by Anne Ashley
Loath though she might be to credit her husband with any of the finer feelings, she was forced to concede that his behaviour towards her had been exemplary; the perfect gentleman, in fact, solicitous to her every need. Of course they didn’t see a great deal of each other. When he wasn’t busily engaged with his secretary or steward, discussing estate matters, he spent much of his free time with their son. Except during those few days the week before, when he had paid a short visit to the capital, he had made a point of riding out across the estate with Charles every morning, weather permitting.
She could not prevent a sigh escaping. Daily she had watched her son growing more attached to his sire, but there had been little she could have done to prevent its happening; and, truth to tell, she wasn’t so very certain that, even if it had been within her power, she would have attempted to stop a bond developing between them.
Understandably enough there were certain aspects of her enforced stay which continued to irk her unbearably. Wroxam had decreed that if she chose to stay away for any length of time without first obtaining his consent, she would not be allowed to return. Furthermore, she could not set foot outside the door with Charles to enjoy a pleasant walk in the garden without discovering a servant hovering nearby.
The staff, of course, were faultlessly obeying their master’s strict instructions. And it was intolerable! Yet, she could hardly blame Wroxam for keeping a close guard on Charles, for if the truth were known, she would still leave with her son if the chance ever presented itself, and if she had somewhere to go; somewhere to hide where she could be certain Wroxam would not find them.
In the meantime she was forced to be satisfied with her lot which, she couldn’t deny, was not too much of a hardship. The servants treated her with the utmost respect, and the kindness of the older members of staff, those who had worked in the house when she had first crossed the threshold as a naïve young bride, was very touching, most especially the deference Slocombe always showed towards her; as recompense, no doubt, for barring her entry to the town house all those years ago. Yes, all in all, she had little cause to complain, and now that her loyal confidante Mary was firmly established under this roof, she was not without feminine companionship and unwavering support.
The subject of her thoughts entered the room a moment later to remind her that she had promised to go through the following week’s menus with Cook after luncheon.
Jennifer consulted the ormolu clock on the mantel-shelf. ‘Good gracious, is that the time! I do not know where the morning has gone to. I think I shall eat my luncheon with Charles in the nursery today.’
Mary suddenly appeared to find the toe of her right shoe of immense interest. ‘I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Master Charles is feeling a mite sorry for himself at the moment.’
‘Oh?’ Jennifer paused in the tidying of her writing-desk to cast an enquiring glance over her shoulder. ‘Did Wroxam not return in time from his inspection of the cottages to take Charles out for his ride?’
‘Oh, his lordship returned right enough. A little later than expected, but he did return. One must give the man his due, he does keep his promises,’ Mary acknowledged, betraying a grudging respect for the Marquis. ‘Trouble was, Master Charles decided he couldn’t wait, and rode off by himself.’
Jennifer experienced a moment’s alarm. ‘He didn’t take a tumble, did he? He isn’t hurt?’
‘He didn’t take a tumble, no,’ Mary assured her. ‘And the little monkey wouldn’t have ventured out by himself at all if Patrick had been about, but Pat had accompanied his lordship.’ Her expression betrayed a distinct lack of sympathy. ‘Well, you’ve told Master Charles often enough that he’s not to go off by himself, so the truth of the matter is he’s only himself to blame.’
‘Yes, yes, you’re right,’ Jennifer was forced to agree, knowing that she would now need to speak sternly to her son, something which she always hated doing. She sighed. ‘I suppose I must punish him by forbidding him to go riding for a day or two.’
Mary was not at all successful in suppressing a chuckle. ‘Oh, there’s no need for you to be worrying yourself over that. I don’t think Master Charles will wish to sit on a horse for a while.’
Jennifer was instantly suspicious. ‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘Well, I don’t know all the details, you understand, but from what I can gather from Annie, the nurse-maid—when his lordship arrived back and discovered Master Charles had ridden out, he went in search of him. He found him, no problem, over by the home wood, and by the time his lordship had finished with him, Master Charles couldn’t ride, and was forced to walk back to the house, feeling very sorry for himself.’
It took Jennifer a moment only to appreciate fully what she had been told. ‘Do you mean that Wroxam had the audacity to beat my son?’
Mary watched the colour fade completely from the delicate features, and then return with a vengeance. She knew perhaps better than anyone else that the lovely Marchioness, although very level-headed and placid as a rule, was quite capable of losing her temper on occasions. Before she could attempt to reason with her, however, to suggest that maybe young Charles had now reached an age when a firmer hand was necessary, Jennifer had stormed from the room and was heading across the hall in the direction of the library.
Without knocking she threw wide the door, and swept into the room in a swirl of pale green petticoats to discover his lordship precisely where she had expected to find him, seated behind his desk, going through his correspondence with his secretary. Not even by the raising of one of those expressive brows did he betray the least surprise, or annoyance, come to that, at the rude interruption; he merely turned to his secretary announcing that they would continue after luncheon.
Julian waited for Mr Aubrey to leave the room, which he did with alacrity and, it had to be said, with a deal more dignity than her ladyship had shown when entering it. Then he fixed his faintly amused gaze on the avenging virago standing on the opposite side of the desk, fists clenched, appearing as though she could quite cheerfully have unleashed her wrath in a physical attack upon him.
After contemplating the neat arrangement of auburn locks, he lowered his gaze to the stormy green eyes. It was abundantly obvious what had brought her here in such a fine fury, and he resisted the temptation to feign ignorance. ‘I believe I know why you’re here, Jennifer. Perhaps you would care to sit down so that we can discuss the—’
‘How dare you!’ she interrupted, the faint amusement playing about his mouth fuelling the furnace of her wrath. ‘How dare you lay violent hands on my child!’
‘Our child,’ he corrected gently and, leaning back in his chair, he regarded her in silence for a moment. Like the proverbial she-wolf, Jennifer was a fiercely protective mother. ‘I would be the first to admit that you have done a remarkable job in rearing our son on your own, Jennifer. He’s a fine boy. If you have been lax in any department, then I suspect it has been a reluctance to discipline him when the need arose.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ she exclaimed, not allowing this unexpected praise to sway her. ‘He’s a boy. He’s bound to get into mischief from time to time.’
‘True,’ he agreed, urbanity itself. ‘But had I done what Charles did, I would have felt a birch rod and not the flat of my father’s hand across the seat of my breeches.’
She found her gaze instinctively straying to those long fingers gripping the arms of the chair. His hands were elegant and sensitive, like those of an artist, but also strong, and attached to undeniably powerful arms. She found herself wincing at the mere thought of what poor little Charles must have suffered, and raised her eyes to discover him regarding her rather quizzically, as though he knew precisely what had been passing through her mind.
Her chin lifted. ‘Then I consider that your father was unnecessarily brutal, and your mother a rare sort of creature to permit her child to be so ill used. I am not of that ilk. And I shall tell you plainly that I’ve no intention of sitting idly by and al
lowing you to break my son’s spirit.’
‘I’ve no intention of breaking his spirit. Nor, I might add, have I the least intention of allowing him to break his foolish little neck, if I can do anything to prevent it.’
Jennifer regarded him in astonishment, deciding that he must have taken leave of his senses. The aged mare he permitted Charles to ride was incapable of maintaining even a sedate trot. ‘Wroxam, really!’ she scoffed. ‘Old Bessie is the most placid of creatures. I doubt she has ever attempted to unseat her rider.’
‘She hasn’t,’ he readily confirmed, swiftly realising that she was only in possession of half the facts. ‘Evidently you’re not aware, however, that our foolhardy son attempted to practise his equestrian skills this morning on quite a different animal.’
Although she had thus far declined her husband’s invitation to avail herself of one of his hacks, she had frequently paid visits to the stables, and had cast an expert eye over each of the fine specimens he kept there.
A frightening possibility suddenly occurred to her. ‘Oh, no! You don’t mean he attempted to ride that grey hunter of yours?’
‘It is indeed a foolish mother who does not know her own son.’ A flicker of admiration added a sparkle to his grey eyes. ‘And no one, my dear, could ever accuse you of that failing.’
Fearing her legs would no longer support her, Jennifer made use of the chair recently vacated by Mr Aubrey, silently conceding that there had been some justification for Wroxam’s actions.
She sighed and shook her head. ‘I suppose I must take my share of the blame for what happened.’
‘You are not suggesting, I hope, that you actively encouraged him to disobey my orders by riding the grey.’
‘Of course I did not! And I’d like to know what your servants were about to saddle the brute for him.’
‘Merely following instructions, my dear.’ His smile was faintly sardonic. ‘Our enterprising young son informed the head groom that I wished the grey saddled in readiness to accompany him out upon my return. The moment the groom’s back was turned, Charles led the grey to the mounting block, and was riding out of the yard before anyone could stop him.’
There was more than just a hint of regret in his deep sigh. ‘I do not enjoy the role of heavy-handed father. I know he’s bound to get into mischief from time to time, and it is my place to discipline him. Nevertheless, I believe he’ll be less inclined to indulge in foolish starts if his mind is suitably occupied. So, I have decided to engage a tutor for him, someone who will not only prepare him for school, but will endeavour to nurture his love of outdoor pursuits.’
Jennifer found little difficulty in setting aside her own lingering resentment towards the man seated opposite when discussing the matter of their son. Wroxam’s proposal sounded ideal. ‘And know you of such a person?’
‘No, but Aubrey suggested that a friend from his university days might be exactly the young man I’m looking for. Apparently, this friend wishes to study law, but until he attains the age of five-and-twenty, and comes into a legacy left by a maiden aunt, he has not the funds to pursue his chosen career. In the meantime he must earn his living, and according to Aubrey is considering teaching as an option. If you’re agreeable I’ll write to him.’
She did not need to think twice about it. ‘Strangely enough I was seriously considering engaging a governess for him. Perhaps you’re aware that I taught Charles myself, but since James’s death I’m forced to own that I have been sadly neglectful.’ She swiftly found herself the object of an intense gaze. ‘Surely you’ve learned all about James O’Connell by now? I felt sure Charles would have told you all about our life in Ireland.’
The fact that she evidently thought that he would stoop so low as to interrogate their son to discover what she had been up to during their years apart both hurt and annoyed him, but he succeeded in keeping all emotion from his voice as he said, ‘Charles has on more than one occasion mentioned a Grandpapa James who, I assume, is this James O’Connell of whom you speak. I also know that O’Connell was a successful horse breeder. But that is all I know.’ He found no difficulty in returning her faintly sceptical gaze. ‘I have no intention now or at any time in the future of interrogating our son in order to discover how you have spent the past nine years… I would prefer to learn about it from you.’
Whether she believed him or not was difficult to judge, for she merely shrugged slender shoulders before rising to her feet and moving across to the window. She was silent for so long that he thought that he was destined to remain in ignorance, but then she said very softly,
‘There is not much to tell.’ Statue-like, she continued to stare out of the window, seeing, he suspected, quite a different aspect in her mind’s eye. ‘When Mary and I arrived in Ireland our money was almost gone. It had been our intention to make our way up country to the home of Mary’s parents. Needless to say we never reached the Harpers’ humble cottage in County Clare. By the third day we had no money, not even for food. Which did not trouble me overmuch. What little I had eaten during the previous days I had not managed to keep down. Foolishly I imagined that it was merely a combination of lack of food and exhaustion which caused me to collapse by the roadside that evening. Mary, having been far more worldly wise than I, guessed at once.
‘Fate chose to look kindly upon me that day,’ she continued, her voice soft, her thoughts seemingly locked in the past. ‘The occupant of a passing carriage, observing my distress, ordered his coachman to stop. The good Samaritan who offered aid was none other than James O’Connell. He took us both back to his house, and sent for the doctor, who later confirmed Mary’s suspicions.’
‘And he took care of you all these years?’ Julian prompted, when she fell silent once more.
‘I think it would be more accurate to say that we took care of each other. At the time James happened to be looking for someone to take the place of his elderly cook-housekeeper, and I was more than willing to take up the position in exchange for a roof over my head. In the end Mary and I shared the duties.’
He noticed the wry smile tugging at the corner of her mouth before she added, ‘Those many occasions I ventured into the kitchen during my formative years, and later here with Mrs Quist, were not in vain. I proved to be very skilful in the kitchen. At least my culinary skills satisfied James. Thankfully he was a man of simple tastes.
‘As you are aware, James was a very successful horse breeder, but he was not wealthy, at least not by your standards. His home was little more than a large farmhouse, comfortable, but not sumptuously furnished. He was an astute man, and realised almost at once that I wasn’t the simple soldier’s widow I pretended to be. After a few weeks, during which time I had grown inordinately fond of him, and had learned to trust him implicitly, I did eventually confide in him. James wished to make contact with you, to inform you of my whereabouts, but I would not hear of it. As far as I was concerned our marriage was at an end. I had a new life, and one that I found infinitely more rewarding.’
Julian found himself grasping the arms of the chair so tightly that his knuckles showed white. Harsh words, indeed; none the less, beautifully candid. Although torn between anger and grudging respect, he failed completely to keep sarcasm out his voice as he remarked,
‘So you preferred the life of a kitchen-wench to that of a Marchioness… How very singular!’
‘Yet very understandable,’ she parried. ‘James, you see, had been a widower for many years. I believe he swiftly came to look upon me as the daughter he had never been blessed to have, and he treated Charles like a grandson. For eight wonderful years I felt perfectly contented; was protected and loved. James O’Connell was the finest man I have ever known. He taught me so many things. Most of all he taught me to be myself. He died last autumn… And I shall never meet his like again.’
There had been an unmistakable catch in her voice, and when she turned away from the window and walked slowly towards the door, Julian knew she had been on the verge of tears. It occurre
d to him then that he had never once seen her cry.
He was destined not to do so now, for although she kept her face averted, she sounded perfectly composed as she said, ‘If you will excuse me, I shall go to the stables and see Patrick. I know you have been looking for a suitable mount for Charles to ride, but there’s no need. I’ll ask Patrick to return to Ireland and collect Charles’s pony.’
‘Does that mean you are now resigned to remaining here?’ He saw the slender hand reaching out for the door-handle check for a moment. ‘You have only to give me your word, Jennifer, that you’ll not attempt to leave with Charles, and the restrictions placed upon you will—’
‘No, Wroxam,’ she interrupted softly. ‘I have never lied to you, and I have no intention of starting now. My arranging for Charles’s pony to be brought here is merely an attempt to keep my son out of mischief, and for no other reason.’
Without waiting for a response, Jennifer withdrew. Closing the door quietly behind her, she crossed the hall and left the house by way of the front entrance. As she made her way along the path, she was quite unaware that a pair of troubled grey eyes were following her progress along the path towards the stables, where she discovered Patrick being berated by the woman who had shared so many of her past experiences, both happy and sad.
‘Why, you traitor, you!’ Mary exclaimed, hands on hips. ‘I never thought I’d live to see the day when you’d turn against Miss Jenny.’
Patrick paused in the grooming of one of Jennifer’s fine carriage horses to look across at Mary, with that roughish, crooked smile which had melted the heart of more than one pretty colleen over the years, but which had never appeared to have had the least effect on her, and instantly perceived the slender figure in the doorway.