Lord Deverill's Heir by Catherine Coulter (books to read for 13 year olds .txt) 📕

Earl of Strafford, through his brother, Timothy Popham Morley, is my heir, and I bequeath to him my entire worldly fortune, whose primary assets include Evesham Abbey, its land and rents . . .”

The room spun. Arabella stared at Brammersley, his words hanging about her, but yet she couldn’t take them in, couldn’t make sense of them. The seventh Earl of Strafford? Some sort of grandnephew of her grandfather?

No one had ever told her that any such grandnephew existed. God, there must be some sort of mistake. This man wasn’t even here. Surely there was no such male. Suddenly there was a stirring in her memory of the opening and closing of the library door. Almost reluctantly she turned in her chair and met the cool gray eyes of the man she had seen only that morning by the fishpond. Her absolute astonishment held her silent and still. He wasn’t a bastard, the wretched bastard wasn’t an actual bastard. He was real. It was all she could think of, all that made any sense to her. He merely nodded to her politely, nothing in his calm expression to betray that he had even met her.

“Arabella, Arabella.” Lady Ann gently shook her daughter’s sleeve. “Come, my dear, you must listen carefully now. Please, Arabella, you must pay attention. I’m sorry, but you must, dearest.” Arabella turned back in her chair, gazed with dumb shock at her mother and then at the solicitor, whose lined cheeks had taken on a sudden purplish hue. He read in a faltering voice, “The following stipulations are binding to both my heir and to my daughter, Arabella Elaine.” He looked like he would have an apoplectic fit, but then he managed to right himself. He drew a deep breath, and said, “It has always been my fondest wish that my daughter, through her body, would continue the proud heritage of the Deverill line. To encourage her in my wishes, I stipulate that she must wed her second cousin, the seventh Earl of Strafford, within two months of my death in order to retain her wealth and position.

Should she refuse to follow my wishes within this stated time, she is to forfeit any and all monetary claims to the Deverill estates. If the seventh Earl of Strafford disinclines to wed with his second cousin, Arabella Elaine, he will take claim only to the earldom and Evesham Abbey, as all other lands, rents, residences, etc., are unentailed and mine to bestow as I deem fit. In this event, my daughter Arabella Elaine shall take possession of my entire worldly estates, excepting any entailed property, upon her twenty-first birthday.”

“NO!”

Arabella jumped to her feet. Her face was ashen. She shook her head back and forth. “No, no, it must be a mistake. My father would never have done such a thing to me. Never would he consider such a thing, never. You are lying, sir, and it is not well done of you! Damn you, tell me you are lying!”

“Arabella, be seated.” Lady Ann spoke with unaccustomed authority.

Arabella turned stricken eyes to her, then slowly sank back into her chair.

“Lady Arabella,” Mr. Brammersley said, no smile for her as there had been for Elsbeth, “your esteemed father’s instructions, as I have detailed them, are binding. I wish to add that the earl left a sealed envelope for you. I assure you that no one save your father is aware of the contents.” He rose as he spoke, and skirted the large desk. Arabella automatically extended her hand to grab the letter. She jumped up from her chair, nearly tripping on her long black skirts, to gaze at the now thankfully blurred sea of faces around the room. Clutching the envelope to her chest, she whirled about, toppling her chair to its side on the carpet, and sped to the door. Long fingers closed about her arm as she wrenched at the bronze knob.

“Your behavior is that of a spoiled child,” the new earl said to her, his voice colder than a fish on ice. “I will not tolerate such speech, such lack of control from you. It is offensive and shows that your father did not sufficiently discipline you.”

She looked up at him with blank misery, read the disapproval in his gray eyes—her gray eyes, damn him—and felt as if all the demons in hell were breaking loose within her. This man was disapproving of her? This man had the gall to tell her that she was offensive? She wanted to bite his hand, but she didn’t. “Take your hands off me, you damnable bastard! God, how I hate you. Why are you here and alive and he is gone?” She jerked violently away from him, and as his grip did not loosen from her sleeve, she felt the material rip. She looked down stupidly at the gaping tear, nearly howled in fury, for she had no more words, and flung from the library, slamming the door behind her.

A delicate Dresden shepherdess trembled, then toppled from its longtime place on the mantelpiece, and shattered onto the marble hearth.

Arabella rushed to her bedchamber, unaware and uncaring of the shocked silence she had left in the library. She kicked the door shut behind her.

She ground the key into the lock, cursing it even as she forced it before it finally clicked into place. She stood for a moment, panting heavily, trying to gain some sort of understanding, to gain any meaning from what had just happened. All she could think of was that her father had died and after his death, he had betrayed her. He had planned all along to betray her, to force her to wed this stranger, this man who looked like her.

She could not accept it. She looked within herself, but there was nothing there but emptiness and the rawness of her pain. She stooped, grasped a brocade-covered stool by a spindly leg, and hurled it with all her strength against the wall. It thudded and