Chapter Three

      Julia jumped from the carriage the instant it halted in front of Knollwood. Flying up the front stairs, she ran down the hall, throwing open her mother’s sitting-room door, not caring what anyone thought of her very unladylike entrance.

      ‘Cable Grange is to be sold by the bailiff in ten days. You must write to Charles and tell him to arrange for my inheritance at once.’

      ‘Julia, do not stomp about the house,’ her mother instructed without missing a stitch in her embroidery. Charlemagne watched from a basket at her mother’s feet, his tail wagging lazily.

      ‘Mother, did you hear what I said?’ she demanded, chafing in the face of her apathy.

      ‘You know he won’t approve.’ Her mother pulled a long, red thread through the fabric. ‘He hardly approves of you running Knollwood in his absence.’

      ‘That’s why I need you to write him. Demand my inheritance, but don’t tell him why. I can’t have him buying Cable Grange out from under me.’

      ‘I have little influence with Charles, especially in this matter.’

      ‘But he has to give me the money,’ Julia cried, pacing the room. ‘This could be my only chance to secure an estate of my own.’

      Her mother paused mid-stitch. ‘Without a husband? He’d never allow it. You must be married first.’

      ‘To whom? One of the many young men throwing themselves at my feet?’

      ‘My dear, don’t sound so despondent. Some day you will find a gentleman who loves you.’

      ‘Not in time to purchase Cable Grange.’ Julia sat down hard in the window seat.

      ‘Perhaps George can supply the necessary funds?’

      ‘Creedon Abbey is profitable, but not enough to finance another estate, especially not with the repairs from the fire.’ She knew because she often helped Uncle George with his accounting.

      ‘Then I’m afraid Cable Grange will go to another.’

      Julia bit her thumbnail in frustration, feeling like a rabbit caught in a snare. Though the money was hers, her father’s will gave Charles control of it until she married or Charles died. At the moment, she wanted very much to kill her obstinate brother.

      She picked at the gold thread on a pillow. ‘Why did Father put Charles in charge of my inheritance? Why not Uncle George or even Paul? They wouldn’t be so difficult.’

      Her mother rose, sitting down next to Julia and taking her hands. ‘It’s what his solicitor advised. Your father intended to change it once George purchased Creedon Abbey, but his illness was so sudden—’

      Silence heavy with grief settled between them. Outside, birds chirped in a nearby tree and Julia heard the distant bark of Uncle George’s hunting dogs.

      ‘It’s not fair.’

      ‘No, it isn’t, but don’t fret, my dear. Nothing is hopeless. Now, go and change for dinner.’ Her mother kissed her gently on the forehead, then returned to her embroidery stand.

      Julia wandered down the hall to her room, her mind working over the current dilemma. She had to have Cable Grange. She refused to be shoved aside at Knollwood by Charles or to let him control her life. Paul would never do such a thing if it were up to him.

      Closing the door behind her, she wondered if Paul could arrange for the money. Knowing how freely he spent while in port, she doubted he possessed the means to buy an estate and his failure to gain command of his own ship hindered his ability to make his fortune. Even if he could help, there was no way to reach him before the auction.

      Julia paced her room, her mind working to think of a solution. The only way to buy Cable Grange was to obtain her inheritance. The only way to get her inheritance was to marry. At present, she had no suitors. To be honest, she had never had suitors, not here or during her one Season in London.

      Julia stopped pacing, her mind seizing on an idea. What if she was only engaged? If Charles thought she intended to marry, surely he’d give her the money in time to purchase Cable Grange. Even he could see the benefit of making Cable Grange part of the Howard lands. But what gentleman could she possibly convince to make her a false offer?

      Through the window overlooking the garden, she spied Simon strolling among the roses. It wasn’t like him to be awake at this time of day. Usually, he napped in the late afternoon in anticipation of an even later evening. How a man could spend all night gambling was beyond her comprehension.

      The idea hit her like a bolt of lightning. Simon. As a gambler, he must need money. They could make a deal, pretend to be engaged and once she had her inheritance and Cable Grange, she’d give him a few hundred pounds to jilt her.

      She rushed to the door, eager to strike the bargain, when a terrifying thought froze her hand on the doorknob. If he accepted the deal, could she buy his silence at the end of the engagement? If not, it would create a scandal, then who knew how Charles or even Mother would react. Charles might force her to go through with a ruinous marriage to avoid disgrace.

      Julia resumed her pacing, desperate for a solution. Simon was no different from other London peacocks. How hard could it be to use her money, or the future possibility of money, to snare him? Instead of entangling herself in a potentially shocking agreement, she’d flaunt her wealth, then allow his greed to lead him to her. Once she had her inheritance and Cable Grange she could easily dismiss him. Simon would suffer no more heartbreak than the other London pinks who proposed to every unmarried rich woman who entered a ballroom. Even if breaking the engagement labelled her a jilt, it wouldn’t matter. She’d have her inheritance and Cable Grange and everything else could go to the devil.

      Standing at the wardrobe, Julia tore through the dresses, selecting one of her better frocks. Slipping off the habit, she put on the light-blue dress, then sat at her dressing table to do her hair. The sight of herself in the mirror dampened her enthusiasm. Though the cloth of her frock was fine enough, the cut was unflattering and her hair, which was still fastened in the simple braided bun at the nape of her neck, did nothing to improve her features.

      ‘If only I were pretty enough to catch Simon without my money.’ She sighed and then dismissed the ridiculous notion. ‘I might as well wish for gold to fall from the sky.’

      Pulling out the bun, she brushed out her hair. A man like Simon couldn’t resist the allure of money and she’d parade herself in front of him like