The American Heiress Brides Collection Read online

  Mr. Frye peered over his spectacles. “Your uncle wanted only to see you taken care of.”

  She doubted that.

  “He loved you very much.”

  “He had a strange way of showing it.” Since her arrival in his home fifteen years ago at the age of seven, her uncle had paid her very little attention. Attention she had desperately yearned for after her parents had died. Instead, he scowled at her from afar and hired people to look after her. “If he had, he would not have stipulated marriage as a condition in his will.” Predicament indeed.

  “Perhaps he wishes you to consider your future.”

  Mr. Wellington spoke up. “Are you against marriage?”

  She swung her gaze to the onlooker. Did he really need to be here to witness her humiliation? Dust motes drifted in the shaft of sunlight between them. “Of course not. I just don’t want to be forced into it. I wish to marry for love. And my uncle knew that. He didn’t believe in love and wants to deprive me of it.” As he always did. She doubted he even knew what love was.

  “So the problem is not that you oppose marriage, but that you are not in love. Am I correct?”

  “You are.” She turned back to Mr. Frye, not wishing to acknowledge Mr. Wellington’s scrutiny. He was probably just like her uncle, thinking a lady of twenty-two had no right to remain unmarried.

  Mr. Frye cleared his throat. “Well, then, let us hope you fall in love in the next three months, shall we?”

  Not likely. “One cannot put a time constraint on love.” It happened when it happened.

  The elderly man gave her a sympathetic look. “In the event you do not marry within the allotted time, you will receive a small monthly stipend.” He rustled through the papers under the will.

  “How small?” Would it be enough for her to live on? Running her uncle’s household took a great deal of money.

  He pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to her.

  Across the top, in her uncle’s meticulous script, was written Budget. How typically controlling of him. Her gaze skimmed to the total at the bottom. Not nearly enough to run the house. “What about wages for the household staff? The cost of the electric lights? Feed for the horses?” Then her gaze lit on a line of the budget. Apartment Rental. “I am not to remain in the house?”

  “If you marry, you may live there comfortably the rest of your life. If not, your uncle made provisions to see to the dispersal of his assets.”

  Three months to find a suitable suitor after years of trite society parties, get said prospect to propose, plan a wedding, and marry. Impossible! And that excluded the element of falling in love, which would make the whole ordeal even more impossible.

  She had always suspected her uncle resented her intruding on his orderly life. But to cast her out? “What about the household staff? Are they to be turned out as well?”

  “No one will be going anywhere until the allotted three months are up. At that time, another portion of your uncle’s wishes will be read, depending on what you have decided to do.”

  Her uncle had employed excellent staff. They should be able to find other positions easily enough. She would allow them to start looking right away. No sense making them wait.

  “The rest of the details will be revealed in three months’ time.”

  Mr. Wellington spoke again. “I am sure Mr. Helmsworthy didn’t intend for anyone to suffer hardships.”

  She narrowed her eyes at the young attorney. He had no clue about the plight of women and servants. Both dependent on the generosity of men in a society constructed by men to benefit men.

  She turned back to the older attorney and rose gracefully to her feet. “If that is all, I’ll take my leave. I have much to think about and tend to.”

  Both men got to their feet. The elder barrister held out his hand. “There is more. If you’ll take your seat again, I’ll go over the particulars of the next three months.”

  Particulars? She eased back down, grateful for the chair to catch her.

  “Your uncle has arranged a dinner party to be held in his home seven days from this reading.”

  A party? Honestly? “What kind of dinner am I to plan on such short notice? Who am I to invite?”

  “Your uncle has already made all the plans. You need do nothing but be there. The parcel delivered to the housekeeper when the carriage came for you has all the instructions. I am sure Mrs. Fuller has things well in hand. She has likely already assigned tasks to the other staff and placed orders for food, flowers, and the like. You needn’t worry about a thing.”

  “Can you at least tell me who is to attend and what the nature of the party is to be?”

  Mr. Frye shifted his gaze from her. He removed his spectacles, pulled out a handkerchief, and proceeded to clean the lenses.

  She glanced to the younger—annoying—attorney for an answer.

  He shrugged and shook his head.

  Did he truly not know? Or did he not want to tell her?

  Mr. Frye fitted his glasses back into place, took a deep breath, and looked at her. “You are not going to like this.”

  She had attended dozens of her uncle’s parties and knew how to conduct herself. “What is it? Am I to be paraded in front of every eligible bachelor in the state of Massachusetts?”

  Mr. Frye neither confirmed nor denied her frivolous suggestion, but his eyes told her it was so. “Obviously, not every eligible bachelor.”

  Victoria slumped as much as her corset would allow. “So I am to be set on the auction block.”

  “It is not so dire as that. You have full choice in the matter. You do not have to accept any advances that you do not wish to.” He continued to lay out other plans her uncle had for her over the next three months, including the number of gentlemen from the guest list she must allow to court her.

  She calculated in her head. That would make the final blow on Christmas Eve. What a Christmas gift.

  Mr. Frye motioned toward his grandson. “Mr. Wellington will be by your side every step of the way. During that time, he will see you have every opportunity to be successful in receiving your inheritance.”

  “What?” It was Mr. Wellington who sprang to his feet this time.

  “Your only duty, starting now, is to be at Miss Dewitt’s beck and call.”

  “Certainly there is someone else who would be better suited. Ford? Or Jefferies? I have my cases.”

  “Your top priority is seeing to Miss Dewitt. I would do it myself, but I am too old to be frolicking around. I trust only you with this delicate matter.”

  “Mr. Frye, I am capable of seeing to matters on my own.” Though she rather liked the sound of having a man do her bidding for a change.

  The older man glanced from her to Mr. Wellington and back. “This is not an issue either of you can argue and win. Now off with you both. I have work to complete.”

  This was going to be a long three months. She would rather her uncle had straight out disinherited her and be done with it, rather than dragging out her demise.

  Victoria stood, and Mr. Wellington grudgingly escorted her to the door.

  “Graham?” Mr. Frye said.

  Mr. Wellington turned.

  “I expect daily reports.”

  Mr. Wellington gave a nod and opened the door for her. After helping her on with her black velvet, floor-length cloak, he shrugged into his overcoat and put on his hat. Then he escorted her out of the building to the waiting carriage and opened that door as well.

  She hesitated with a slippered foot on the step. “By your sour expression, one would think you were the one being forced into marriage.” She climbed in.

  He entered and settled on the seat opposite her. “When I attended law school, it was not to follow a privileged debutante around like a puppy dog.”

  The carriage heaved into motion.

  Victoria fussed with her skirt folds. “I have no desire to keep your company either. Let’s strike a deal. Neither of us wishes this arrangement. I release you from your duty.” She h
eld out her gloved hand to him to seal the agreement like gentlemen did.

  He glanced at her hand. “I only wish you had the power to dispense such an indulgence. Do you forget I have to report back to my grandfather each day?”

  She placed her hand back in her lap. “Tell him whatever you like.”

  “That would be dishonest. Besides, what do you suggest I do with my time? I can’t very well return to the office and get any work accomplished.”

  He had her on the dishonesty. She didn’t like that either. “You could do whatever you wanted.”

  “I want to progress in my field. To do that, I need to please my grandfather. To do that, I am stuck with you for the next three months. And you, with me.”

  Oh bother. Maybe she could find a way to excuse him from his mission while finding employment for the house staff and figuring out what to do herself. Bother. Bother. Bother.

  The answer was simple.

  Lord, send me my true love. Now, please. I don’t have any time to waste.

  Chapter 2

  Graham Wellington swayed in the carriage as it pulled into a lane lined with maple trees in full fall colors but not yet releasing their vibrant foliage. The country mansion the conveyance stopped in front of was larger than he had anticipated. He smiled inwardly, because swarms of eligible gentlemen would be clamoring for Miss Dewitt’s hand in marriage, and she would not be able to resist them all. He would be able to dispense with this business quickly. After all, women could be quite foolish when it came to romantic love.

  He opened the carriage door, disembarked, and held his hand out to assist her.

  She glared at it.

  For a moment, he thought she might refuse.

  But she placed her delicate gloved hand in his and alighted from the carriage as though she walked on air. “Thank you.” She dipped her head toward him as she retrieved her hand.

  The front door flew open. A plump middle-aged housekeeper and a tall butler descended the five steps. The housekeeper wrapped Miss Dewitt in her arms. “You’re back! Come in out of the cold.” The older woman ushered the younger inside.

  The lanky butler had a droopy hound-dog face. He bowed to Graham. “Sir? Won’t you come in?”

  Graham drew in a deep breath and entered.

  Miss Dewitt caught his gaze. “Mr. Wellington, this is our housekeeper, Mrs. Elaine Fuller, and Mr. Foster Dent, the butler.”

  Graham greeted them both.

  The wide foyer had a round table on an oval, plush carpet atop a pale gray marble floor. A wide staircase curved up to the next floor, and a substantial crystal chandelier hung from a high ceiling.

  Graham had not imagined anything as grand as this.

  He studied Miss Dewitt as she tugged on each finger of her white kid gloves while she spoke to Mrs. Fuller.

  The housekeeper took Miss Dewitt’s gloves and cloak and handed them to Mr. Dent. “The preparations for the dinner party are well underway.”

  “I will not participate in this ridiculous ruse. I’m canceling it. Would you please notify everyone?”

  Graham stepped forward. “You will not.” What was she thinking? He turned to the housekeeper. “It is not canceled. Continue with everything. The party will go on as planned.” He unbuttoned his coat and shucked it off his shoulders. “These are your uncle’s last wishes.”

  Miss Dewitt turned to him. “Don’t bother removing your coat. You may take your leave.”

  She was dismissing him? Not likely. He pulled his arms from his coat sleeves and handed the overcoat to the butler. “We have a party to prepare for.”

  “I think not. I won’t be attending.”

  He held up his hands in exasperation. “You have no choice.”

  “Oh, but I do. Mr. Frye said I could choose to accept suitors’ attentions or not. I choose not.”

  He glanced around the opulent foyer, evidence of how much wealth Mr. Helmsworthy had acquired. “You must attend if you hope to have any chance of keeping all this.”

  “I could pack a trunk right now and walk out.”

  He would like to see her trying to lug a trunk out of this mansion. Tugging it down the hall, bumping it down the stairs, and dragging it out the front door. She hadn’t thought her escape through. “But you won’t.” She would be a fool. “Who would turn their back on all of this?” He held his hands out to indicate all that surrounded them.

  “I would.” She turned in a swish of black silk and ascended the wide curved staircase.

  In awe, he watched her, trying to figure out how she could be appearing to … float?

  Her threat was empty, of course. No one in their right mind would give all this up. For something as elusive as romantic love? And she wasn’t fooling him with her bravado. Though she spoke cheerfully, he could hear the slight tremor in her voice at times. Had this just been too trying of a day? Or was she afraid?

  He liked her spirit though. And their verbal sparring. But she wouldn’t best him.

  The housekeeper had left the foyer, but the butler stood silently waiting, still holding Graham’s coat over one arm and his hat in his hand. At some point, the man had hung up Miss Dewitt’s cloak and stashed her gloves.

  Graham wasn’t about to leave. “I’ll wait in the library, if that will be acceptable.”

  “Very good, sir.” The middle-aged servant slid back a pair of pocket doors to reveal the indicated room. “Can I have Cook prepare you a pot of tea?”

  “No need to trouble her.”

  She had enough to do with the party preparations.

  “If you intend to wait for Miss Victoria to return, you might be here awhile. I’ll have a tray prepared in case you change your mind.”

  The butler obviously knew his mistress.

  “Is there someone you could spare to deliver a message to my office? I don’t want to take anyone away from their duties.”

  “Neil the stable boy could do it. He rides like the wind.”

  “Is he trustworthy?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Graham nodded his agreement and pointed to the desk on the far side of the room. “May I use some paper and a pen?” When the boy brought his papers and files, he could get some work done while he waited for the spoiled debutante to come to her senses.

  “Mr. Helmsworthy preferred to use dipping nib pens and ink. He didn’t like the newfangled fountain pens. The well and pens are in the top right drawer, stationery in the top left. I’ll send for the boy.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Dent.”

  The servant bowed slightly as he pulled the doors together, disappearing behind them.

  Lord, the next three months are going to be trying, aren’t they? When I said I was going to work on patience, I didn’t have this in mind.

  If God was going to test his determination on this matter, he would rise to the challenge. And prevail.

  Two hours later, he remained in the library seated behind the desk, his recently delivered legal case files and other papers organized on the surface.

  The pocket doors slid back. Mr. Dent stood patiently in the opening.

  “Come in.”

  The butler stepped only one pace inside. “Lunch is served in the dining room.”

  Graham had much work to do. “Would you bring a plate in here? I’ll work while I eat.”

  “I think you will want to eat in the dining room.”

  Graham studied the older man and understood. Miss Dewitt was there. His chance to wear her down. He pushed back the chair and unfolded himself. “Yes, a break would be refreshing.”

  The butler’s mouth pulled up at the corners ever so slightly.

  The dining room held a large table, thirty feet long. Maybe forty. Graham had never seen such a table. How many could it seat? Thirty, or more, easily.

  Victoria sat at the farthermost part adjacent to the end seat. Across from her, a place was set for him. She watched him approach and dipped her head toward the butler. “Foster informed me you were still here. I would have thought you lo
ng gone.”

  She had hoped, but he was not so easily put off. “My grandfather said I was to be at your beck and call. How would I complete my job if I left?” He bowed with a flourish of his hands. “I am yours to command.” He straightened and studied her openly.

  She returned his gaze without a hint of annoyance or being ill at ease with his regarding her.

  After a moment, he touched the back of the chair. “May I?”

  She nodded. “I wouldn’t deny anyone food.”

  A young servant woman entered with two plates. She reached to set a plate in front of Miss Dewitt.

  Miss Dewitt held up a hand. “Guests first.”

  The now flustered woman dipped in a slight curtsy. “Sorry, miss.” She set the first plate in front of Graham.

  “Thank you.”

  She set the second in front of Miss Dewitt.

  “Thank you, Muriel.”

  “I’ll get it right next time, miss.”

  The would-be heiress nodded at the young maid. “You did fine.”

  Muriel scurried out of the room with her head down.

  Graham tilted his head toward Miss Dewitt. “That was kind of you not to scold her.”

  “Why would I do that? She did nothing worth scolding her for.”

  He had seen aristocracy give a servant a dressing-down for far less.

  Without warning, she bowed her head and spoke a short blessing over the food.

  Surprised, he barely lowered his head before she finished. He opened his eyes.

  She poked at her chicken salad with her fork. “I expect you will leave after you eat.”

  Again, she was trying to get rid of him.

  “I have very clear orders. I don’t plan to fail.” He took a bite of chicken.

  “I have no intention of being the main attraction in a circus.”

  “Why not? For all you know, the man you are meant to fall in love with will be there. If you remain in your room, you could miss your chance at the love you so desire.”

  She took a sip of water. “I know what you are trying to do.”

  “What is that?”