a wager when he no longer had anything to back it.
Or of leaving Morgan to break the news to his wife that she no longer had a home.
Suddenly the shining prospect of that satisfying moment faded a trifle. He had believed that Hayne would have at least sent word to her that he had lost Merdinn, but obviously he had not. His wife sat before him with confusion in her eyes. As Morgan searched for the words that would at last avenge his mother and sister, Jeremy closed his book and edged forward to get a better look at the lady.
She turned in surprise, and the first real smile Morgan had seen bloomed in her face. “Well, who is this?”
Morgan motioned the boy forward. “This is my nephew, Jeremy Pendaris. He makes his home with me.”
Jeremy stepped closer and essayed a polite bow. “How do you do, Mrs. Hayne?”
She held out a welcoming hand and clasped Jeremy’s small one. “How nice to meet you, Jeremy.”
Seeing the warm response in his nephew’s face, Morgan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Things were not going as he had expected. “Jeremy, I need to speak with Mrs. Hayne privately. You may explore on this floor of the building, but on no account are you to climb the wall or the towers. Nor are you to go down the path to our cove alone—not now or at any other time. Do I make myself clear?”
“Oh, yes, sir. I promise.” Jeremy quickly dashed for the door before his uncle could change his mind.
When the door had banged shut behind him, Morgan turned back to Eulalia Hayne and hardened his heart. “Mrs. Hayne, apparently it falls to me to explain your situation to you.” Damnation! Where were the arrogant words he had rehearsed so many times in his dreams? “Are you aware that nineteen years ago your father-in-law came into possession of Merdinn, a property that had been in the Pendaris family for generations, as the result of a dishonorable business arrangement?”
Again her eyes seemed to darken to a light gray, like the sunless winter sea. “I know very little about the dealings of my husband’s family. At that time I would have been only five years old. My family lived nearby, but I would not have remembered anything like that.”
Morgan remembered. He remembered that day in every agonizing detail. His father’s impotent anger, his mother’s tears, his own pain as his beloved home was ripped away from him. His own anger. It welled in him again, and a muscle jumped in his tightened jaw. At the age of fifteen he had been dispossessed of his birthright. He spoke through clenched teeth. “Suffice to say that he did so—by defrauding my father. I have recently been able to regain what the Haynes stole from my family.”
A small pucker increased between the lady’s brows. “I am not sure I understand.”
“I now own Merdinn.”
He watched in silence as the significance of the statement sank in. She sat very still in her chair, her hands lying motionless in her lap. At last she nodded. “I see. My husband has sold it to you?”
“No.” The word was stark, harsh. Morgan waited a heartbeat before continuing. “Your husband had mortgaged everything he owned—and he was far in arrears on even the interest, let alone the principal. I have bought up all his notes—on the land, his wagers, his cattle—everything. He now owns nothing.”
“I see.” She continued to sit like a statue, but he could see a pulse beating frantically in her throat. “My only income derives from a small portion of the tenant rents.”
“Unfortunately, any arrangement that Hayne made is no longer worth the ink in which it was signed. All the rents are now payable to me.”
She stood and lifted her small chin. The gray of her eyes now approached the dark color of the sea in storm. “I understand. My grandmother and I will leave as quickly as we can. Will three days be soon enough?”
“You may wait for your husband’s return. You will no doubt want to go with him.”
An expression he could not read flitted over her face. “I do not believe that it will be useful to wait.”
She left the room with a dignified tread. Morgan blew out an angry breath and slumped in his chair. He did this for his mother, and even more for his poor deceived, disgraced little sister. For Beth. Especially for her. God rest her unhappy soul.
But the triumph suddenly left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Chapter Two
L alia carefully laid the hairbrush on the dressing table, forbidding herself to throw it, and dropped her face into her hands. Her thoughts spun ’round and ’round and back and forth like the unattended wheel of a ship in a gale. What was she to do? Where in the world could she go? And what about Daj? She was no longer young, and her bones hurt her so. She could do very little work. Lalia would have to earn their bread for both herself and her grandmother. She had almost no money to provide for them until she could find employment. She could not afford to go to London or even Bath. And what was she trained to do?
Manage a home she no longer had.
What? Where? How? When? How? Where…?
Dizziness threatened to overcome her. She jumped up from the dressing stool and began to pace. A flicker of lightning brightened the window for an instant and she paused to look out on the dark sea. The clouds had already defeated the moon. She could see nothing until the approaching storm hurled another bolt.
One thing was certain. Her husband would not rescue her.
Rain began to patter against the glass, and the wind rattled the casement, reflecting the storm that raged inside Lalia. Her feelings changed with every wave, battering her against the rocks of indecision. Fear. Anger. Grief. Her usual serenity had long since disappeared into the depths. She had become the storm.
She couldn’t stand it another minute.
Snatching her wrapper from the bed, she flung it over her shoulders and raced out of the room.
Morgan threw open the wardrobe and took stock of its contents. They didn’t amount to much. Apparently, as Mrs. Hayne had said, her husband spent very little time at Merdinn. But even a single cravat, a pair of stockings, an unmatched glove was too much. He began to pull shirts and coats and trousers out of the wardrobe and throw them on the floor.
Boots, small clothes… When the wardrobe was empty, he attacked the dressing room. Brushes, razors and shaving mug joined the heap on the floor. When not a solitary item belonging to Hayne remained in place in the master suite, Morgan gathered up the pile and dumped it in the hallway. Tomorrow James could take the lot to the vicar to give to the poor. He wanted no trace of the man to remain in his home.
Morgan walked to the window to watch the storm. As he stood there, a distant thump vibrated its way through the house. A door slamming. Now who would be going out into this weather? As he pondered the question, a flicker of movement on the ground below him, caught in a flash of lightning, captured his attention. Someone was abroad.
The next bolt of lightning revealed someone leaning against the parapet at the top of the east tower. As he watched, the wind blew a sail of hair back from the figure. So much hair. Eulalia Hayne.
Alarm shot through Morgan. Good God! She intended to jump! He whirled and dashed into the hallway
