I would not presume to intrude, but I invite you to come to my home, Briarton Park, in North Yorkshire, at your earliest convenience. My health prevents me from traveling, but if the trip is agreeable to you, send word and a carriage will be sent to convey you here.
The enclosed funds are rightfully yours and for your personal needs—some of which I hope you will use for the journey. I know you must have many questions, and if you are willing, all will be shared in due time.
With optimism,
Robert Clark
Who was Robert Clark? And why would this money be rightfully hers?
She hungrily scanned the letter again in case she’d missed any information.
The date struck her: 24 June 1809. Two and a half years ago. Two and a half years! Had Mrs. Denton kept silent about the letter all this time? It clearly had been read, judging by the broken seal and wrinkled paper.
Hysterical voices and haphazard footsteps echoed from behind the closed door, snapping her back to the present.
Mrs. Denton, the woman who had raised her, taught her, cared for her, and now employed her, was going to die.
And the life that Cassandra thought she knew was going to die with her.
Chapter 1
North Yorkshire, England
Autumn 1811
James Warrington met his half sister’s determined gaze. A pink flush on Rachel’s high cheekbones emphasized her tightly drawn lips. Shimmery tears brightened her silver eyes but did little to dim the rage brewing within them.
He braced himself for a battle.
A battle he was not entirely sure he would win.
“You are to have no more contact with Richard Standish,” James articulated. “No more secret letters or clandestine meetings. Am I clear?”
Rachel met his stare with unmasked defiance, yet she remained silent.
He steadied his resolve. “Tell me you understand and that you’ll obey me.”
For the briefest flicker of a moment, he thought she might soften and perhaps even comply, but then in a sudden whirl of patterned saffron chintz, she spun away and stormed to the broad window. “You are cruel, James! How dare you behave so meanly!”
It would be simple to be drawn further into an argument, but where would such a response take them?
The gray morning light slid in through the front parlor’s tall windows, highlighting the tremble of her thin shoulders. He was not sure when this metamorphosis from content child to morose sixteen-year-old had occurred. Regardless, he hated to see her cry.
He tempered his voice. “’Tis for your own good, Rachel.”
“How do you know that?” she challenged.
“Because I know his sort.”
“His sort? How would you even know what sort he is?” Her voice shrilled. “You’ve refused to even speak with him! You’re the most prejudiced, condescending, ridiculous—”
“Enough, Rachel.”
“But you know nothing about him!” She hurled her words like shots from a cannon. “Richard is kind. Considerate. You’d do well to emulate him, and I—”
“I said, enough!” His words reverberated from the plaster moldings on the ceiling, silencing her. He cleared his throat and straightened his neckcloth, buying himself time to soothe his mounting frustration and select his words with care. “I’m your guardian. You will abide by my instructions, and nothing else need be said on the matter.”
Rachel’s nostrils flared as she pivoted to face him. “Very well then, Brother. What do you suggest I do? You and you alone forced us to sever ties with everything and everyone that is familiar in Plymouth. Then you bring us out to some godforsaken place where there is no polite society whatsoever. So, what now? You decide whom I speak with? Whom I love?”
Love? He jerked at the word. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cringe. What could this green girl possibly know about romantic love?
He sniffed. “When you are old enough to make decisions responsibly, then you may decide such things. Until then, I must intervene. As for Standish, the boy is penniless, with no respectable connections. He’s undoubtedly learned of your inheritance. How he even managed to speak with you in the first place is beyond me.”
“So my only attractive quality is my inheritance?” Her left eyebrow arched. “You are quite right. He could not possibly love me for any other reason.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Need I remind you that you were penniless once too?”
“Yes, I was. Very poor indeed. But I did not acquire my wealth through marriage.”
She tipped her chin upward, color flooding her cheeks and certainty curving the corners of her mouth. “You could not be more wrong. My inheritance is not why Richard loves me.”
James hesitated. How could he make her understand? Men like Richard Standish were after one thing—money. It did not matter if he was eighteen or eighty. His intentions would not change. When Rachel came of age, she’d have plenty of money at her disposal, thanks to their father’s shrewd business practices late in his life. How would Standish be then, once he owned every farthing she brought to the union? James would wager not the charming, considerate man she believed him to be.
He heaved a sigh and crossed the room before he dropped onto the wingback chair flanking the fire grate. He allowed several seconds of silence to settle, hoping it would calm them both, and then leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. “Rachel, you’ve much more to offer a suitor than an inheritance. Much more. But as a woman of fortune, you must be certain that the man you choose truly loves you and not your pocketbook.”
“And what about what I want?” she snapped back in offense before his last words left his lips. “What about whose company I choose?”
“You should choose someone who is stable and steady, proven and established. Standish is reckless. Consider, he risks your reputation by sneaking onto our property at night. By sending you letters under an assumed name. You can’t think for a single moment that his behavior is in any way appropriate. And his surreptitious actions—the underhandedness and the furtive nature of it all—are precisely why I forbid it.”
“You won’t permit him to call any other way. Of course he must resort to ploys! You have created an impossible situation for us.”
“For us?” James stood once more. “Rachel, for all intents and purposes, you are still a child. There is no us. Not with him. Not with anyone.”
Tears now flowed unrestrained down her round, ruddy cheeks. “Are you so miserable that you must destroy not only your own life but also the lives of everyone around you? This is your fault. All of it. If Elizabeth were alive, she would understand. She always did.”
James winced at the sound of his deceased wife’s name. Two years since her death and he still tensed when he heard it, especially when it was hurled at him as Rachel just did. But she was right in one aspect: Elizabeth would have known what to say to soothe his sister’s anger.
“I hate you. I hate this house!” Rachel choked out the words between fresh sobs. “I hate this sad, despicable village. I hate everything about it!” She bolted past him out of the parlor, the soft soles of her slippers echoing on the stone floor.