Free The Gilded Cage by Lucinda Gray Page B

Walthingham will always attract his sort.”
    By now McAllister has wrenched himself from John’s grip and is disappearing down the road from the church. In his anger he bumps into someone coming from the opposite direction; it’s a moment before I recognize the man as William Simpson. He and McAllister lock eyes for a long moment, though neither speaks. Then, with a sharp bob of his head, the poacher continues on his way.
    Mr. Dowling politely removes himself and Jane goes with him as Mr. Simpson walks toward me, pulling off his hat. As he squints down at me, our cold exchange in Bath seems to belong to another lifetime. I realize I’m happy to see him.
    â€œMay I speak to you a moment, Lady Randolph?” he says softly, looking into my face.
    Grace is hovering behind me; I give her a small nod and step toward him. “Yes, of course. I’m glad you’re here.”
    â€œI wish that it were under any other circumstance,” he says. “I deeply regret this loss. I spoke glibly of his disappearance when I last saw you, and I must beg you to forgive me.”
    â€œWe were both speaking under a misapprehension that day.”
    He nods soberly. “May we speak in private?”
    Grace is now occupied with another mourner, and I take the opportunity to tuck my arm in his. “Of course.”
    He stiffens a moment under my touch, then relaxes. We walk in silence over the swell of the path. I run my eyes across gravestone etchings clotted with snow, looking away quickly when I see the headstones of children. DEAREST BELOVED , reads one, in blocky script. Even before my parents’ deaths I was frightened of cemeteries.
    When my cousins and their companions are faraway shapes, Mr. Simpson stops, gently disengaging his arm from mine. He waits a discreet moment, then speaks. “My lady, it is important that we discuss a great many things. You must understand the full extent of your inheritance, now that you are the sole heir of Walthingham.”
    The words hit me like a cold gust. “I … had not thought of it that way,” I stammer. The heir of Walthingham?
    â€œIt’s a privilege, and a grave responsibility,” he persists. “Though my timing may seem importunate, we must speak of certain matters…”
    Irritation flares up in me, making my stomach sour. “Yes, your timing does seem importunate , Mr. Simpson. You truly wish me to discuss business and legal details with you now? On this very day?”
    â€œI have the greatest sympathy for your situation, but this is something that cannot wait for long. As your brother’s untimely passing has made clear, it’s important that your affairs are always in order. You will one day be mistress of one of the finest houses in England.”
    His chiding tone falls heavy on my ears, making me shrink back inside of myself. “I’m certain you are an excellent lawyer, one whose affairs are never out of line. But your talk of responsibility brings me no comfort today. I’ll thank you to leave my affairs well alone.”
    â€œBut your grandfather’s legacy…”
    â€œ I am my grandfather’s legacy, sir. The legacy of a man who drove away his only son: a stranger to my grandfather, a stranger to England. You ask me to be grateful for my inheritance, but to me it is only a burden, a gift from a dying man who saw his folly too late.” My breath is coming fast and sharp, with a rising tide of anger I barely knew I harbored. “My brother’s death was no accident, I’m sure of it, and it never would have happened if we hadn’t come here. He should be safely in Virginia even now. As should I.”
    Mr. Simpson is looking down at his hands; in regret or disappointment, I cannot tell. “You mustn’t speak that way of Lord Walthingham. He could not have known; he could not have foreseen…”
    â€œI will not speak of this today. I will not speak to