who depended upon the Earl of Fencroft for their survival. How many were employed by the estate and the town house?
He didn’t know. Oliver and Mr. Robinson had taken care of everything having to do with the business of running the earldom.
A hail of small pebbles hitting rock rattled from behind.
“Yer Lordship, sir!”
Turning, he saw a boy scrabbling down the steep hillside.
“What is it, Georgie?” The eight-year-old was thin but not as thin as he’d been the first time Heath had encountered him. “You should not be out in the dark. It isn’t safe.”
“Not so dangerous as before in London, sir. And here—”
The boy extended a sheet of paper, already damp and limp with sea spray.
“It’s from the telegraph office, and coming so late as it is, Mrs. Pierce reckoned it must be important.”
Indeed. A message sent at this hour could indicate an emergency. He opened it slowly, half fearing to know what it said.
Brother, come back to London at once. The accountant has fled and left chaos in his wake.
What kind of chaos? It would have been helpful had his sister explained further.
He hoped she was just being overdramatic. Olivia was Oliver’s twin. She had been understandably distraught since his death. Still, getting news that Robinson had fled could not be a good thing.
Heath hadn’t let the fellow go after Oliver’s passing three weeks ago. With the knowledge he had of the estate, he was invaluable and Heath had had every intention of keeping him on.
“Hold on to my hand, Georgie. The rocks are slippery.”
At the cliff top, with the child’s footing secure, he let go of the small fist. “Go tell my coachman we’re off for London at first light.”
There was no point in dragging anyone out into the dark of night. Whatever problems the fellow had left behind would wait until a decent hour.
As it turned out, a full eighteen hours passed before Heath finally entered the study of the London townhome. The servants were abed but a small fire glowed in the hearth, apparently kept in expectation of his arrival.
The weak flames gave off scant warmth and even less light. Shadows hovered in the corners of the room; they swirled about his heart like mist.
It was too easy to imagine Oliver still sitting at the desk, a blanket draped across his shoulders and a cloth close at hand for him to cough into. The scent of cigar smoke lingering in the room made Heath feel that if he but blinked, his brother would be there.
“At last! I feared you would not come.”
His sister’s voice crackled with worry. It hadn’t always sounded so vulnerable, but Oliver’s death so close on the heels of her husband’s had changed her.
Death changed everything. To this day grief for Wilhelmina came upon him at unexpected times. Of course, it was not only his fiancée’s death that haunted him, but the secrets she kept in life.
“We made decent time given the storm.” In fact he would give the coachman extra pay for having to bear the cold and the wet in order for him to get here and deal with Olivia’s perceived “chaos.”
“No doubt you were loath to leave your mistress.”
“I don’t have a mistress.”
“No?” Her bow-like mouth pressed tight. It was hard for his sister to accept that not all men were like her late husband. “So you say, but I think you spend too much time at Rock Rose Cottage not to have one stashed away.”
Everyone faced betrayal at some point in life. His sister had trusted and adored her husband, until the day he passed away in the bed of his mistress. Given all Olivia had been through, Heath tried to smile past her suspicions.
He strode over to where she stood in the doorway, dipped his head and kissed her cheek. “I’d have been here sooner but the roads were complete muck. I’m just lucky my driver was skilled enough to keep us from getting stuck like so many others were.”
“Just remember, brother, a mistress and the devil are one and the same.”
“Let’s sit while you tell me what chaos Mr. Robinson has left behind.”
Since he could not tell her the truth about his business at the seashore, he did not argue further about there being no mistress, even though he was quite weary of her continued accusations.
He sat down on the divan. Olivia eased down beside him with a deflated sigh.
What he must remind himself was that she was a widow, that she and four-year-old Victor were dependent upon him for everything. Truly, a woman without a man to protect her was helpless in society.
Willa’s face flashed in his mind. The helplessness in her sad brown eyes had always made him feel protective of her, even when they were children. In the end that expression had been his undoing.
“Solicitors have been pounding on the door and demanding payment for debts that they claimed Oliver incurred. Three of them two days ago, and one this morning. I sent them away as best I could.”
“With their ears red and ringing, I imagine.”
She shrugged. “It’s no more than they deserved, but I fear the obligations are valid. I loved Oliver—you know I did—but he could be irresponsible.”
“I think he wanted to squeeze as much living as he could out of his failing body.”
“Perhaps, and who could blame him? But really, our brother ought to have hired someone more capable as our accountant. What did Mr. Robinson really have to recommend himself other than being Oliver’s chum from Cambridge? I didn’t think so much of it at the time but looking at it now I ought to have. The pair of them laughed and indulged in spirits when they worked on the ledgers.”
He did not know that, but it hardly surprised him. Oliver sought gaiety above most everything else. No doubt that pursuit had hastened his death. Doctor after doctor had warned him to leave the caustic air of London for the sake of his lungs. He would not consider it because he found country life dull. He used to claim all the charming, lively ladies lived in town and that was where he would reside.
“Our brother did enjoy a good time.”
“I thought,” Olivia murmured with a sigh, “that was the reason he wanted to marry that rich, flighty American, for the thrill of doing something risqué. But I see better now. We’ll need an auditor to know for sure, but I fear we might be bankrupt.”
“I’ll wire James Macooish, let him know that our brother is gone and he need not bring his granddaughter. I suppose I ought to have done it straightaway, but with—”
“You will not. The girl is coming to marry the Earl of Fencroft. Fifth or sixth, it hardly matters.”
“It
