“Of course not,” said the solicitor, looking even more uncomfortable. “Marriage was the only stipulation, and living on the estate, of course. But as to how you lead your life, that is entirely up to you.”
“Well, I’m glad my father has allowed me some freedom!” Sebastian turned to her. “So, Indra—I assume I may address you by your first name as we are to be married—are you willing to marry me to gain your inheritance?”
Indra bristled with indignation. How dare he stand there and demand to know an answer to such a terrible question? It made her sound greedy and materialistic. She wanted only one thing—the safety and security of her home.Thishome. He misunderstood her silence.
“I mean,” he said sarcastically, “the alternative isn’t exactly appealing. Leave here with nothing.”
She refused to be bullied into answering his question. Instead, she kept her gaze firmly on the solicitor.
“I accept the conditions. Is there anything else?”
The solicitor gave her a kindly smile and shook his head. “No, that’s all.”
“Good. Then I’ll leave. I have work to do.” She did, but she knew she’d be incapable of focusing on work. She also knew she refused to be in this arrogant man’s company one second longer than was necessary. He was everything her step-father had accused him of being—arrogant, cold and unforgiving. She blinked back the tears as she recalled how bitterly her step-father had spoken of his eldest son, and yet he’d insisted that she marry him. It seemed the epitome of cruelty. Why had he done it? She couldn’t believe it.
Without looking back at the silent room—no doubt Sebastian was waiting for her to disappear so he could argue his point further—she closed the door quietly behind her. She focused on putting one foot in front of the other. The light click of her low heels on the parquet floor became muffled as she walked across the hallway rug, before it changed into a light rattle as her foot dislodged the brass rods on the stair runners. The deliberate walk changed into a run as she went up a second flight of stairs, not carpeted this time, to the upper nursery, which had been her domain since she’d first arrived with her mother to this house ten years before—a frightened twelve-year-old who’d witnessed the brutal killing of her father and brother.
Once inside the long nursery, now equipped with books, beautiful rugs, desk and computer equipment, she relaxed and slumped onto the daybed, sinking her head into her hands, and let the tears flow.
How could her step-father, the man she and her mother had grown to love, the man who’d shown her such tenderness and kindness and care, insist on marriage to a son he never saw and for whom he had no love or respect? How could he have done such a thing to her?
He must have known that she had no option but to accept. The solicitor might not know it, and certainly Sebastian wouldn’t have a clue, but Richmond Manor was the only place she felt safe. The only place she could ever imagine living. She loved it as if it were her own, exactly as she had the moment she and her mother had entered the life of Charles Richmond so long ago. She’d soon found that Charles had loved that she was so interested in the estate. He had encouraged her in her studies and introduced her to all aspects of its business. She’d ended up managing the whole estate during her step-father’s long illness. He’d loved her. She knew that. And yet, how could he have imposed such a marriage on her? To a man she knew to be cold and cruel? A man who hadn’t even bothered to come and see his dying father?
Yes, it meant she could stay in her refuge from the world, but at what cost? What the hell was she going to do?
Suddenly her cell phone rang and she jumped. She peered at the screen. Sebastian. He must have got her number from the office. He tapped the screen.
“Indra speaking.”
She caught her breath at Sebastian’s commanding voice and focused on her breathing as she listened to his question.
“In ten minutes, you say?” She paused. She knew she’d have to face him some time, but wanted to show him it would be on her terms. “No. Half-an-hour.” She broke off the call before he had a chance to respond. He might have called a meeting, but he needed to know that he would not have it all on his terms.
She replaced the handset and walked over to the mirror. Shakily, she plucked a tissue from a box and wiped away the last of the tears and the streaks of mascara from under her eyes. She had to get a grip. She needed to be calm and in control. She needednotto be intimidated by Sebastian. He was only a man, she insisted to herself. A fallible man with a big ego. According to his father he also had an intellect as sharp as his good looks. He was an enigma. But one she had to understand if she was going to survive this ordeal. She’d begin online, try to find out as much as possible about him. ‘Sebastian Richmond’, she typed, before hitting the enter key. The man she was about to marry.
Sebastian took the whiskey from his brothers, knocked it back, and then replenished it from the crystal decanter. He rarely drank during the day, but then, he rarely discovered he had to marry someone he’d only just met. He needed the whiskey’s fiery warmth to offset his own inner fire, which blazed, fueled by the knowledge that his father had had the last laugh. Sebastian had imagined he’d arrive and everything would go smoothly now his father had passed. But he hadn’t anticipated the full extent of his father’s cunning. His father was determined to get back at him, even from beyond the grave.
He left his two brothers, who seemed to think the whole situation highly amusing, to play pool and to laugh at him behind his back, and returning to the hallway, opened the door to the left of the front door, the drawing room.
As soon as he entered the room, the combination of polish and flowers took him back to a time, so many years ago, when this had been his mother’s favorite room. The memories were both painful and welcome. The vases were still full of the same flowers—white roses. He frowned and looked around. Nothing had changed.
The same pale blue velvet cushions were plumped up on faded chintz settees. The same matching velvet blue drapes hung from above the curve of enormous windows, hiding the window seats where he’d used to take refuge from his father as a child. Punishments had come thick and fast after his mother had died. After a while his father had given up trying to concoct a reason for them. So Sebastian had simply avoided him, coming here and curling up with the history books he’d smuggled out of the library, surrounded by memories of his mother.
He turned suddenly, half-expecting to see his mother seated as she entertained her friends or committee members with tea, cake and gossip. A wave of nostalgia swept over him, the like of which he hadn’t experienced in twenty years.
This was ridiculous. He glanced at the antique carriage clock, which had sat daintily on the mantelpiece, marking out the hours of his mother’s life, until those hours had ended so prematurely. He glanced from the clock to the family photographs which had been grouped on the sideboards and occasional tables since his grandparents’ time. He liked to think that maybe his father had kept the room unaltered in memory of his mother. But, more likely, he simply couldn’t be bothered to change it. Whatever, he felt comforted by the invisible presence and memories of the family he’d loved and who’d once loved him.
A sharp rap at the door interrupted his reminiscences. He closed his eyes in a vain attempt to suppress his annoyance. What the hell kind of revenge was his father trying to pull on him? He turned around, placing his back to the blazing fire.
“Come!” he said, briefly shocked by the instinctive command so reminiscent of his father.
Indra opened the door, glanced at him and then closed the door behind her. She was still dressed in the same clothes she’d worn to the meeting. And they still had the same effect of downplaying, even hiding, her beauty. He was struck by how different she appeared to the woman he’d first seen galloping towards him through misty rain. Then she’d looked stunning with her dark hair streaming out behind her, riding with a natural ease and rhythm which showed how at one she was with the horse. Such an empathy with animals was rare. He should know. He also had it. It seemed they had at least one thing in common. But it was still nothing to build a marriage on.
“You wanted to see me,” she said, lifting her chin as if she was determined to counter the natural hesitation he detected in her voice. She certainly wasn’t a member of England’s upper classes. None of the women in his family or their friends acted with such diffidence. But then, despite the position she’d risen to in his father’s household, she was simply the daughter of his housekeeper. Even when her mother had become his mistress she’d no doubt remained subservient, because that was how his father liked people to be around him.
“Yes. I think we have a lot to discuss. I thought it best to come to some kind of common sense agreement around this bizarre requirement of my father’s.”
“Indeed,” she said, her eyes glancing off his before averting to the chimney breast, as if she were looking at the framed photographs for the first time.