarked heavily.

“Easy for you to say, when you are facing the grave, anyway. I, on the other hand, have many years to live, and I have no desire to do so under the taint of scandal.”

“It would be worse than that.”

“Indeed? I think not. Only your word against mine, and you are an old fool who has just suffered an apoplexy. Everyone would assume that your brain simply was not working properly any longer.”

“Oh, they would believe me,” General Streathern said, contempt and hatred lighting his eyes. “I have proof, you see.”

The other man’s eyes were as cold as the General’s were heated. He surveyed the old man for a moment, then said, “Well, I am sorry to hear that.”

Swiftly he picked up a pillow from the bed and put it over the old man’s face. The General struggled, but he was weak from his illness, and it was not long before his struggles ceased. The visitor waited another long moment after that, then lifted the pillow and set it back with the others. He pulled the old man back down in the bed so that he was no longer sitting up but would look as if he had died peacefully in his sleep.

He cast a quick glance around the room, and it was only then that it struck him: if the General truly had proof against him, he could still be in danger. His jaw clenched, and he glanced at the still man in the bed, anger surging up in him. The old fool had made him so angry, he had acted in haste. He should have made him reveal where and what the proof was before he killed him.

He went over to the chest across the room and began to search through it, realizing even as he did so how difficult it would be to find what he needed. To begin with, there was the possibility that there was no actual proof, that the General might have been merely bluffing, hoping to scare him. And if the old goat had been telling the truth, he still had no idea even what the proof consisted of. Was it an object? A piece of paper? Whatever it was, he was certain that the General would have secreted it away somewhere. A safe was the most likely choice, so he searched the room but found none, knowing even as he did so that the safe was just as likely to be downstairs in the old man’s study or smoking room, or even where they locked up the precious silver. Finding it would be a daunting task in the best of circumstances. At night, with a houseful of people around who might wake up and discover him, it was almost impossible.

Even as he thought it, he heard the sound of the doorknob turning. He darted into the shadowy spot between the wardrobe and the corner of the room and waited, holding his breath. He heard the shuffle of an old man’s feet across the room and saw the flickering low light of a candle. Fortunately the light did not come close to where he hid. He, however, could see the features of a man close to the General’s age, dressed in nightclothes and dressing gown. The General’s valet, he thought.

The servant stopped at the foot of the bed and stood for a moment. Then he began to frown and edged around the bed to stand beside the old man. He sucked in his breath and let out a low wail. “Oh, no, oh, my lord, no!”

He moaned again, then turned and left the room at a pace close to a run.

The intruder did not hang far behind. He raced to the door after the servant and saw him shuffling down the hallway, moaning and crying out, “He’s gone! The General’s dead!”

He did not pause, but slipped along the hall in the opposite direction, running lightly down the main stairs and out of the house.

2

The carriage rolled to a stop, and Jessica pushed back the curtain to peer out into the dark, a question on her lips. As soon as she saw what lay before them, the question died unanswered. The coachman had stopped, no doubt, just as she would have, because of the looming dark bulk that lay ahead of them. It was a massive structure of dark gray stone, obviously built centuries before in a time of frequent strife, and added onto throughout the years until it was a sprawling hulk of sheer stone walls, battlements and Norman towers. Lights burned on either side of its open gateway, doing little to alleviate the darkness. It was gloomy and foreboding, dominating the countryside from its seat on a slight rise. Castle Cleybourne.

Jessica had little trouble believing that it was the country seat of an old and powerful family. Nor was it difficult to imagine the place being besieged, war engines hammering away at its massive walls, soldiers on the battlements shooting down arrows on the troops below. What was harder was to picture it as a welcoming place to bring an adolescent girl who had just lost her last loving relative. She could not hold back a sigh.

Perhaps it had been a mistake, after all, to act this precipitously upon the General’s orders. It had shaken her so when the old man’s valet had run through the halls, wailing out the news of his death, that she had immediately set about readying Gabriela and herself for the journey to Gabriela’s new guardian. General Streathern’s death, following as it did hard on the heels of his seemingly prophetic words to her, jolted and frightened her, lending an eerie importance to what he had said. Had he foreseen that his death would come that swiftly? And had he foreseen other things, as well—things that had made him urge her to take Gabriela safe out of Lord Vesey’s hands?

She had sat up with Gabriela the rest of the night, holding the girl while she cried out her grief until Gaby fell, finally, into a restless slumber. Jessica had remained by the girl’s side, dozing by fits and starts in the padded rocker beside the bed, thinking about the General and letting her own tears flow for the man who had been so kind to her, standing by her when the rest of the polite world had scorned her. She had not cried like this for anyone since her father’s death ten years ago.

The next morning, she had told Pierson, the butler, about the General’s last instructions to her, and he had immediately set two of the maids to packing up her and Gabriela’s clothes and other necessities for the journey. He would not have ignored the General’s orders in any case, nor would any of the other servants, but Jessica could see in his eyes that he agreed with the General about the wisdom of removing Gabriela from Lord Vesey’s vicinity.

Jessica had gone about her business, seeing to the funeral arrangements and notifying all who needed to be notified of the old man’s death, including Lord Vesey at the inn in the village—even though it was like a stab wound to her chest to think of that loathsome man’s probable pleasure at the news. She had penned letters to the General’s friends, telling them of his demise, and another to the Duke of Cleybourne explaining the situation, while the servants went about the necessary arrangements to the house—draping crepe above doors and turning mirrors to the wall, muffling the door-knockers. Every spare moment, Jessica had spent with Gabriela, trying to ease the pain of this new death and separation.

The girl was white and hollow eyed but calm, not giving way to tears again until the last moments of the funeral. Jessica’s heart was heavy for her. Gabriela had had to suffer more sorrow than a fourteen-year-old should bear—losing both her parents when she was eight, and now losing the man who had been a grandfather to her, her only real remaining relative, for one could scarcely count Lord Vesey. Now all she had left were Jessica and the stranger who would be her guardian.

Despite the girl’s sorrow, Jessica knew that she had to explain to her why they must leave as soon as possible. She did not, of course, explain Lord Vesey’s depravity to her, deeming it unsuitable for a young girl’s ears, as well as exceedingly frightening for her. However, as it turned out, she did not need to justify leaving. As soon as Gabriela learned that they were going away in order to avoid Lord Vesey, she was eager to leave.

“I hate him,” she told Jessica vehemently. “I know it’s wrong. He is old and deserves respect…but he gives me the shivers. The way he looks at me…it’s as if a snake had crossed my path.”

“I understand. It is an apt analogy,” Jessica agreed. “He is a wicked man. Your great-uncle thought so, too. You must never be alone with him. If he comes into a room, you leave.”

“I will.”

At the funeral, Leona wept in her lovely way. Jessica wondered why the woman bothered, since the General was dead. Did she hope to influence the attorney who would read the will? Or was she simply unable to pass up an opportunity to focus everyone’s eyes on herself?

Jessica herself struggled not to cry, sitting beside Gabriela and holding her hand. She knew that she needed to be strong, for Gabriela’s sake, but she could not help remembering the many kindnesses that General Streathern had shown her, until finally she could not hold back the tears any longer, and she, too, had cried, silent tears rolling down her cheeks.

Afterward, in the formal drawing room of the General’s house, his attorney, Mr. Cumpston, read the General’s last will and testament to them. It came as no surprise to Jessica that the old man left his house and his entire fortune to Gabriela and nothing to the Veseys. It was what he had told her the other night. It did come as a shock, however, when she learned that General Streathern had left Jessica his favorite inlaid wood box, containing several of his mementos, as well as a sum of money. She stared at the attorney, amazed, oblivious to the venomous looks the Veseys shot at her. It was not a large sum, she knew, compared to Gabriela’s fortune. Leona, she felt sure, would consider it mere pin money. But it was enough, if invested wisely, to provide Jessica with a livelihood for the rest of her life. She would not have to scrimp and save, and she would never again be at the mercy of others. It was freedom from the painful, frequently humiliating existence into which her father’s scandal had plunged her, and it made her heart swell with gratitude and affection for the General.

Lord and Lady Vesey, as she had expected, had protested the contents of the will long and vigorously.

“I am his nephew!” Lord Vesey had cried. “There has to be a mistake. He would not have left money to his butler and valet and…and her—” he pointed contemptuously at Jessica “—and left nothing to a relative!”

“It’s because of you!” Leona added, her eyes shooting into Jessica like daggers. “I think we all know why he left you money, don’t we? The sort of services you performed for the old—”

“Lady Vesey!” Mr. Cumpston exclaimed, shocked. “How can you say such a thing about the General? Or Miss Maitland?”

“Quite easily,” Leona retorted scornfully. “I am not a country innocent like you.”

“I was friend to General Streathern for many years,” Mr. Cumpston replied. “I knew him well, and I know that there was no taint of scandal attached to him or Miss Maitland. He explained all his wishes to me.”

“He was influenced by her!” Leona cried, her lovely face contorted into something far less fetching. “Her and that chit!” She waved her hand toward Gabriela. “They worked on him. Convinced him to exclude us.”

“That’s right,” Lord Vesey agreed. “Undue influence, that’s what it was. He was an old man, and feeble. He probably didn’t know what he was doing. I shall take this to court.”

“Very well, Lord Vesey,” the attorney said with a sigh. “Certainly you may do so. But I think you would simply be throwing away money on such a suit. The General was in full possession of his faculties until he was felled by apoplexy that day, and there are a large number of respected people in this community who will testify to that. The witnesses to the will were Sir Roland Winfrey and the Honorable Mr. Ashton Cranfield, who were visiting the General at the time. They, too, can testify as to the General’s ability to know what he was doing, and I think you will find few who would dispute the word of either of those gentlemen.”

Lord Vesey sneered but fell silent. Jessica had no very great opinion of his intelligence, but she suspected that even Lord Vesey would realize he had little hope with two such respected men as witnesses against him. He and Leona left the house soon afterward, and Jessica sincerely hoped that was the last she and Gabriela would ever have to see of them.

Mindful of her promise to the General, she and Gabriela had also left that afternoon, after packing up the last of their things, putting the lovely wooden box the General had given her into one of her trunks, then bidding the servants of the household a tearful farewell and promising to send them word from the home of Gabriela’s new guardian and trustee.

They had traveled throughout the night, stopping only to change the horses at post houses along the way. She and Gabriela slept as best they could in the rumbling carriage, woken often by jolts and jars. Though the carriage was well-appointed and as comfortable as such conveyances could be, it was a hard drive, and it was a relief whenever they stopped at an inn to change horses and could get out a bit and stretch their legs, free from the constant motion of the coach.

Now, having arrived at the duke’s stronghold the next evening, Jessica was swept by a new dismay. The castle did not look like a welcoming place.

“Are we there?” Gaby asked, pushing aside the curtain beside her and looking out. She sucked in a breath as she saw the looming structure. “Oh, my…it looks like something out of a book—you know, the romances Gramps disapproved of my reading. Doesn’t it look as if it holds ghosts and villains?”

“And at least one mad monk,” Jessica added dryly, pleased when the younger girl let out a little chuckle. “Well, shall we venture forward?”

“Oh, yes. It looks most interesting.”

Jessica smiled at the girl. Gabriela was handling everything so well it was amazing. Jessica felt sure that many another young lady would have fallen into a fit of the vapors by now, given the events of the past few days.

She ordered the driver to proceed and settled back in her seat. She hoped that the Duke of Cleybourne would not be too offended by their arrival after dark. It was not the best time to impose on someone, but she hoped that he would understand the exigencies of the situation. It was too bad, she thought, that Gabriela’s father and then the General had chosen someone so lofty in lineage and rank to be the girl’s guardian. She was afraid that he would be so high in the instep that it would be difficult to talk to him. Jessica had been raised in good circles: her father’s brother was a baron, and her mother’s father was a baronet. But that was a far cry from a duke, the very highest title one could have below royalty. Some dukes were even royal themselves. She feared that he might dismiss her, thinking Gabriela’s schooling and training in the polite arts was not good enough for the ward of a duke. She kept such thoughts to herself, however, not wanting to upset Gabriela.

The carriage rolled up to the gates, stopped for a moment, then rolled on into the courtyard beyond. The entrance had once been the outer wall of the castle, Jessica supposed, with huge gates that were closed at night, but in these modern times, the gates no longer stood, only the entrance. Inside the wall lay a small courtyard paved with stones. The coachman pulled up to the front steps of the house, then climbed down to help Gabriela and Jessica out.

The house was imposing, the timeworn stone steps leading up to a large and beautifully carved wooden door. Concealing her nerves, Jessica went up the steps, Gabriela on her heels, and knocked firmly on the front door. It was opened almost immediately by a surprised-looking footman.

“Yes?”

“I am sorry to intrude so late at night. I am Jessica Maitland, and this is Gabriela Carstairs. We are here to see the Duke of Cleybourne.”

The young man continued to stare at them blankly. “The duke?” he asked finally.

“Yes.” Jessica wonderd if the man was not quite right in the head. “The duke. Miss Carstairs is the grandniece of General Streathern. Her father was a friend of the duke’s.”

“Oh. I see.” The footman frowned some more but stepped back, permitting them inside. “If you will, ah, just sit down, I will tell His Grace that you are here.”

It was not, Jessica noted, the pleasantest of greetings. Her unease grew. What if the letter had been delayed and the duke had not gotten it yet? They had traveled very quickly, and it was possible they could have outstripped the mail.

The footman was gone for some time, and when he did return, it was with another, older man, who came forward to Jessica.

“I am very sorry, Miss…Maitland, is it? My name is Baxter. I am the butler here. I’m afraid that this is not a good time to see His Grace. It is, after all, nine o’clock, rather late for visiting.”

“I sent him a letter,” Jessica said. “Did he not receive it? I explained the circumstances of our arrival.”

“I, ah, I’m not sure. I, there has been mail, of course, but I do not know whether he has read it. His Grace did not seem to expect you.”

“I am very sorry if he has not received the letter. But if he has it and has not read it, it would be a good idea for him to do so now. It will explain everything. I am sure it must appear odd to him, but I really must meet with him. Pray go back and tell him that it is imperative that we speak. Miss Carstairs and I have traveled quite a distance. She is the duke’s ward.”

The old man eyed Gabriela somewhat skeptically. “Ward?”

“Yes.” Jessica instilled her voice with all the iron she could muster.

The butler bowed and left, but a few minutes later, he returned, looking apologetic. “I am sorry, ma’am, but His Grace is adamant. He is, um, not one who engages in much social intercourse. He suggested that you contact his estate manager, Mr. Williams, tomorrow.”

“His estate manager!” Anger flared up in Jessica. She was tired, thirsty and hungry, as well as grimy from the dust of the road. She wanted nothing so much as a chance to wash off, then tumble into bed for a long sleep. It was galling that the obnoxiously proud duke did not even have the courtesy to meet her. During the years since her father’s death, she had grown used to slights and snubs, to the small, painful pinpricks of humiliation that the rich and powerful all too frequently gave out. But they never failed to raise her ire, and this one was far worse, because it was a snub and insult to Gabriela, as well.

She glanced over at her charge and saw that Gaby’s pretty young face was pale and apprehensive. She would no doubt worry now that her guardian had no liking for her, that he might refuse to be her guardian or, even worse, be a harsh one. The sight of Gabriela’s small hands twisting together in her lap touched flame to the fuel of Jessica’s anger.

“I am so very sorry that it is inconvenient for your master to come downstairs and meet an orphan who has been placed in his care,” Jessica snapped. “But I am afraid that he has no choice in the matter. He is Gabriela’s guardian, not his estate manager, and I intend to talk to him. We have traveled for a day and a half to see him, and I have no intention of going back to the village at this hour to get a room at the inn.”

The butler shifted nervously under Jessica’s flashing eyes. “I am most awfully sorry, miss….”

“Oh, stop saying that! Just tell me where he is, and I will give him the message myself.”

The old man’s eyes widened in horror. “Miss! No, you cannot—”

But his words fell on empty space, for Jessica walked past him, saying to Gabriela, “Wait here for me, Gaby. I’ll be back in a trice.”

The butler hurried after her, his hands fluttering nervously. “But, miss, you cannot…His Grace is not receiving. It is very late.”

“I am quite aware of the hour. And I frankly do not care whether His Grace is receiving or not. I intend to talk to the man, and I am not leaving this house until I do,” Jessica said as she strode into the huge central room beyond the stairs. “Your only choice is whether you will tell me where he is or let me yell for him,” she informed him over her shoulder.

“Yell?” The man looked as if he might faint from the horror of the idea. “Miss Maitland, please…”

“Hello?” Jessica called loudly, cupping her hands around her mouth. “I am looking for the Duke of Cleybourne!”

The butler gasped behind her. “No! Miss, you must not, it isn’t seemly.”

“And is it seemly for a man to ignore his duties to a dead friend, to tell a fourteen-year-old girl who has just lost everyone dear to her that she should go back to an inn to spend the night and then talk to his estate manager? I may be unseemly, but I am not wicked.”

She walked toward the main corridor leading off from the Great Hall, shouting again, “Cleybourne!”

Down the corridor a door was flung open, and a man stepped into the corridor. He was tall, with an unruly mop of thick black hair and eyes of nearly as dark a color. His cheekbones were wide and sharp, his jaw firm and his cheeks hollowed. He was dressed in breeches and a shirt, his jacket and cravat discarded, and his shirt unbuttoned at the top. He glowered down the hallway at Jessica.

“What the devil is going on out here? Who is making that racket?”

“I am,” Jessica replied, walking purposefully toward him.

“And who the devil are you?”

“Jessica Maitland. The one whose message you just flung back in her face.”

“I am sorry, Your Grace.” The butler hurried toward him, puffing.

“Never mind, Baxter. I shall take care of this myself.” The man swayed a little, putting a hand up to the doorjamb to steady himself.

“You’re bosky!” Jessica exclaimed.

“I am not,” he disputed. “Anyway, the amount of my inebriation is scarcely any business of yours, Miss Maitland. I am still not at home to every hopeful debutante who passes through with her harpy of a mother and hopes to put up at my home. Ever since that fool Vindefors married the chit who put up at his house after an accident, every grasping mama in the Ton has tried to emulate her.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Jessica said impatiently. “But it has nothing to do with me or my purpose here, as you would know if you had listened to what your butler said.”

The man’s brows soared upward. Jessica was sure he was unused to hearing anything he said or did disputed, given his rank. “I beg your pardon,” he said icily.

“As well you should,” Jessica retorted, purposely taking his words in the wrong way. “Miss Carstairs and I have had a long and difficult journey, and it is entirely too much to be told to take ourselves off to an inn at this hour of the night.”

“Some might say that it is entirely too much to expect a stranger to take one in at this hour of the night.” The duke crossed his arms, glaring back at her. “And who in the bloody hell is Miss Carstairs?”

“She is the daughter of a man who thought you were his friend,” Jessica replied. “So good a friend that he named you her guardian.”