The Reluctant Heiress Read online

  His interest fairly caught, Alistair resolved to drift closer to the pair when they adjourned to the drawing room for, from the look of it, they were immersed in a debate that was likely to continue for some time, and he was most curious to hear what the lady had to say.

  However, when the men joined the ladies in the drawing room, Lady Sarah—Alistair had at least remembered the identity of the observant young lady—was deep in conversation with Lady Edgecumbe. Edging closer to the two women, the earl could just catch the words of the older woman. “... rotate the crops in each field and I would highly encourage you to do the same,” as well as the reply. “Yes, we do that at Cranleigh, but it is difficult to convince the older farmers of the wisdom of that practice no matter how effective it is proven to be. I do ride out to discuss it with them, but...”

  “But they are a thick-headed lot.” Lady Edgecumbe snorted.

  Alistair seized the moment of silence following her remark to interrupt. “And as I recall from my previous visit in this neighborhood, Lady Sarah, you are an exceptionally fine horsewoman. Tell me, do you still have your Ajax? He was a most impressive animal as I remember.”

  Sarah was taken aback that the earl should insinuate himself into the conversation without so much as a by-your-leave. The nerve of the man was incredible! He seemed to think that she was as readily bowled over by good looks and easy address as her sister-in-law and the Edgecumbe girls, all of whom were watching Lord Farringdon’s every move with varying degrees of obviousness. Still, she could not help being impressed, and even the tiniest bit flattered that he remembered her. “Why, thank you,” she replied coolly. “Yes, I still have Ajax, who remains a most loyal and excellent mount.” Sarah calmly surveyed the earl, refusing to initiate further conversation. If the man wished to intrude upon them, then let him take responsibility for the discussion.

  He did. After a brief appreciative glance at Sarah—the lady appeared to be awake on all suits—Alistair launched into a series of informed remarks and questions concerning estates and their management. Soon the conversation was flowing as smoothly as if it had never been interrupted.

  It was some time before Sarah noticed what had happened, and not until the middle of her description of draining a field at Cranleigh a few years back that she realized that somehow, instead of ending their discussion, the earl was actually enlivening it. He did have an inquiring mind and a felicitous turn of phrase that seemed to inspire even Lady Edgecumbe into something like vivacity. Loath though she was to admit it, Sarah became aware that she was actually enjoying herself.

  For his part, Alistair was equally struck. He did feel inordinately pleased with himself for having won over the most difficult person in the room. Having interpreted, with a fair degree of accuracy, Sarah’s initial categorization of him as a creature of the ton, he had set out to prove to her that she could not dismiss him so easily. Oh, he could tell that she disapproved of him as a rake and a libertine, and she did not consider him worthy of serious attention, and he could not help being irked by it. That she should so obviously look down on him, and then equally obviously enjoy the company of the unassuming vicar made her something of a challenge to Lord Farringdon.

  Besides, the earl was tired of women hanging on his every word and trying to entrap him into intimate conversations. There was something about Sarah that appealed to Alistair. She appeared so serene, so quietly self-assured among the rest of the ladies, all of whom were vying for attention in one way or another. Glancing around to check on everyone else’s reactions, laughing or smiling, always with an eye to who was observing, they never let their gazes settle on anyone for more than a second. And in the midst of all this was Lady Sarah Melford, quietly and unconcernedly being herself.

  Alistair could not immediately call to mind anyone, especially a woman, who demonstrated such an air of self-possession, and he found it rather attractive. He had been taken by it, in fact, from the moment he had entered the drawing room. To be sure, his pride, piqued by a woman who was visibly unimpressed by him, had also urged him into speaking to her, but it was more than that. For some inexplicable reason Lord Farringdon wanted to become acquainted with Lady Sarah in a way that was deeper and most unlike his customary flirtatious relationships with women. As he conversed with her, the Earl of Burnleigh resolved privately to discover more about her customary habits so as to seek out Lady Sarah at moments when they were not being so closely and critically observed by everyone.

  Chapter Ten

  Oddly enough, it was Rosalind who, luring the earl into a stroll along the terrace some time later, gave him his first information about her sister-in-law. As they left the drawing room, the marchioness sighed, laying a white hand on his sleeve and gazing up at Alistair, her eyes wide and her expression one of hidden sorrow. “I am so glad you were able to come to Cranleigh.” there was another gentle sigh. “My life has been rather difficult of late, and your presence is one of the only pleasures I have had this age.”

  Rosalind paused briefly, waiting for encouragement, but as none was forthcoming, she continued, “Harold has not been himself at all, what with this dreadful business over Lady Willoughby.”

  This was not the conversation Alistair had expected, and forgetting that he had resolved not to let himself be pulled into anything, he echoed in surprise, “Lady Willoughby?” and then cursed himself for a fool at being so easily led into what was bound to be a situation that required some assistance from him.

  “Yes, Harold’s grandmother had led him to believe he was her heir, and then left everything to Sarah. Who could have foreseen such a thing? !t is beyond thinking of—a tremendous fortune all for a young woman who cares about nothing except reading and tramping around the countryside—when Harold has so many things he could do with it.

  “Lady Sarah, an heiress?” Certainly the quietly dressed unobtrusive person Alistair had observed that evening acted nothing like the heiresses he had known.

  “Yes. And with all of that wealth, she has only become odder than she was already, setting up her own establishment at Ashworth and distributing money to the poor without the least though for her family. You cannot conceive how embarrassing and distressing it is to Harold. In addition, for someone in his position to be forced to live on the income of Cranleigh, which is the merest pittance, is ... well, you have no notion how lowering it is.” Rosalind pressed a hand to her brow and allowed just a hint of tears to glisten in the dark eyes.

  Alistair was not particularly certain as to where the conversation was leading, but knowing Rosalind, he felt sure it would eventually involve his helping her out somehow or at the very least being forced into a sympathetic response that would lend spice to an existence that appeared to be boring her. However, as he did wish to learn more about Lady Sarah Melford, there was nothing to do but listen and nod. He could see that Harold deprived of a fortune would hold no attraction whatsoever, and he did feel sorry for Rosalind, but not sorry enough to want to entangle himself in her clutches. The situation required some delicate maneuvering.

  Standing there with the light of the waxing moon washing over her and making her eyes appear enormous, the soft breeze gently blowing dark curls against her soft white skin, she was undeniably enticing, but Alistair was inured to her charms, and they no longer held any allure for him. The marchioness was so obviously needy, so patently desperate for an attractive man to solve her problems that he felt not the slightest bit of passion toward her, only pity and the certain knowledge that she would take considerable advantage of any compassion he might exhibit.

  Delicately, Alistair removed the hand that was again clutching his arm and turned to face her. A good deal of tact and diplomacy was called for because he wished to remain on good enough terms with her to glean further information about her sister-in-law and about the Chevalier d’Evron, yet he did not want her to cast him in the role of either her savior or her latest flirt. “How very distressing for you,” he murmured sympathetically, gently propelling her back toward
the doors to the drawing room. “But you are such a leader in society now that everyone follows your example without the least thought of your fortune. You have an elegance of style and a grace that have nothing to do with something as vulgar as money or lack thereof. You are an incomparable now, Rosalind.” He spoke her name as though it were an invocation of all that was delicate, refined, and in the first stare of fashion. “And as to your sister-in-law, what is it that she does that could possibly reflect upon you?”

  “What does she not?” Rosalind sighed. “In addition to behaving without the least sensibility, she immerses herself in the most inappropriate pursuits—politics and local affairs. Why she reads newspapers and journals as though she were a man. She is forever prosing on about such things with the vicar, and she rides about the countryside in the most indelicate manner on a horse not fit for a lady, without even a groom to accompany her. And to set herself up as mistress of her own establishment! Why, people will say that she is a bluestocking, or worse.”

  Now that his suspicions were confirmed that such a notable horsewoman as he remembered Lady Sarah to be would be bound to roam about the countryside and was thus easily encountered alone, Alistair was more than ready to rid himself of Rosalind’s company. “Surely, no one would think that such behavior had the remotest connection with such an exquisite creature as the Marchioness of Cranleigh. No, I am assured”-here Alistair directed a smile at Rosalind that was at once reassuring and admiring—“that no one blames you in the least. Rather, they have the utmost sympathy and respect for you and all that you are forced to bear.”

  They had reached the drawing room, and Rosalind was left with nothing to do but thank the earl for escorting her to get a breath of air. “For I am such a poor creature that the closeness of the room was making me feel quite faint.” She spoke just audibly enough to be heard by anyone who might have questioned the absence of a beautiful woman and an attractive gentleman on such a lovely evening.

  Alistair merely nodded politely. By acquiescing in her wish for a moonlight stroll, he had run a grave risk, the risk of becoming involved once again with Rosalind, but it had proven worth it. He had gleaned useful information about Lady Sarah and had then managed to extricate himself before the marchioness could make the situation more intimate. The earl could see, however, that now he would have to be on his guard. Rosalind was obviously unhappy and equally obviously looking for a man who would dispel that unhappiness. Alistair had not the slightest wish to be that man. If he remained aloof, she would be forced to depend on the chevalier, a solution that would suit the earl to perfection.

  Acting on his hunch the next morning. Alistair had his horse saddled up for an early morning ride and, having ascertained from the stable boy the location of Ashworth, he headed off in that direction, keeping a weather eye out for solitary riders.

  It was not long before he saw one, and by what he could tell at such a distance from the way the rider sat the horse, it was a female, and a female who rode better than most males, he thought as horse and rider sailed gracefully over a rather daunting hedge. The earl urged his own horse forward, and soon they were directly in the path of the oncoming rider.

  Startled at the sight of someone else out at an hour when she could usually count on having the countryside to herself, Sarah reined in hard, bringing her magnificent gray to a screeching halt, his sides heaving. Lady Sarah Melford on horseback was far more impressive than Lady Sarah Melford in the drawing room. Her dress the previous evening had been virtually shapeless, devoid of any style or detail. Now her slate gray habit, severely tailored, fit her to perfection, revealing a lithe, slim figure that seemed molded to the enormous gray stallion, who was snorting with impatience to be off again. The pert little hat emphasized the classic lines of her features while the dull gray of her attire called attention to a flawless complexion glowing with exertion.

  The green eyes, however, were colder than they had been the previous evening, regarding the intruder with guarded suspicion. Lady Sarah did not look to be best pleased by this interruption in her day, and for the briefest of moments, Alistair found himself at a loss as to how to proceed. So accustomed was he to alluring glances and welcoming smiles that it took him a moment to adjust to the idea that lady Sarah considered his presence to be an impediment rather than an addition to her appreciation of the fineness of the morning.

  You have become an insufferable coxcomb, Farringdon, Alistair muttered under his breath. Blessed with a rather sanguine view of himself, he had often dismissed the women who flocked around him as being governed more by fashion than by actual attraction to his person. Lord Farringdon was rumored throughout the ton to be a sad rake, and therefore women did their very best to confirm this reputation. Now, however, he was confronted by one who thought for herself, and things were rather different. Apparently, Lady Sarah neither knew nor cared about his many vaunted attractions. Alistair grinned ruefully. It certainly was a challenge, and there was nothing the Earl of Burnleigh thrived on so much as a challenge.

  He leaned forward in the saddle. “Good morning. Lady Sarah. I apologize for intruding on your morning’s ride. Had I known how much you treasure this time alone, I should not have accosted you.” Alistair was rewarded by a flicker of surprise in the eyes that regarded him so warily. Good! At least he had provoked some reaction besides a general disinclination for his company.

  Indeed he had, and more than he realized. That morning Sarah had already been berating herself for her conduct the previous evening. That she had even allowed herself to pay attention to this arrogant coxcomb was bad enough, but actually to enjoy his conversation was beyond belief, especially when he, clearly irked by her lack of appreciation, had sought her out to prove himself at her expense. Lord Farringdon was obviously accustomed to charming women as easily as he breathed, and she had allowed him to do the same to her. Why, she had been no better than the silly Edgecumbe girls, who had thrown themselves at his head. Actually, she was worse, because she was an intelligent, skeptical woman, uninterested in vulgar flirtation, yet she had allowed herself to be won over by a disarming smile and easy address. And now, she could feel the same thing beginning to happen all over again. How provoking!

  Alistair had been correct in assuming that Sarah treasured the peace and solitude of her early morning rides. The appearance of anyone who threatened this would have annoyed her, but to have it be the person who had exerted a disconcerting effect on her was upsetting in the extreme. The previous evening she had been immediately aware of the absence of her sister-in-law and the Earl of Burnleigh. She had observed them carefully as they returned to the drawing room and had been unable to suppress the image that so constantly intruded itself on her consciousness where Lord Farringdon was concerned. It was the image of his dark head bent low over Rosalind as he enveloped her in a passionate embrace. No doubt the two of them had been doing much the same sort of thing on the terrace. As always, the thought of it made her knees weaken and her stomach flutter in the oddest way.

  Now here was the same man who had caused that effect on her the night before, looking even more dashing, more vigorous, more vital astride a horse than he had in evening attire. She had known it was Lord Farringdon even when he was too far away to identify his features. There had been no mistaking the athletic figure and the proud bearing of the earl. It would have been cowardly to avoid him so she had steeled herself to meet him resolving that she would exchange only the briefest, coolest of greetings and then be off. But he had confounded her with his apology. Somehow he had divined her thoughts and acknowledged them with a ready sympathy that utterly disarmed her. Sarah was left with nothing to say except, “Good morning, my lord,” with as good a grace as she could muster.

  Having surprised her this way, the earl took advantage of Sarah’s momentary confusion to continue. “Actually I was in pursuit of much the same solitude as you were. I find that an early morning ride is the best way to reflect on things and work out problems.” The look of astonishment on hi
s companion’s face was so patent that Alistair could not help but chuckle. “I know that to someone of your serious turn of mind it is inconceivable that a useless fribble such as I should even think, much less consider solving things.”

  Sarah blushed uncomfortably. Really, dealing with this man was as frustrating as trying to hold water in one’s hand; one could never tell the direction he would go in next. Suddenly, she went from being justifiably annoyed at him to feeling rather guilty for having judged him so quickly and on such superficial evidence, dismissing him in precisely the same unthinking way she condemned most of the fashionable world. “I, ah, I mean, I did not, that is ...” Sarah stammered.

  “Don’t apologize. In the main it is true; I am a useless fribble and I prefer that most of the world look upon me that way. Admitting to having serious thoughts and concerns makes one most vulnerable, and as I have no wish to share those thoughts with the rest of the heedless world, I do my best to keep that side of me well concealed. You, on the other hand, have chosen a far more sensible course. You remain here in Kent, away from a frivolous and selfish society, in your own establishment where you have no need for such dissimulation, free to be yourself. I am sure that it is a much better way to be.”

  Now where had that speech come from, Alistair wondered. He had most definitely meant to win her over, but not to the extent of sharing feelings he barely knew he possessed. There had been something in her eyes as she was stammering out her apology, a look of sympathy, that had made him blurt out more than he had meant to. She seemed to see him as a fellow human being instead of in the role society had cast for him, and that little bit of understanding had made Alistair wish to confide in her somehow.

  All his life people had been viewing him as a symbol rather than a person. To his parents he had been the bothersome reminder of an unhappy marriage they were doing their best to ignore, an unwanted responsibility and a constant proof that they were growing older. To women of all types he had represented a challenge; his attention to them was an indication of their attractiveness. He was something to amuse them or to make another man jealous. To men he represented the daring life and the freedom they all wished they had, but were either too weak or too cowardly to pursue. To his servants and the tenants on his estate he was a remote godlike figure who, though rarely present, was responsible for all the decisions that governed their lives. But to no one was he just plain Alistair, except, perhaps to the young lady who was regarding him quizzically at this very moment, head tilted slightly to one side, her forehead wrinkled in thought.