The River of No Return by Bee Ridgway (best novels of all time txt) 📕

you with them? Surely you could have participated in the Season, as well. You aren’t so old, however much you may hide your hair beneath a cap. As I recall, the only unmarried men in the neighborhood are the vicar and old Lord Percy. You should be in London.”

“Old Lord Percy is dead. They buried him two weeks ago. The new earl seems vile. Everyone says so.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Nick thought for a moment about Lord Percy, the bombastic old earl. He had been a powerful man, healthy as an ox, and as much a part of Castle Dar as the stones themselves. “I didn’t realize Percy even had an heir. I seem to recall him talking about being the last of his line.”

“That’s the worst thing about it,” Clare said. “The estate was entailed after all. Apparently old Lord Percy had been trying to break the entail ever since his son’s death, that’s how much he hated his successor. But to no avail.”

Nick found he didn’t really care about the new earl. Julia Percy had to be married by now, and that was his only interest in Castle Dar. And he found he didn’t want to know anything about whom she might have married, or when. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “An unpleasant neighbor will be a burden.”

“Yes.” She put her teacup down. “There are bigger questions facing us, though.”

“Oh? What are they?”

Clare didn’t speak.

“Clare?”

She raised her cup of tea, then replaced it untasted. Perhaps you have considered it already. It concerns the succession here at Falcott.”

“What of it? I have returned.”

“And I am so glad you have, Nickin.” He thought she might start crying again, her eyes were so sad and happy all at once. “But surely you realize that we thought you were dead. We proceeded as if you were. You left a will.”

Nick went still. So he had. Before leaving for Spain he had drawn up a will, bequeathing all of Blackdown—the house and its lands, its system of tenancy, all its cares, and all its income to his capable elder sister. Until this very evening Clare had thought herself an independent woman.

“Oh,” he said.

She nodded. “Yes. And believing you were dead . . . well, let’s just say you came back in the nick of time.”

Nick of time! Nick swallowed a laugh. His sister had no idea how pertinent her pun was. “Were you about to sell up and move to Bath? Has my return banjaxed your dreams?”

“Is that more soldiers’ cant? You needn’t laugh at my having dreams, Nick.”

“Oh, God.” Now he felt like a scoundrel. And he couldn’t explain his laughter or his language, not without telling her the impossible truth. “I’m sorry, Clare. I’m not laughing at you. Tell me what’s happened.”

“When you died the marquessate became extinct, and the Blackdown estate turned into saleable property, like any other. And I . . .” She took a deep breath, and to his surprise he realized that her hands were trembling. “Oh, dear. Well, it’s best to get quickly over rough ground, isn’t it?”

“Are you telling me that Blackdown is sold? Lock, stock, and barrel?”

“No. Not yet. And I was never going to sell it all. But I was planning to put quite a large segment of it into trust. The papers were to be signed next week. So you see, you did come home at exactly the right moment.” She squared her shoulders, almost as if she were bracing herself for an explosion.

And indeed, he could feel the ghostly marquess building up a head of steam, could even taste the aristocratic outrage in his mouth: rusted metal. It must have been that man’s outburst that Clare was expecting. He let his gaze rest on his elder sister, saw the courage in her calm self-possession. She who had learned her arithmetic and her history by listening at the keyhole to his sessions with his tutor, and then doing his lessons for him every evening. She who had taken the beating for that escapade, when it was discovered that Nick didn’t, in fact, know into how many parts Gaul had been divided. His anger dissipated as fast as it had built. “It should have been yours anyway,” he said, and put his teacup down with a clatter. With the bright noise a rebellious joy burst in his heart. “You are the eldest and by God, I will sign it over to you in life as I did in death. Blackdown shall remain yours. It always should have been.”

Clare blinked. “I don’t understand what you’re saying, Nick. You cannot gift it to me. You have returned. Blackdown is yours and it cannot be otherwise.”

“I’m saying I don’t want it, aren’t you listening?” The words came tumbling out of his mouth. “You take it. Take it and sell it all. I don’t care. I will renounce the title and give you the whole estate.” Nick had to bite down on the urge to tell her everything. Once upon a time, a man went and lived in a future age. In this future, the human race had walked on the moon. Buildings scraped the sky. Mechanical carriages went four times faster than the fastest horse. There was no primogeniture.

But he couldn’t tell her. She was right: the choice wasn’t his to make. His ebullience died, fast, like a man shot through the head. He was left staring at her blank, white face and he knew his own was equally expressionless.

She probably thought he was mad.

“Nick—”

“Please, Clare. Give me a moment.” He turned from her, twisting in his chair to look out of the window. Outside the soft night was brooding over the awakening earth. The commons. He could feel it out there. The ancient will of the land to be free of him.

“Nick?”

He turned back slowly, gathering himself together again.

“Shall I pour you another cup?” She spoke as if nothing had happened and held the teapot, that most benign weapon of civilization, poised above the china.

He breathed in, then