The Westerby Sisters

By M. C. Beaton

In this historical romance by the New York Times–bestselling author of the Agatha Raisin mysteries, a spoiled duke meets his match.

Lady Betty has no interest in the Duke of Collingham. She doesn’t care that he’s fabulously wealthy, or devastatingly handsome, or impeccably well-dressed. All she sees is an arrogant nobleman with an abrasive personality and an annoyingly persistent streak. 

And the Duke of Collingham is persistent. He can have any woman in the whole of Society—but the one who won’t have him is the only one he wants. And he'll stop at nothing to persuade her.

ABOUT THE COLLECTION

What could be more engaging than the women who rise from the commoner classes and minor nobility to triumph in the unforgiving high society of London. Read about women who have lost their fortunes, country girls at their first season, and new wives who can’t resist temptation in the nine titles of the Changing Fortunes Collection.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Jan 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9780795338069

M. C. Beaton

M. C. Beaton (1936-2019), the “Queen of Crime” (The Globe and Mail), was the author of the New York Times and USA Today bestselling Agatha Raisin novels -- the basis for the hit show on Acorn TV and public television -- as well as the Hamish Macbeth series and the Edwardian Murder Mysteries featuring Lady Rose Summer. Born in Scotland, she started her career writing historical romances under several pseudonyms and her maiden name, Marion Chesney. In 2006, M.C. was the British guest of honor at Bouchercon.

Book preview

Chapter One

"If that infernal banging does not stop, I declare I shall go mad!" said Lady Hester Lovelace.

She was seated in the morning room in the company of her sister, Betty, who was mending sheets. As if we hadn’t an army of servants to mend sheets, thought Hester, although she envied her more gentle sister her capacity for keeping herself diligently employed. Hester tossed back her wild gypsy mane of hair and strode to the window and glared out. The early spring sunlight shimmered on the ornamental lake, on the new East Wing, and on the gleaming white of the marble statuary. This mansion, this Eppington Chase, this home of the Marquess of Westerby which took so many lives.

Simon, the first Marquess of Westerby, had died here. His lands and home had been won from him by his cousin James Bentley.

Simon’s daughter, Jane, thereupon enlisted the aid of Lord Charles Welbourne, a notorious gambler, to win back the property, in return offering herself to him as his mistress. Upon regaining the estate, however, Jane and Lord Welbourne were married. James Bentley subsequently shot himself and some time afterward the Marquess, thinking he had seen Bentley’s ghost in the corner of his bedchamber, had died mad.

The Marquess’s wife, Sally, had burned down the Chase in a fit of grief, but Jane, becoming as obsessed as her father with respect to the estate, had started rebuilding. James Bentley’s widow and her two daughters, Fanny and Frederica, had taken up residence at the mansion until Lord Welbourne, becoming impatient at their petty spite and their dislike of Lady Jane, ordered their transfer to the dower house. Only one week later, however, Lord and Lady Welbourne were killed in an accident. Something had terrified the horses, and the carriage in which they were riding had plunged over the hillside. That had all happened five years ago.

The death of their stepsister, Jane, was bitterly mourned by Hester and Betty, daughters of the Westerby blacksmith whose mother, Sally, had married the first Marquess when the blacksmith died. But since Lady Sally herself had died of cholera the previous year, only two people were left to help Hester and Betty in their grief. One was the late Lady Jane’s elderly maid, Bella, and the other, the second Marquess of Westerby, a sunny-natured six-year-old boy who toddled happily after them through the rooms of the Chase. Betty, in particular, loved the youngster like a mother and she and the maid, Bella, fussed over him from morning till night. The young Marquess was called Simon, after his grandfather. At that moment, he was in the grounds with Bella watching with some delight the alterations to his home.

As a tribute to Lady Jane’s memory, Hester had allowed the construction to continue and also because it would have to be finished anyway. But she wearied of the small army of craftsmen, designers and contractors, the agents, the men of business, the architects, the landscape gardeners, the interior designers, the masons, the artists and the stone-cutters. Some of the men arrived daily from the neighborhood but others had to be housed for long periods. Betty, who was as blond and timid and quiet as her sister was dark and bold and noisy, loved the Chase and delighted in watching the rebuilding as much as the young Marquess.

Over the trees of the Holm Wood, Hester could see the chimneys of the dower house. An even deeper scowl marred her features. The pests are going to London for another Season, she said.

Oh, the Bentleys, said Betty. How old is Fanny now?

Twenty-eight and still unwed. Frederica’s twenty-three, answered Hester. They wanted to use the Westerby town house but I said we needed it for ourselves and that instead they could have old Lady Comfrey’s place in Huggets Square. Lady Harriet Comfrey had been Lady Jane’s godmother and had left Jane her house and her considerable fortune which Hester and Betty had in turn inherited along with the Westerby and Welbourne fortunes—although most of it would go to the present Marquess on his twenty-first birthday. They sourly accepted, continued Hester, because those two would rather die than spend a penny of their own. I would throw them out, you know, but Mother always said they weren’t so bad and made me promise to look after them. But I tell you this, she lowered her voice and leaned toward Betty, I often wonder if they had anything to do with the deaths of Jane and Charles. You remember, too, that little Simon was supposed to be along with them that day.

Betty put her hands up to her face and stared at her sister in horror. How could you think of such a thing? she asked.

Easily and often, said Hester. Charles could drive to an inch. The coach was smashed to matchwood and no one was on the scene to bear witness. But every time I see that Bentley woman, i’faith, I cannot help wondering…

"Oh, Hester, ’tis so unladylike to think thus, said Betty. And we owe it to Jane’s name to become ladies."

"You are a lady, Betty, grinned Hester. But not I. I am too much like Mother."

Betty gave a reluctant smile. For indeed, Hester did look very much like their late mother with her tall, thin body, her flashing eyes, and her sharp movements. Hester was twenty-one and Betty, nineteen. Their late stepsister Jane and their governess Miss Armitage, who was now engaged in teaching the young Marquess, had tried to give Hester some town bronze but, at its best, it was only a thin veneer.

Why don’t we go to Town for a Season? cried Hester, beginning to pace up and down. Think on’t. We can go to all the balls and parties. I ain’t much but you could get yourself a duke, Betty, you’re that pretty.

We cannot go, exclaimed Betty. We have no one to chaperone us.

We’re rich heiresses, said Hester stoutly. And Bella will chaperone us.

"Bella! But she’s old and… and… rambles so. And besides, she is only the maid."

Jane considered Bella chaperone enough for that she told me, and what was good enough for Jane should be good enough for us. Oh, do let’s go, Betty. If only to put a spoke in the wheel of that there Fanny Bentley.

But what of Simon…?

He’ll love it. We can take him to see the animals on Exeter ’Change and to the waxworks at Madame Tussaud’s and so many places.

Betty sighed in resignation. She realized Hester’s mind was made up and that nothing she, Betty, could say would change it.

But as the door opened and the stout figure of the maid, Bella, came bustling in leading Simon by the hand, Betty made a bid to find an ally.

Bella! she cried. Hester wants us to go to London for the Season.

Odso? said the maid. Now, Lady Hester, what do you want to go to such a rumty old place as London for? Think of the bad effect on my little lord!

Then Betty spoiled it all by adding with a laugh, And Hester wanted you to be our chaperone, Bella. Imagine how exhausting! All those routs and balls and parties.

A reminiscent gleam crossed Bella’s eyes and she dropped Simon’s chubby hand. Well, now, she said, that do bring to mind the times I went with Lady Jane. Ah, the jewels and the dresses—and Lady Jane like the fairy she was.

In silence, the three women looked at little Simon who so resembled his late mother with his strange slanting eyes the color of the North Sea and his slanting eyebrows.

Outside the workmen set up a particularly audible bout of hammering and banging. Hester clutched her head and said again, I declare I’ll go mad if I stay here!

But it’s so pretty here, pleaded Betty. "And it’s our home. I love it so much, so very much. It’s strange… but… but… I feel it needs me."

That settles it, said Hester, looking at her sister in alarm. Eppington Chase is not going to claim another martyr. You’d best agree, Betty, or I’ll burn the wretched place down the way Mother did.

And it’s time you both thought of husbands, put in Bella, thrilled at the idea of being elevated to chaperone once more.

Now you don’t want that there Miss Fanny and Miss Frederica getting the best of the crop, my lady.

Hester sniffed. They’ve had plenty of Seasons and no one has offered for Fanny yet. Lud! That one is no competition.

Ah, but you ain’t seen her lately, said Bella, looking wise and laying a finger alongside her nose. She’s gone very slim.

Stays, said Hester. That one was always lashed to the point of strangulation. No, Simon. You musn’t cut the curtains with Aunt Betty’s scissors, there’s a duck. Betty, do take them from him before he does himself a mischief.

Not stays this time, my lady, pursued Bella. Really pretty she looks. Dainty, I would call it. Frederica still looks as sly as always but that there Fanny…

It doesn’t matter, Bella, said Hester. We’re going to London and that’s that. I probably won’t get married but Betty is the beauty of the family.

Betty flushed and disclaimed and looked miserably at her sewing. She wanted to stay at her beloved Chase forever with little Simon for company. But she knew that Hester would overrule her—as usual.

It meant going back into the tyranny of fashionable clothes and powdered hair. Neither Hester nor Betty had felt like entertaining during their long mourning and in any case Bella had pointed out it would not be seemly and so they had not had to worry over much about fashionable clothes.

Several of the local gallants had come to call, attracted by Betty’s pretty looks and great fortune, but Hester always seemed to rout them; teasing them and treating them as equals and laughing at them until they ceased to leave flowers and cards.

Simon suddenly understood the momentous topic of conversation and began to dance about, clapping his hands and crying, London! London! Want to go to London.

There, the lamb, said Bella affectionately. She hardly ever rambled on in her old way when the child was around. Shallt come with your old Bella and see all the big buildings and the fine folk?

Yes, said Simon simply, his eyes shining silver.

Bella looked down at him and said softly, When you look like that, my precious, you remind old Bella of your mother when she was happy. A large tear escaped one of Bella’s small eyes and rolled down her wrinkled apple cheek.

Now, Bella, said Hester gruffly. Don’t go upsetting the child.

Simon should have a tutor, said Betty suddenly.

Why? exclaimed Hester. Miss Armitage is teaching him his letters.

She is only qualified to teach young ladies a little learning, said Betty, flushing painfully as she always did when she found she had put forward a new idea. When Sir Anthony Blake was last here on a visit he said that Simon should be studying Latin and all the things boys need to know.

Oh, well, said Hester airily, we do not need to concern ourselves with that at this moment. I do wish Sir Anthony could leave his wife when he comes on visits. She is so cold and disapproving. Philadelphia claims to have been a close friend of Jane’s but I remember she was nothing of the kind.

When Jane’s father, the first Marquess, had been living in near poverty, Philadelphia Syms, as she was then, had patronized Lady Jane Lovelace, enjoying the contrast of Jane’s ragged gowns set against her own finery. When Jane had moved to her godmother’s house in London and subsequently became rich, Philadelphia had opted to stay with the Bentleys, considering them better ton than Jane and finding out her mistake when Jane married Lord Charles Welbourne. Philadelphia had married, subsequently, Sir Anthony Blake, Lord Charles’s best friend and, as far as anyone could see, seemed hellbent on living unhappily ever after.

I think Philadelphia is unhappy, said Betty quietly. I think… oh, dear…

The last dismayed exclamation was because Mrs. Bentley and her two daughters had walked unannounced into the room.

Bella seized small Simon by the hand and quickly led him away.

Hester scowled and put her hands on her hips in a manner quite reminiscent of her late mother. Pray, walk into my home any time you feel like it, she said sarcastically.

Thank you, dear Hester, said Mrs. Bentley, her small curved smile deepening on her face. Her daughters tossed their heads and then sat down without waiting for permission. Fanny and Frederica Bentley never forgot that Hester and Betty were the village blacksmith’s daughters and never let them forget it either.

Mrs. Bentley was still a fine-looking woman, exquisitely dressed. Her complexion was as flawless as ever and her figure just as trim.

Fanny had certainly improved. Her complexion under her paint was as yellowish as ever but her figure, once marred by a round stomach which had to be lashed down under the strongest corset, was now willowy and slim. Her fair hair which she wore powdered, day in and day out, was a miracle of the hairdresser’s art and the fine silk of her panniered gown gleamed in the sunlight.

Frederica still had that sly mocking look, her eyes almost oriental in their slant, but her figure was passable and her fair complexion her greatest beauty.

Why are you here? demanded Hester.

I lent dear Jane a certain stole oh, this age and I wondered if I could just take a look in her room and see if I could find it, said Mrs. Bentley.

Hester bridled. Jane’s room had been left just as it had been when she was alive with all her clothes and jewels still there, neither of the sisters having had the heart to change anything.

Hester thought quickly. She did not believe for a minute that Mrs. Bentley had ever lent Jane anything but there had been a time when Mrs. Bentley had acted as chatelaine at the Chase just after Jane’s marriage and when she and Jane were friendly.

Very well, said Hester. Fanny and Frederica may stay here and I will accompany you.

"I don’t think that is…

Accompany you, repeated Hester firmly.

Mrs. Bentley gave a little shrug. She had in fact hoped to appropriate some of Jane’s jewels for her own use since it seemed criminal that all that fortune should be left to gather dust. Now she would need to go through with the charade. At least she might get a fine stole out of it. And perhaps if Hester’s attention could be distracted, she could slip something into the capacious pockets of her panniered petticoat.

But as they reached Jane’s room, Mrs. Bentley encountered another setback. For before they entered, Hester opened a small cupboard in the wall outside the room and extracted a closely written inventory. I check everything from time to time, said Hester airily. Now let us look for your stole.

She unlocked the door to Jane’s room and stood aside to let Mrs. Bentley past. Hester then followed her in and suddenly felt a strange cold feeling of fear.

Perhaps it was caused by the almost brooding, gloating atmosphere emanating from Mrs. Bentley, perhaps it was because her own doubts about that accident which had killed Lady Jane and her husband had never been laid to rest.

Hester shook herself like a nervous horse and said roughly, Well, get on with it!

Really, Hester, smiled Mrs. Bentley raising her delicately penciled eyebrows a millimeter, you are too coarse in your speech. You must fight against the pernicious influence of your origins…

A pox on my origins, snapped Hester. I’m waiting.

Hester fretted impatiently while Mrs. Bentley’s plump white hands with their pointed polished nails turned over scarves and stoles and ribbons. The faint smell of the scent which Jane had always worn floated about the room and Hester felt the beginnings of a lump in her throat.

The workmen had been sawing and hammering throughout and suddenly there was a shrill scream from outside the window.

Simon! cried Hester, rushing to the window.

At that moment, Mrs. Bentley’s searching fingers had encountered a hard package at the back of the drawer. She was suddenly sure that neither Hester nor the inventory was aware of its existence since it had been caught at the very back of the drawer. She quickly slipped it into her pocket and was holding up a pretty white silk stole with gold fringe when Hester turned from the window.

The sooner I take that child away from here, the better I will feel, sighed Hester. A lump of masonry fell onto the south lawn and although it was well away from the child, it gave him a terrible fright.

Oh, accidents will happen, said Mrs. Bentley sweetly.

Hester suddenly became very angry with Mrs. Bentley indeed. She should never have allowed the woman up here.

If you have quite finished, madam, said Hester frostily, then perhaps we may go. I was very fond of my stepsister and it distresses me to see you paw among her things.

Really, Hester…

And from this moment on I am Lady Hester when you address me and I beg leave to remind you, ma’am, that you are resident in the dower house subject to my grace and favour.

It is the least you can do for the Bentleys, hissed Mrs. Bentley, her curved smile missing from her face for once. This would be mine had not my husband been tricked out of it. You Westerbys made him kill himself.

Pooh! said Hester. We only took back what was ours in the first place. Come, I am anxious for you to be on your way.

Mrs. Bentley left the room with quick rapid steps. Downstairs, she marshaled her daughters before her, rather like a mother hen marshaling her chicks.

She took something, I’ll be bound, said Betty.

Not her! said Hester triumphantly, forgetting about the time she had run to the window. I never took my eyes off her.

***

As the Bentleys walked down the long drive toward the Dower House, Fanny Bentley studied her mother’s set face out of the corner of her eye. Her mother’s perpetual thirst for revenge against the Westerbys sometimes made her uneasy. Whatever happened to them, the Westerbys seemed to come out on top. The first Marquess had been Simon Lovelace, a penniless member of the untitled aristocracy. But his first wife had been very beautiful and politically minded and in no time at all, Simon had been made first an earl and then a marquess. His disastrous second marriage to the blacksmith’s widow, his adoption of Hester and Betty, and the loss of his lands had seemed all that was needed to finish him. But then, through Lord Charles Welbourne, the Westerbys had won their lands and money back, and, although the Welbournes had died, they had left an heir in young Simon; and the Ladies Hester and Betty Lovelace were possessed of three handsome fortunes.

And the Dower House was vastly comfortable and pretty, reflected Fanny, picking her way down the drive on her high red heels. Why could her mother not be content? If she did not watch her tongue, then the Westerbys would throw her out. The Bentleys had no legal claim on the Westerbys. There had only been the late Lady Jane’s guilty conscience over the death of Fanny’s father.

Fanny felt puzzled and uneasy for the first time. She herself felt it unfair that two such baseborn brats as Hester and Betty should have so much. But what could one do about it?

When they reached the Dower House, Mrs. Bentley said she wished to lie down and rest before starting the preparations for their move to London. Her curved smile was back on her face as she looked at her daughters and Fanny felt slightly reassured.

Mrs. Bentley went quickly up the broad shallow oaken stairs to her bedroom and pulling out the packet sat down at her dressing table, weighing it in her hand. No, it was too light for jewels. Gold, perhaps? It was sealed with Lord Charles Welbourne’s distinctive crest. After a moment’s