by Clare Jayne
She saw Mr Brightford talking to people and could not even find the energy to be angry with him. His presence just added to her grief.
“Have you eaten yet today?” Benjamin asked her, Mr Nathaniel Fenbridge at his side. She had not even seen them approach.
Had she eaten? She tried to remember. “I do not think so.”
“Then you must have something.”
“I will fetch it.” Mr Nathaniel touched her arm, expression full of sympathy, then he walked away towards the table that had been laid out with food.
“He is a good man,” she said, glad to have something to distract her mind. “Did you tell him what your father said?”
“Yes.” He smiled.
“You will not be marrying?”
The smile widened and his eyes followed Mr Fenbridge’s movements with clear affection. “No, I will not marry.”
“Good.”
She sat with them and ate some food, although it seemed tasteless and indigestible. Other people began to drift away. Mr Brightford caught her eyes, looking as if he wanted to say something, before he turned and left.
“We will gladly stay for a while if you and your mother do not wish to be alone,” Benjamin said.
“I do not think either of us is capable of sensible conversation today,” she said. “I think we need some time on our own to grieve.”
The house felt particularly empty after they left and Amelia gave in to the need to cry unreservedly.
Chapter Fifteen
AMELIA AND HER mother spent two hours the next morning in a confusing meeting with the family man of business. Amelia had suggested that it wait a few days but Mama had wanted to get it out of the way. Mr Brodie had made it clear their situation was bad but had rattled through so many things they did not understand – what were the funds? which bank had collapsed? - that they came out of the office with no better understanding of their finances than when they had entered. If Amelia’s head had been clearer she would have demanded him to explain himself clearly but, as it was, his constant references to her father just deepened her grief and she could not give the matter the attention it warranted; indeed, she just wanted to escape.
The law building was in the centre of the New Town and, upon leaving, they ran into the last person in the world Amelia wanted to see. He bowed to them and she responded with a brief curtsy.
“My deepest condolences to you both,” Mr Brightford said, his frown one of sympathy not disapproval for once, but no more welcome than usual. “I did not want to disturb you at the funeral but I wanted you to know that I liked and respected Mr Daventry a great deal. Everyone did.”
She bit her lip to stop herself commenting on how little he liked her, unable to cope with him today, while her mother gave a polite response.
As they turned away he added, “Let me know if there is anything I can do.”
This was too much and she glared at him over her shoulder: “Do you not think you have done more than enough?”
She saw his start of surprise at this and then a distinctly guilty expression.
She followed her mother to their carriage and climbed in.
“What was it you said to Mr Brightford?” Mrs Daventry asked her as she smoothed down her black mourning dress.
Amelia shook her head and then, out of the blue, started to sob.
* * *
Benjamin called on Mrs Daventry and Amelia mid-afternoon to see how they were getting on. Mr Daventry had been a kind, friendly man - indeed, Benjamin had often wished his own father could have been more like him.
He found them in the drawing room, both subdued while Amelia’s eyes were red from crying and his heart went out to them both. He could not even imagine their pain.
They had not needed his help with the funeral arrangements but there surely must be something he could do for them now: “Tell me what you need done. Letters? Perhaps packing away some of Mr Daventry’s possessions?”
“It is extremely kind of you…” Mrs Daventry began.
“Do you know anything of financial papers?” Amelia cut in.
“Amelia, you cannot ask such a thing,” her mother scolded.
“No, please, let me help,” Benjamin insisted. “Tell me what you need explained and I will endeavour to do so. If there is anything that is unclear to me - and there might well be as my father handles a lot of our affairs - I will fetch Mr Nathaniel Fenbridge to go through it with you.”
“We could not impose on you or Mr Fenbridge like that,” Mrs Daventry said.
“I have always had the very highest opinion of Mr Daventry and Amelia has been a second sister to me. I sincerely wish to help.”
Mrs Daventry hesitated then nodded, clearly embarrassed at needing assistance. “Then I thank you. If you can make more sense than our solicitor did we will be eternally grateful to you.”
Several hours later they had gone through all the papers, the task of which bills still needed to be paid much easier once they came across the accounts book Mr Daventry had kept. Both women understood his explanations quickly, although they seemed surprised to be able to do so.
He had known that the family was not a wealthy one but the situation was worse than he had expected. If Amelia did not marry a rich man they might well have to sell their estate and, although that would leave them enough money for comfortable lives, it would leave nothing for any future generations.
They both offered him grateful smiles and thanked him for his help but Benjamin remained concerned for them.
* * *
Mr Alexander Fenbridge’s sisters arrived with their respective husbands at exactly the correct time for the dinner party and were shown into the drawing room where Mr Fenbridge introduced them to Lottie. The elder sister – Mrs Henrietta Stanton - had light brown hair while the younger woman – Mrs Catherine Wentford - was blonde, but other than this their looks were similar: regal and aloof in a way that magnified Lottie’s nervousness. After all her mother’s comments on the subject Lottie felt as if her entire future marriage depended on tonight being perfect.
She had invited a few extra people to increase the numbers and, as a friend of the family, had been forced to include Mr Wrackley. She disliked him for causing Amelia pain and had no desire to spend any time in his company, so she excused herself as soon as she had greeted him. The guests made small talk while awaiting the final people and Lottie silently went over the order of precedence for the procession to the dining room, desperately hoping she had got it correct and no one would be offended. When everyone was assembled and the butler had announced the meal Mr Fenbridge led his elder sister into the dining room with the rest of the gentlemen taking the ladies’ arms and following, in strict rank order. Lottie, as an unmarried woman, was last, led in by the loquacious parish priest, who distracted her briefly from her nerves.
Everyone took their assigned seats, the giant epergne in the middle of the table providing most of the light while, unfortunately, blocking Mr Fenbridge and his elder sister from her sight. Mrs Wentford, his younger sister, was to Lottie’s right, after Mr Smithton, the priest. Aware that half the purpose of the meal was for her to become acquainted with the rest of Mr Fenbridge’s family, Lottie tried to get in some conversation with Mrs Wentford but was largely thwarted by Mr Smithton’s inability to stop speaking.
Four courses into the meal – about halfway through – she managed to knock over her glass of red wine. She stared at it in horror as one of the footmen hastened forward to clear up the mess.
“Really, Charlotte, you can be so clumsy,” her mother scolded in a loud voice, so that everyone at the table must be aware of Lottie’s failure.
From that moment onwards she could do nothing right. The blush never left her cheeks; she was tongue-tied and, when she could speak, she stammered over her words.
By the end of the night, when the guests had departed, she was so mortified so could not look Mr Fenbridge in the eye. How heartily he must regret having picked such a fool to marry.
Chapter Sixteen
“DID YOU TELL Miss Daventry what I said about her to Wrackley?”
It was two days after Mr Daventry’s funeral and Mr Brightford was feeling sorry for the family and wretched over spoiling Miss Daventry’s chance at a good marriage. He tried to tell himself that Wrackley would have been miserable to discover after marriage that Miss Daventry had only ever wanted his money and not him, but he was no longer sure about any of this. He could not forget the look of distress and anger on her face when he encountered her yesterday.
“Yes, I did,” Fenbridge admitted, putting down a cup of coffee. “I will not apologise for it. I like Miss Daventry and I think you have treated her extremely ill.”
Brightford could not be annoyed with him when he knew Fenbridge had acted out of his usual kindness. “Perhaps you are right. I felt I had a duty to tell Wrackley the truth but now I am not so sure, particularly in light of what she is currently suffering.”
“More than you know.”
Brightford made a look of enquiry. “How so?”
“I reveal this only in the strictest confidence but Benj- Harrington helped the family understand their finances and I gather the situation is dire.”
“That was why she needed Wrackley’s money.”
Fenbridge frowned. “I believe she loved him. I am not certain she was even aware of his wealth. I certainly never mentioned it and, while you were in my presence, which you usually were around Miss Daventry, I do not believe you or my brother ever mentioned it.”
Brightford frowned over this idea. If it was true then his interference had been unconscionable. Mr Daventry had asked him of Mr Wrackley’s character but, no, the subject of wealth had never been mentioned and he had never spoken of it to Miss Daventry. “In the past I had overheard her speaking of getting herself a rich, powerful husband.”
“Given her family’s situation it doubtless seemed like something she must consider but, when it came to it, I believe her heart led her to Wrackley.”
“Then I have harmed her in a way I do not have any idea how to fix.” He would have to try. His conscience demanded it.
* * *
Lottie was arranging roses from the garden into a vase the morning after her disastrous dinner party. Mr Alexander Fenbridge had made no criticisms of her so far today but she dreaded the thought that he might not wish to marry her any more. He had chosen her to be an accomplished hostess and manage his home capably and she had failed her first self-appointed task. She was deep in these thoughts when the footman came in.
“Mrs Wentford to see you, Miss Harrington.”
He had barely finished speaking when Mr Fenbridge’s younger sister swept into the dining room, flawlessly lovely despite the heat of the day, in lavender satin. Lottie, feeling a dowdy mess in comparison, curtsied and sent the butler for lemonade while they sat down.
“I wanted to apologise to you and Mrs Stanton for making such a mess of the dinner party last night.”
Mrs Wentford raised an elegant eyebrow. “Did you make a mess?”
“I spilt my wine.”
Mrs Wentford laughed. “My sister and I are hardly so fussy that we would condemn you for so tiny a thing, but it is flattering to my brother and us that you were so concerned that the evening be perfect.”
“I truly did and then I ended up clumsy and tongue-tied.”
“You are too critical of yourself. My brother thinks highly of you which is all that is really important.”
“Does he?” Without intending to she found herself blurting out her greatest fear. “I keep fearing he will change his mind.”
“He is not the capricious type. He loves you.”
“Oh, no. It was not a romantic proposal. Mr Fenbridge believed I would make him a practical wife.”
“Oh, dear.” Mrs Wentworth gave a dimpled smile. “I think Alex must have been too nervous to confess his feelings to you but, as someone who knows him well, I can assure you he cares deeply for you. He will certainly think nothing of the occasional spilt drink.”
Lottie laughed, relieved and pleased by these words and by Mrs Wentford’s support. After a couple of hours talking she considered Mrs Wentford a friend, the lady displaying the same friendliness and kind nature as her brothers, along with a lively interest in all that went on in the parish. By the time she left Lottie had learnt a great deal about her new home and felt more relaxed than she had since arriving.
As she went for a walk in the garden, she considered what Mrs Wentford had said about Mr Fenbridge. Lottie had not thought she would ever have love in her life again - had not believed she could trust it - but it gave her a burst of happiness to think that Mr Fenbridge had deeper feelings for her than she had known.
* * *
A week went by and then two. Amelia thought little of what was happening in the outside world. She knew, with a kind of dazed disbelief, that the season was drawing to a close, that people were still attending card parties, balls and dinner parties, but it seemed impossible to her that there could still be pleasure in the world when her own life and that of her mother were so bleak.
Her grief still befuddled her senses so the interview she and mama had had with their man of business yesterday had been particularly difficult. They must sell their estate in order to have enough money to live, he had told them. Mama had refused. Amelia had no idea what was for the best, although it hurt to think of giving up the family home Papa had worked all his life to keep.
The butler announced Mr Benjamin Harrington and she automatically got to her feet and curtsied to him as he bowed. She put down the cushion cover she had been staring at - it should have been a gift for her father but she had embroidered too slowly, easily distracted by trivial pleasures, and he had never seen it. She knew he had loved her but had she ever done anything to make him proud of her?
Mr Harrington held out a letter which she accepted. “It is from Lottie,” he said. “I wrote to tell her immediately of your father’s death.”
She gave a watery smile, the piece of paper immediately priceless to her. “Thank you.”
“How are you today? Was it yesterday you were going back to the solicitor?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” They sat down and she told him as much as she could remember of what had been said. “Do you think there is anything we can do to save the estate?”
“I believe your father managed to raise enough money for your family to live on through careful investments. It would make sense to continue doing the same.”
“I know nothing of such things. Could you advise me?”
“I fear I know as little as you but I will ask Fenbridge and Brightford.”
“Not Mr Brightford,” she said quickly. “He has a low opinion of me and I think it best to have as little to do with him from now on as possible.”
He stiffened at this. “What has happened?”
“It is not important. He is now brother-in-law to you and Lottie and I know he is your friend. Let me simply say that we have had a disagreement.”
“Let us not,” he exclaimed, frowning. “For him to upset you when you are grieving…”
“He did not,” she reassured him and wished she had never brought up the man. “I thought myself in love with Mr Wrackley when he was here and he… he seemed to care for me. Mr Brightford said some things to him that, I believe, caused him to change his opinion of me and leave.”
“What did he say?”
She bit her lip. “That I was interested in nothing but Mr Wrackley’s money. It is not true…”
“Of course it is not,” he said angrily. “How dare he behave so?”
“I suppose he believed it to be true. In the past I have thought how nice it would be to be rich.”
“So do a lot of people. I have no doubt Lottie dreamed of riches on occasion and I have certainly wished for more money to spend on our estate.”
“But Lottie was the romantic one…”
“And now she has made a thoroughly sensible match. I s
incerely hope she will grow to love Mr Alexander Fenbridge but she is certainly not infatuated at present and I would fight any man who criticised her for it. She did what she thought was best for her and that is what you will do and I hope you will have the luxury of finding your heart and good sense lead you to a man of good character and reasonable wealth.”
“Mr Wrackley had both, although I did not know it nor, at the time, care about his finances.” It seemed so long ago, a bright, happy time long gone, replaced by long difficult days and constant sadness.
“Brightford should be horse-whipped.”
Amelia grabbed his arm, alarmed by his anger. “Benjamin, promise me you will not challenge him to a duel.”
“I should…”
“No. I want you to do nothing about this. You must give me your word. If I was responsible for either you or Mr Brightford dying I do not know how I would live with it. At the time he thought he was acting for the best and perhaps his words made no difference at all: if Mr Wrackley had truly loved me could he have been so easily put off? Promise me you will not challenge him.”
He gave a curt nod. “Very well.”
When he took his leave Amelia sat down and, once she had managed to convince herself no one was going to die in a duel, she calmed and opened Lottie’s letter.
* * *
“I should challenge you to a duel but Miss Daventry made me promise not to.”
Mr Brightford, sitting in his study getting very little done, regarded the glaring figure of Harrington with a jaundiced eye. It had been a long morning and he was not in the mood to cope with hot-headed youths. “Then I suppose I must be grateful to Miss Daventry.”
“She can hardly say the same, can she? I got her to tell me what you said to Mr Wrackley.” His anger dimmed into a confused disappointment that was somehow more galling: “How could you do such a thing?”
“I misjudged her and, I promise you, I have already been taken to task over it by Nathan. If I could take back my words I would. I have been trying to think of a way to make amends but thus far can think of nothing.”