his mind noted the young woman’s perfunctory courtesy to him, his mind catalogued the valuables in the room. ‘I should damned well think so since it’s my house.’ His eyes gleamed overbright as he strutted like a well-preened rooster on the oriental carpet, eyeing and fingering precious heirlooms he had coveted for years.
Henrietta’s face tightened with the effort of holding back a sarcastic rejoinder. She braced herself for what was to come, for after her dealings with this man in the past she knew it was not going to be pleasant. She glanced at Rose hovering in the doorway, a pensive look creasing her round face.
‘Is everything all right, Miss Brody?’ she enquired, glancing nervously at the visitors.
‘Yes, thank you, Rose.’
Rose stepped back, but was not out of sight. Her faithfulness to her mistress remained as strong as the time when she had come to live with Baron Lucas and she had long ago proven her confidante in the most troubling times.
‘Bring us some refreshment, will you, Rose?’
The maid bobbed a curtsy and hurried away.
Henrietta and Jeremy Lucas were isolated enough that they could converse in private in the salon, yet the servants were still close enough that Henrietta did not feel as if she was under any threat. It was indicative of her mistrust of Jeremy that she even thought of such things—that she was actually considering herself to be in possible danger in her own home.
‘The servants are disrespectful,’ Jeremy informed her as he sat down heavily on a chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him, unconcealed malevolence in his pale blue eyes as they swept insolently over her. ‘But no matter. I have not come here to discuss something that can be replaced.’
Henrietta stiffened, all her senses alert. ‘Replaced? What are you talking about?’
‘Servants are two a penny. Now I’ve come to take up residence, if any of them want to remain they must know their place.’
‘Quite right, Jeremy,’ Claudia piped up in her shrill voice. ‘You show them how you mean to go on from the start and that you’ll stand for no interference from them.’
Henrietta looked at Jeremy’s wife. During several visits, Henrietta’s red-gold tresses had incensed the hard-faced virago, causing Claudia to berate the whole Scottish race as being slow-witted and to demean Henrietta as a heathen, a derogatory appellation many an English Protestant was wont to lay on the Roman Catholics.
True to form, Claudia was gaudily attired, her generous assets amply displayed. She wore too much powder and paint for good taste. Her dark hair was piled high on her head and a black patch dotted her cheekbone. With her nose tipped disdainfully high, her hazel eyes hostile, Claudia gave her a haughty smile as she doffed her gloves and tossed them aside. Prowling slowly about the room, her skirts swishing in her wake, she trailed well-manicured fingers across polished surfaces, lingering on a valuable figurine while eyeing other knick-knacks as if to assess their value.
‘If you have come to discuss the will, Jeremy,’ Henrietta said, trying to hide her aversion to the man, ‘the solicitor is coming tomorrow.’
‘I am aware of the contents, Henrietta. I called on Braithwaite earlier. As you know, Braithwaite has had the honour of being the family solicitor for the past ten years—’
‘Who has been absent—America, I believe—for the past two years,’ Henrietta pointed out.
‘I am aware of that, but he has recently returned,’ Jeremy retorted, irritated by her interruption. ‘He made up my uncle’s last will and testament.’
‘Which you are telling me he has made privy to you. Clearly there has been some mistake and your uncle had not informed you—’
‘Be quiet,’ Jeremy snapped, shoving himself out of the chair and glaring down at her, his long, ungainly body quivering like a snake about to strike. ‘I’m not interested in what you have to say. My uncle kept a copy of the will, which I will find in his study when I go through his papers—and which I intend doing this very night. But understand this, Henrietta Brody. Everything has been left to me. The house, the money—everything—and I aim to take immediate possession.’
A feeling of alarm began to creep through Henrietta. She had never discussed such matters with her guardians. Indeed, there had been no reason to do so. But she knew they had cared for her and would not have been so unconcerned for her that in the event of their demise they would have failed to make provision for her future. She had certainly not expected much, but she could not believe they would have overlooked the matter.
‘You were not included,’ Jeremy went on. ‘But then why you should think my aunt and uncle should have left you anything at all defeats me. You were not a relative. You were nothing to them.’
‘Jeremy’s right,’ Claudia’s shrill voice piped up. Catching Henrietta’s look of disdain, she bristled. ‘And don’t look at me like that. Jeremy will wipe that smirk off your face when he sends you packing. You think you’re better than me, don’t you, you stuck-up Scottish witch—you and your high-handed ways. Well, you’re wrong. You’re not fit to clean my shoes.’
Even after enduring the loss of her guardians and Jeremy’s cruel words, Henrietta refused to yield to Claudia that very thing she craved most—an undeniable feeling of superiority. Highly offended by his words, though her anger and animosity rose up within her, she forced herself to remain calm. ‘I do not believe that and I was certainly not expecting anything of value. Having lost both my parents and being alone in the world, I was extremely grateful when they welcomed me into their home. I was deeply devoted to your aunt and uncle and I know that over the years they grew attached to me. Your uncle was a methodical man about his affairs and I cannot believe that when the situation changed and my own uncle made him my legal guardian he would not have made provision for me—at the very least to give me time to vacate the house when you took possession.’
Jeremy smirked. ‘Well, he didn’t,’ he bit back, thoroughly enjoying putting her in her place. ‘I expect they were fed up with you mooning about the house and hoped to marry you off before their demise. Just who do you think you are? A lady?’
‘If you knew your aunt and uncle at all, you would not have said that. They were good, kind people and would not brush people off so easily—especially those they cared about.’
Jeremy reached out and jerked Henrietta’s face around, his long, clawlike fingers bruising her tender flesh. ‘Where you are concerned they appear to have done just that. I own this house now. I am master here and as soon as the will has been read I want you out of it.’ Removing his hand, he thrust her away.
Henrietta stared at him. She was now certain that he was not aware that his uncle had executed a new will, let alone changed his solicitor. It didn’t augur well for the future. Displeased with the way Mr Braithwaite conducted his business—he was not a man noted for his discretion—both his uncle and aunt agreed that Mr Goodwin, a barrister in the city, was a man of probity, wisdom and common sense in equal proportions. She was surprised that Mr Braithwaite, who was a close friend of Jeremy’s, had failed to mention it. Although why on earth he should not have done when he had nothing to gain by not doing so she could not imagine. She was on the point of informing Jeremy herself but when he began bearing down on her once more, his cold eyes conveying to her that if he became vexed or angry enough he would have her forcibly removed, her mouth went dry.
Recognising her fear, Jeremy felt a
