"Your aunt did the very best she could and I know she loves you very much. But you have a father, too. One who wants more than anything to know you, to somehow bridge the terrible years of loss you both have suffered."
"Tell him it's too late. I don't want to meet him."
"You're not the least bit curious? Not at all interested in knowing what your father might be like?"
"No." But she didn't look as certain as she had a few moments before.
"There's something I have to tell you, Lee. I know I should have said something sooner, but—"
"What? What else have you done, Caleb?"
"I got my orders, Lee."
"Orders? What kind of… ? Y-you don't mean… ?"
"I'm afraid so."
"But I-I thought you were staying in London until they found the traitor."
"I thought so, too, but Wellesley has ordered my return to Spain. I leave on Wednesday next. That's little more than a week."
Her throat moved up and down. "A week?"
"I tried to get them to extend the time but apparently the army believes I'm worth more to them there than I am here. I have to go, Lee. There's going to be fighting and I have to do my share. When I leave, I want to know there is someone here who will take care of you."
"I can take care of myself." But her face had gone pale and he thought he caught the faint reflection of tears.
"I know you can." But he hated the thought of her fending for herself as she had done before, of perhaps returning to Parklands, putting herself at the mercy of men like Andrew Mondale or Oliver Wingate. "I need you to do this for me, Lee. I need to know your future is secure."
She only shook her head.
He reached for her, prayed she wouldn't pull away, and eased her into his arms. "Just meet him. That's all I ask."
She looked up at him. "How can I meet him? What will he think of me? Sooner of later he is bound to find out who I am."
"You're not Vermillion, you're Lee. Your father knows the truth and he understands."
Her fingers curled over the lapels of his coat and she pressed her face into his chest. He could feel her trembling and his throat went tight. She meant so much to him. So much. He didn't dare tell her. It would only make things worse.
He kissed the top of her head. "Please, Lee."
She hung on to him a moment more, then dragged in a long, shaky breath and stepped away. "All right—I'll meet him. But I won't promise any more than that."
It was the news of his leaving that had convinced her. He could hear the sadness and defeat in her voice. His chest squeezed hard. He couldn't let her know he felt exactly the same. "Day after the morrow, then. We don't have much time."
She looked up at him and tears welled in her eyes. "No. We don't have much time."
Caleb made no reply. His throat ached and his heart hurt. He hadn't expected this, hadn't known he would feel this crushing despair when he left her.
He hadn't known until that very moment that he had fallen in love with her.
As lovely as Parklands was, it couldn't compare to the beauty and charm of Kinleigh. Creamy yellow stone gleamed like golden sheaves of wheat against the grassy knolls surrounding it. Tall mullioned windows glittered like diamonds in the late afternoon sunlight.
As the carriage approached the house, Lee counted dozens of chimney pots rising above the gabled slate roof. The front doors were tall and arched and they seemed to beckon her in. The Jacobean architecture was exquisite, the jewel-like setting almost too perfect to be real, though it was difficult to take in the details with her mind on what lay ahead.
Today she would be meeting her father.
Though she had never imagined it would happen, had vowed to Caleb to dislike the man on sight, there was some deep part of her that wanted to know him, wanted him to care for her as a father cared for his daughter, as she had pretended as a little girl that he would.
"Are you nervous?" The coach rolled up the impressive gravel drive and Caleb leaned toward her from the opposite side of the carriage. They had barely spoken since their argument the day before yesterday—since he had interfered in her life and had told her that he would be leaving.
"I'm not the least bit nervous. He is only a man, after all—not a god of some sort, or a king or a saint. Why should I be nervous?" But Caleb only smiled, knowing very well that she was.
"If you give him the slightest chance, you're going to like him."
"I shall loathe him."
Caleb straightened away from her. "I pray, for all our sakes, that you do not."
They said nothing more as a footman swung open the carriage door. Caleb departed the conveyance, took her hand and helped her down the narrow iron stairs, then they followed the golden stone path to the house. The butler, a stately man with gray hair and roses in his cheeks, ushered them in with grand aplomb, and the housekeeper, a sturdy woman named Mrs. Winkle, led them upstairs to their quarters.
Since Jeannie remained yet at Parklands, the housekeeper assigned a fair-haired young woman named Beatrice to act as her lady's maid. Beatrice was older than Lee, perhaps in her thirties, very efficient and pleasant company. She quickly unpacked Lee's traveling valise and saw to her comfort after the two-hour journey from London, helping her to freshen and change.
"These are lovely," Beatrice said, laying out her dresses for inspection after the trip. "Perhaps this one would do for your interview with his lordship." It was a gown of striped aqua silk with short, capped sleeves and a bit of ruching around the hem, the very dress she had brought for the occasion.
Lee smiled, determined to hide her nervousness and thinking that she and Beatrice should rub along very well for the brief time she would be remaining at Kinleigh.
"Yes, I think that will do nicely." With Beatrice's help, she was dressed and ready in record time, her hair in a thick plait the maid pinned into a simple coronet atop her head.
Her nervousness increased. She tried not to think of Caleb and that he was leaving and that his departure was the reason she was there to meet Lord Kinleigh.
"My, Miss, you do look quite splendid," Beatrice said. "Have you never met his lordship, then?"
"No. No, I haven't."
"I'm certain you are going to like him. He is ever so nice a man."
But she didn't really believe it. Not after what he had done to her mother.
"Is there anything else you need, Miss?" Beatrice flicked a telling a glance at the clock on the mantel.
"No. Thank you, Beatrice. I believe it's time I made my way downstairs." Leaving the bedchamber, an opulent suite done in pale blue and gold with molded ceilings and a silk-draped bed, as well as a charming little sitting room with a marble-manteled hearth, she made her way down the hall and descended the stairs.
She wasn't surprised to find Caleb waiting.
"You look lovely," he said, lifting her hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. "Any father would be proud to have you for a daughter."
A shiver of unease ran through her. She had no idea what to expect from the man, so she prepared herself for the worst. "I suppose that remains to be seen."
Dressed in his immaculate scarlet and navy uniform, Caleb offered her his arm and she rested her fingers on the sleeve of his coat. His hair was freshly washed and still damp and it looked nearly black in the light of the sconces along the walls of the corridor. He looked so handsome it made her breath catch, made her think again of how soon he would be leaving, and an ache welled in her chest.
She took a deep breath and let him guide her down the passage, into an elegant salon of creamy yellow accented with pale jade green. The sofas reflected the colors, as did the serpentine mantel on the hearth. Like the rest of the house, it was a beautiful room, and at the edge of a deep Oriental carpet, the Marquess of Kinleigh stood waiting.
Caleb paused while a footman closed the door behind them, giving her time to assess the man who had sired her. He was of only medium height, she saw, but his body looked fit and trim. His silver hair was perfectly groomed and his burgundy, velvet-collared tailcoat fit precisely over his shoulders. He was still a handsome man, for his near fifty years, and there was a sense of power and purpose about him. She thought that perhaps she could see how her mother might have fallen prey to his charms.