Fran Keighley Read online

  The Next Heir

  by

  Fran Keighley

  ISBN 1-55316-088-6

  Published by LTDBooks

  www.ltdbooks.com

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2002 Fran Priddy

  Artwork copyright © 2002

  Published in Canada by LTDBooks, 200 North Service Road West, Unit 1, Suite 301, Oakville, ON L6M 2Y1

  All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher is an infringement of the copyright law.

  National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Keighley, Fran

  Next heir [electronic resource]

  ISBN 1-55316-088-6 (electronic) ISBN 1-55316-909-3 (REB 1100 1200)

  I. Title.

  PS3561.E318N49 2002 813'.54 C2002-900085-8

  * * *

  Chapter One

  By midafternoon the day was so dark that Miss Blackton rang for working candles to be brought to the shabby big schoolroom where the young ladies of the family occupied themselves.

  "Mama wouldn't approve of candles at this hour." Brown-haired Eliza critically glanced up from her book. She was on the old worn sofa by the window, where the light was best; although the wind and rain rattled the ill-fitting frame and a draft made her hug her shawl high about her shoulders.

  "Nor would she approve of the novel you're reading," instantly responded Miss Blackton, with a lift of her brows to point her meaning. The draft was strong enough to ruffle her smoothly banded dark hair, and she lifted a slim hand to restore its order. "Wherever did you get it?"

  "Oh, Amanda, I was only funning," protested her cousin. "You know that."

  Lady Cordelia Drumm was a strict parent, with upright principles, and had strictly prohibited novel reading as injurious to character development as it encouraged an excess of sensibility in impressionable young ladies.

  "That's why she's up here with us," eight-year-old Selina remarked from her desk. "Mama isn't likely to come up, and if she does, Eliza can hear her coming and hide it. Miss Haverforth gave it to her yesterday."

  "You, Selina, are growing to be disgustingly pert," Eliza declared. At twenty-two, she was the eldest of the unmarried daughters, and inclined to assume authority. "Upon my word, Amanda, I should think you could keep her in better order. She's becoming much too forward. It's a good thing she goes away to school next year."

  Amanda Blackton forbore to answer those remarks. There was little she could say, for they all knew perfectly well that although Lady Drumm considered that the least a penniless orphaned cousin could do was serve as governess to the youngest members of the family, she would oppose any attempts of that cousin to discipline the pampered little girl. Lady Drumm herself would administer any corrections she considered necessary.

  The schoolroom party returned to silence. Miss Blackton supervised Selina's struggles with ciphering, and Eliza shared the forbidden novel with her next sister, the almost-blonde Maria, who had been too deep in its adventures to join in any dispute. Eliza read faster than Maria, and was inclined to turn the page before Maria was ready.

  Amanda drew her own shabby shawl more closely about her slender shoulders, for the fire was small and Eliza and Maria had the best spot, closest to the flames as well as near the window.

  Eliza had been right, Amanda thought. School would be good for Selina, as it was doubtless being good for ten-year-old Harry. As afterthoughts to a large family, they were sadly spoiled, which upon consideration seemed a bit odd. They weren't particularly attractive children, and lacked any compensating charm of manner.

  That was typical of the entire family, herself included, Amanda ruefully admitted. Not beautiful, not charming, and like all who lived with the formidable Lady Cordelia Drumm, greatly resembling timid brown mice. At least during Lady Cordelia's presence. In her absence they showed more spirit of a sort.

  What will become of me when Selina goes to school, Amanda wondered drearily. Lady Cordelia had taken her about to the routs and balls, just as she was doing with her own daughters, receiving much praise from her acquaintanceship for such generosity to an orphaned cousin.

  However, it had been Amanda's ill fortune to be no more than attractive, meek and thin with straight dark brown hair, her best feature a pair of really fine deep blue eyes, in a season of heiresses, exceptional beauties, and true charmers. What chance stood ordinary girls in such company?

  Isabella Hollingcourt, for instance, with her guinea-gold curls and creamy skin and incomparable grace and elegant dress. Not that Isabella had made any enviable match of it. True, she'd become a countess at nineteen, but her lord was three times her age, had buried two previous wives, and now he himself had been in failing health for more than a year. Still, Isabella was a married lady, able to amuse herself as she pleased so long as she was discreet, and with pocket money enough to indulge her whims and her fondness for finery.

  Amanda suppressed a sigh. Perhaps if she herself had been dressed better? Lady Cordelia's notion of what was suitable for young ladies consisted of insipid pastel muslin gowns with scooped necks and short puff sleeves, which were unflattering to immature bosoms and thin arms.

  Moreover, Amanda inherited those dresses of which her older cousin Harriet, now wed, had tired, and they did not quite fit. They fitted closely enough for Lady Cordelia to declare alterations to be an unnecessary expense, yet not quite well enough to become.

  Amanda had not taken. She had not received even one offer for her hand, and now at twenty-four she was quite on the shelf, staying at home and acting as governess while Lady Cordelia took her own daughters to the assemblies and endeavored to make decent matches for them.

  At home. This was not home. It had never been home. Amanda remained all too conscious of her status as barely tolerated poor relative. Now that her usefulness was drawing to an end, Lady Cordelia speculated about the possibility of securing Amanda a teaching post at a Bath seminary after Selina went to school. That would be more drudgery, endless drudgery, growing old teaching more Harrys and Selinas their ABC's and how to write a fair hand and to add and subtract.

  For the hundredth time, Amanda's thoughts turned to finding a way to escape that future. In novels (which she, too, read surreptitiously when the opportunity presented) it was so easy to run away from home, to get a position as a governess, or as a companion to some sweet old lady, and find true love with a handsome and wealthy lord. But oh, the problems which arose in real life at the very thought of doing such a thing.

  Positions of various natures were advertised in the gazettes, but how to answer those advertisements? She could not write or receive letters, for Lady Cordelia examined and distributed the post, and would demand to know from whom Amanda received missives, and to upbraid her for conducting any correspondence without first gaining permission to do so. Permission that would never be forthcoming.

  Nor could Amanda ever manage to slip out of the house for an interview with a prospective employer, even assuming she somehow managed to obtain one. She would be subject to an inquisition and severe reprimand by Lady Cordelia, who would doubtless forbid accepting employment as reflecting poorly upon the family.

  The Bath seminary was a different matter. Amanda would be out of sight there, never again to be seen by any of their acquaintance.

  In the novels, heroines were aided by trusty, devoted maidservants, who would
smuggle letters in or out, but none of Lady Cordelia's staff would dare aid in anything clandestine for fear of being turned off without a character.

  Besides, the servants never stayed long enough to become devoted, and were quite indifferent to those they served. As soon as they could obtain better employment, they were off.

  Amanda wished she were similarly free to give notice and depart, but where could she go? Perhaps she would find it easier to correspond and gain another position if she were already at the seminary.

  A step on the uncarpeted stairs made Eliza and Maria whip the novel out of sight under a cushion and to replace it with a volume of an improving nature, but only the sturdy little upstairs maid, Betty, entered, bringing the candles.

  "You certainly took long enough," Eliza complained. "Here, set one closer, over here."

  "Sorry, I'm sure, miss," the maid apologized perfunctorily. "But, there! A young gentleman was come, asking for a word with his lordship."

  "Are you saying you had to admit him?" Amanda questioned in lively disbelief. That was the butler's duty, or failing him, a footman's, and Betty was strictly the upstairs maid.

  "Oh, no, miss." Betty managed to sound faintly condescending. Even the servants took little heed of a poor relative. She beamed at Eliza and Maria, however. "You may guess what the fine young gentleman's business is. Cheevers did hear him making your papa an offer."

  "An offer!" Eliza cried excitedly, her pale countenance flushing. "Oh, Betty, who is he? What does he look like?"

  "Was it Mr. Horton?" Maria eagerly demanded, and twisted about to peer out the window in a vain attempt to see whether her suitor's carriage waited in the street below.

  Betty could not tell them that. She had not seen him herself, and the footman had not recognized him. The butler, of course, had carried in his card, but Fotherwell was a most superior butler, quite above gossiping with mere second footmen and upstairs maids.

  Betty withdrew, promising to return if she should learn more, and argument raged between the two sisters.

  "It is surely Weddlesham!" Ecstatically, Eliza clasped her hands to her shallow bosom. She had been Out for three seasons without receiving an offer and her apprehension was beginning to wear upon her.

  "Mr. Horton has been most particular in his attentions," Maria protested.

  Eliza sniffed disdainfully. "Most particular indeed. I fancy even the scullery maid would recognize him. No. It is surely Mr. Weddlesham. I had begun to think the season would end without him offering." Relief flooded her voice.

  Why, Amanda realized, Eliza was just as anxious to escape as she herself was. True, Eliza was Lady Cordelia's daughter, but her life was restricted just as repressively, and she was subject to constant criticism, the more so because it was becoming an increasing likelihood that she, too, would dwindle into an old maid. A daughter could not possibly be sent to teach at a Bath seminary, with what little freedom that afforded.

  Amanda continued Selina's lesson. Whoever the gentleman might be, this mysterious suitor was not offering for her. Nowadays she encountered gentlemen only when chaperoning her cousins with their beaux.

  For a second, Amanda entertained a wistful longing. If only she might, some how, some way, meet and marry a gentleman whom she might esteem. These years under Lady Cordelia's rule had damped her romantic longings for a young and handsome lord to sweep her off her feet and surround her with every luxury. Now Amanda asked only that she might marry someone whom she did not actively dislike.

  The sisters' dispute wrangled on, and sparing them a glance, Amanda hoped Eliza was right and it would prove to be Mr. Weddlesham. Eliza would be extremely disagreeable if the younger Maria married first. Maria was not, as yet, quite so impatient to wed, although she would enjoy scoring off Eliza by marrying ahead of her.

  Betty came bustling back into the schoolroom. "Please, Miss Amanda, her ladyship wishes to see you in her dressing room."

  "Me?" Amanda said blankly. All of them had been set, at the maid's entrance, for Eliza or Maria to be summoned to their papa's study.

  Selina giggled. "He's offered for Amanda! Amanda's got a beau! Who is he, Amanda? Wherever did you meet him? Tell us, do."

  "Selina, hush." Eliza's reproof had something of her mother's majestic manner. "It is unkind of you to make sport of Amanda. You may depend upon it, Mama wishes to see her upon quite another matter."

  "Very true. You will oblige me, Selina, by working out these sums, neatly, by my return," Amanda instructed in her firmest manner, tidying her own materials out of the way and rising. Why was Eliza invariably at her most insufferable when perfectly correct?

  Keeping Lady Cordelia waiting was never wise. Amanda paused only long enough to check the neatness of her hair and the freshness of her drab round gown, for the one thing more certain of condemnation than lateness would be any untidiness. Then, with a deep breath, she drew her shawl about her more closely and hastened down the steep bare staircase to her ladyship's dressing room.

  The dressing room was a small cozy chamber, elegantly hung in Pomona green, a fire crackling in the grate, and Lady Cordelia's favorite scent in the air.

  Her ladyship sat in a satin-brocade slipper chair, surveying with approval the new gown that her maid had just removed from its box and held up for inspection. A letter lay in Lady Cordelia's lap, with others on the dressing table at her elbow.

  In appearance, Lady Cordelia was not in the least intimidating. She was perhaps fifty years of age, attired in the first stare of fashion, graying hair skillfully cropped and crimped, her thinness enabling her to wear the slim skirts and high waistlines now in vogue. In society she possessed considerable charm of manner, which she discarded when only family members were present.

  "Ah, Amanda." If her ladyship's voice and pale blue eyes were critical, at least there was nothing in Amanda's appearance worthy of rebuke. "That will be all for now, Meadows. You may go. Sit down, Amanda. I have received in the post a most satisfactory letter from Miss Fishback's Seminary. Miss Fishback writes that-"

  Lady Cordelia was interrupted by the door opening, unheralded by any knock. Sir William came bustling in, to meet his spouse's affronted gaze and Amanda's surprised eyes. Sir William never hurried, and never entered her ladyship's dressing room or bedchamber without a knock, yet he most assuredly had this afternoon. He was even out of breath after ascending the stairs with unwonted haste.

  "Really, my lord," her ladyship began, tone frigid with displeasure. "One might think-"

  Impatiently, he gestured her into silence, another happening so unprecedented as to succeed. "Amanda is here with you, I see. Good, good. My love, and my dear cousin, I have excellent news for you. Young Lyndon is below in the library and he has made a most flattering offer for Amanda's hand."

  "Lyndon! You never mean Julian Lyndon!" her ladyship ejaculated, while Amanda sat stunned with disbelief. Then Lady Cordelia turned on Amanda to rake her with a sharp stare. "And pray, miss, how do you come to be acquainted with Lyndon-Lyndon, of all persons?"

  Amanda shook her head bewilderedly. "But, ma'am, I'm not. There...there must be some mistake. Why, I've never said so much as two words to him. I don't believe I've even seen him, this past year."

  "I should think not, indeed, a libertine and gamester of his cut," Lady Cordelia declared with distaste. "No girl of my household. Drumm, you are surely mistaken. Or Lyndon is drunk," she pronounced with finality.

  "Mr. Lyndon can't be offering for me," Amanda insisted desperately, feeling quite unreal. "I'm sure he's never so much as looked at me." For what was there about her for a man of his ilk to look at?

  Now, Isabella Hollingcourt, he had looked at her, and more than looked, if tales were true. He had formed a member of her court before her marriage, and even Amanda's sheltered ears had heard the on dit that Lyndon was one of the amusements that young Lady Hollingcourt enjoyed with discretion.

  "Nonetheless, he appears quite sober, and he has offered." Sir William spoke with finality. "I need hardly
tell you, Amanda, how you will answer him."

  Amanda stared at him in uncertainty. After seasons of being cautioned against so much as speaking to Mr. Lyndon in company, and hearing her cousins so cautioned, it was natural to suppose that her guardians would mean her to refuse him, yet Sir William had spoken of excellent news, a most flattering offer, which definitely indicated that she was to accept that offer.

  "Lyndon," Lady Cordelia said meditatively. "Well. The family is good enough, if the sprig himself leaves much to be desired. It is not a connection I should contemplate for so much as a second for one of my girls, but for Amanda, yes, it will do very well. My dear Amanda," she interrupted herself acidly, "do close your mouth and hold yourself up a bit. None of these die- away airs, pray."

  "I informed Lyndon that Amanda herself should give him her answer," Sir William said instructively. "You will join us without delay and express yourself properly, miss."

  "I shall accompany you," Lady Cordelia announced, rising. "Do come along, Amanda. Pray tell me why you continue to sit there like a gawk?"

  As in a daze, Amanda rose and followed. The whole matter was too fantastic for belief. Surely she would wake to find it was only an outlandish dream.

  Yet she was too relieved by any opportunity to escape from Lady Cordelia and the prospect of Miss Fishback's Seminary to refuse any offer, or even to be wounded or insulted by Lord and Lady Drumm's willingness to marry her to a man whom they would not consider at all eligible for their own daughters. Refusal would be fruitless, in any case, for obviously she would be pushed into marriage willy-nilly.

  Well, even a very bad husband, as Julian Lyndon would doubtless be, was preferable to Amanda than continued existence with her relatives, or any other foreseeable future.

  The tall, thin mansion grew progressively more elegant as they descended the stairs. Scant money had been wasted upon the schoolroom and the girls' rooms, especially Amanda's tiny chamber. Lady Cordelia's bedchamber and dressing room were luxuriously appointed, as were Sir William's. The drawing room and other more public rooms were outfitted in a style successfully calculated to rouse the envy of all her ladyship's circle of acquaintance.