The Lady Forfeits. Carole Mortimer

he did not think so … He had inherited William Johnston, along with the title, estates and guardianship of the three Copeland sisters, from their father, Marcus Copeland, the previous Earl of Westbourne. The lawyer was a precise and self-satisfied little man whom Gabriel did not particularly like, but at the same time he believed the lawyer would make it a matter of professional pride never to be misinformed or mistaken concerning information he gave to one of his wealthy and titled clients. So why was this betrothal no more?

      Gabriel looked at her directly. ‘Was it you or the young gentleman who had a change of heart?’

      ‘I have just told you there was no gentleman!’ she protested.

      ‘A young man, then. One who no doubt found the prospect of marriage to a titled young lady whose fortunes now rested on the goodwill of her guardian a far different marriage prospect than the eldest daughter of a wealthy earl?’ Gabriel enquired, eyeing her knowingly.

      Diana withstood that gaze for as long as she could before turning away abruptly, determined he should not see the tears that now glistened in her eyes and on her lashes.

      Damn the man!

      No—damn all men!

      And most especially Malcolm Castle for having the backbone of a jellyfish!

      She and Malcolm had grown up together in the village of Shoreley. Had played together as children. Danced together at the local assemblies once they were old enough to attend. They’d taken walks together on crisp winter days and fine summer evenings. Diana had even allowed Malcolm the liberty of stealing her very first kiss after he had declared his love for her.

      She had believed herself to be equally as smitten. Her father had shown no disapproval of their deepening friendship. Malcolm’s parents, the local squire and his wife, were obviously thrilled at the idea of a possible match between their son and the eldest daughter of the wealthy Earl of Westbourne. All had seemed perfect.

      Except, as his lordship had just pointed out so cruelly, the penniless eldest daughter of the previous Earl of Westbourne had not been nearly as appealing as a prospective wife to Malcolm, or to his parents. Diana’s father had not expected to die so suddenly and had not set his affairs in order with regard to his daughters. Financially, they were completely at the mercy of the new earl’s goodwill—and as he had been away from society for so long, Lord Gabriel Faulkner was an unknown quantity.

      Diana had, of course, noted that Malcolm’s visits to Shoreley Park had become less frequent after her father died. There had been no suggestions of their walking out together, let alone the stealing of a kiss or two, and of course there had been no attending the local assemblies because Diana and her sisters were in mourning. But Diana had not been concerned, had believed Malcolm’s absence to be out of consideration for her recent bereavement and nothing else.

      Until the previous week when Diana had learnt—from inadvertently overhearing two of the housemaids indulging in idle gossip—of the announcement of Malcolm’s betrothal to a Miss Vera Douglas, the daughter of a wealthy tradesman who had recently bought a house in the area.

      To add insult to injury, Malcolm had called to see Diana that very same afternoon, full of apologies for not having told her of the betrothal himself, and insisting that it was his parents who had pushed for this other marriage rather than himself, and that, in spite of everything, it was still Diana that he loved.

      Diana could perhaps have forgiven Malcolm if he had found himself smitten with love for another woman, but to hear from his own lips that he was only marrying this other wealthy young woman because his parents wished it was beyond enduring. A jellyfish, indeed! And one that she knew she could inwardly congratulate herself on being well rid of.

      Except Malcolm’s defection had left her pride in tatters and made her the object of pitying looks every time she so much as ventured out into the village. So she had decided, with her usual air of practicality, that the perfect way in which to dispel such gossip would be if she were to accept, after all, the offer of marriage from Lord Gabriel Faulkner, seventh Earl of Westbourne. Marriage to any man—even taking into account that past scandal connected to Gabriel, which Diana’s neighbours had hinted at, but never openly discussed—surely had to be better than everyone believing she had been passed over for the daughter of a retired tradesman!

      ‘Am I correct in thinking that the dissolution of your previous engagement is the only reason you have now decided to accept my own offer of marriage?’ that taunting earl now prompted irritatingly.

      How could Diana have known, when she so sensibly made her decision to accept his lordship’s offer, how wickedly handsome he was? How tall and muscular? How fashionably elegant?

      How irritatingly perceptive to have guessed within minutes of her announcing her acceptance of his offer as to the real reason for her change of mind!

      ‘It was made more than clear that one of us must accept your offer if we wished to continue living at Shoreley Park,’ she informed him defensively.

      Gabriel frowned darkly. ‘Made clear by whom, exactly?’

      ‘Mr Johnston, of course.’

      Gabriel could see no ‘of course’ about it. ‘Explain, if you please.’

      She gave an impatient huff. ‘Your lawyer stated on his last visit to us that, if we all continued to refuse your offer, we might find ourselves not only penniless, but also asked to remove ourselves from our home.’

      Gabriel’s jaw tensed and he felt that nerve once again pulsing in his cheek. ‘Those are the exact words he used when speaking with you?’

      Diana gave a haughty inclination of her golden-red head. ‘I am not in the habit of lying, my lord.’

      If that truly were the case—and Gabriel had no reason to believe that it was not—then William Johnston had far exceeded his authority. It was not the fault of the Copeland sisters that they had no brother to inherit the title and estates, or that their father had not seen fit to secure their futures himself in the event of his death.

      Damn it, Gabriel had only made his offer of marriage at all out of a sense of fairness, appreciating that, but for fickle fate, one of the Copeland sisters’ own cousins would have inherited the title rather than a complete stranger. A cousin, one would hope, who would have treated the previous earl’s daughters as fairly as Gabriel was attempting to do.

      His mouth thinned. ‘I have no intention of asking you or your sisters to leave your home, either now or in the future.’

      Diana looked confused. ‘But Mr Johnston was very precise concerning—’

      ‘Mr Johnston obviously spoke out of turn.’ Gabriel’s expression was grim as he anticipated his next conversation with the pompous little upstart who had so obviously put the fear of God into the Copeland sisters that they had felt as trapped as cornered animals. ‘This is the reason your two sisters have run away?’

      ‘I believe it was … the catalyst, yes.’

      Gabriel eyed her curiously. ‘But only the catalyst?’

      Diana grimaced. ‘My sisters have found life at Shoreley Park somewhat limiting these past few years. Do not misunderstand me,’ she added hastily as Gabriel raised his brows. ‘Caroline and Elizabeth were both dutiful daughters. Accepted the reasons for our father’s decision not to give any of us a London Season, or indeed his wish to not introduce us into London society at all—’

      ‘Am I right in thinking your father made that decision based on your mother’s behaviour ten years ago?’ he interrupted gently.

      Blond lashes lowered over those sky-blue eyes. ‘Our father certainly blamed the … excesses of London society for my mother having left us, yes.’

      Circumstances meant that Gabriel himself had not been part of that society for a number of years, but nevertheless he could understand Copeland’s concern for his three no doubt impressionable daughters. ‘He did not fear that keeping you and your sisters shut away in Hampshire might