Free Celeste Bradley - [Heiress Brides 01] by Desperately Seeking a Duke Page A

intend to see that she does not have the opportunity.”
    “Cage the bird quickly, you mean.” Rafe’s chest tightened. “So she has no opportunity to fly.”
    “Of course. It is much more efficient. She will not miss what she never had.”
    I wouldn’t wager a farthing on that, brother of mine. One can miss quite a bit that one never had.
    “Her cousins are coming as well. Very demure and proper girls, those two.”
    Stay away from the young ladies, in other words. Rafe gave a short bark of laughter. “I’m sure they are. I shall see you then.”
    He slammed his palm down on the door latch and exited the carriage. Better to walk the rest of the way. As he shut the door and turned away, he heard something he would have wagered he’d never hear in all his days.
    Calder was humming, rustily and a bit off key, but humming nonetheless. Rafe could quite honestly say that he’d never seen his brother so happy.
    How appropriate then that it made him so miserable.

Chapter Ten
    Moments after Brookhaven made his goodbyes, another gentleman arrived at the house on Primrose Street—a Mr. Stickley, from the firm of Stickley & Wolfe, the executors of the Pickering trust.
    “Yes, well …” The thin gentleman peered at them all doubtfully as they sat in a semicircle facing him in the same guest parlor where they had received Brookhaven. Mr. Stickley took up decidedly less room than their previous caller. “Lady Tessa, are you quite sure the vicar himself isn’t available?”
    Tessa smiled daggers at the man. “The vicar has gone on to Brook House with the marquis. All the affairs of the Pickering heiresses have been left in my hands.”
    The man blinked. “Still …”
    Tessa’s smile evaporated. Mr. Stickley tapped his fingers on his file case as if he debated waiting until an actual male could be found. Phoebe admired his fortitude, then realized he was probably simply too myopic to see the danger he was in.
    “Sir, I fear we must get on with things. You see, Miss Millbury has an appointment with Lementeur, himself, this afternoon. We”—she waved her hand at the others and herself—“are going to have fittings as well, since Miss Millbury insisted on it.”

    Phoebe gazed at Tessa. The woman was unbelievable. “I did?”
    Tessa’s eyes sparked danger. “You did.”
    Phoebe smiled. Tessa suddenly seemed rather tiny and, well, insubstantial. Lady Tessa did not compare to the Duchess of Brookmoor, after all. Not even to the Marchioness of Brookhaven, come to think.
    Phoebe’s smile became wry. She tipped her head lightly. “It would my honor to ask you all to accompany me to Lementeur’s for fittings.”
    Deirdre’s eyes flashed something that might have been resentful respect, but Sophie only shrugged. “Do you think it will take long?”
    Mr. Stickley frowned, for he clearly cared little for such nonnecessities. “I suppose we must begin—although I will enter it into record that I wished to delay until the vicar could join us.”
    “You may enter it anywhere you like, Mr. Stickley,” Tessa said with loaded emphasis. “As long as you begin. Now.”
    “As you ladies have doubtlessly been informed, the Pickering fortune now stands at twenty-seven thousand pounds—”
    Someone gasped. Phoebe realized it was her. The others seemed less startled, although Sophie seemed vaguely confused, as if that outrageous amount were difficult for her to grasp.
    Mr. Stickley turned her way. “Is this the young lady who is engaged to the marquis?”
    Phoebe nodded, her mouth still dry. Twenty-seven thousand pounds? That wasn’t just a fortune, it was an obscene one.
    Mr. Stickley regarded her with wan approval. “Well, it seems as if you might well win the day. I have it on reliable information that the current Duke of Brookmoor has taken a turn for the worse yet again.”

    An old man was dying. Phoebe’s stomach turned that this was good news … and yet it was. His death and her marriage would free her forever.