Julian had worked hard to reverse the long neglect, and this year he expected to make a decent profit from his farms and holdings, even if not a fortune. Next year would bring higher returns, and the year after more again. He would see to that.
He was not without fortune even now, however. His maternal grandmother, who had died just one month after his father, had left half her considerable fortune to his mother and half to him.
He had something solid, then, with which to convince Mr. Dean that he was a worthy suitor—accomplishments that came from both steady hard work and inherited wealth. And, of course, there were his expectations, for his uncle, the present Duke of Stanbrook, had shown no inclination to remarry since the death of Aunt Miriam, and no inclination therefore to secure the succession in his direct line. Julian had the probability, then, of a future dukedom to dangle before Mr. Dean.
But now everything had changed. He had waited too long, and she was to be affianced to Viscount Darleigh.
“You have turned quite white,” Barbara said from her place beside him at the breakfast table. She set a hand over his. “It is bad news. I know. She told me in her note.”
They were alone there, his aunt and uncle having withdrawn from the room to go about their own business.
“She will say no,” Barbara assured him. “She will refuse to marry him, and then she will return to London, where you will be waiting for her.”
“No.” He refolded the pink note into its eight folds. “I have heard of Middlebury Park, Barbara. It is one of the great showpieces of England. Its owner is a viscount and I have no doubt he is vastly wealthy. And he is actively in search of a bride. Philippa has been invited there with her family specifically for his inspection. He is not going to reject her under the circumstances, is he? He has committed himself, and the Deans have committed themselves by going there.”
“But he is blind,” Barbara said.
Julian picked up and unfolded the note again.
“I cannot say no if he offers,” Philippa had written. “I cannot, Julian. Mama has impressed upon me that it is my duty to do this for Papa’s sake. And the duty is one of love. I might resist if he were a tyrant, or if Mama were. But they are not. And my sisters are excited at the prospect of my marrying a viscount and being able to sponsor dazzling come-outs for them when it is their turn. Oh, Julian! My only hope is that he will not offer for me, and I shall do all in my power to see to it that he does not. I do not know how that is to be accomplished, though, or even if it can be accomplished. I can only try.”
Julian refolded the letter with deliberate care and got to his feet.
“What are you going to do?” Barbara asked. “Will you go back home?”
Something was niggling at the back of Julian’s mind. He held up a staying hand and frowned in thought. Darleigh. A blind man. Was it possible?
“My uncle,” he said, “the Duke of Stanbrook, that is, opened his home during the wars to officers while they recuperated from the wounds they had sustained in battle. He had lost my cousin in the wars, you know, and then Aunt Miriam. I suppose it was his way of keeping busy and … healing himself.”
“Yes,” she said. “I remember your telling us, Julian.”
“Some of them stayed for several years,” he said. “One of them was blind and very young. I wish I could recall his name. Was it Darleigh? By God, it was. I remember at one time my father making a joke about Darling Darleigh. It was him, Barbara. He did not have the title when he went to Penderris Hall. He acquired it later. That was when my father made that joke.”
“And now he is going to marry Philippa,” she said. “Oh, Julian, I am so sorry.”
He looked at her, the frown still on his face.
“Middlebury Park,” he said. “It is not even so very far from here. And I met him once, you know, when I went to Penderris with my father.”
“What are you thinking, Julian?” she asked after a lengthy silence.
“I am thinking,” he said, “that I have an acquaintance not far from Middlebury Park, whom I have been meaning forever to visit. I am thinking that it would be common civility to call at Middlebury while I am in the vicinity to pay my respects to Lord Darleigh, my uncle’s friend.”
“You have an acquaintance nearby?” she asked, her eyes widening—and then narrowing again. “Oh, of course you do not. But what can you hope to accomplish by going there, Julian?”
To plant Darleigh a facer? A blind man? Great credit that would gain him. To plant Dean a facer? Better still. That would clear his reputation for all eternity. To throw Philippa over his horse before him and gallop off for the border and Gretna Green? A marvelously mature plan.
But go he must. He could not remain passively here or go back home to Cornwall while all his hopes and dreams—his very being—were being shattered where he had no control whatsoever over them.
“I have no idea,” he told his cousin quite truthfully.
2
Middlebury Park was indeed an imposing mansion, its gray stone central block flanked by long wings with tall round towers at each corner. There were formal gardens in front of it, a lake and island off to one side below undulating lawns dotted with ancient trees.
It was all enough to strike terror into the most intrepid of hearts.
“Oh, Philippa,” her mother said, her voice hushed with awe as the carriage made its way up the straight driveway toward the house. “You are to be mistress of this place.”