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
