wide. “Mr. George Burke is calling to see you, miss,” she blurted out.
Mariah’s cheer fell away. If only her father was here! But she hadn’t even received a letter from him in over a week. “I suppose I must see the man,” she said reluctantly. “Please ask him to wait in the small salon.”
After the maid left, Mariah said, “At this hour, I don’t suppose I’m required to serve him refreshments. I wonder what he wants?”
Mrs. Beckett frowned. “I don’t know what Mr. Burke will do, and that’s a fact. I’d heard tell he was staying at the Bull and Anchor. I hoped the rascal would leave Hartley without calling here. You watch yourself with that one, Miss Mariah.”
A good thing Mariah was dressed to go out. That would give her an excuse to keep the meeting short. “Do I look proper?”
“You do indeed, miss.”
Conjuring Sarah’s serene expression, Mariah headed to the small salon. When she arrived, George Burke was contemplating a small, inlaid table. In his early thirties, he was fair-haired and good-looking in a bluff, manly way.
As she entered the salon, she said, “Mr. Burke? I am Mariah Clarke.”
“Thank you for receiving me.” He ran his fingers over the inlaid wood wistfully. “This table belonged to my grandmother.”
It was a pretty table and Mariah liked it, but she and her father had agreed that Burke should be allowed to remove personal belongings and anything with sentimental attachments. “In that case, you should have it, Mr. Burke.”
He hadn’t looked at her when she entered, but at her words he glanced up. His expression changed. Mariah recognized that look. It was the interest of a man who found a woman attractive and was wondering how beddable she might be. “You are gracious,” he said. “I’m sorry we meet under such circumstances.”
Then why hadn’t he stayed away? Coolly she asked, “You have returned to Hartley for a visit?”
“I’m staying at the inn.” He frowned. “This is awkward. I called largely because I wondered if you had heard the news about your father.”
Alarm shot up her spine. “What news? If you wish to speak with him, you must wait until he returns from London.”
“So you haven’t heard. I feared that.” Burke glanced away, not meeting her gaze. “Your father was killed by highwaymen just outside of London, in Hertfordshire. I was staying at the local inn when I heard about the stranger who had been murdered, so I stopped to see the body in case I could help identify him. I recognized your father immediately. His face, the scar on the back of his left hand. It was unquestionably him.”
She gasped in disbelief. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“You insult me, madam!” Burke took a deep breath. “I will make allowances for your grief. If you don’t believe me—how long has it been since you received a letter from your father?”
Too long. When he first left, she’d received a letter about every other day. “It…it has been over a week.” She sank onto a chair, still not quite grasping that her father could be gone. But highways could be dangerous, and she’d been feeling anxious about the lack of letters. Her father had promised to write often, and he never broke his word to her.
“This was taken from your father’s body. I wasn’t sure he had family, but since I was coming to Hartley, I said I’d try to return it.” He pulled a gold ring patterned with a twisting Celtic design from his waistcoat pocket. She accepted it with trembling fingers. The ring was well worn and utterly familiar. Her father wore it always.
Her gloved hand clenched over the ring as she accepted that Burke was telling her the truth. She was alone in the world. Her last letter from her father didn’t say that he had called on his long estranged relatives yet, so they wouldn’t know of her existence. She didn’t have the faintest notion where his family lived, so she couldn’t write them and introduce herself. For all practical purposes, they didn’t exist.
She was alone. Granny Rose and her father were both gone, and all she had was Hartley. But that was a good deal more than she’d had two months earlier.
Still between shock and disbelief, she asked, “Why didn’t you notify me so I could see that he was properly buried?”
“At the time, I didn’t know of your existence. But you may rest assured that he was buried decently. Since I’d known him, I gave the local authorities the money to put him in a local churchyard. I also gave them the name and address of your father’s lawyer, whom I’d met during the transfer of Hartley’s ownership. I expect you’ll hear from him.”
“Thank you,” she said numbly.
“This is very difficult, Miss Clarke, but I must tell you that your father cheated in the game where he took my estate,” Burke said tersely. “I was prepared to challenge him legally, but his death complicates the situation. I returned to Hartley to reclaim my property, and learned about you. I decided I’d best call to give you the bad news if you hadn’t heard.”
His words cut through her numbness. “How dare you make such an accusation! You insult my father, sir!” Despite her words, a small, cold corner of her mind wondered if the claim might be true. Her father was generally an honest gambler. As he had told her more than once, that was just good business. A cheat would soon be barred from play with gentlemen.
But Charles Clarke did know how to cheat. He’d demonstrated various methods of crimping cards and signaling and other techniques so that Mariah would be able to recognize the tricks when she was herself playing. She was a competent card player, and she had found that great ladies might cheat no matter how old and honorable their family names. If necessary, Mariah knew how to cheat back.
But she would not show doubt about her father to Burke. “My father is an honest man. If he were here, he could defend himself from this slander!”
“Since he is no longer with us, I shall speak no more of what he did.” Burke studied her face, his pale blue eyes calculating. “Miss Clarke, I know this is not a good time, but a thought has occurred to me. You have been orphaned, and I want my estate returned. I was prepared to go to the law to reclaim that, but the courts are slow and expensive. There is a more convenient solution for both of us.”
Mariah gazed at him, only half aware of his words. There was no solution that would bring her father back.
“I need a wife, and you are a gentle lady in need of a man to protect you,” he continued. “I propose that we marry. There will be no lawsuit and no unpleasantness. Both of us will have a home, income, and standing in the community. It will be a most suitable match.” He glanced around the salon approvingly. “I can see that the household runs well under your supervision, which pleases me almost as much as your beauty and grace. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife, Miss Clarke?”
Her jaw dropped in shock. A complete stranger was asking her to wed because it would be convenient? That was the trouble with pretending to be ladylike: obviously she looked like a helpless fool.
His proposal was outrageous, even if she’d liked the man, which she didn’t. Granted, he was good-looking and his offer had a treacherous logic to it, but she had no desire to join her life to a gamester’s. She had seen what hell such men created for their families. If she wed the man, she would
