portrait looked down at him—her lush figure in a simple white gown, that glory of red-gold hair, great celestial blue eyes, lips parted as if she was just about to speak to him. He’d forgotten that he’d thought the portrait idealized when it was first finished. Now it was his image of paradise lost. He no longer imagined—as he had all through the first year after her death—that he heard her voice in the next room, a few tantalizing feet away, or that he would come upon her around a corner. She was gone. But he could gaze at her image and lose himself in memory.
* * *
Three days later, a post chaise pulled up before Furness Hall, uninvited and wholly unexpected. No one visited here now. One of the postilions jumped down and rapped on the front door while the other held the team. A young woman emerged from the carriage and marched up as the door opened. She slipped past the startled maid and planted herself by the stairs inside, grasping the newel post like a ship dropping anchor. “I am Jean Saunders,” she said. “Alice’s cousin. I’m here to see Geoffrey. At once, please.”
“G-geoffrey, miss?”
The visitor gave a sharp nod. “My…relative. Alice’s son.”
“He’s just a little lad.”
“I’m well aware. Please take me to him.” When the servant hesitated, she added, “Unless you prefer that I search the house.”
Goggle-eyed, the maid shook her head. “I’ll have to ask his lordship.”
Miss Saunders sighed and began pulling off her gloves. “I suppose you will.” She untied the strings of her bonnet. “Well? Do so.”
The maid hurried away. Miss Saunders removed her hat, revealing a wild tumble of glossy brown curls. Then she bit her bottom lip, looking far less sure of herself than she’d sounded, and put it back on. When footsteps approached from the back of the hall, she stood straighter and composed her features.
“Who the deuce are you?” asked the tall, frowning gentleman who followed the housemaid into the entryway.
Unquestionably handsome, Jean thought. He had the sort of broad-browed, square-jawed face one saw on the tombs of Crusaders. Sandy hair, blue-gray eyes with dark lashes, which might have been attractive if they hadn’t held a hard glitter. “I am Alice’s cousin,” Jean repeated.
“Cousin?” He said the word as if it had no obvious meaning.
“Well, second cousin, but that hardly matters. I’m here for Geoffrey.”
“For him? He’s four years old.”
“I’m well aware. As I am also aware that he is being shamefully neglected.”
* * *
“I beg your pardon?” Benjamin put ice into his tone. The accusation was outrageous, as was showing up at his home, without any warning, to make it.
“I don’t think I can grant it to you,” his unwanted visitor replied. “You might try asking your son for forgiveness.”
She spoke with contempt. The idea was ridiculous, but there was no mistaking her tone. Benjamin examined the intruder in one raking glance. She looked a bit younger than his own age of thirty. Slender, of medium height, with untidy brown hair and dark eyes, and an aquiline nose, she didn’t resemble Alice in the least.
“I’ve come to take Geoffrey to his grandparents,” she added. “Alice’s parents. He deserves a proper home.”
“His home is here.”
“Really? A house where his dead mother’s portrait is kept as some sort of macabre shrine? Where he calls his father ‘the lord’? Where he is shunted aside and ignored?”
Benjamin felt as if he’d missed a step in the dark. Put that way, Geoffrey’s situation did sound dire. But that wasn’t the whole of the truth! He’d made certain the boy received the best of care. “How do you know anything—”
“People have sent reports, to let his grandparents know how he’s treated.”
“What people?” There could be no such people. The house had lost a servant or two in recent years, but there’d been no visitors. He didn’t want visitors, particularly the repellent one who stood before him.
“I notice you don’t deny that Geoffrey is mistreated,” she replied.
Rage ripped through Benjamin. “My son is treated splendidly. He is fed and clothed and…and being taught his letters.” Of course he must be, though he was scarcely of an age for schooling. Perhaps he ought to know a bit more about the details of Geoffrey’s existence, Benjamin thought, but that didn’t mean the boy was mistreated.
Two postilions entered with a valise. “Leave that on the coach,” Benjamin commanded. “Miss…won’t be staying.” He couldn’t remember the dratted girl’s name.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Take it back. I’m only here