The Christmas Heiress Read online

  That drew a reluctant, embarrassed grin from Edward. "I am not hiding." --- - - - - -- -- - - -- - -

  His brother kindly did not challenge the remark they both knew was a lie.

  "Come home with me, Edward. It has been years since you visited the estate,"Jonathan said, his voice quiet but unmistakably reproachful. "Now that Father is gone, you are the earl and everyone depends upon you. You support us all financially, but 'tis important for the tenants and servants to know that you care enough about the estate to take a personal interest. And I truly believe Mother would be quite pleased to see you."

  "And I know the opposite to be true." Edward looked at the ceiling so his brother would not see the exasperation in his eyes. "After years of silence, Mother and I have finally managed to form an uneasy truce. Now is certainly not the time to upset it. The very last thing I need in my life is more female drama."

  "She misses you," Jonathan insisted.

  She wishes me in hell. Fortunately, Edward caught himself before he spoke his thoughts aloud. "I send her a letter every month, telling her the same inane things in the same formal, distant and proper tone. She replies in kind." A bitter half smile touched his lips. "It has become so routine that the paragraphs practically write themselves. 'Tis only the order of them that varies each month. And of course, our re porting of the current weather changes with the seasons."

  He could tell by Jonathan's puzzled expression that his brother was having a hard time grasping all the implications of that statement.

  "I knew Mother and Father were hardly enamored with your decision to work, but we all know it saved the family. Father's death occurred so soon after your business was established. We would have been in dire straits without the infusion of funds you were able to supply to the family coffers and stave off the creditors. "Jonathan stared across the desk at him. "Forgive me for not realizing that things were still so strained between you and Mother."

  Edward heaved a weary sigh. Ever since he had stormed from the house in defiance of his parents six years ago, he knew exactly what he wanted: to be rich and successful beyond anyone's expectation, to own more profitable businesses than any other man, more property than the queen, to create an empire that exceeded all others and prove, without any question, his worth to the parents who had doubted his choice. He had spent every day in single-minded determination toward successfully accomplishing that goal.

  It hurt deeply that his mother refused to acknowledge his success. But that was not the entire reason for the chasm between them. She had no difficulty spending the generous allowance he deposited in the bank for her each quarter.

  She apparently had come to terms with his highly unfashionable business career by telling the extended family and her friends that his interest in finance was merely a hobby. Amazingly, this seemed perfectly credible to them. Clearly, they never read the financial section of the newspapers.

  "It is more than my chosen profession that distresses our mother," Edward admitted.

  Jonathan opened his mouth, then closed it. "I know you quarreled after Father's funeral."

  Edward's chin shot up in surprise. "Did she tell you about it?"

  "No, I heard your voices that day, raised in anger, but could not distinguish the words that were spoken."

  "Thank God for that small mercy." Edward closed his eyes, remembering the bitter hurt and anger in his mother's voice, the malice of her words. It was so difficult, so painful reliving those moments. "Trust me, our mother is far happier if I stay away from her."

  Jonathan's mouth twitched at one corner. "She was distraught, overcome with grief and fear. We had just buried Father. Of course she was emotional. 'Tis to be expected."

  Edward swallowed hard. "She accused me of killing him."

  "What? Father died of a heart condition. The doctors insisted there was nothing that could have been done to save him."

  "She said I brought him to the brink of ruin, that I knowingly drove him to despair," Edward choked. "That I had abandoned my responsibilities, disgraced the family, had in essence broken his heart. She blamed me for his death and stated most emphatically that she would never forgive me."

  Saying the words out loud brought on a rush of feelings. The deep sadness. The horrendous guilt. A part of him had known it was grief that had driven his mother to lash out, yet another part had also given credence to her words.

  Ten months. Within ten months of his refusing to follow his parents' dictates and marry Charlotte Aldridge, his father had died. Who knew, perhaps his actions had contributed to the heart condition that took the earl's life?

  Edward remembered vividly how he felt when he heard the news. Grief-stricken and in shock, he had returned home to bury his father and assume the title. He had just completed his first major real estate deal, and was poised to acquire a very profitable cotton mill, but the elation of his financial triumph was overshadowed by his personal loss and pain.

  When his mother had asked for a private word with him after the funeral, he had ironically expected her to pressure him to abandon his business interests and become a proper nobleman. Instead, she had accused him of causing his father's sudden attack.

  The guilt, though deeply buried, was still present after all these years, tearing at his gut and ripping at his mind. Was it finally time to try to put these demons to rest?

  "You should have told me about Mother's outrageous accusations," Jonathan admonished.

  Edward shook his head. "It would have been unfair to pull you into the middle of it. Though we never spoke of it, I think Mother felt the same way. If you knew, you would be forced to take sides, and we each needed you too much."

  "Well, now that I know I am determined to mend the rift."Jonathan's face was solemn, his gaze piercing.

  Edward nearly winced at the idea. The very last thing he wanted was to drag his brother into this mess. "'Tis best to leave it alone. Your involvement might cause Mother's enmity toward me to increase rather than dissipate."

  A deep frown furrowed Jonathan's brow. "That's a valid point. I can be of little help to you unless Mother continues to believe I am a neutral party."

  `Jonathan-"

  "Don't argue."Jonathan rose to his feet. A determined light filled his eyes. "It will be Christmas in a few weeks. 'Tis the perfect time for you to be at home, celebrating the holiday with your family and friends. I shall write to Mother today and tell her to expect us both at the end of the week. Promise me you will at least consider it?"

  Edward answered with a noncommittal inclination of his head, but apparently the gesture was enough to appease his brother. Jonathan sat back down in his chair, then reached for one of the newspapers on Edward's desk.

  His brother seemed instantly engrossed in the front-page article, but Edward suspected Jonathan was in fact giving him time to carefully consider this suggestion. And also preparing a rebuttal when Edward voiced his strong objections.

  The truth was, Edward knew he needed a change. He certainly couldn't concentrate on work. He was restless, annoyed, on edge and for the first time in many, many years, uncertain of himself. He had always had the ability to focus intently on a task until it was successfully accomplished. But his goal of becoming a married man was most definitely unattainable, thanks to his disappearing fiancee.

  Whenever he made a business decision he analyzed it thoroughly, considered every angle, every possible outcome. He did so with fact, and reason and experience. Sometimes with gut instinct. But never with emotion, because it was such an unpredictable factor, such an unreliable measure of a situation.

  This approach had made him rich, had built him an empire of money and power, had given him the freedom to make choices in his life that few people had ever dreamed they could. But has it made you happy?

  The thought came out of nowhere, shocking him back to reality. He walked to the window again and stared out at the rain. Perhaps what he needed was to finally settle the past, to come to terms with all the obligations of his heritage and some
how reconcile them with the man he had now become, the man who some considered an enormous success, based on his impressive bank balance.

  Farmington Manor. The memory of his boyhood home whispered softly through his head. The beautiful Tudor-style mansion that stood on hundreds of acres of rolling hills, dense woods and tumbling streams. The place he had always loved, where he had always felt safe and happy. The reason he had sacrificed so much and worked so hard, ensuring that this glorious piece of his family history would be preserved for future generations.

  Perhaps Jonathan was right. Maybe it finally was time to go home.

  CHAPTER 5

  The day was sunny and cold. The trees were bare of leaves, the grass a straw-colored brown. The air smelled clean, crisp and unspoiled. The peaceful quiet of the countryside was broken only by the sounds of nature: the chirping of a winter sparrow, the trickle of an icy stream, the rustling of the wind through the stiff brush.

  Edward reined in his mount on the high ridge above the valley and gazed down at the structure below. Sunlight glistened off the stone facade and reflected off the many faceted glass windows. It gave the place an eerie, otherworldly appearance, as though it were somehow frozen in time.

  Farmington Manor. Edward's heart skipped a beat. The growing sense of unease he had felt since leaving Town early that morning intensified. What had initially seemed like a plausible idea at the beginning of the week was not nearly as appealing in reality at the end of the week.

  Though not superstitious by nature, Edward could not totally dismiss the strong premonition that assaulted him. Trouble lay ahead. Why even the air felt charged with tension, much like the swirling winds announcing the coming of a violent storm.

  If not for the man by his side, he might very well have turned his horse in the opposite direction and ridden directly back to the railroad station. Yet having come this far, Edward knew Jonathan would not allow him to retreat until he had set foot inside the front doors of the manor and spoken with their mother.

  The uneventful and surprisingly swift train ride from London had lulled Edward into a false sense of ease, had pushed aside the possibility that true difficulties might await him. Jonathan had taken care of all the trip details, easing the burden further, making certain that a fine pair of horses and a lugage coach were waiting for them at the station.

  The brothers had elected to finish the journey on horseback, taking advantage of the opportunity for some fresh air. Alas, the ride also gave Edward an opportunity to think upon his upcoming reunion with his mother, and those thoughts were far from pleasant.

  "It won't be long now," Jonathan announced, as if sensing his brother's reluctance. "Try to cease looking like a fox run to ground."

  Edward regarded his sibling with a jaundiced eye before twitching the reins of his mount and moving his horse down the long hill. Jonathan imitated his actions and fell in step behind him.

  They took a well-used path along the edge of the forest, avoiding the bustle of the local village that was clearly visible through the trees. Edward was pleased to note that the rambling village of his boyhood was no longer a sleepy backwater but a thriving town, thanks in part to his investments in the area. He saw several new shops, a tavern and an inn. These new business, as well as the older ones, looked well maintained and prosperous.

  "Hampstead seems busy," Edward commented. "The main thoroughfare is crowded with carts and carriages and it isn't even market day."

  "Ah, yes, some of the locals even complain about traffic on the roads and a stifling feeling that overshadows the refreshing country climate now that we have new shops, as well as a third tavern," Jonathan replied. "Makes one wonder how they would react if they ever set foot in London."

  They moved beyond the village and through the forest. Edward could almost feel his blood leap with recognition as they came into the clearing. Lifting his head, he scanned the horizon. His breath caught. Edward had forgotten the sheer grandeur of the estate. Acres and acres of finely landscaped parkland lay stretched before him, as far as the eye could see. Even in their dormant winter state they were beautiful.

  He was struck with an unexpected bolt of melancholy when that special feeling of homecoming hit hard. Bloody hell, he had missed it all much more than he had realized, and yet in order to endure the loss, he had over the years suppressed a deepseated longing to return.

  When they finally reached the long front drive, Edward deliberately slowed the pace of his horse. He ambled along, allowing his senses to absorb the achingly familiar sights and sounds that seemed to soothe his weary soul.

  They passed beneath arched gates and Edward caught sight of the family crest emblazoned on the wrought iron. Thoughts of his father swarmed his mind and he turned, meeting his brother's eyes.

  Jonathan smiled encouragingly. "'Tis the same as it has always been," he said quietly. "Lying almost dormant, waiting for you to return."

  Edward had convinced himself that he was prepared for this, but he suddenly realized he was not prepared at all. Aware that he had been leaning forward on his horse, he sat back in his saddle, trying not to let his irritation get the better of him.

  It was then that he noticed the figure of a woman walking along the side of the house. She followed the stone path that ran beneath the first-floor windows, her stride long and purposeful as she rounded the corner and headed for the front door. However, she must have heard their approach because she stopped suddenly, pivoted and turned toward them.

  With relief, Edward realized it was not his mother, but a considerably younger woman. Still, there was something that struck him as oddly familiar about her. She was tall and slender, yet the fine red wool cloak she wore could not conceal her well-endowed bosom. Her features were distinctly aristocratic. Delicately arched brows and lush lashes framed a pair of large eyes. Edward was not close enough to verify their color, but a flash of memory told him they were green.

  "Charlotte Aldridge," he muttered in an astonished voice.

  Jonathan, riding beside him, apparently heard the remark. "Ahh, yes, 'tis Charlotte. I was uncertain if she and Lord Reginald would be joining us this year. They visit often, but not usually during Christmas. Apparently they will be staying for the holidays, along with many of the usual family and friends. Isn't that splendid?"

  It had been a long, stuffy carriage ride, unusually bumpy and uncomfortable, even though the coach had been one of her grandfather's finest, a plush conveyance made for long journeys. Somehow her grandfather had slept through most of the trip, forcing Charlotte to admit her discomfort was probably not due to the coach or the condition of the road, but rather her unease over the destination at the end of it.

  Farmington Manor. Miraculously, she had visited the estate numerous times after that first disastrous Christmas holiday, but never again in December. The countess had been generous with her invitations, and after realizing that Edward was never in residence, Charlotte had agreed to accompany her grandfather whenever he asked her to join him.

  Somehow, visiting during the middle of a budding spring or spending a delightful summer month as a houseguest had a healing effect on Charlotte. Farmington Manor was a beautiful estate, with an almost magical charm. When the atmosphere was thick with the perfume of flowers, the fountains spouting an unending stream of water and every blade of grass meticulously groomed, the memories of the winter cold and those stolen kisses beneath the mistletoe were forgotten.

  Yet the usual peace and delight she experienced when first arriving at the manor was absent today. Instead, a headache had plagued her since lunch. Craving exercise and hoping the fresh air and sunshine would ease the pain of her pounding head, Charlotte set off on a walk.

  "Shall I accompany you?" her maid asked. "Or would you like me to see if any of the other ladies are interested in taking some fresh air?"

  "I prefer to be alone," Charlotte admitted. "If I stay on the grounds within sight of the house, it should be acceptable for me to venture off on my own."

  R
ealizing it was never a good idea to offend the countess on the first day of her visit, Charlotte skirted the edge of the terraced gardens. She followed the graveled path that led to the stables, keeping herself in clear view of the manor, but avoiding the windows so others would not readily see her. She waved cheerily to the stable lads, but did not stop to admire the horses, since she carried no treats with which to spoil them.

  By the time she had walked the full length of the rear courtyard, her headache was much improved. Feeling infinitely better, Charlotte followed the stone path around the side of the house and headed for the front door.

  The crunching sounds of horse's hooves on the main drive caught her attention. She turned to investigate and beheld two finely dressed gentlemen on horseback coming up the drive. One of them waved. She immediately concluded they were either afternoon visitors coming to pay a call or additional houseguests.

  It was hardly her role to greet them, yet it would be rude to disappear inside the house, since they had obviously seen her. Charlotte smoothed the front of her red wool cloak and patiently waited for them to arrive at the front portico.

  The sun was positioned at a low angle, almost directly behind the men's heads. The small brim of her fashionable bonnet offered no protection, forcing Charlotte to squint into the bright glare. It made little difference; she still could not see their faces. With a small sigh of annoyance, Charlotte lifted her arm and positioned it over her head, shielding her eyes from the harsh light.

  The riders came into clear focus. Tensing, Charlotte squinted harder, adjusted her arm and told herself the light was playing tricks with her vision. She easily recognized the rider on the left as Jonathan Barringer, and for an instant she thought the other man was his older brother, Edward.

  That, of course, was ridiculous.

  Though he was now the earl, he never came to Farmington Manor. If he did, Charlotte would not.

  She moved forward a few paces, out of the harsh glare, then froze. It was impossible! Unable to contain the gasp of surprise that escaped her lips, or ignore the bolt of chilling dismay that ran through her body, Charlotte closed her eyes and shook her head sharply, willing the unpleasant vision to go away.