As he listened to her recount the story, he felt anger at how shabbily she had been treated. But mixed with the anger was a thread of joy and relief. Anne was innocent. Had been innocent all this time. He had imagined a hundred scenarios, with Anne as the victim of seduction or ravishment. But he had never guessed that the truth was the simplest of all. Ian, dearly loved though he was, was not Anne’s child.
He felt ashamed that he had ever doubted her, even for a single moment. He should have trusted his heart. Anne was as she had always been, honorable, affectionate and loyal to a fault. And far too impulsive for her own good. It was like her to promise to care for Ian first and only later to stop and consider the consequences of her decision.
“I have always known you were kind, but I never knew how brave you were,” he said. Mere words were inadequate to express how he felt. Anne had taken on the burden of her sister’s shame, for the sake of the orphaned child. He could not even begin to guess what that had cost her.
“I don’t feel brave at all. Just weary.”
Anne’s face was white and set, and she was blinking back tears. Freddie longed to put his arms around her, to comfort her, but he did not, being all too conscious that they were in full view of anyone in the house. He had done enough harm to her reputation already. He contented himself with giving her hand a quick squeeze.
“Does Ian know?”
“He knows that his mother died when he was born, and that she asked me to raise him. I will wait until he is older to tell him the rest. And no, I do not know who his real father was. Nor do I wish to.”
They continued walking till they reached the marble bench that marked the end of the path. Anne seated herself on the bench, but Freddie remained standing. He could not sit. His mind could not grasp the enormity of what Anne had endured for the sake of her family. Nor could he find a way to vent his rage. Her callous father was dead, beyond any earthly punishment. And even if she told her story, without proof who would believe her? She would only be exposing herself to ridicule and scorn.
“I think it would be best if I left here now,” Anne said, after a moment of reflection. “I had booked passage home in September, but I am certain I can find an earlier sailing. Between them, your agent and Mr. Creighton can attend to the details of the estate. And when I am gone, the gossip will die down as well. Your reputation should suffer no lasting harm.”
“I do not care about the gossip.” He did not care what they said about him. And he did not want her to leave. Anne deserved better than to be driven out of the county by malicious gossips. But how could he possibly convince her to stay? There was nothing for her here, unless…
“Promise me that you will hear me out. I know how we can put an end to the gossip and ensure that you and Ian can remain here in England, where you belong.”
Anne gazed at him skeptically. “And how would you accomplish this miracle?”
“Marry me.”
“Have you lost your mind?”
It was not the response he had been hoping for. Still she hadn’t laughed at him or, worse yet, said she regarded him merely as a brother.
“It is a logical solution. We have always gotten along well together, have we not? I need a wife, you need a husband and Ian needs a father.”
Anne shook her head. “It is not logical at all. Your offer does you great credit, but you can not go around offering to marry girls out of pity.”
“It is not pity,” he said, angry that she should think so little of herself. “You are good-hearted, loyal, affectionate and willing to put up with all my foibles. What more could a man ask for in a wife?”
It all seemed so clear to him. Why could she not see it as well?
Anne bit her lip, and he could tell she was wavering.
“Come now, say yes,” he urged. “Nine years ago you promised me that we would marry as soon as we were both of age. And here we are, older if no wiser. What say we make a match of it?”
She smiled, and for a moment he thought she was about to agree, but then his heart dropped as he heard the dreaded word.
“No,” she repeated. “I am honored, but we both know that this can never be. It will be seen as the confirmation of the rumors. Your family will never accept me, and Ian would grow up on the fringes of society, an outcast because of his birth.”
“It wouldn’t be like that,” he argued, even though a part of him knew she was right. He felt helpless. He would have slain a dozen dragons for Anne, but it seemed there was nothing he could do to save her from her current predicament.
“And lastly, you deserve to marry a woman that you love, one who loves you in return.”
“But of course I love you.” Didn’t she realize that?
“Yes. As a friend.”
He argued, but she stood firm. In the end, all he could win was her promise that she would consider his offer.
As Freddie approached the gates that led to Beechwood Park, his spirits were downcast. Learning of Anne’s innocence should have gladdened his heart. And indeed there was a part of him that had rejoiced upon realizing that Ian was not the product of Anne’s love for another. But her innocence did not change her circumstances. Freddie knew the truth; others did not. He understood why she felt she must leave. He did not want her to go, yet if she did not agree to his proposal, she would soon be gone from his life forever.
If he truly loved her, how could he ask her to stay? Even with the protection of his name, it might take years before the marriage was accepted by his family and by society. If it had been just Anne, Freddie was sure he could have convinced her. But there was Ian to consider. Freddie had grown fond of the boy. It would be a privilege to stand as father for him, but was that in Ian’s best interests? Or would Ian be better served by a childhood spent in obscurity, where none knew his connections?
Freddie guided Ajax past the house and toward the stable block. There he found the yard bustling with activity. A livery coach stood in the yard, surrounded by boxes and trunks of every size and description. A steady stream of footmen were engaged in carrying the luggage inside. Beyond the livery coach was an elegant traveling carriage and beyond that what appeared to be a carters’ wagon. It, too, was filled with trunks that were being unloaded by the grooms.
Good lord, Priscilla must have bought out half of London, Freddie thought.
Fortunately the commotion did not bother Ajax. Freddie dismounted, and a moment later one of the grooms noticed him and came running over.
“Sorry, my lord, but as you can see, we’re at sixes and sevens here.”
Freddie nodded. “I take it my sister has returned?”
“Yes, my lord. Just down from London.”
He wondered why his mother hadn’t reminded him that Priscilla was returning on this day. Then, again, he had given her little opportunity to do so. That morning, when his mother had mentioned the latest gossip about Anne, Freddie had stormed out of the house without so much as a by-your-leave.
As the groom led Ajax away, Freddie heard a loud crash, followed by the sound of a man cursing. Turning he saw the cause of the excitement; one of the footmen had apparently dropped a trunk on the toes of another. The injured footman made a pathetic sight, clutching his injured foot in one hand while he reviled the guilty party with every curse word he knew. “You clumsy bastard! You’re nothing but a mangy scum—”
“His lordship!” a dozen voices hissed.
The footman turned and, seeing Freddie, took his hand off his foot, straightening up and then wincing as the injured member touched the ground. “Beg your pardon, sir.”
“I heard nothing. Carry on,” Freddie said.
He entered the house by the side door, and made his way to his rooms to change. The house, which had seemed so empty just this morning, now teemed with activity. He heard servants passing up and down the halls, delivering luggage, fetching water for washing and attending to a dozen errands.
He was glad that Priscilla was home, though he was in no mood to hear about her tri
umphs in London. He knew she was merely high-spirited, but at times his sister made him feel as old as Methuselah. Still, for her sake he would try to be cheerful and would feign an interest in all she had seen and done since last he saw her.
There was some consolation in knowing that Priscilla’s arrival meant that Elizabeth must be here as well. Of all his sisters, Freddie felt closest to Elizabeth. Perhaps because she was nearest to him in age, or maybe it was simply her calm good sense. Whatever the reason, he had need of her counsel now.
Freddie left his room, and made his way to the Blue Room, where his mother preferred to receive family. As he entered the room, Priscilla squealed with delight, then jumped up from her chair.
He had only a second to brace himself before she threw herself at him. Wrapping her arms around him, she exclaimed, “Oh, Freddie, I have missed you so.”
He gave her a squeeze and then unwrapped her arms from around his neck. “Now, puss, let me get a look at you.”
He took a step back and pretended to study her critically. “Hmmm, have you gotten taller since I saw you last? And what is this, a freckle?” he asked, tapping her nose with one finger.
“A freckle? Oh, no.” She rushed to the mirror that stood over the fireplace. Examining her complexion, she realized at once that he was teasing her. “You beast!” she said.
Freddie chuckled. Priscilla would never change. He crossed the room to where Elizabeth and her husband, Mr. David Rutledge, stood. He kissed his sister on the cheek, and shook hands with his brother-in-law.
“Welcome to Beechwood Park,” he said. “I am so pleased that you could join us.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Rutledge replied. “Elizabeth has told me so much about her former home that I feel I already know the place.”
Freddie took the opportunity to study the man who had won his sister’s heart. Cruelly widowed in the first year of her marriage, Elizabeth had spent the next six years mourning her first husband. But then she had met David Rutledge, and he had coaxed her out of her solitude. Within a week of their meeting, she had discarded her somber gowns and thrown away the caps that had added ten years to her age.
They had been married just three months before, and from the quiet happiness on Elizabeth’s face, Freddie could see that she was well pleased with her choice.
“I hope you did not find Priscilla too much of a handful,” he said.
Elizabeth and David Rutledge exchanged a private glance and conspiratorial smiles. “Priscilla was a perfect angel,” Elizabeth assured him.
For their sakes he hoped it was not too much of an exaggeration.
Priscilla chose this moment to enter the conversation. “I can not wait until my ball. I invited simply dozens of my friends. If they all come, it will be a sad crush indeed.”
Dozens? Surely he had misheard. He heard the door open behind him.
Priscilla took a deep breath. She had the gleam in her eye that meant she was up to one of her schemes. “And, of course, there was one particular friend who journeyed with us from London. She did not know if she should come, but I told her you would be pleased to see her.”
“Any friend of yours is welcome,” Freddie said automatically. He turned to greet the new arrival.
His jaw dropped, and he stood for a moment in stunned silence.
“Miss Sommersby.”
“Lord Frederick.” Her voice squeaked as she said his name.
Time seemed to stand still. He waited for the earth to swallow him up. He could not imagine anything more awkward than being forced to entertain the woman who had rejected his offer of marriage.
Freddie glanced around. Priscilla looked defiant, and he realized at once what must have happened. Priscilla, along with the rest of London, had known that he was courting Miss Sommersby. He hadn’t told Priscilla that he had offered marriage to Miss Sommersby and been refused. There had seemed no reason to tell his sister—except now the minx had taken it into her head to promote the match.
But what was Miss Sommersby’s role in all this? All she had had to do was refuse the invitation. Instead she had come here, and placed them all in this awkward muddle.
“Miss Sommersby, come sit by me,” Elizabeth said, sensing the undercurrents in the room. “I understand you are from the Lake District. We recently traveled there, and I am certain we must have mutual acquaintances.”
As Elizabeth set about entertaining their guest, Freddie let himself be drawn into conversation with his brother-in-law. But only part of his mind was on the conversation, as the rest was focused on his predicament. He could see no escape. It was going to be the longest fortnight of his life.
Eight
After his initial meeting with Miss Sommersby, Freddie managed to get through the rest of that evening without any further awkwardness.
Priscilla attempted to throw the two of them together, suggesting that Freddie conduct Miss Sommersby on a tour of the portrait gallery. When that scheme failed, she next suggested that Freddie partner Miss Sommersby at cards after dinner. Only quick thinking enabled Freddie to sidestep these schemes without making it obvious that he wished to avoid Miss Sommersby’s company.
If Priscilla continued to play matchmaker, it would be a long fortnight indeed. He needed to speak with her privately to convince her to end her meddling. But there had been no opportunity to do so last night.
Rising early the next morning, Freddie discovered Mr. Rutledge was also an early riser. An invitation for a morning ride turned into an impromptu tour of the park. Mr. Rutledge said little, but when he did speak his questions were intelligent, and he seemed genuinely interested in Freddie’s plans for improving the estate. More importantly, he did not feel compelled to fill every moment with idle chatter. Freddie’s opinion of his new brother-in-law rose a notch. He had had little opportunity to get to know Mr. Rutledge in London, but the more he learned of him, the more he understood why Elizabeth had chosen him.
Returning to the house from the stables, he saw Priscilla and Miss Sommersby had chosen to stroll in the rose garden. For a moment he contemplated turning back, but it was too late. Priscilla raised her hand in greeting, and he knew he had no choice but to go forward.
“Blast,” Freddie said quietly.
Mr. Rutledge raised his eyebrows inquiringly, but said nothing.
Freddie did not offer an explanation. Mr. Rutledge could draw his own conclusions. As they approached the two women, Freddie arranged his features into a semblance of a smile.
“Good morning, ladies,” he said, with a bow. The bow was for the sake of Miss Sommersby. Younger sisters did not rate such courtesies, but as host he had appearances to hold up. He could not help wishing that Priscilla had chosen another young woman as her companion. Any other woman, or even a brace of giggling girls, would have been preferable to having to face the woman who had scorned him only weeks before.
“How fortunate for us that we saw you,” Priscilla said, in a tone of voice that was much too sweet to be sincere. “Mr. Rutledge, Elizabeth was looking for you only moments ago. I believe she is still in the morning room.”
Mr. Rutledge made his excuses, leaving Freddie alone with the two girls. But not for long.
“Oh, dear,” Priscilla said, wrinkling her brow in apparent distaste. “I have only just recalled that I promised Mama I would check to make certain all is in readiness for the guests who will be arriving this weekend, but I dislike having to cut short our stroll.”
“We can return later, or on another day,” Miss Sommersby offered obligingly.
“No, this is such a beautiful day, and you are here as our guest. I am certain that my brother would be pleased to bear you company in my absence.”
Priscilla dimpled up at him, the picture of innocence. Freddie fought the urge to strangle her. He knew perfectly well that their mother would not entrust such a task to the flighty Priscilla. Their formidable housekeeper, Mrs. Braddock, ensured that the house was ready at all times for guests. If the Prince Regent himself were to call, remo
te as that possibility might be, he would find Beechwood Park was ready to receive him on an instant’s notice.
But Priscilla had him trapped, and they both knew it. He could not call his sister a bold-faced liar. At least not while Miss Sommersby looked on.
Nor could he abandon Miss Sommersby to her own devices. As her host, and as a gentleman, Freddie knew what was expected. And he always did what was expected of him.
“Miss Sommersby, I would be happy to offer my escort,” he said, with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner facing the gallows. He hoped she would take the hint, but she did not.
“You are most kind,” she said.
Miss Sommersby resumed walking, and he fell into step beside her. Her appearance, as always, was flawless. Her sprigged muslin gown not only displayed her figure to advantage, but was the precise shade of blue to match her eyes. In one hand she carried a parasol, which she twirled absentmindedly. Freddie was certain there were dozens, if not hundreds, of young gentlemen who would be delighted to exchange places with him.
Unfortunately none of those gentlemen appeared.
They strolled along the marble path that wound around the garden. Originally a rose garden, over the years Lady Frederick had enlarged it, adding beds of rare flowers and surrounding the whole with herbaceous borders. Each bed mixed flowers of different seasons, so from early spring till late autumn there was always something in bloom or about to bloom.
It fell to Freddie to break the silence. “Did my sister tell you anything of the history of this garden?”
Miss Sommersby shook her head.
“This garden was laid out over one hundred years ago, when my ancestor married a Frenchwoman named Marie Claire. As part of her dowry, she brought with her rosebushes from her family’s estate in Provence. The roses in the north bed, and those along the wall are said to be descendants of the first roses that she planted.”
“Indeed,” she said.
“Over the years, each viscountess has chosen to add to the garden in her own way. My mother prides herself on her ability to cultivate the rarest varieties of flowers,” he continued. “Over on the left you can see the Chinese asters, while on the right we have Peruvian marigolds.”
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