Chapter 22

The crossing from New York to England was very quiet. Angélique had no desire to socialize with anyone, unlike the trip where she’d met Andrew six years before. She ate her meals in her cabin, played with Phillip, and walked around the deck to get some air, and spoke to none of the passengers. All she wanted was to arrive in England and take care of business. She was terrified someone else would beat her to it and her brother would sell Belgrave for a song. She prayed that that wouldn’t happen before she arrived.

As soon as they got to London after landing in Liverpool, she checked them into Mivart’s Hotel on Brook Street in Mayfair and went straight to the solicitor that afternoon. He had received Patrick Murphy’s letter two days before, and had been expecting her. The mission she was giving him was clear.

“I understand that you want to buy the estate and you don’t want the duke to know who the purchaser is.” He had checked around, and it was evident that the duke was in a great deal of financial trouble, and in debt up to his ears. “Do you want him never to know, or only at the time of the transaction?”

“Until the purchase of the estate is complete,” she said simply. “After that I don’t care.”

“May I ask why?” He was curious but didn’t need to know. She told him anyway.

“Because I’m afraid if he knows it’s me, he’ll block the sale, and sell it to someone else, even if it’s for less money.” She believed Tristan capable of doing anything to hurt her. His hatred of her was limitless and would be more so now.

“He’d be foolish to do that. He can’t afford to. From what Mr. Murphy said in his letter, you’re willing to pay almost any price to obtain it. And frankly, he needs the money. Do you know how much he’s asking?”

“No, I don’t. But simply put, he hates me, and sent me away years ago. He has no idea what’s become of me, or that I could buy it.”

“He’s very lucky you’re able to buy it. From what I understand, his many creditors are getting impatient. They could foreclose on the estate. He had liens against it, gambling debts, and it’s been mortgaged to the hilt.”

“We’ll pay all the debts to clear it,” she said quietly.

“So I understand. That will be a hard offer to refuse.”

“Not if he knows it’s me. It will kill him to have me get the estate in the end. Our father would have left it to me if he could have. My brother got Belgrave only because it was entailed to him. And he threw me out the next day.”

“So I’m to tell him that it’s an American purchaser who wishes to remain discreet and in the shadows, and always does business that way. Do you think he’ll balk at that?” the solicitor asked her. Like everyone else, he was fascinated by her beauty, and determination.

“He’d sell it to a gorilla if it had the money.” She smiled at him.

“And you’re sure you don’t want to make a deal for the London house as well?” She shook her head in answer. “He needs to sell that too. You could probably get a good deal for both.”

“I want to live in the country. I don’t need a house in London. I can stay at a hotel when I come, or buy a smaller house one day if I want to spend time here. One very large old house, with an army of servants to run it, is enough for me. And I still have a house in New York.” She was thinking about selling it, but was in no hurry. She’d thought about it on the way over on the boat, trying to make up her mind. She wanted to see how Belgrave felt to her first, after all these years.

“I know who his solicitor is, and will contact him first thing tomorrow. Where can I reach you?”

“At Mivart’s Hotel. I’ll be waiting to hear what they say. What are you going to do?”

“Find out what they’re asking, and make him a flat offer he can’t resist. I won’t play games with him,” he said seriously.

“I want to conclude this quickly,” she said firmly with a will of iron in her eyes, which took him by surprise too. She was a woman who knew what she wanted and in this case would stop at nothing to get it.

“I understand. We’ll do all we can to make that happen,” the lawyer said firmly.

“Thank you.” They shook hands, and she left and went back to the hotel.

She walked around London a little bit that afternoon, admiring the shops, and went to bed early. And she was on pins and needles the next day until noon. And at five minutes after twelve, a clerk from the front desk brought her a note to tell her that Mr. Barclay-Squires was downstairs, and she told him to send the lawyer up to her suite. She let him into the room, and led him into the parlor of the suite. She had several bedrooms for Claire, the nanny, herself, and Phillip, and a parlor for just this purpose.

The lawyer was quick to reassure her. “It went very well. The solicitor was quite direct with me, probably more than your brother would have liked. He says they are desperate for a fast sale. He wants thirty thousand pounds, all inclusive, which would cover the debts and give him a small profit he needs to live on, and apparently there’s a cottage on the estate that he wants to rent from you for a small amount.”

“Absolutely not,” she said with ice in her eyes.

“I thought as much, and already told the solicitor it wasn’t possible.”

“Thank you,” she said, relieved. “So what did we offer?”

“Twenty-eight. I would have gone lower, but I know you want to do this quickly. They’ll hold at thirty and we’ll agree.”

“Are you sure that’s wise? Should we have just agreed to his price?”

“I think we’re fine the way it is,” the solicitor said calmly. “He said he’d go down to Hertfordshire today, and come back to me tomorrow when he returns. Your brother is as anxious to conclude this deal quickly as you are. I think we’ll have an answer very soon.”

“Are there any other offers?” she asked, worried.

“None, the debts will frighten everyone off, except you.” She smiled at what he said, and he promised to contact her the next day as soon as he heard anything from Tristan’s lawyer.

She didn’t have long to wait, although it felt like an eternity to her. The following afternoon, Barclay-Squires was back, seated in her private parlor across from her.

“What did they say?” she asked anxiously.

“Thirty. He says he can’t afford to take twenty-eight. I agreed, and said they could have the money as soon as the papers are signed. I don’t think it will be long. He did ask who the purchaser was, in strict confidence, and I said I was under equally strict confidence not to reveal it. I don’t think he really cares, just so he gets the money. I said it was a rich American who wants a castle, and rolled my eyes in disgust.” He smiled at her. “And the solicitor specified that the purchase does not include the title, but he said he would sell that for another ten, which I said wasn’t of interest.”

“You’re quite right,” Angélique confirmed. “My son will inherit it when my brother dies. We can wait till then.” It disgusted her to know that her brother would even have sold the title.

“Quite so,” the lawyer said, realizing that she was a force to be reckoned with. She hadn’t been able to inherit the estate, but now she was going to buy it, and fortunately she could. And as she thought about it that night, she realized that the money her father had given her was more than covering the purchase of his estate, which Tristan could never have suspected. In fact, long after he died, her father was buying her their ancestral home, which her brother was only too happy to sell, “with the title.” It was revolting. But luckily for her he was in debt.

Two days later the papers were delivered to the solicitor’s office signed by Tristan, Duke of Westerfield, with his seal. The solicitor had made it clear to the other attorney that the purchase was to include all the furniture, art, and contents of the estate, which Tristan had agreed to. His only question was how long he was to be given before he had to move out himself.

“Ten minutes,” Angélique said, smiling. She was thrilled. “Forty-eight hours,” she said more reasonably, but with no mercy in her eyes. She was a kind, compassionate woman, but not where her brother was concerned. He didn’t deserve it after what he had done to her.

“He might balk at that,” the lawyer said.

“He gave me one night nine years ago when I was eighteen and he cast me out into the world, only days after my father died.”

“I’ll tell them,” Mr. Barclay-Squires said quietly.

And the next morning, everyone was distracted by the fact that King William had succumbed to heart failure, at the age of seventy-one. And with no legitimate children, he was to be succeeded by his niece, Victoria, who had reached her eighteenth birthday only weeks before. It seemed oddly fitting to Angélique that a woman should be taking the throne as she herself was returning triumphantly to Belgrave. And not in a million years had Tristan expected her to do that, and still didn’t. He had no idea who had bought his home, and probably didn’t care.

Angélique signed the papers with her married name, and only her first initial, not her first name, to preserve her anonymity. She returned them to Mr. Barclay-Squires, and he duly returned a set to Tristan’s lawyer and informed him that the duke had to remove himself from the property in forty-eight hours.

“That is not going to go over well,” the lawyer said unhappily.

“It’s a condition of the sale, and he signed it. If he wants the money deposited at his bank, he’ll be out on time,” Barclay-Squires said in an iron tone.

“I’ll convey the message.” He returned to Belgrave for the third time in as many days, and Elizabeth shrieked when her husband told her that night.

“Are you insane? How am I supposed to pack and leave in two days?”

“If we want the money, we have no choice. I wasn’t going to argue with them. This is the best possible deal we could have gotten. It’s unfortunate they wouldn’t let us stay at the Cottage. But we still have Grosvenor Square for now,” he tried to reassure her, but diplomatic relations had broken down between them ever since she had understood the magnitude of his debts.

“Until your creditors throw us out.” She glared at him. “You’re lucky the American bought this house. Did they tell you who it is?”

“No, and I don’t give a damn. We got what we needed out of it, Elizabeth, so stop complaining and go pack.”

They had all of their belongings, heaped in mountains of trunks, in the front hall in two days, and the servants were scurrying everywhere, loading boxes and bags onto carriages. The staff were very nervous about the mysterious person who had bought the estate, but the departure of the duke and duchess was proving to be so challenging that no one had time to think about it.

Elizabeth left for London at sunset, and Tristan decided that he didn’t care what they said, he was spending the night in his own bed, and would leave the next morning. And if the new owner didn’t like it, they could be damned. They probably wouldn’t show up for a few days anyway. He went upstairs to his bedroom, and the servants went downstairs to talk about the sudden changes at Belgrave, and guess at what would come next.

Angélique left Mivart’s before dawn in a hired carriage. She wanted to get to the castle first, to look around, see the condition the place was in, and make sure there were comfortable bedrooms in good order. Her son, his nanny, and Claire would be arriving later in the day. And thanks to Mrs. White, her remarkable staff, and even Hobson, she was sure the place would at least be clean. She had no idea what changes her brother and his wife had made—but she knew there had been many while they had still had money to do them.

As of that morning, Belgrave Castle, its forests and lands, tenant farms, the Cottage, and the Dower House belonged to her, to pass on to her son one day, just as it was meant to be. And if an eighteen-year-old girl could become queen of England, Angélique was sure that she could run the estate. She was only sad that Andrew wasn’t there to see it, and hoped that he was watching over them. She always felt him near her, just as she did her father, wishing her well.

The ride to Belgrave was longer than she remembered, and she was anxious to arrive. The carriage rolled through the main gates at noon, as she stared up at the familiar building, and tears rolled down her cheeks. She had never expected to see it again, and had thought it was lost to her forever for the past nine years.

At the sound of the carriage approaching, the staff filed out of the house in orderly fashion, and stood at the front door, waiting to greet the new master. The coachman let down the steps, and Angélique gathered her skirt around her. She had worn a simple black linen dress with a matching bonnet, and she lightly stepped down and looked at the many familiar faces that were still there. Mrs. White’s hand flew to her mouth, and Hobson’s eyes grew huge as they recognized her, and some of the maids who’d been mere girls were women now, and even some of the footmen were still familiar, as one of the older maids picked up her apron and wiped her eyes. Angélique was crying too as she ran the last few steps to embrace them.

“Oh, my dear child,” Mrs. White kept saying as she hugged her, and Hobson threw his arms around her too. And just like the staff she had grown up with, she was a woman now, no different, but more mature, no longer the terrified young girl her brother had banished when she was only eighteen. She had survived it all and come back, like a swallow in spring to find her home again. And she couldn’t wait for them to meet her son, and for him to see his new home, where she had lived at his age.

They were a melee of crying, laughing, smiling people, as Hobson opened the front door for her, and she was relieved to see that there at least, very little had changed. It was like traveling back through time to where she’d started, and hoped to never leave again.

She wandered from room to room on the main floor, thinking of her father, and feeling him beside her, as she heard footsteps on the stairs, and emerged from the library with her hair soft around her face and her bonnet in her hand. As Mrs. White had said to Hobson, she still looked like a young girl.

He reminded her that she was barely more than that.

And as she walked into the hall, to their mutual astonishment, Angélique found herself facing her brother, who was finally getting ready to leave.

“What are you doing here?” he said angrily, unable to understand why she was standing there like a ghost. She had come back to haunt him at the final hour, and neither of them was a welcome sight to the other, despite the blood they shared and the passage of time.

“You weren’t supposed to be here,” she said in a strong, firm voice.

“And why is that? What brings you back here, and on this particular day? Neither of us belongs here now. I just sold it to an American,” he said, gloating over the fact that he had deprived her of her home yet again. But the final joke was on him.

“So I understand,” she said quietly. “I came back to have a look.”

“Well, you’d better get out before he arrives.”

“The new owner won’t be here till this afternoon.” She was referring to her son. She had bought it for him, and the children he would have one day.

“And what would you know about all that?” He had told no one but the lawyer and the staff. “I see you still have your spies here. It won’t do you any good.” She was only listening to him with half an ear—she was so happy to be home again, and sorry that he was still there. But even he couldn’t spoil it for her. The victory was hers, more than he knew. “I heard about your exploits in Paris,” he said to her scathingly, as he walked over to her. “It doesn’t surprise me that you wound up in a brothel. I always knew you would.” She wondered how he had heard of it, but didn’t ask. She didn’t care. “Just like your mother, the French whore who seduced my father. He was besotted with her, just as he was with you.” Tristan oozed poison from every pore.

“Will you miss all this?” she said, smiling coolly at him, ignoring what he’d said, not dignifying it with a response. “It’s a shame you couldn’t sell the title too. The person who owns it now doesn’t need your title. He has his own.” As she said it, Tristan looked at her with hatred in his eyes, longing to put his hands around her throat to throttle her, but she wasn’t afraid of him anymore. She was taunting him, and suddenly he realized what had happened. For the first time, he knew why she was there.

“Did you…are you…” He understood everything now. He had no idea how she had bought it, but he was suddenly sure she had. It had never dawned on him that the secretive American was a woman, and even more shockingly, his sister. For him, it was like seeing her rise from the grave.

“I bought it for my son. I believe you’re trespassing now. You were supposed to be gone by last night.”

“I’ll go when I damn well please,” he said with his usual arrogance.

“No, Tristan, actually you won’t. Get out of my house now, or I’ll have someone fetch the constable. You don’t belong here anymore. You never did.” He looked as though he were going to slap her, but he didn’t dare. “And if you want your money, stay away from me, and away from here. Belgrave no longer belongs to you.” He stormed past her then and strode to the front door. He turned one last time to look at her with hatred in his eyes. He was bereft of speech for the first time in his life. He had thought he had gotten rid of her forever, and instead she had come back and won in the end. He turned on his heel then and walked out and slammed the enormous heavy door behind him, as Angélique heaved a sigh of relief. The nightmare was finally over, nine years after it had begun. Tristan had tried to take her home from her, and banish her forever, and despite all his evil machinations, justice had been served. He was gone. And she had won.

She spent the rest of the day looking around the house, at the changes they had made. Some of them were pretty and others weren’t and could be undone. She wasn’t sure what room she wanted to sleep in. Surely not her father’s. She finally decided on her old suite of rooms near his, and a sunny one near her for Phillip and his nanny. She didn’t want him in the nursery far away from her, especially in a new house. And she saw that the staff were slim.

“They let a lot of them go when the money ran out,” the housekeeper explained, and then Angélique looked at her thoughtfully.

“You know, if you hadn’t written to tell me when they put the house up for sale, I would never have known to buy it, and someone else would have. Thank God you did.” The housekeeper smiled at her, still amazed by everything that had happened, and that Angélique was back again. It was like a dream.

“I’m sorry about your husband,” Mrs. White said to her gently.

“He was a wonderful man. You would have loved him,” Angélique assured her. “And he would have loved it here. I can’t wait to show it to my son. Are there still horses in the stables?” she thought to ask then.

“A few. They sold all the fine ones, but there are still some good mounts left.” Angélique wanted to teach Phillip how to ride, and show him all their land. He had a lot to learn before he grew up, about running the estate, and so did she while she held it for him. She still remembered everything her father had taught her about the estate before he died.

They went outside when they heard the carriage pull up, and Hobson came too. When the coachman opened the door, Hobson lifted Phillip out and set him on his feet.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” he said formally. “Welcome to Belgrave.” He smiled at the boy then, and Phillip smiled cautiously at him, and then gave his mother a hug.

“Am I a duke yet, Mama?” he asked his mother, and she laughed.

“No, not yet. And probably not for a long time.”

She took him through the front door then, with the others following, to show him his new home. It looked big and daunting to him. And she told him stories as they went through, about her own childhood, and his grandfather, of riding, and fishing in the lake, and all the things they were going to do, and then she took him upstairs to his room next to hers, and he stood on tiptoe, looking out the window, to see the view.

“Look, Mama, there’s the lake!” he said happily as she stood next to him. “Does all of that belong to us?”

“Yes,” she said softly. She had never thought this moment would come. “And one day it will belong to you.” And to his children, and their children, just as it had belonged to their ancestors for hundreds of years. And hopefully would remain in their family for years and years. They were part of a chain, linking the centuries, their ancestors behind them, the children to come ahead of them, each of them contributing what they could before passing it on to the next generation. And now, through an extraordinary stroke of luck, it had come to her, and one day she would give it all to him.

“I like it here,” Phillip said, as he turned to smile at her, and she could already imagine the man he would become one day, when he stepped into her father’s shoes. She was the bridge between the two, the past and the present, as she leaned down to kiss him, and put an arm around him.

“I’m glad you do,” she said softly. “So do I.” Things were just as they were meant to be. Her destiny had brought her back to Belgrave, where she belonged. And as they looked out the window together, they both knew they were home.