My Lord Tremaine

by Oliver, Marina

  'But you had infinite patience with your sister!'

  'That was different. I loved her, and after all, if I wanted to I could walk away from her at any time, and often did!'

  'I see. What about Mattie?'

  'That, I confess, has me at a stand. She has nowhere to go unless Mrs Craven gives her a home, and I cannot take her with me.'

  'There is no problem. She will be welcome to remain here. I believe she and Cook have become great friends. Though you used to do the baking when you were selling your wares in the village, did you not?'

  'Mattie isn't strong, she could not have done all I did. Thank you, that is generous, and it helps me. She will be grateful.'

  'Tell me, did she drug William?'

  Elinor giggled. 'Only with laudanum, to make him sleep. But she is a wicked old woman, and said she had another trick, a purge, which would prevent him from bothering Jane.'

  Edmund's lips twitched. The look he had often worn, worry and harassment, had left his face. He really was handsome when he smiled like this. Elinor told herself not to be fanciful, but she had to suppress a sigh at the thought she would soon be leaving him and probably never seeing him again.

  'Were you ever paid when you were acting as your sister's personal maid?' he demanded suddenly.

  'No, of course not! I did not wish it, and Jane had no money in any case.'

  'Have you enough to get to Bristol, and for any expenses there?'

  'Yes, indeed. I saved some when we were at the lodge.'

  Elinor was touched he should think of it, but she could not accept money from him.

  'Make your plans, but don't go until you have to.'

  *

  Later that morning, when he was in the estate room, Edmund was startled to be informed that Mrs Tremaine wished to speak with him.

  'Show her in.'

  What did the woman want? Had she somehow heard of William's plans for her? He tried to remember. Did his mother know, and could she have told Mrs Tremaine?

  It was not that. When she came in, and graciously accepted the seat he offered, but declined a glass of ratafia, she came straight to the point.

  'Edmund, I have heard your mother is going to live in Bath. I am sure she will enjoy life there more than she has appeared to at the Court.'

  'Yes, I believe she will.'

  'She is such a sociable woman.'

  'Indeed.' He wished she would come to the point. 'How can I help you?'

  She smiled and shook her head.

  'Oh no, Edmund, I do not come here asking for help. I came to offer it, my dear nephew.'

  'Really? I mean, how?'

  'Well, it occurs to me that when your Mama leaves you will be without a hostess. Not a very happy situation for a young man. So I came to suggest that Amelia and I move back to the Court.'

  *

  CHAPTER 13

  Edmund looked at his aunt, striving to hide his amusement. So she still wished to be in charge at the Court, did she? Lady Tremaine's departure had, she thought, given her an opportunity to live once more in greater splendour than either the Dower House or William's house provided.

  'I do not mean to do any entertaining, aunt, so hardly need a hostess.'

  'Oh, but dear Edmund, you cannot know what you might wish to do, and should you, for instance, wish to invite some of the local gentry you know you could not invite their wives without having a hostess to greet them.'

  'In that unlikely eventuality, I think I might ask one of the local gentry's wives to act as my hostess.'

  She gave a little scream of horror.

  'That would not do at all! You must have one of your own family, not a stranger.'

  'Then perhaps it is time I married, and had a wife to support me.'

  'Married? But my dear Edmund, whom can you marry? You have met no one suitable since you returned home.'

  'I have been to London,' he reminded her.

  'London? But you were only there for a day or so. How can you have met anyone there?'

  'Well, I was used to spend time there before I was injured,' he said, laughing inwardly at her look of consternation.

  'You could not have been thinking of marrying anyone in London then. You were betrothed to Jane Darwen, as she was, before you left for that final battle.'

  'I imagine you would agree that was a mistake.'

  She was looking puzzled now, and took refuge in fanning herself vigorously.

  'An old love? I see. Well, when am I to congratulate you?'

  'I will send to inform you when it happens.'

  'Send? But will you not bother to come and inform me in person?'

  'Come in person? My dear Aunt! I have no intention of riding over to Bude when a letter would suffice.'

  'Bude? What on earth do you mean?'

  'But you and Amelia will be going there in a few days.'

  'Going to Bude? How can we? The house is not large enough, and I understood we might remain in your Dower House.'

  'Then you misunderstood. That was when Jane was there and would have been William's hostess. The house was large enough for you before, and now there is no Jane to diminish it. Besides – ' he paused – 'soon you will have your own Dower House when William's building projects are finished.'

  'I don't understand you! William is doing no building!'

  'I suggest you go home and ask him. It is, I understand, at some farm house no longer needed by a farmer.'

  Mrs Tremaine frowned, but made no reply. She finally nodded to herself.

  'And he left you to inform us, did he? Was it your suggestion? No doubt you are enjoying my confusion.'

  'I am not enjoying it in the least.'

  'My son, unfortunately, is too easily swayed, as he was when he was tricked into marrying that woman.'

  'No. I feel sorry for your having such a son. Can I assume you will be leaving the Dower House here soon? You may have the use of my travelling carriage, when it comes back from taking my mother to Bath, which will be in a few days. She intends leaving the Court tomorrow.'

  Without another word she rose and stalked from the room. He breathed a sigh of relief. Soon he would be free not only of his mother, but of his aunt too. At last he could begin to really enjoy being back at home.

  *

  Elinor was standing by the window of the morning room when she saw Mrs Tremaine leave. She turned round to face her own visitor.

  'Mrs Craven, I don't know what to say. You have always been so very kind to me.'

  'My dear, I have admired you deeply ever since your poor Papa died, and you struggled so bravely to earn a living. Life has been difficult for you of late, and now you need to seek a position. Meanwhile, you have to live somewhere, and all I am offering is a home until you have somewhere to go.'

  'I feel it would be to impose on you. Already you have taken in Rosie, and now you are offering Mattie a home as well. She will not need it, though, as Lord Tremaine has said he will permit her to remain here.'

  'You, however, cannot remain. You are not a servant, but a young woman on her own. You cannot stay in the same house as an unmarried man, without a chaperone, and you know it.'

  Elinor sighed. She was well aware this was not an option, much as she wanted to remain at the Court, though she refused to permit her thoughts to dwell on the reason.

  'I have applied for several positions, and if nothing comes of them I can always go and stay with my old schoolmistress until I do find a position.'

  'Elinor, child, you know what would come of that!'

  'Yes, I do.' Elinor sighed. 'I am very fond of Miss Mackenzie, please don't misunderstand me.'

  'I don't, but you know full well you would, in gratitude, be induced to teach, and once that happened you would never get away!'

  'It would be difficult. However, if no one wishes to have me as a companion, or a governess, what else will I do with my life? I must earn enough to keep myself, and even,' she added with a laugh, 'provide for my old age when I can no longer work.'

&n
bsp; 'Oh, don't be ridiculous! That is not all that awaits you! You are a beautiful girl, and some man will count himself fortunate to call you wife!'

  'Without a dowry? I doubt it. He would have to be a very improvident suitor, would he not?' Or one wealthy enough for her lack of a dowry not to matter, she thought fleetingly, and pushed the thought aside. It was too dispiriting. 'You are so kind, and I accept your offer, Mrs Craven, so long as you provide me with suitable tasks to occupy me.'

  Mrs Craven stood up and put on her hat, a very youthful poke bonnet.

  'Then that is settled. I will send the chaise for you this afternoon. Bring Jane's clothes as well. I imagine they are still here?'

  'Yes, no one has thought of them yet.'

  'Well, you may. She always had more clothes than you did, and you never complained. I imagine she took few with her?'

  'Just one change of gown and a few other things,' Elinor said. 'She had to leave without it being wondered why she carried a valise, even.'

  'Then you can bring her gowns. What you cannot alter to fit yourself, or do not want, we can give away. Can you be ready this afternoon?'

  'Yes, Molly will help me pack. I am so very grateful to you.'

  She brushed a sudden tear from her eyes. During all this dreadful time she had shed none, but Mrs Craven's kindness was too much. Then she sniffed, smiled a little tremulously, and went to see her visitor out of the house before going upstairs to begin her packing.

  *

  It was a week before Edmund's travelling carriage returned from Bath, and he could wave farewell to his aunt and cousin. Mrs Tremaine had, he knew, appealed to his mother, saying it was imperative for him to have a hostess, but Lady Tremaine had been even blunter than her son, telling her he had no need of such a hostess as herself.

  He locked the Dower House door. He would send people to deal with it later, and meanwhile the servants he had lent his aunt could return to the Court. From the house full of women he had found when he returned from France, he was now alone. He wondered how long it would be before his mother grew tired of Bath society and returned. Could he persuade her to take up residence in the Dower House? Somehow he doubted it, unless he made himself vastly unpleasant. Even when he married, she would resist the notion of moving there. He would have to insist.

  Why did he constantly think of marriage? Was it just the circumstances of Mrs Tremaine harping on the unlikelihood, and the need he had for a hostess, or the wish to see his mother installed at the Dower House rather than with him at the Court? He told himself firmly that he did not dislike his parent, but he had been finding her company increasingly difficult to endure with patience. Had she changed, or had he, after his experiences while his memory was lost? Life then had been hard, and his inability to remember frustrating, but there had been great satisfaction in working on the land. Serving drinks in taverns had been less pleasant, for many of the customers had been drunk and sometimes objectionable, but he had enjoyed the countryside through which he had walked. Even helping the smugglers had, he considered with a grin, been both instructive and amusing.

  He dined that evening in solitary state, and he had informed Cook he needed no more than a single course now he was on his own. She had provided him with a boned knuckle of veal, a lobster for which she must have sent one of the grooms to Plymouth, pigeons courtesy, he suspected, of Jonas and his gun, an apple tart with both cream and a blancmanger, and several small cakes. His servants did not intend him to starve or have less variety that they had been used to supplying. How could he tactfully restrain them? Then he recalled that those same servants would dine on what he had not eaten, and decided not to interfere.

  Gooch, with a conspiratorial smile, brought him one of the best clarets.

  'I did not serve it to Mr William,' the butler said. 'It did not seem to me he had a very discriminating palate, and the ladies did not. Would you like a burgundy later? There are a few special ones laid by.'

  Edmund laughed. 'Just some port, if you please. Have you any special bottles of that?'

  'Of course, your lordship. I always hoped you might return, though I could never have imagined the real circumstances, and I saved them. I have one decanted for this evening.'

  'Do you have second sight?' Edmund asked, startled. 'How could you not believe the reports of my death?'

  'They did not send your ring home.'

  Edmund stared at him in surprise. No one else, not even his mother, seemed to have recalled that fact or thought it significant.

  'That could have been stolen. There were thieves and scavengers all over the battlefield, even men pulling teeth which I suppose they would persuade some poor devils to have screwed into their gums.'

  'A distressing thought. I will fetch the port.'

  After several days of solitary dining Edmund began to think he should invite some of the village worthies to dine. He could not invite their wives, but an evening of conversation with Mr Craven and a few others might be pleasant, and provide a change from his own thoughts.

  With a jolt of dismay he realised he had become bored with his own company. During the daytime he had a great deal to do, dealing with estate matters, and planning for the following year, which he hoped would be a less cold and wet summer than this had proved to be. The local farmers were suffering, and the labourers more so. He had been asked to join a committee set up by some of the local landowners to provide what help they could to the unemployed, but most of the real work of helping the destitute families was conducted by the ladies, the wives and daughters. It did not, however, seem appropriate to invite his fellow members to dine. Cook would devise a feast, which did not seem tactful at this time of wide distress.

  He would, he decided, go to London for a few weeks in the Little Season. He might even meet a girl he could envisage marrying. Somehow the prospect did not lift his mood of melancholy.

  *

  On the following day two letters came from Jane. He opened the one addressed to him, to discover she and Richard Costain would by now be on a ship bound for the West Indies.

  'We will live on Richard's plantation, and no one there will be aware we are not married,' Jane wrote. 'I hope William will divorce me, but if he does not, it does not matter there.'

  She went on to thank him for all he had done, his support against William, and wished him a happy future. She would, she said, always remember him with gratitude. There was no mention of her sister, but perhaps she had said all she wanted to in the second letter, which was addressed to Elinor.

  He would ride to the village and take it to her. Perhaps it was this break in his normal routine that made him feel more cheerful. He ought to make more effort to visit his neighbours. Until now they had refrained from inviting him to their houses, but perhaps he might tactfully indicate he would not refuse such invitations. He would start with the Cravens, since he needed to go there first to take Elinor her letter.

  Elinor was with Mrs Craven in the drawing room, apparently involved in sorting through a heap of pieces of material. She looked up and smiled as he was announced, but when he told them he has received a letter from Jane, and proffered the one to Elinor, her smile faded.

  'Do you mind if I read this now?' she asked.

  'Of course not, my dear,' Mrs Craven said. 'We all wish to know what your sister is planning to do.'

  Elinor quickly scanned the letter.

  'She is on her way to the West Indies with Richard,' she said as she put it down. 'I shall probably never see her again.'

  There was a hurt look in her eyes, and suddenly Edmund wanted to take her in his arms and try to console her. As Mrs Craven exclaimed, and read the letter Elinor gave to her, he struggled to understand his emotions. It was impossible. He needed to be alone. Why did he suddenly feel all protective towards Elinor? Was it because of her loss of her sister, or was it remembering the calm manner in which she had coped during the past dreadful few weeks?

  He made his farewells, but instead of riding home he wandered through the
village. There was the shop in which Elinor's bread and pies had been sold. On a sudden impulse he went inside and bought a pasty.

  'They are not like the ones Miss Elinor used to bake for me,' the owner said, 'but they are still good.'

  He debated going into the shop where Jane's nightcaps had been sold. They did sell other things, but all he could think of purchasing was neckcloths, and Barton, who was becoming a very efficient valet, even disdainful of anything he thought inferior or not suitable for him, would undoubtedly throw them out.

  He stood for some time considering the Black Bull, and finally went into the coffee room and ordered some of the local cider. It might help him to think. Davey, however, with no other customers to serve, spent all the time speaking of his recent residents.

  'I understand the Colonel has gone to live in Bath with your mother,' was his first remark.

  'Not exactly with her,' Edmund replied, stifling a grin. Was this what most of his mother's acquaintances would think? His mother would never marry again unless she could acquire a better title than the one she already had. 'He has found her some very elegant apartments in Laura Place. Do you know Bath?'

  If he had hoped to deflect Davey he failed. The man seemed obsessed with romantic speculations.

  'First her ladyship, then Miss Diana. I hear she has eloped with a groom.'

  'Then you know more than I do. She is staying with Mrs Holt, my aunt and hers, in Truro.'

  'Such a shock when Miss Jane eloped with Mr Costain. And he seemed such a very gentlemanly fellow, when he was staying here. Do you know where they have gone?'

  It was clearly impossible to prevaricate. The news would be all over the village soon.

  'They are on the way to the West Indies, where I understand Mr Costain owns a plantation.'

  'A plantation? Well now. That's a sort of farm, isn't it?'

  'I believe so.'

  'And Miss Elinor? She is living with Mrs Craven, I believe. As a sort of companion.'

  Edmund inexplicably found this notion objectionable. A companion was little better than a servant, and Elinor deserved better.