The Worthington Wife. Sharon Page
to have it made ready?”
“For what?” he’d asked.
“For the countess to move into, when you take up residence in your new home.”
At that moment, Cal got it. He understood what he’d just been given.
Power.
Now, Cal sloshed the blade in the water and shaved the other side of his face. He patted his skin with a wet cloth, then slapped on some witch hazel. He got dressed in his tuxedo, tied the white bow tie, put on his best shined shoes.
From his trunk, he took out a faded snapshot. It was seven years old. He didn’t know why he’d brought it with him. He should have burned it a long time ago. It was a picture of a pretty girl with yellow-blond hair and a sweet face. Her name was Alice and she had nursed him when his plane had been shot down in France. His brother, David, had ended up in the same hospital, three days after Cal got there.
Alice had taken care of David when both of his legs had to be amputated below the knee. Cal had fallen in love with her. The problem was David fell in love with her, too, but without his legs, he wouldn’t propose to Alice. And with his brother being in love with her, Cal wouldn’t propose, either.
Cal tucked Alice’s photograph into the corner of the dressing table mirror.
David had wanted to come here, too. He supposed David had a right to see the house their father had grown up in. He would bring his brother over from America.
The problem was, David was a forgiving kind of man. He was a stronger man than Cal. David wasn’t going to like what he planned to do.
But Worthington Park was Cal’s chance at revenge.
* * *
The Countess of Worthington was shaking. Julia had only seen the countess like this twice—when the telegram had come with its cold, direct message that Anthony had been killed, and the day John Carstairs, her second son, had died in an automobile accident.
“You must have a sherry. Or a brandy. You look very ill.” She looked up to summon a drink, but Wiggins was already there. The butler must have almost run at undignified speed to return, and he now presented a delicate glass of sherry on his silver salver.
The countess stared blankly at it, as if she didn’t know what to do. Julia took the drink and pressed it into Lady Worthington’s hand. The countess’s pallor terrified her. She looked more gray than white and quite severely ill.
Julia felt panicked—Lady Worthington had been very ill after Anthony’s death. No one had known how to bring her out of grief. Julia had tried very hard to do it. She’d promised Anthony she’d be there for his mother and sisters should anything happen to him, and she always kept her promises.
“The boy is going to destroy us,” Lady Worthington moaned.
“He is going to do no such thing,” Julia said firmly. She would not allow it. Her mother, Zoe, Nigel and Isobel were conversing with Diana and her younger sisters. The younger ones kept glancing over, looking nervous and curious.
“Have the drink, Sophia,” Grandmama insisted. “You will need it.”
At Grandmama’s firm words, Lady Worthington suddenly took a long sip. “I know what he is going to do,” she whispered. “He wrote a letter.”
“A letter? What did it say?” Julia asked.
“He threatened us. Simply because he had asked for money and we had the good sense to refuse him. His mother was a grasping, scheming creature. She is the reason my husband’s younger brother is dead.”
“Goodness, what happened?” Julia asked. “What did she do?”
The countess put her hand to her throat, to rest on the large diamond that sat there. At fifty, the countess wore a fashionable gown—blue silk with a loose, dropped waist, covered in thousands of tiny turquoise and indigo beads. The Worthington diamonds—huge, heavy and square-cut—glittered on her chest. “I can’t speak about it. It is enough to know he is a danger.” The countess grasped Julia’s hand. “You must not listen to a word he says.”
But the plea made Julia uneasy. She remembered Diana’s words—that the countess had reason to feel guilty. But the look in the woman’s eyes was pure terror. “What is it that you fear he will say?”
“He will tell you lies! Everything that boy says will be twisted and untrue. He will try to make you believe—” Lady Worthington stopped. Her hand clutched the center diamond of her necklace, as if clinging to it gave her strength. “That is not important. You, Julia, should have loyalty to us. Do not welcome him. Do not show him friendship. He will use you to destroy us. Do not forget that. You must be on our side.”
“Of course I am.” But the countess’s words seemed so...extreme. Surely the countess was too upset to go into dinner. Excuses could be made. Julia leaned toward her grandmother. “Perhaps I could take her upstairs—”
“No,” the countess cried. “I will not run and hide from Calvin Carstairs. I will protect my family from him. When you have children, you will understand...you would do anything on earth to keep them safe.”
And Julia understood. The countess had lost both her sons. She would not allow anyone to hurt her daughters.
“As soon as the boy is downstairs, we will go in for dinner.” The countess lifted her chin. Julia was amazed by the woman’s strength and spirit.
Until the countess directed a sharp gaze at Diana, standing across the room. “Sometimes you must do something rather terrible to protect those you love.”
Julia didn’t understand. She had never seen the Countess of Worthington like this. Lady Worthington was usually so gracious, so kind. The tragedy she’d suffered in losing both her sons had broken the hearts of people on the estate, for she was so well loved. When Julia had lost her brother Will to the influenza outbreak and her own mother had sunk deeply into depression, Lady Worthington had been like a mother to her and Isobel.
She had never dreamed Lady Worthington would push anyone into marriage—despite Diana’s warning that her mother would scheme to do it. She had thought Diana was exaggerating. Diana had always been dramatic. They had been such opposites—it was why they had always been great friends. “You can’t mean to force Diana into marriage—”
“I will do what must be done.”
“But not that. You cannot force Diana to be unhappy for the rest of her life—”
“Better that than poverty. Julia, this is not your concern.”
The sharp words stung. But the raw fear in her ladyship’s eyes startled her.
Yet it was wrong that both the countess and Diana wanted this marriage—it would be a disaster. It was something she felt she could not allow to happen, because it would only cause pain.
Yet, how did she stop it? It might be true that she had no right to interfere, but she also couldn’t stand aside and watch a disaster unfurl—
Wiggins’s stentorian voice suddenly cut over all sound. “The Earl of Worthington.”
From where she stood, Julia could see the entrance to the drawing room. The new earl stood in the doorway...
Tall and broad-shouldered, he wore an immaculate tuxedo jacket, black trousers and white tie. His hair was slicked back neatly with pomade, which darkened it to a rich amber-gold. The severe hair brought out the handsome shape of his jaw, the striking lines of cheekbones you could cut yourself on. Even from across the room, the brilliant blue of his eyes was arresting.
Beside her, a feminine voice drawled, “He was right—he does clean up rather well.” Diana had moved beside her, perhaps sensing her mother’s sharp glance. But Diana set down her empty glass then glided across the drawing room toward her cousin.
Julia had put out her hand instinctively to stop her friend. But she was