The Chaperon Bride

by Nicola Cornick

  ‘Why, Lady Wycherley, you look famously pretty!’

  Fanny screwed up her hard little face. ‘You look too young to be our chaperon,’ she said disagreeably, and Annis, smiling widely, reflected that that was as close to a compliment as she was ever likely to get from Fanny.

  It was a glorious day and the party was in high spirits as they set off. Lieutenants Norwood and Greaves kept up a flow of easy conversation with the girls, whilst Sir Everard sat reading his poetry and Annis looked out of the carriage window at the view. Howden was an attractive little village and there was a charming riverside path that ran along the bank under the dappled shadow of the willow trees. Fanny and Lucy chattered constantly, seemingly unimpressed by the natural beauty around them. Annis, having ensured that Fanny took Sir Everard’s arm rather than that of Lieutenant Greaves, was content to stroll along behind, enjoying the cool shade.

  They reached a place where the bank opened out into a wide meadow. Lieutenant Greaves started to recite some poetry, in evident mockery of Sir Everard, who frowned at such levity and walked off on his own. The girls giggled. Annis turned away, irritated, and caught sight of a man standing beneath the weeping willows, gazing out across the water meadows to where the spire of a church cut the heat haze. At the sound of voices he turned impatiently and looked as though he was about to stride away. Then he checked. Annis, with a mixture of surprise and hastily repressed anticipation, recognised Adam Ashwick.

  She hesitated. His stance was very much that of a person who wished to be left alone, but it seemed churlish to ignore him when it was obvious that they had recognised one another. After a moment she walked across to join him in the lee of the willows, and Adam sketched a slight bow.

  ‘How do you do, Lady Wycherley?’

  Annis could not tell from his tone whether he was pleased to see her but she thought that probably he was not. She suspected that he was annoyed that she had brought a group of chattering youngsters to spoil the peace.

  She tilted her parasol to shadow her eyes. The reflection off the water was blinding.

  ‘Good afternoon, Lord Ashwick. This is a beautiful spot.’

  Adam Ashwick’s lips twisted into a smile. ‘It is indeed, Lady Wycherley. I often come her when I am looking for a little solitude.’

  There was only one way to take that. Annis blushed and felt vexed, with him for his frankness and with herself for originally being pleased to see him when he so clearly wished to avoid company.

  ‘Then I beg your pardon for spoiling your retreat, sir.’

  She made to walk away, but Adam put a hand on her arm. ‘Lady Wycherley. Forgive me, that was unconscionably clumsy of me. Will you not stay for a little?’

  Annis hesitated. She had enough of an excuse to walk away if she wished, for Fanny and Lucy were now shrieking and running around in a most unladylike fashion. Lieutenant Greaves and Lieutenant Norwood were making impromptu boats from twigs and arranging a race down the river. Sir Everard stood a little apart, arms folded, looking disapproving. He had an unfortunate habit of looking down his nose, Annis thought. Even if he did not mean to appear superior, that was the effect it had. Within the light-hearted group he stood out like a sore thumb.

  ‘Please,’ Adam Ashwick said, persuasively, recalling her attention to him. ‘If there is anyone I would care to share the view with, it is you, ma’am.’

  The blood fizzed beneath Annis’s skin as she blushed again under Adam’s appreciative scrutiny. ‘I am happy to rest a moment in the shade if I am not disturbing you, my lord,’ she temporised. ‘I may only be a moment, though.’

  Adam gestured to a wooden seat set back a little from the water’s edge. They sat down.

  ‘I hope that you have recovered from your experience at the tollbooth the day before yesterday,’ Adam said. ‘I trust you took no lasting hurt?’

  Annis laughed. ‘I am in no danger of being overset by the experience, I thank you, my lord.’

  A smile crept into Adam’s eyes like sunlight on the water. ‘I had not imagined that you would be, but it is conventional to ask. You do not strike me as a frail flower, Lady Wycherley.’

  ‘Well, I should rather hope not. I could not make my own way in the world if I was forever wilting!’

  Adam sat back a little and laid one arm along the back of the seat. Annis found she was strangely aware of his hand resting close to her shoulder. ‘And you have made your own way for…how long, ma’am?’

  ‘Since my husband died, my lord. Eight years, in fact.’

  ‘You had no relatives to whom you might apply for help when you were widowed?’

  ‘Oh, of course.’ Annis made a slight gesture. ‘Sibella and David offered me a home, as did Charles, but I did not wish to be a burden.’ She smiled. ‘Besides, I am a managing female, my lord. I could not bear to spend my time arranging flowers and taking tea when there are so many other things to do.’

  ‘And you have Starbeck to support.’

  ‘Indeed. I could not let Starbeck go.’ Annis hesitated. ‘It is my safe haven. Except—’ she frowned ‘—it is not as sound as I would like it to be. It was quite a shock to see it two days ago.’

  Adam nodded. ‘I was afraid that you would find it so.’ He looked at her very directly. ‘I apologise if I offended you with my remarks about your cousin and Starbeck.’

  Annis looked away. She felt hot and bothered, torn by several conflicting loyalties. ‘Please do not apologise, my lord. I have already spoken to Charles.’

  ‘And sorted matters out, I hope. It is a melancholy thing to be at odds with one’s relatives when you are otherwise alone in the world.’

  Annis felt a little pang inside her; for herself, for Charles, for the fact that Adam Ashwick understood how she felt even though she had never told him. ‘It is indeed, sir. Sibella and Charles are all I have and I value them exceedingly.’

  Adam nodded. For a moment they looked out across the river in silence.

  ‘My late wife used to love this view,’ Adam said abruptly. ‘We would often walk along the river bank and stop here to rest. I had commissioned a painting of it for her, but she died before it was finished.’

  A ripple of breeze ruffled the surface of the river and carried the shouts of the men and the excited calling of the girls to them. Annis could see Fanny hanging over the packhorse bridge to watch the progress of the race. Lieutenant Greaves was leaning over her shoulder, pointing and laughing. There was no sign of Sir Everard.

  ‘I am sorry,’ Annis said softly. ‘I heard that you married young and were most attached to your wife.’

  Adam gave her a lopsided smile. ‘She was the light of my life for five years, Lady Wycherley,’ he said softly.

  There was a fierce ache in Annis’s throat. ‘I envy you, my lord.’ She stood up abruptly. ‘Please excuse me. I do not like to leave the young ladies for too long.’

  Adam stood up too. He did not speak again, but Annis was very conscious of his gaze following her as she walked back across the meadow. There was a pain in her chest and she miserably acknowledged its cause. She was jealous; jealous that her own marriage had in no way lit up the world for anyone and, ignominiously, hotly envious of Adam’s happy relationship with his wife. When she reached the bridge she looked back to where they had been sitting. She could not help herself. But Adam had gone.

  Fanny and Lucy Crossley retired early that night, but Annis sat up with her book for a while, enjoying the solitude that only came to her after her charges had gone to bed. Finally, when she heard the clock strike a quarter past midnight, she put her book aside with a little sigh. She felt restless and knew that she was unlikely to sleep. Nevertheless her eyes were tired from peering at the print in the candlelight and the heat of the day was at last fading, and she knew she should go up to bed.

  Annis blew out the candles, taking one with her into the hall, and went slowly up the stairs.

  Fanny Crossley’s bedroom door was ajar and a slight draught skittered along the landing, raising t
he corner of the rugs. Annis frowned. Fanny hated the cold and was always complaining that Harrogate was a miserable, chilly place, so it seemed odd that she should have her window open. Annis pushed the bedroom door a little wider and held the candle a little higher. The breeze from the window caught the flame and set it spluttering, sending dancing shadows across the bed. The empty bed.

  During the previous month, Fanny had done plenty of things to try Annis’s patience, but this was something else entirely. This was the worst thing that could happen to a chaperon. An empty bed, turned down for the night but pristine and unruffled. Open window, empty bed, missing débutante…The conclusion was inevitable. Fanny had either eloped or she had slipped out for some lovers’ tryst.

  Annis revised her first opinion. It was not as bad as it might be. After all, Lieutenant Greaves might have been in the room with Fanny, or even in the bed for that matter. Not that Annis had ever made such a shocking discovery, but she knew other chaperons that had. She checked the room again. The little minx had been so sure of herself that she had not even stuffed the bolster down the bed to make it look as though she was asleep. That was Fanny all over. Thoughtless, arrogant, risking all for a light flirtation…

  Annis berated herself for allowing the Misses Crossley two days under Lady Anstey’s lenient guardianship—two days which Fanny had no doubt turned to her advantage. She walked across to the open window, setting the candle down on the nightstand. There was no note, which rather suggested that Fanny had not eloped. Annis crossed to the closet and quickly checked through the dresses hanging there. All appeared to be present and there was no suggestion that Fanny had packed a travelling bag. Annis gave a little sigh of relief. There were girls who would run away taking almost nothing with them, believing that love would conquer all, but Fanny Crossley was not such a débutante—at least, not unless her importunate lover had a title.

  Annis sighed and leaned out of the window to see how Fanny might have escaped. There was no convenient ladder leaning against the wall and no drainpipe or clinging ivy to provide a foothold. Annis frowned in puzzlement. She had been in the drawing room all evening, but she had not heard Fanny slip downstairs. Yet it was evident that she had gone somewhere and Annis was convinced that Lieutenant Greaves was the key. Fanny wanted to make an advantageous marriage to a titled man, which was why she had fastened upon Everard Doble. But Sir Everard was dull and Fanny also wanted a little illicit excitement and a few stolen kisses. Hence the Lieutenant. Annis had always known that he would be trouble.

  She latched the window. Fanny would probably be in the garden at the back of the house, clasped firmly in Lieutenant Greaves’s strong arms beneath the summer moon. Annis closed the bedroom door behind her and slipped along the corridor to her own room to collect a cloak, hat and shoes. On the way she paused to peep around Lucy Crossley’s bedroom door. Lucy’s outline was a solid lump in the bed, her breathing deep and even. Annis pulled the door closed with a soft click and tiptoed to the top of the stairs, down into the hall and out through the garden door into the night.

  In the house that backed on to Annis Wycherley’s own, a light still burned in Adam Ashwick’s study. Adam and his younger brother Edward were sharing a bottle of brandy and a game of cards. The brothers looked very alike, with dark, watchful faces and thick dark hair, though there was no grey in Edward’s. He was stockier than Adam, with less of the sportsman’s muscular physique, but he had a readier smile.

  ‘So many invitations, Ash,’ Edward said with a grin, nodding towards the mantelpiece, which was groaning beneath a pile of embossed cards. ‘Mama, Della and I are never so popular when you are out of town!’

  Adam grunted, unimpressed. ‘Am I supposed to feel flattered?’

  ‘Well, I would,’ Edward said frankly. ‘People throwing their wine cellars and their daughters open to you.’

  ‘An unpleasant thought. I fear I shall not be accepting either offer, for I have too much business to attend to.’ Adam tossed his cards down on the table. ‘You win, little brother!’

  ‘That makes a change.’ Edward gathered the cards up and shuffled them. ‘I was surprised that you came back from Eynhallow so soon, Ash. Can Miss Mardyn be the draw?’

  ‘Hardly.’ Adam flashed him the ghost of a grin. Edward was one of the few who knew that Margot Mardyn was not and never had been his mistress. The rest of Harrogate speculated at will. ‘I am sure there are many other gentlemen only too happy to dance attendance on the diva.’

  ‘It is usually the one who gets away that the lady wants,’ Edward said sagely.

  Adam laughed aloud at that. ‘Wise words from a vicar, Ned!’

  ‘I am sure that I see more of life here in Harrogate than you do in London,’ Edward returned.

  ‘Very probably. But I still maintain that Miss Mardyn will not miss my attentions. Why, when we last spoke she had been driving with a certain Lieutenant Greaves who is, I understand, a cousin to Lord Farmoor and in line for a pretty title of his own. She had also taken the spa waters with Sir Everard Doble and had her eye on Charles Lafoy. Quite enough for one woman to be going on with, even one so famously energetic as Miss Mardyn.’

  Edward spluttered into his brandy. ‘I say, Ash!’

  ‘Did you not see one of her admirers spiriting Miss Mardyn away from the theatre the other night?’ Adam asked. ‘I’ll say this for Margot—she works fast!’

  ‘I believe the whole town thought that that was your carriage,’ Edward said.

  ‘They may think what they will.’ Adam shrugged. He was notoriously impervious to public opinion. ‘It was an interesting evening,’ he added drily. ‘I thought it civil of Della to speak to Charles Lafoy when he is Ingram’s man of business.’

  ‘I thought so too.’ Edward hesitated. ‘I sometimes wondered—’ He stopped.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Oh…’ Edward’s ruddy face flushed redder. ‘Nothing. I just wondered sometimes why Della has stayed in Harrogate after Humphrey died.’

  Adam raised his brows. ‘Surely because Eynhallow is her family home?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Edward looked as though he was about to say something else, then thought better of it. ‘She always enjoyed the bright lights of London when she was younger, but perhaps she don’t care so much for that any more.’

  ‘She has only been widowed twelve months,’ Adam pointed out. ‘Maybe when she is out of mourning she will choose to go back.’

  Edward nodded. ‘Poor Della. She was very young to be tied to a sickly wastrel.’ He cast Adam a sideways glance. ‘Much the same age as your Lady Wycherley, I suppose.’

  ‘She is not my Lady Wycherley,’ Adam said coolly, picking up his next hand of cards and studying them for a second. He found he was not concentrating. The idea of his Lady Wycherley seemed to have lodged in his brain with the tenacity of a burr. He looked up to find his brother’s speculative grey gaze resting on him. ‘Devil take it, Ned, what is it?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Edward said again. ‘I thought that you seemed very cosy with Lady Wycherley at the theatre, that is all, and then you did mention that you rescued her from that mob at the tollhouse.’

  Adam smiled. ‘And I met her again today!’

  ‘So?’

  Adam sighed. ‘So…what?’

  ‘So, do you have an interest there, Ash? And must you be so deliberately obtuse?’

  Adam grinned. ‘I beg your pardon. I enjoy talking to Lady Wycherley and I do believe that it makes Lafoy nervous for his cousin to be speaking with the enemy. It is an excellent way to annoy him!’

  Edward frowned. ‘Are you using Lady Wycherley, Ash?’

  Adam sobered. ‘Certainly not. I like her.’ He hesitated. ‘In fact, I like her a great deal.’

  Edward gave a low, soundless whistle. ‘I see.’

  ‘Hold fire, Ned! I am not suggesting that the banns should be read.’ Adam sighed. ‘Annis Wycherley has an aversion to marriage, so I understand. I formed the distinct impression that she holds her independence in h
igh esteem. She is a most unusual female, to protect her liberty so zealously.’

  ‘As she was married to Sir John Wycherley, I can understand her reluctance to remarry,’ Edward said.

  Adam raised a brow. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Wycherley was a dreadful old sea dog.’ Edward shook his head. ‘I don’t believe he distinguished himself in any way in the navy, but he treated his wife like he treated his men, so I hear. With a rule of iron! I’m surprised the poor girl didn’t mutiny!’

  Adam pulled a face. If that was the case, it explained a great deal of Annis’s aversion to the married state. He wondered why she had chosen to marry Sir John Wycherley in the first place. She had said that she had been widowed a long time, which meant that she must have married at a young age. Perhaps she had been seeking security. It was common enough…

  ‘I thought that you said you went to Howden today,’ Edward remarked. ‘Was that where you met Lady Wycherley?’

  ‘It was. I was walking down by the river where I used to go with Mary. Annis Wycherley arrived with those dreadful girls of hers, plus a couple of likely-looking young officers and that stick-in-the-mud Everard Doble.’

  ‘I had heard that Doble was looking for a rich bride.’ Edward looked cynical. ‘Can he believe that Miss Crossley will grace Hansard Court?’

  Adam laughed. ‘Her fortune will certainly grace the place.’ He took a swallow of his brandy, thinking back to the encounter with Annis Wycherley. There was something about her that drew him strongly and he had been thinking about her on and off for the rest of the day. Her candour and her innocence were both exceptionally attractive. They called forth an equal openness from him. He had been astounded to find himself speaking to her of his love for Mary, for he had seldom shared his feelings with anyone, least of all a mere acquaintance. Yet he had felt quite comfortable speaking to Annis.

  Adam frowned. Innocence was not the first quality that one expected to find in a widowed chaperon, particularly a lady who had travelled as widely as Annis Wycherley and had also been her own mistress from a young age. If it came to that, innocence was not an attribute one came across very often at all, particularly not in the circles in which he moved. It was not that Annis Wycherley was naïve—far from it. There was simply some bright, open quality about her that attracted him. When he had seen her by the river in her pale pink muslin dress with the wind ruffling the ribbons of her straw hat…