Crystal Heart Page 8

  It took a moment for that to penetrate into John’s tired brain, but, when it did, he bolted upright. Sir Gabriel had left descendants, after all. This was the first mention John had found of them. It was not the bride’s name that riveted him, however, but the groom’s. Alfred Carstairs. It was the name of John’s great-grandfather on his mother’s side.

  Good God. John let the letter fall and stared into space. Could he possibly be descended from Sir Gabriel?

  Chapter Nine

  “Good God!” John jumped up from his chair. No, it couldn’t be. It was stretching fate too much, to think that he had come here, by chance, at the very time when he was needed by Sir Gabriel. And that, he still refused to believe. He didn’t know why Alana persisted in her story, or why she insisted they search for both the Folletts and that damned crystal heart. He only knew he was being manipulated in some way, and that he didn’t like it at all.

  Damn it! Without stopping to think, he tore out of the library and headed for the gallery. Here were all the portraits of the Hart and Valentine families, including one of Camilla he’d grown fond of. Here, too, was a replica of the portraits of both Sir Gabriel and his wife, which John hadn’t before paid much heed to. He strode towards Sir Gabriel’s portrait now, however, his lip curling as he stared at the picture of a man with luxuriant long locks of hair, wearing foaming lace and what appeared to be a coat of burgundy velvet. Damned man-milliner. John would like to have him here, just once. He’d set matters straight then.

  “What do you want of me?” he demanded of the portrait. “Damned if I’ll believe you brought me here somehow, to fulfill some stupid prophecy. Damned if I’ll believe I’m your descendant! If it weren’t for the wager I’d leave right now, and you could go hang. Come on, show yourself.” He stood with his hands balled into fists on his hips, chin thrust forward. “If I’m your chosen tool, reveal yourself to me. Or are you only brave enough to appear to women?”

  “I’m no coward, sirrah!” a voice boomed behind him, and John spun around.

  “Good God! Who the devil are you?”

  “Sir Gabriel Follett, sirrah.” Sir Gabriel swept off his plumed hat and bowed, briefly. “If you do not know me, I, sir, know you.” He sneered. “And a more frivolous lightweight I’ve never seen in my life.”

  “Danbury put you up to this, didn’t he?” John challenged. “I’ll pay him back for this.”

  “Your friend knows nothing about me, sirrah. I am who I say. I wouldn’t mention the wager to Miss Sterling, were I you. She seems to think you a man of some worth.” Sir Gabriel’s gaze flicked over him. “God knows why.”

  This couldn’t be happening, and yet it was. “What do you want of me? Do you know I may be your descendant?”

  “Is this a flam, sirrah?” Sir Gabriel demanded. “God help me, if this is what the family has come to.”

  “I’m no more pleased about it than you, sir. Good God.” John took a turn about the gallery. “Good God, you are real, aren’t you? Alana didn’t imagine you.”

  Sir Gabriel inclined his head. “As you see. You are my descendant, you say?”

  “It’s a possibility.” John paused. “You didn’t know?”

  “No. Though you’ve the look of me, boy, in my salad days. Hm. Perhaps you’ll serve, after all.”

  “Not for you. I’ll not dance to your tune, sir. Find someone else.”

  “You love her, do you not?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You love Miss Sterling.”

  “No! I do not love anyone.”

  Sir Gabriel snorted. “Ha. In my day a man went after what he wanted, and to the devil with the consequences.”

  “That’s what got you into this fix,” John retorted.

  “I learned, sirrah, I learned. Do not scorn love when it is offered you.”

  “I don’t love her,” John repeated.

  “Think of a lifetime without her, than.”

  “I—” John began, and stopped. A life without Alana in it somewhere? A truly horrifying prospect. “Good God.” He did love her.

  “I was right, was I not? Question now is, what do you intend to do about it?”

  “I won’t be manipulated by you, sir, because of some long-ago vow.” John’s voice was stronger as he faced his rival. “This is my choice, not yours.”

  “Damme, I care not about the vow! But I do care about Miss Sterling. Let her go, and you’ll be making a mistake you’ll both regret.”

  “I’ll have to think about it.”

  “You’re a popinjay.” Sir Gabriel set his hat back on his head. “Remember this, then, boy. Do not take too long in deciding what to do. Hearts are like crystal. They can shatter,” he said, and faded.

  “Wait!” John exclaimed, and started forward into emptiness. Sir Gabriel was gone, if he had even really been there. He passed a hand over his brow, noticing with detachment that it shook a bit. Good God. There was a ghost in the house, a ghost who had made him see what he had tried to ignore. He loved Alana. What he would do about it, however, was another matter. The confrontation with Sir Gabriel hadn’t solved a thing. It had, instead, left him more confused than ever.

  The crystal heart swung lazily back and forth, back and forth. Elbows propped on her writing table, Alana gazed at the heart as it dangled from her fingers. She had polished the chain, washed the crystal, and now it shone in the candlelight, catching flame and refracting it. A crystal heart, on fire. That was rather how she felt, afire, and yet as if she might shatter at any moment. When she had taken this position at Heart’s Ease, she had not bargained on this.

  “Cleans up rather well, doesn’t it?” a deep voice rumbled, and she looked up without surprise to see Sir Gabriel.

  “Good day, sir. I haven’t seen you for a time.”

  He shrugged and began pacing the room. “I thought perhaps I could hurry things along, but...”

  She turned. “How?”

  “It matters not.” He shrugged again and turned towards her. “I begin to see how difficult a task I’ve set you.”

  “There’s time yet, before Valentine’s Day.”

  “Very little. I fear we’re doomed to failure, my dear.”

  “Do not say that! I’ve not given up, and neither has John.”

  “John, is it.”

  “Mr. Winston. I will admit it’s proving difficult to find any trace of the Folletts. They seem to have disappeared. Even Lady Honoria has no idea where they went.”

  “Nor the heart.”

  “No.” She glanced back at her own crystal heart, and a slight smile appeared on her face. “Lady Honoria is allowing me to keep this.”

  “Ah. She gave it you, then?”

  A blush stained Alana’s cheeks, and she studiously avoided looking at him. “Yes.”

  “And before her?”

  “It doesn’t signify.”

  “It came from Mr. Winston.”

  “And if it did?”

  “He cares about you, girl.”

  “Fustian. He is a flirt.”

  “Aye. I misdoubt, however, that he would give a heart to simply anyone.”

  Alana looked up at that. “You think-?”

  “Aye. I do.”

  “It doesn’t mean anything,” she said, more to herself than to him.

  “Marry him, girl. You know ‘tis what you want.”

  “Marry!” The chain slipped from her fingers, and it was only by quick action that she saved it. “I cannot marry him.”

  “Why not?”

  “My grandfather would not approve.”

  He stared at her. “And that matters to you?”

  “Yes, it matters.” In one smooth movement, she laid down the heart, folded her arms upon the writing table, and put her head down. “It is all so confused.”

  “Tell me, then. Perhaps we can make sense of it.”

  “I don’t know how.” She raised her head. “Very well. If I marry before I reach twenty-five without my grandfather’s consent, I forfeit my inher
itance.”

  “That is a problem.” He paced about. “Are you so certain, though, that he would disapprove of Mr. Winston?”

  “I disapprove of Mr. Winston! He is exactly the kind of man I dislike.”

  “I think not.”

  “How would you know?”

  “Has he ever given you any reason to distrust him?”

  “He flirts—”

  “Aye. Mostly with you.”

  “And Miss Valentine, and the cook, and—I could go on! How could I ever be certain he’s serious? I’ve known so many men like him.”

  “The men you knew worked for their bread?”

  “Well, no—”

  “Would they have helped you on a search for something they’re not even certain exists?”

  “No, but—”

  “No. They would not. At least be honest with yourself, girl. He’s not like anyone you’ve known, and it scares you.”

  “Yes,” Alana said, after a moment. “It does. Oh, Sir Gabriel, you’re right! He is different. But what if I tell him of my fortune?”

  “What of it? If money comes along with the love, what is so wrong with that?”

  “How will I ever be certain that it’s me he wants, and not the fortune?”

  Sir Gabriel snorted. “Does he know of your fortune now?”

  “No, but—”

  “How will he feel when you tell him? Don’t you think he’ll wonder why you kept it from him?”

  “But it has nothing to do with him! At least, it didn’t.” She groaned, sinking her head into her hands. “Oh, lord, what a coil.”

  “Tell him, girl,” he urged. “Tell him, and then write to your grandfather.”

  She raised her head. “Do you really think I should?”

  “Aye. You’ll not know until you do.”

  “No.” She rose, carefully placing the heart in a drawer in the table. “I couldn’t bear it if he wants me only for my money.” She looked away. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Sir Gabriel’s gaze sharpened. “One of your five proposals?”

  “Yes. The last one. I thought I loved him.” She gripped her hands together. “And then I overheard him telling a friend that, now he was marrying an heiress, he could afford to set his mistress up in her own house. I broke the engagement that evening.” She looked down at her hands. “I could not bear to go through that again.”

  “Dear lady, I am sorry,” he said, after a moment.

  “Thank you.”

  “But just because he was a cad does not mean every man is.” Sir Gabriel held her gaze with his own. “You have to find out, girl. Don’t let love slip away from you. ‘Tis a mistake you’ll regret forever.”

  Alana glanced away. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Do that, girl.” Sweeping his hat off, he bowed and faded, leaving behind not a trace of his presence, leaving Alana alone and confused. Vastly confused.

  Did she love John? She didn’t know, and she could see no way of learning if he loved her without revealing herself. Nor could she approach her grandfather. He wouldn’t approve her marrying a penniless scholar, and there would go her inheritance. She could live without that. What she couldn’t face was his towering anger, or being estranged from him, as her mother had been. Grandfather was the only family she had left. In spite of everything, she loved him.

  Oh, her thoughts were all in a muddle! She sank her head into her hands, trying to see her way through this dilemma, and failing. It was a terrible coil. How could she possibly marry John?

  How could he possibly marry her?

  John sat hunched over the papers on his work table, looking at them without seeing them. Not that he needed to. The words were forever engraved upon his mind. A Follett had married into his family. He had little doubt of that, even without confirmation. The ramifications of that, and of his presence here in this house at the crucial time, were stunning. It was as if fate had stepped in and directed all his movements, even to his ridiculous wager. Already he had fulfilled part of the vow; he had left his roistering ways behind, finding satisfaction in a life far different from anything he had known in town. He could accept that. What he had not counted on was falling in love.

  Abruptly he rose, scraping his chair back. Thinking of this did no good. He was tired and hungry and very confused, and he would need time to sort things out. He did love Alana. That was all he knew. What he was going to do about it was another matter. He was well aware of what was due his title, and his position. He very much doubted that his family would accept her.

  Deciding to postpone any more thoughts on the subject until he had dined, John headed for the kitchen to retrieve his tray. As he pushed at the green baize door, however, he met resistance. “Oh, bother!” a feminine voice came from the other side. “Do let me through, before I drop this tray.”

  In spite of all that had he had learned that afternoon, John grinned as he stepped back, letting Alana push through the door. “Miss Sterling.”

  Alana stopped, her eyes growing huge. “John! I—that is, I didn’t realize it was you.”

  “As you see.”

  “Oh. Well, I’ll just be on my way—”

  “No, wait.” He reached out his hand, detaining her. Her arm felt slender and yet strong under his fingers, with a warmth that seemed to spread through him. “Dine with me tonight.”

  “I—I’m not sure—”

  “Please?” He guided her towards the library. “I’ve things to tell you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. I may have found a trace of the Folletts.”

  Her eyes widened even more. “John! Really? Tell me.”

  “I’ll get my tray first.” He held the library door open for her. “Go on. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  Alana hesitated, and then walked in. “Oh, very well.”

  John returned to the library to find Alana sitting, staring ahead dazedly, Camilla’s letter in her hand. “You found out something about the Folletts,” she said, looking up at him.

  “Yes.” He set his tray down on the table and gently took the letter from her fingers. “Careful with that. It’s quite old, and we don’t wish to get it stained.”

  “Oh. No, of course not. Alfred Carstairs.” Her brow wrinkled in a frown he wanted to kiss away. Good God, he must be in love. “I know of a Carstairs family in Yorkshire, where I lived—had a post, but I don’t remember their having any connection with this part of the world.”

  Distant relations of his, he nearly said, but held back in time. “A common enough name.”

  “Indeed. Oh, but it’s a start!” She set down her fork. “We could write to them and find out if they are connected.”

  “We could.” He took a bite of chicken. “And then what?”

  “Why, then we’ll tell them—good heavens.” She sank her head into her hands. “They’ll think we’ve run mad.”

  “Precisely.”

  “Unless we don’t tell every detail. We could say it’s a matter of an inheritance.”

  “That would be dishonest.”

  “Well, it is! The crystal heart is an inheritance. So is the vow.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I’m not pleased about coaxing them here through some misapprehension,” he said, and wondered why she suddenly looked so pleased. “We may certainly find out if there’s any relation, but I doubt we’d get anyone to come here. Not in time, certainly.”

  “But does it have to happen here?” She leaned forward, her eyes shining. “All the vow stipulates is the crystal heart and the commitment to true love. It doesn’t say where.”

  “It doesn’t seem fitting,” he said slowly, thinking it out. Of course, he knew something she didn’t. A Follett descendant was at that moment in the house. “It seems as if it should happen here.”

  “It does, doesn’t it,” she agreed. “Perhaps they could tell us something about the crystal heart, though.”

  He nodded. “That is a thought. I wonder,” he went on, taking a bite of boiled
potato, “if it has to be Sir Gabriel’s crystal heart, or if any would do.”

  “I would think we’d need the original. I’ll ask him later.”

  “Why not now?”

  She stared at him. “I doubt he’d appear. He seems to exist only to complicate my life.”

  “Mine, too. I met him, you know.”

  Alana set down her water glass so hard that the contents sloshed over the brim. “What? You didn’t tell me. When?”

  “This afternoon. I have to admit, Alana, I didn’t believe you about him.”

  “I know that. Good heavens! Tell me everything.”

  “I was in the gallery.” John went on with his meal, as if nothing of import had happened. “Apparently he’s got impatient with the slowness of things. Suddenly, there he was.” John grinned. “Called me a lightweight.”

  “That sounds like him. Good heavens.” She gazed off into space. “Then I didn’t imagine him.”

  John’s eyes sharpened. “Did you think you had?”

  “I did wonder—not that I’m given to such fancies, of course. But, yes, I wondered. It is very strange, after all.”

  “Quite. Don’t you feel as if he’s manipulating you?”

  “I think he has no choice.” Abstractedly she picked up her fork and began eating again. “Tell me everything.”

  “Very well.” John leaned back and narrated the events of the afternoon, omitting, however, several significant pieces of information. Until he knew for a fact that he was descended from Sir Gabriel, he would not share that with her. As far as his feelings for her went—well, that was something he’d deal with in his own good time. Not even a ghost would interfere with that.

  “And he never said a word,” she said, shaking her head, when he’d finished.

  “You’ve seen him since?”

  “Yes. Just before I came down for dinner.” She smiled. “Meddling old thing, isn’t he?”

  “Hush. He’ll hear you.”

  “Oh, no. I made him promise not to spy on me.”

  “Good.” He leaned back, relieved. “When was that?”

  To his surprise, Alana turned crimson. “It doesn’t signify.”

  “Tell me.” He leaned forward, intrigued now. “When did he promise?”