The Wyndham Legacy (Legacy 1)

“I didn’t know that.” Indeed, she’d always assumed that her mother owned the cottage. But then again, perhaps that was the way of it when a man supported and kept a woman. All remained his, thus he retained his power and all his prerogatives. It was merely another unexpected blow that she didn’t feel at the moment. She waited, silent, her body utterly still. His face changed then, and he was looking at her differently, not as a man feigning sympathy for a bereaved daughter, but as a man assessing a woman for his own uses.

She’d seen the look before, but not that many times on that many male faces. She’d been protected, but now, she realized, she was unprotected. Her father was in Yorkshire and she was here, quite alone, except for dear Badger.

“I must write my father,” she said then, her voice curt, colder than it would normally be, but she wanted him to go away. “I imagine that since the lease will run out soon that I will have to go to Chase Park.”

“There is another option, perhaps,” Mr. Jollis said, and he leaned toward her, like a hound on a scent, she thought, eyeing him with more hostility than she’d eyed anyone in her entire life.

“No, there isn’t,” she said, her voice as cold as the ice shards hanging from the cottage eaves outside.

“Perhaps,” he said, still sitting forward, his right hand outstretched toward her now, “just perhaps his lordship won’t want you to live at Chase Park.”

“His wife died seven months ago, just before my yearly visit. I cannot imagine that he wouldn’t want me there. She was the only one who didn’t care for my presence, and that, I suppose, is very understandable. She held him as her husband, but she didn’t have his regard. I have long understood her bitterness. However, now she is dead.”

“Ah, but now his lordship must be very careful, you understand, Miss Cochrane. His lordship is in mourning, very deep mourning. All his neighbors will be watching him closely, indeed, all society, all those whose opinions are important to him, will be watching him closely.”

“Why? Surely he won’t wed again, at least not anytime soon. I am merely his bastard daughter. Who would care if I lived at Chase Park or not?”

“People would care and they would find out very quickly. It shows the ultimate disrespect for his dead wife, Miss Cochrane. You must believe me, for I know the ways of society and you do not.”

She didn’t believe him, but she didn’t wish to argue with him anymore. “I do not beli

eve men are watched all that closely, only women,” she said, her voice remote. “Nor do I believe that men mourn anything all that deeply for all that long a time.” Her body became even more still, even though she could feel herself shrinking back from his still outstretched hand.

She remembered when her father’s wife had died. His reaction, she’d thought during her visit, when the countess had finally died birthing another babe, had been one of profound relief. When tears had wet his eyes, she knew it was from the death of the small infant boy, dead two hours after its birth, not from his wife’s expiration.

“That is possible,” he said. “But you have no one to look after you now, Miss Cochrane. Perhaps you should consider looking for someone well circumstanced who would protect you and keep you in this lovely little cottage.”

She smiled at him. Mr. Jollis, like everyone else who knew her for a long time, was startled at the smile. It was beautiful and it made him feel warm all the way to the bunions on his toes. She had two dimples and her teeth were small and white and as perfect as her smile. He could not recall ever seeing her smile before. “If I choose to remain here at the cottage, will you tell me who owns it?”

“It is Squire Archibald, but surely since you have so little money, you cannot consider keeping the lease. Why it’s absurd, it’s—”

She rose, her hands by her sides. “I should like you to leave now, Mr. Jollis. If there is more I need to know, please write me a letter.”

He rose then as well, for he had no choice, at least not at the moment, and stared down at her, her beautiful smile forgotten. “You think to be above yourself, Miss Cochrane. No matter, you’re a bastard, nothing more, and that’s what you will always be. You cannot remain here. The lease on the cottage ends on the fifteenth of next month, and you will have no money to renew it. Squire Archibald is all of seventy and certainly not a candidate for your wiles. No, it is money he would require, not you warming his ancient bed. You will leave then. If your esteemed father wants you, then, he will give you a home, but for how long? Don’t forget, your beautiful mother is dead. Do you truly believe he ever wanted you? No, it was your mother he wanted, no other, certainly not you. I would consider becoming your protector, Miss Cochrane—”

Her face was very pale now, her eyes dulling in her rage, but he saw only the dullness, not the fury, for she just stared at him, then turned on her heel and left the small drawing room without a word.

Mr. Jollis didn’t know what to do. Would she consider his well-phrased proposal? He thought her uppity, arrogant, but that would change. He wondered if she was a virgin. He wasn’t left to wonder anything then, for Badger, the servant who had stood as protector to both Mrs. Cochrane and the Duchess, appeared in the doorway. He was a large man, well muscled, ugly as a fence post, his hair white and thick as a prophet’s, and at this moment, there was blood in his eye.

Mr. Jollis backed up a step.

“Sir,” Badger said gently, too gently, “it is time to remove your carcass from the premises. If your carcass isn’t absent within a very few number of seconds, I will have to see that his lordship learns of your most regrettable behavior. He won’t be pleased.”

“Ha,” Mr. Jollis said, for he knew that this man didn’t know what he was talking about. “His lordship would be glad to get the little bastard off his hands and no mistake about that. Soon, Badger, you will be without money yourself, for she has none to pay you. Then, I daresay, you won’t speak to your betters like this. It doesn’t matter that you have more wits than you should, that you have excellent speech—who taught you to speak like a gentleman?—no matter, you’re still here and you’re nothing but a servant, of no account at all.”

Badger just smiled at him, shook his head, was on him in an instant, lifting him bodily, and tucked him under his mighty arm. He carried him to the front door, and dumped him out onto the frozen ground, that would, in five months, bloom wildly with the Duchess’s red, yellow, and white roses. He turned back into the cottage, saw the Duchess, and grinned, showing a goodly-sized space between his front teeth. “He’ll rest a bit in the snow, but he’s all right, don’t you worry.” He picked up her hand and made it into a fist. “Now, Duchess, I’ve told you how to swing and strike and keep your thumb tucked under. Why didn’t you knock him over the flower box?”

She tried to smile, she truly did, but her face seemed as frozen as the earth outside. “I just didn’t want to see him anymore, Badger.”

“No wonder,” he said and gave her back her hand. “But don’t forget now, if a fellow goes beyond the line, you shove his choppers down his throat, that or you slam your knee upward as hard as you can.”

“I will. I promise. Thank you, Badger.”

He grunted and took himself off to the kitchen to prepare the curry sauce for the chicken, currently roasting gently over the open grate. The cook and maid—Miss Priss, Badger had always called her—had left for Welford-on-Avon to see her ailing auntie some two years before. Badger had taken over her duties. He was an excellent cook. He just wished the Duchess ate more of his wonderful concoctions.

Mrs. Cochrane had told him many years before that when the Duchess visited Chase Park, everyone pretended—at least outwardly—that she was some distant cousin from Holland or from Italy, though her Dutch was nonexistent and her Italian was singularly bad. But no one ever said anything because she was, after all, the Duchess, and she was so very beautiful and so glorious in her pride and arrogance that all simply stood in awe of her, striving to please her, to make her give them one of her rare smiles. Mrs. Cochrane had smiled her beautiful smile at that, saying that she’d been positively terrified to let her go to Chase Park, and just look what had happened. She’d come back the Duchess and that was what she’d remained.

Badger heard the door to the drawing room close. He could see her going to the small writing desk, seating herself gracefully, her movements slow and elegant, and writing his lordship of their mutual loss.