Chapter Two
Annabel had never seen the Earl of Arden herself, but she knew he was a contemporary of her aunt, who was almost seventy. This dour man couldn’t be past thirty. He wasn’t handsome in the typical sense—his features were too blunt for that—but there was something about his dark, intense eyes and commanding presence that drew her gaze to him more than once.
“The earl died?” She tried to keep her face calm, even though turmoil roiled inside.
The new Lord Arden nodded curtly. “Three months ago. I’m surprised you didn’t know, if you were close enough to him to receive the charity of an entire castle. It’s also odd that he didn’t think to include you in his will, if he was so concerned for your wellbeing.”
“I didn’t know the old earl had an heir,” she said. She must have been squeezing Willoughby too tightly, for he wriggled out of her grasp, landed on his feet, and darted into the castle through the cracked front door.
“I didn’t know, either, until his solicitor contacted me. Apparently, he was my grandfather on my mother’s side…something that isn’t done with English titles. They were estranged, though, and none of us had ever met him. I notice you didn’t answer my question,” he said, as tenacious and frustrating as a bulldog.
“Did you ask a question?” she returned. “It sounded more like a statement to me.”
The man needed to work on his social skills. His initial words to her still stung—what are you?—as though she was so backward and unusual she might not even be human. She was well aware that she was a little eccentric, but that didn’t mean he had the right to show up unannounced and ridicule her for it.
And yet, she found herself taking note of the hard angle of a jaw that was tensed in irritation, the lines of a body that contained a wiry strength. It was a pity that such an unpleasant man could have an almost magnetic physicality. Not that she was in danger of succumbing to it. She might be eccentric, but she was no fool.
“Why didn’t you know of the earl’s death?”
“We were not close.”
“Even though he let you live here?” Lord Arden asked skeptically.
She laughed humorlessly. “The earl had no use for this property. My aunt was married to the earl’s brother. After her husband died, she fell on hard times and the earl let her live here, since he never visited. It was familial duty, nothing more.”
Annabel had also suspected the earl was ashamed of the woman his brother had married—an actress—and preferred to keep her out of sight. She didn’t speak this thought out loud.
“Well, I have use for it,” he said.
She stared at him blankly. A growing unease filled her chest. “Pardon me?”
“My siblings and I will be residing here for some time. We’ll have to find another place for you.”
No. This was her home. She couldn’t imagine not feeling the mist against her face and tasting the sea on her tongue. She couldn’t imagine not being able to roam the wild moors.
And more important than anything, she couldn’t think of a better place to hide Fiona. There were no neighbors for miles. No pesky calls or intrusions, except for the occasional touring Englishmen and women who wanted a taste of the rugged beauty of the Highlands. And Fiona had been positive that no one else knew Annabel lived here, with an aunt who’d been shunned by their family years ago for her choice of profession.
Robert, whom she was starting to call the pleasant one, stepped in. “Surely all of this can wait. We just arrived. Perhaps Miss Lockhart would like to give us a tour of the castle?”
Georgina practically jumped in excitement. “That sounds splendid. Are there any spy holes?” she asked.
Annabel nodded, charmed by the girl’s enthusiasm. “There’s one that overlooks the great hall,” she said. “It played a part in a tale of passion and betrayal about two hundred years ago, or so I’m told.” She lifted her eyebrows dramatically.
The look Lord Arden shot her could have cut glass. “She’s only sixteen. I don’t think she needs to hear tales about passion and betrayal.”
“Some girls are married at sixteen,” Annabel pointed out. “And it’s only a story.”
Lord Arden scowled. “She’s delicate.”
Annabel glanced at Georgina. Her brown eyes glowed with interest, and her cheeks flushed a healthy rose. She bore pockmark scars on her face—the sign of a smallpox survivor—but the disease didn’t seem to have affected her in any other way. She didn’t look delicate in the slightest.
When the earl wasn’t looking, Annabel cupped her hand over her mouth and whispered, “Later,” to the girl.
“Why don’t we meet in an hour for the tour?” Annabel suggested. “I’m sure you’ll want to unpack your things and rest for a while?”
“That sounds splendid,” Robert said.
“I’ll have our maid show you to the spare rooms,” she said. “I need to check on Willoughby and tell my aunt we have guests.”
The earl opened his mouth—probably to protest her choice of phrasing—but Annabel spun quickly toward the door before he could make a sound.
After she’d told Catriona to start making up the extra bedrooms, she sprinted toward the kitchens, where she’d last seen Fiona and her niece. She sagged in relief when she saw that they were still there. Mary was sitting on a stool, kicking her small legs back and forth. Her mouth was lined with milk from the mug in front of her. In the background, a fire blazed in the hearth. Fiona, who’d been staring into the flame, looked up when Annabel rushed in, her brows knitting together.
“What is it?”
“Lord Arden is dead,” she said without preamble. “The new earl just arrived to take residence.”
Fiona blanched. “Here? Why would he want to?”
Annabel tried not to be insulted. She loved this castle with every piece of her heart, but she knew what her sister meant—it was about two hundred years out of style, and if one grew bored without the pleasures of society…well, they’d be bored almost all of the time.
“Why do aristocratic men do anything? Ennui?”
But then, was Lord Arden a jaded aristocrat? He’d only just inherited the title. For all Annabel knew, he might have been a humble gentleman farmer before his inheritance. Except humble wasn’t a word she’d ever use to describe him.
Unpleasant, yes. Dour, maybe. Condescending, certainly.
Not humble.
“Do we—” Fiona licked her lips as her voice went hoarse. “Do we have to leave?”
When Fiona had shown up at Llynmore Castle a week before, she’d been frightened and shaking and barely able to speak. She was slowly getting better, but she still jumped whenever Annabel approached too quickly or too quietly. She still looked lost when she stared out the window, as if she couldn’t remember where she was.
Even if Annabel had somewhere safe to take her, which she didn’t, Fiona needed more time to heal from…from whatever it was that had happened. Fiona hadn’t told her the specifics yet, only that it was imperative they weren’t found, and Annabel didn’t want to push. But she had the horrible suspicion that her brother-in-law had abused Fiona. She wouldn’t even speak her husband’s name. She’d visibly flinched when Annabel had said it.
Seeing that reaction in her sister, who’d once been so vital and so innocent, had brought a rush of guilt that nearly forced her to her knees.
Annabel was older. Annabel should have protected her. Annabel hadn’t even had any inkling that something was wrong.
She’d been a fool.
But she’d do everything in her power to protect her now.
She impulsively dropped a kiss to Mary’s head and the little girl looked up. “Aunt Bel!” she said in a tone that was a cross between a protest and a giggle. But she had a short attention span where food or drink were involved. The next second she was back to sipping from the mug, clasping it between her hands in a selfish grasp.
Annabel’s heart squeezed. “I don’t know,” she finally told Fiona. “Not if I can help it. For now, stay out of sight. It might be best if you keep to the servants’ areas…you can move into Catriona’s room.”
Fiona nodded, but her lips were pursed so tightly that deep grooves bracketed her mouth. Annabel took her hand, rubbing it between her palms to bring warmth back to the cold skin. Slowly, a plan began to form in her mind. “I need to speak to Aunt Frances. Everything is going to be fine. I promise.”
Lord Arden had come to claim what was his, but men could change their minds. Especially with a nudge or two in the right direction. And no man of honor would forcibly remove a frail, sickly woman and her only companion.
If Aunt Frances could buy them some time, Annabel could focus on persuading Lord Arden that residing at Llynmore Castle was more trouble than it was worth.
With any luck, the forbidding earl would be gone by week’s end.