Anything but Love (The Putney Brothers Book 1)

by Elizabeth Bramwell

  "Oh! Well, yes, of course," he stuttered, looking about to try and catch the eye of one of his harassed servants. When he failed, he looked down at Marianne dully. "I shall go and get you some, then."

  She struggled to keep her smile in place until he moved far enough away for her to relax.

  She heard a low rumble of laughter behind her and turned to see Charles only a few steps away.

  "Masterfully done," he said, inclining his head. "May I join you?"

  "Please," she replied, indicating to the space beside her. All about them, the rest of the party had followed suit and were now sitting in groups of three or four as they talked amicably over their refreshments. Aldburn seemed to be having a heated discussion with his head servant, and Marianne suspected that the lemonade had long since run out.

  "John sent another one of the footmen to the nearest Inn to fetch more drinks," said Charles when he saw where she was looking. "Poor Aldburn! He really does not have an idea of how to go about these things, especially not with Theodosia upsetting his best-laid plans."

  "I wouldn't spare him any sympathy," muttered Marianne, thinking about what the young gentleman had said to her.

  Charles, however, just grinned. "Tell you we were mushrooms, did he? I'm not surprised, for he's set his heart on marrying you."

  "I'd rather marry Gwynhwyfer," replied Marianne.

  "By the by, how did you find her on the ride here? Is she to your taste?"

  "Wonderful," she replied, happy to change the subject from their host.

  In truth, the mare was a bit placid for her tastes, but she was not about to complain about the generosity of Lady Putney in lending her a mount. Being able to ride at all was a luxury she never intended to take for granted again.

  "So you're not too tired?" Charles continued, looking a touch concerned. "I know you haven't had the opportunity to ride much over the last year, so I worried that this trip might have been too ambitious. Then, of course, you had to speak with Aldburn for ten minutes, the thought of which is enough to exhaust most people."

  "I promise you, that my host is nothing compared to Cousin Cuthbert, and Gwynhwyfer was such a gentle horse that I barely felt a thing," she lied with a smile.

  She ached all over, and it was painfully obvious to her that the lack of exercise that the Headleys had forced upon her had left her body weaker than she liked to admit. Still, with her Godmama and the entire Putney family clucking over her at every opportunity - even Harry had expressed concern she might be overdoing things! - she had no intention of giving them another reason to worry.

  "No, even Aldburn is not as bad as a Headley, but it doesn't stop him being an intolerable bore."

  "Sometimes I think you don't like the local gentry," she teased, pushing the memories of her relatives ruthlessly away from her.

  "On the contrary, I like them all very much once they are over twenty-five."

  "Old age can do that to a man, or so I hear," she said solemnly.

  "Minx," he replied. "Come, shall we go and see the Well before the rest of our party charge over? I would hate for you to miss out on the experience."

  "You just want to see if I'm really a fairy," she said as she got to her feet.

  He smiled and offered her his arm. She felt her heart flutter as they touched, and she looked away from his gaze. They left the group still eating their cakes and made their way to the far side of the clearing - still in clear sight of their companions, but far enough away to make Marianne's heart begin to flutter.

  "Phillips would love this," she said as they entered the edge of the small woodland. "He told me some lovely stories the other day when I went to visit Ceridwyn and Boadicea."

  "He considers this a modern site, and no more worth his attention than Fool's Errand," said Charles. "He insists this is a modern construction over a cattle watering hole, and nothing as romantic as a fairy well."

  "Harry said he thinks it's an old Christian site, but I don't recall a St Braddoc."

  He laughed at that. "Lord, I hope not! Braddoc is the name of the local landlord, and a less godly man you'll never meet! He didn't construct the well house, but I would bet half my fortune that he's the one who started all the stories about it. He owns half the businesses in the local hamlet, you see."

  "How unromantic," she said, smiling anyway. It felt oddly calming to be almost alone with Charles, nothing like the thunderstorms and lightning bolts she was always assured would accompany love. It wasn't even the type of calm that her brother or even Sir Joseph provided when she was in their presence, nor the cheer of Harry and John. Rather it was a sense of peace, like she did not need to avoid thinking of the darker times because Charles was there to stand beside her, but nor did she need to frantically enjoy every positive moment and experience, because she knew, just by being close to him, that more good times would come her way.

  She did not have a word for such a feeling; she had not even known of its existence before coming to stay at the Manor. She hoped only that it would not go away, and that by virtue of being Gordon's sister, that the Putneys would remain her firm friends just as much that they were his.

  And that Charles, in particular, would forever act as her knight in shining armour.

  "So what do you think?" asked Charles, recalling her to the moment as he gestured to the scene before them.

  It was not a woodland at all so much as a lovely piece of wilderness containing a few spindly trees and bordered on three sides by working fields. The ground was rough with small rocks and tree roots, with a few patches of grass and weeds pushing up through the mulch of well-rotted leaves. In the centre was a structure that, at first glance at least, appeared to be a cairn of some sort. Closer inspection revealed that it was, in fact, a domed structure made from a drystone arch about three feet deep and two foot wide. An old yew tree grew over the back, its roots curling about the stones.

  "It looks like something from one of Mrs Ratcliffe's novels," she admitted with some appreciation. "I almost expect a creaking oak door with iron hinges at the front, and the inside to be a long tunnel that leads all the way to Powys Castle."

  He grinned as he led her towards the tiny domed building. "Nothing so gothic, I'm afraid! Careful on the steps, my dear, for they're broken. Now, this is what you came all the way to see: Braddoc's Well!"

  From the way Charles was trying not to laugh, Marianne already knew that the well itself was going to be something of a disappointment after all she'd been told, and sadly she was proven correct. While the drystone arch was higher from the front - high enough for both of them to enter, if Charles remembered to duck his head - the well itself was nothing more than a clear pool, perhaps two-foot deep, surrounded on all sides by chunks of hewn stone. If she held out her hand and spanned her fingers wide, she could touch both sides at once. To her right, attached to the wall by a very modern iron chain, was a large wooden ladle that looked old, but was probably a more modern addition.

  She pulled a face at Charles. "You knew it was all a hum, and let me get my hopes up, anyway!"

  "Be fair, dear heart! I said nothing at all about the Well itself!"

  "But you know that you all led me to believe it was some exceptional place," she replied, half laughing at her own imagination. "If I'd wanted to see a dank hole in the ground I could just as easily travelled to London!"

  "Ah, but the magic of Braddoc's Well is not so much about its appearance as it is the power of the waters," said Charles, trying and failing to sound mysterious. "Grab the ladle and take a sip! I promise no one has become ill or died as a result of drinking here. At least not that anyone could prove, at any rate."

  "Now you're just trying to scare me," she said. She filled the ladle to the brim before raising it to her lips and taking a mouthful.

  It tasted remarkably good, much to her surprise. There was none of the bitter Sulphur taste that came with the medicinal waters at Bath or Brixton, but rather the cool freshness of a winter stream.

  "According to Braddoc i
t comes from the same source as the local stream," said Charles as he took the ladle from her hands. "He swears it brews the finest beer in the country, and as much as I hate to admit it, he's not wrong about that."

  She watched silently as he raised the ladle to his lips, right at the point her own had been, and took a sip of the water. He paused as their eyes met in the half-dark of the drystone arch, and time stopped moving for what felt like an eternity.

  "Hurry up, Putney! There's a line of us out here!" called Mr Trow from just outside the Well house. Charles jumped, cracking his head on the rough stone roof and dropping the ladle with a loud splash. A roar of laughter came from outside, and it was clear that many people had seen.

  Marianne blushed, but Charles flashed the crowd a rueful smile as they exited. "Good God, Trow. I was right in the middle of telling Miss Hillis a terrifying story about fairies kidnapping wayward girls! You were supposed to make her jump in fright, not me!"

  More laughter met this pronouncement, as well as a few jests on the strength of Charles' backbone. As Theodosia ducked into the Well house, dragging Mr Trow along with her, Marianne quietly stepped away from the group still making fun of Charles for hitting his head.

  It was easy to move a few steps away from everyone, and then a few steps more until she found herself standing right on the far edge of the small woodland, facing out across open fields where cattle roamed beneath the summer sun. She placed her hands on the stone wall before her and took a deep, steadying breath.

  Perhaps it had been the confined space in the Well House, or just that the stories of fairies and ancient legends had lent her an unusually romantic turn of thought. It could just be that she was happy for the first time in almost two years, and her mind was seeking ways to hold onto that sensation with Charles. Most likely it was the deep sense of comfort she felt in his presence coupled with all of the other factors that had led her to a real longing to kiss him, to feel his arms wrapped tight around her and hear him say that marriage to her was the one thing he wanted most in all of the world. It could have been anything at all, really, except for love.

  There had been no explosions, no lightening and no sudden conviction that she would die if he did not want her.

  "You are a fool, Marianne," she murmured to herself as she rubbed at her temples. "You just miss your brother, and are becoming odiously melancholy."

  Her heart, however, was not in a mood to listen to good, common sense, and insisted on dwelling on the strange sensation it had experienced in the Well House, and ruthlessly pointed out that she had not reacted in any such way to being in the arms of Harry or John while dancing, or found the peculiar attention paid to her by Aldburn to be anything but discomforting.

  She could hear the laughter of her companions as they each went in to drink the water from Braddoc's Well, and beyond that, the sound of the servants hurriedly setting out the newly arrived refreshments that John had sent for. It was only the sound of her host calling her name that forced her to walk further away from the group, one hand the stone wall and her back firmly to the clearing. Other than Charlie, the last person she felt like spending time with was Mr Aldburn. Knowing her luck, he would declare himself, and then she'd find herself in no end of mess.

  Perhaps it had been a mistake to ride out without her Godmama at her side. Eustacia Melthwaite would have known what to do in such a pickle, and no doubt would be able to tell Marianne the name of the emotion that was causing her stomach to churn.

  She heard the crunch of dry leaves under heavy boots from behind her.

  "Please, Mr Aldburn, I just need a few moments of peace to myself," she sighed. "I have a touch of a headache, and I- wait! You're not Aldburn!"

  The stranger, his face swaddled in a thick scarf and obscured by a tricorne, had his hand over her mouth before she could scream. He was a thick-set man with a dark blue greatcoat that was too heavy for the heat of the day, and he smelled strongly of stale sweat, liquor and manure.

  "Finally got you, haven't I, you little thief," he growled into her ear as he began to drag her away from her party. "Someone wants a word with you."

  Marianne tried to beat at his chest, but he just laughed at her futile efforts to fight him off. Something about his mirth changed her fluid fear into anger that was harder than diamond, switching her panic to something far colder and more calculating than she'd ever felt before. Imagining that it was Cuthbert with his arms about her, she reached up to pull the long pin out of her top hat and then thrust it with all her might into the man's face.

  If she had been a little taller, she might have connected with his eye, but her attacker still screamed as the pin ran through his scarf and buried itself into his fleshy cheek. He released her, but Marianne's rage had reached such heights that her first instinct was to kick him, hard, in his left kneecap. He collapsed to the ground, and she ran as fast as she could back towards the well, shouting at the top of her lungs the whole way.

  "Charlie! Charlie!" she screamed, then screamed again as another pair of arms wrapped around her.

  "Marianne! Marianne, it's me! Stop trying to fight me - argh!"

  Charles Putney released her as her second hatpin connected sharply with his shoulder. She stumbled backwards, only to fall onto Harry and John, who were closely followed by Mr Trow, Mr Aldburn, and the rest of their group.

  "Charlie, I'm so sorry! But he... that man... he attacked me! The man in the blue greatcoat!"

  "Where is he?" demanded Charles, seemingly unaware of the tiny circle of blood seeping through his coat.

  "The far side of the clearing," she gasped, "by the wall! Oh, please hurry, Charlie! I think he wanted to kidnap me!"

  "Harry, get Marianne back to the horses. John, with me," said Charles, his expression so filled with rage, he looked like a stranger.

  "What about me?" snapped Aldburn, stepping forward. "This is my excursion, after all!"

  Neither Charles nor John answered him, however, for they were already charging out into the woodland. Harry, however, did not seem in the least bit impressed by his host's grandstanding.

  "I would strongly suggest that you gather the rest of the ladies together and get them mounted as soon as possible," he growled, sounding so unlike the affable boy Marianne had come to know, that she stared at him in genuine surprise.

  "Good God, you don't think there really was a kidnapper, do you?" scoffed Aldburn. "Your brothers would not have run after him alone if that were the case! He could have a pistol, or a sword, or anything!"

  "He could be armed?" gasped Marianne, her anger draining and the fear coming back in a flood now it was someone else at risk of harm. "Harry, I never thought of that! Should we go after them?"

  Harry, however, did not move from his position or remove his glare from Aldburn. His arm was still tight about Marianne's shoulders, so she could feel it as he tensed up beside her.

  "Not only do I believe that Marianne was most definitely attacked, I know my brothers well enough to know that either one of them could take down an entire militia single-handedly if a threat was made against their family. If you will not do your duties as host, Aldburn, then it falls on the rest of us to take care of the ladies." He turned his attention to the other gentlemen present, who were all staring at Harry as though they had seen a ghost. "Trow, Compton; see to it that everyone is mounted immediately. The ladies must ride in the middle of the party, while we take both the lead and the rear. Now, do you hear me? Or have you all lost your sense as well as your courage?"

  Marianne could have sworn that the young men said "Yes, Sir," before racing off towards the clearing, where Patience had already started to get the young girls remounted on their horses. Aldburn, his mouth stuck in the shape of a capital O, stared at Harry for a long twenty seconds before turning on his heel and stalking away from them, shouting loudly at Theodosia to stop being such a goose, and to just get onto her mare already.

  "I think I have scared off your beau," said Harry wryly. "Dear heart, there's no need to
cry! He would never have made you a good husband!"

  "I'm not crying over Aldburn, you wretch," she said, thumping him lightly on the chest. "It's just that man had such a tight hold on me, and for a moment I was convinced he was going to carry me away from everyone I loved again, and I just.. I just couldn't face that, Harry!"

  "No need to fret, Charlie will sort it all out," he said, giving her a squeeze about the shoulders in just the same way Gordon used to do. "And you got away from him, didn't you?"

  "I stabbed him in the cheek with a hatpin," she said, as though it explained everything.

  Harry's familiar grin returned. "The same one you used on Charlie?"

  "Oh Lord, I stabbed Charlie!" she said, her eyes going wide with horror as she clasped her hands over her mouth. "I stabbed Charlie!"

  "No doubt he deserved it, or will in the future," said Harry in a reassuring tone. "He can be an insufferable bore at times, and I dare say the odd stabbing with a hatpin will keep him on his toes. Now let's go and get you back onto Gwynhwyfer, shall we?"

  "Not until I know they're safe!" she said, pulling away from him and rooting herself firmly onto the ground. Harry put up his hands in a gesture of submission.

  "Whatever you wish, dear heart! You are one still clasping that hatpin."

  She looked down at her hand where the bloodied instrument was still in her hand. The action caused her top hat to fall forwards over her eyes, and Harry laughed at the spectacle she no doubt made.

  "Have I told you that you are my least favourite brother?" she said, pushing the hat back into place.

  Harry's smile softened, He took the pin from her and, after wiping it clean with his handkerchief, used it to fix the top hat back in place.

  "I hope very much that one day you'll be my sister in truth, dear heart. I think you would be very happy as a Putney in name, not just spirit."

  His words flustered her, and she did not know how to respond. She must have looked quite silly with her mouth hanging open, her hair a mess where it curled out beneath the brim of her hat, and cheeks that burned as bright as a pair of lighthouses.