“There must be a mistake.” Nicole’s heart fluttered. To own a house the size of Morton Manor was a fantasy, a dream one wished for but never thought to obtain. She looked up at Lord Stanton only to meet the most striking pair of blue eyes she’d ever seen. “The earl hired me as a companion for Rose.” Well, that was what the old devil had told her. Despite being a gentleman’s daughter, Nicole would have scrubbed floors for an opportunity to flee the city. “He never mentioned what would happen if he passed.”
“There’s no mistake,” Lord Stanton affirmed. “I have seen the documents myself. A trip to Mr Jameson’s office will be necessary. There are legal matters to address, details to verify.”
“Mr Jameson’s office?” Nicole’s apprehension was evident in her tone. The process sounded complicated, too formal. “You refer to your father’s solicitor?”
“To one of them, yes.”
Was it too much to hope that the solicitor lived in a remote village far from the bustling streets of London? Was it too much to hope that he required no proof of her identity?
“And you’re certain I am the person named in the will?”
“Absolutely.”
“But this can’t be.” Mrs Gripes stepped forward, ignoring the fact that making any form of protest to an earl was considered impertinent. Her chapped lips turned down at the corners as she scanned Nicole from head to toe. The woman took pleasure in other people’s misery and was incapable of accepting anyone’s good fortune. “Why would an earl leave a house to his servant?”
“Who can say?” Lord Stanton shrugged. “Whatever my father’s reason for making the generous gift, Miss Flint is your mistress now.”
A groan left Stokes’ lips, and he mumbled under his breath.
“And what about us?” Baxter rubbed his sore wrists. From the rebellious glint in his eye, Nicole doubted the man would take orders from a woman. Particularly one who had robbed him of his masculinity and stripped him of his honour.
“That is for Miss Flint to decide,” Lord Stanton replied. “And I must insist that she does so with the utmost haste. There are more pressing matters to address.”
He spoke of finding Rose.
Guilt flared.
Her efforts to help Rose escape had been for nought. Even though they were of a similar age, Nicole couldn’t help but feel responsible for the lady. Lost in her own fanciful notions of romance, she’d imagined Rose would find her way back to London with ease. Imagined her running into Lord Cunningham’s arms, them hastening across the River Sark and marrying over the anvil in Gretna Green.
But life rarely mirrored the happy-ever-after found in fairy tales.
“Well, Miss Flint?” Lord Stanton tapped his foot. “What do you intend to do?”
Nicole noted the look of contempt in the servants’ eyes. The other guard, Tucker, the groom and the maid were yet to appear but were equally mean-spirited and vicious. Even if she could forgive their jailers for the high-handed way they had carried out the old earl’s instructions, she would never trust them. They were rogues by nature, liable to strip the house of everything valuable and leave it as empty as a pauper’s purse. To hide any wrongdoing, they would send the building up in flames and leave her with nothing but a pile of dying embers.
Nicole focused her gaze on Lord Stanton. “May I speak to you in private, my lord?”
“Certainly.” He inclined his head and gestured to the courtyard beyond the door. “Lead the way, Miss Flint.”
Nicole waited until they were a good distance from the house before asking her question. “Must I sign the papers first, or am I able to dismiss the entire household without notice?”
The earl smiled. “Obviously, it would be wise to stake your claim before making any rash decisions.” His rakish gaze drifted over her loosely flowing hair, and he gave a faint hum of approval. “There is also the question of whether you have the funds to maintain a house of this size. Without first speaking to Mr Jameson, one cannot know of my father’s full intentions. But after your experiences here, I understand your desire to seek satisfaction.”
An image of the heartless earl’s face flashed into her mind. It would come as no surprise to learn it was all a wicked game invented by the old man to torment her from beyond the grave. Either way, as far as Stokes and Mrs Gripes were concerned, she was the mistress of Morton Manor now. And she deserved some form of recompense for the misery they’d caused.
“Nothing would please me more than to escort them all to the gate and shout good riddance.” Nicole’s heart skipped at the prospect. “And you are happy to acknowledge my position here until a claim can be made?”
“Have I not already said so?” Lord Stanton leant forward even though there was no danger of anyone hearing what he had to say. “As mistress of the house, you may do as you please.”
A wave of excitement coursed through her, or was it the earl’s warm breath on her neck that made her shiver? “Needless to say, I shall require your assistance.”
“And you shall have it.” He nodded to the man sitting on top of the box seat of his carriage. “Jackson is more than a match for Stokes. And may I suggest you take the keys from Mrs Gripes and secure the house? Once we return to London, all matters relating to Morton Manor can be dealt with swiftly.”
Return to London? She couldn’t possibly go back there.
“With the manor being but a two-hour journey from the city, surely Mr Jameson will be only too happy to visit me here. I see no reason to leave.”
Lord Stanton frowned. He towered over her, his broad shoulders filling her line of vision. “In case you have failed to note the impatience in my tone or miss the furrowed lines on my brow, let me make my position clear, Miss Flint.” His blue eyes turned a steely shade of grey. “As my sister’s paid companion, and the person responsible for encouraging her to travel these dangerous roads alone at night, I must insist you accompany me.”