An Unlikely Suitor

by Nicola Cornick

  Ellen’s face flushed pink. ‘Oh! May I indeed? You are so kind, Miss Brabant!’ Her expression crumpled. ‘Father was going to drown them, you know! Of all the cruel things! But Barney is so kind and said that he would save them but that I was not to tell—’

  ‘That’s enough, Ellen. I am sure that Miss Brabant has other business to attend to in town!’

  Neither of them had noticed Barney Hammond come round the side of the Angel inn. His hands were in his pockets and he looked relaxed enough, but his dark eyes were watchful. Ellen flushed at the implied rebuke and dropped a little curtsey. ‘Excuse me, Miss Brabant,’ she murmured. ‘I did not intend to presume.’

  Barney gave Lavender a slight bow and took his sister’s arm. They turned away up the street together. Lavender, watching them go, was astonished to discover that she suddenly felt very angry. She was not sure if it was Barney Hammond’s high-handed action in interrupting the conversation that had annoyed her, or the implication that Ellen should not push herself on her notice. Either way, she was not going to let the injustice pass.

  ‘Mr Hammond!’

  Barney and Ellen had only gone five paces and both stopped at the imperious tone. Anxious not to add to the impression of upper-class hauteur, Lavender added politely: ‘Mr Hammond. I should like to speak to you, if you please!’

  She saw Barney hesitate, before he bent and spoke softly to Ellen and the girl scooted off up the road on her own. Barney turned back to Lavender and came forward courteously. His expression showed nothing but polite enquiry, but Lavender wondered what he was thinking behind that inscrutable façade.

  ‘Miss Brabant?’

  Lavender was feeling nervous. She cleared her throat and fixed him with a stern look. ‘Mr Hammond, there was no need to reprimand your sister. She was doing no harm. She is a charming girl.’

  Barney’s civil expression did not waver. He met her look with an equally straight one of his own.

  ‘Miss Brabant, I am sure that you mean well, but I do beg you not to encourage Ellen. Your kind attentions would be sufficient to turn her head, and that would only lead her to wish for more than she could have.’

  There was a long moment whilst their eyes met and held and Lavender had the strangest feeling that he was not simply referring to Ellen’s situation. Her eyes narrowed in a frown, but before she could speak, Barney had sketched a bow and walked away.

  Lavender’s heart was thudding. She watched his tall figure catch Ellen up, saw them exchange a few words, then Barney took her hand and together they strolled up the road, swinging their linked hands as they walked. Lavender felt the foolish tears prickle her eyes. She need scarcely have worried that Ellen would have been hurt by Barney’s reproach. The sign of family unity contradicted that firmly. She was the one left feeling heart-sore. There was no doubt that she had been warned off, and for a misplaced act of kindness too. Yet she could not help but believe that there was more to it than that.

  Lavender burned with embarrassment to think that Barney might have been addressing his words directly to her. Suppose he imagined that she was developing some sort of tendre for him and was trying to advise her that her feelings were inappropriate. It was true that she had imagined that there was some warmth in his manner towards her and had liked it. And last night, when they had met in the wood…A wave of mortification swept over her as she remembered how distracted she had been by the warmth of his touch and the hardness of his body against hers. She was glowering fiercely by the time she reached the end of the street. She had liked and admired Barney Hammond, she told herself angrily, but that was entirely at an end. She doubted that she would ever speak to him again.

  Lavender had always found sketching to be soothing for a troubled mind. During her father’s last illness she had derived great comfort from her drawing, and had even tentatively started work on a pictorial catalogue of the flora of the Steepwood Abbey woodlands. She was meticulously accurate in her sketches and thought that the work had some merit, although she did not dare hope that it would be good enough for publication. Now, however, her work offered just the solace that Lavender needed, and after luncheon she set off with her sketchbook and crayons, and went into the forest.

  It was a beautiful day. The sunlight ran in dappled rivulets beneath the trees and the canopy was alive with the sound of birds, the loud laughing call of the green woodpecker and the chatter of the jay. The leaves were starting to fall and were crunchy beneath her feet and between their crisp covering the mushrooms pushed up. She spread her rug on a bank and sketched a few of the most colourful ones: the amethyst deceiver, with its vivid violet blue cap, and the verdigris toadstool that nestled in the grassy clearings. Gradually the fresh air and the peace had their desired effect and Lavender started to feel better. She drew a clump of wood vetch whose tendrils were clamped around a nearby tree stump. She knelt down to fix the detail of the purple-veined flowers and the fat, black seed pods, and it was only when she got up again that she saw that her skirt was streaked with earth and green with grass stains. The sun was lower now and she knew she had been out for several hours. She studied the sketch; it was good, the proportions were correct and the detail accurate, and she was happy to add it to her portfolio. Perhaps she would even show Caroline what she had done, for her sister-in-law was a keen amateur botanist.

  Lavender packed up her bag, dusted her skirt down, and fixed her bonnet more securely on her head, retying the ribbons. Her hair was coming down and escaping from under the bonnet’s brim—long, straight strands of very fine fair hair that got caught on the breeze. Her cousin Julia had told her often that she was plain and Lavender knew that it was true that she seldom took care of her appearance, but just lately she had thought that her deep blue eyes were a little bit pretty and her figure quite good…Finding by some strange coincidence that her thoughts were drifting from her own appearance to that of Barnabas Hammond, Lavender hastily started to plan the next drawing for her catalogue.

  She was walking along, weighing the rival merits of Caper Spurge and Mountain Melick Grass—neither of them colourful, but both an important part of the botanical record—when she heard the strangest sound and paused to listen. It was not a woodland noise at all—not a sound with which she was very familiar and certainly not one she expected to hear in Steepwood. It was the unmistakable sound of steel on steel.

  Edging forward, Lavender crept down a path that was closely bordered by scrub and the pressing trees. It was not a path she had taken before, but she knew she was walking in the direction of Steepwood Lawn and was not afraid she would become lost. She was more afraid of being seen, but curiosity held her in a strong grip and she picked her way silently and with care. Within a hundred yards the forest fell back, revealing a sweep of green turf that was ideal for a duel and it was here that the contest was taking place. Lavender crept as close as she dared, staying in the cover of the trees. She took refuge behind one broad trunk and peeped round.

  She had seen very few fencing matches, for it was not an activity of which most gently bred females had much experience. Years before, Lewis and Andrew had staged mock fights in the courtyard at Hewly, but Andrew was always too indolent to take them seriously and Lewis had won very quickly. Lavender could tell that this was no such match. She knew that the two men fighting here were doing so for pleasure rather than in earnest, for she could see the buttons on their foils, but she could also tell that they were taking it very seriously. Both were skilled swordsmen and fought with strength and determination, giving no quarter.

  Lavender leant a little closer. One of the men was a complete stranger to her, a fair-haired giant who moved more slowly than his opponent but had the benefit of strength and reach. The other was only a few inches shorter, dark, lithe, muscular…Lavender gave a little squeak and clapped her hand over her mouth. There was no mistake—it had to be Barnabas Hammond.

  It was fortunate that the noise of the contest drowned out Lavender’s involuntary gasp, for the last thing that she want
ed was to be discovered. She stood, both hands pressed against the tree trunk, and stared. A ridiculous image of Barney as she had seen him that very morning floated before her eyes, a vision of him arranging hats on a trestle table. It was absurd. That man and this could surely not be the same—yet when the movement of the fight brought him round so that she could see his face again, Lavender knew there could be no mistake. Forgetting concealment, she simply stood and watched.

  He moved with a speed and strength that held Lavender spellbound. There was something utterly compelling about his confidence and skill. Her avid gaze took in the way his sweat-damp shirt clung to the lines of his shoulders and back, and moved on with mesmerised attention to his close-fitting buckskins and bare feet. His shirt was open at the throat, revealing the strong, brown column of his neck, and the sun glinted on the tawny strands in his hair and turned his skin to a deep bronze. When he finally succeeded in disarming his opponent with a move that sent the other man’s foil flying through the air, he threw back his head and laughed.

  ‘A fine match! You get better, James, I swear you do!’

  Lavender watched as the fair man retrieved his foil from the bushes and threw himself down on the grass. He was laughing too. ‘I rue the day I ever crossed swords with you, Barney! I would challenge you to another round for my revenge, but I am promised to a party at Jaffrey House and dare not be late!’ He sat up, grinning, and started to pull on his boots. ‘You do not know how fortunate you are to be spared such things, old fellow! If it were not for the beautiful blue eyes of a certain Miss Sheldon, I doubt I could stomach it!’ He sighed. ‘But she is the most angelic creature…’

  ‘Spare me.’ Lavender saw Barney grin. ‘Last time I saw you, it was a certain Lady Georgiana Cutler who had taken your fancy!’

  ‘I know!’ The fair-haired man got to his feet. He shook his head. ‘I am fickle! But Lady Georgiana could not hold a candle to Miss Sheldon—’

  ‘Take your languishings off elsewhere,’ Barney advised, picking up his foil. ‘I shall take me to the shop and work at my books whilst you are carousing!’

  ‘Life is damnably unfair!’ The other man grinned, clapping him on the back. ‘You to your studies and me to my fortune-hunting! Ah well. I’ll see you in Northampton, no doubt.’

  They shook hands and Lavender watched him walk off in the direction of Jaffrey House, both foils tucked under his arm. She stayed quite still, watching, as Barney pulled his boots on and started to walk slowly across the greensward towards the trees. His head was bent and the dark hair had fallen across his forehead. He smoothed it back with an absentminded gesture. Lavender could hear him whistling under his breath, a lilting tune that hung on the air.

  She froze where she stood as he passed close by. Of all the odd things she had seen in Steepwood, this had to be amongst the strangest. That Barney Hammond should be such a superlative swordsman was extraordinary, since she could not imagine that fencing was amongst the pursuits that he had learned as a boy. Then there was his friendship with a gentleman who was clearly staying at Jaffrey House, the home of the Earl of Yardley. Lavender had heard that a party was staying at the house and if the Brabants had not been in mourning, they would have been invited to join them. She frowned. It was very odd. But perhaps she was simply being snobbish—again—in expecting Barney to conform to her expectations. He really was a most mysterious man…

  At that moment, craning to get a last glimpse of him before he entered the trees, Lavender took a step forward. There was a deafening snap by her left ankle, something tugged hard at her skirts, and she tumbled over in the grass. The tree canopy spun above her head and her bonnet went bouncing away across the clearing, leaving her sprawled in a heap with her petticoats around her knees and a sharp pain in her left leg. She sat up a little unsteadily and bent to inspect the damage.

  There was a rusty iron trap snapped shut around her skirts, its teeth grinning at her in an evil parody of a smile. Lavender felt a little faint as she realised how close she had come to stepping on it. Another few inches and it would have been her leg between those metal jaws, her bones broken without a doubt. She had seen traps before, man-traps and spring-guns and leg-breakers like this one set to catch poachers, but she had had no idea that she might stumble on such a thing in Steep Wood. She could not imagine who would have set such a trap.

  Worse was to come. From her position prone in the grass she could no longer see Barney, but it seemed impossible that he had not heard the trap going off or the alarm call of the birds as they scattered into the tops of the trees at the sudden noise. Panicking, Lavender tried to get to her feet, then sat down again in a hurry when the weight of the trap made her over-balance. She could not prise it open and it was too heavy for her to pick up, though she would definitely have made a run for it, trap and all, if she could have done so. She could now hear footsteps, coming closer, and she knew they had to belong to Barney. She closed her eyes in an agony of mortification.

  There was a step in the grass beside her, then Barney’s voice said, ‘Miss Brabant! What in God’s name—’

  Lavender opened her eyes. The wind was ruffling his thick dark hair as he stared down at her from what seemed a great height. He had a casual shooting jacket slung over his shoulder, and at close quarters she could see that his buckskins fitted like a second skin and his shirt was still clinging to his muscular torso. Feeling hot and very peculiar, Lavender closed her eyes again.

  She was not sure what was the most embarrassing aspect of her current situation. Perhaps it was being found in such an undignified tumble by such an attractive man, or perhaps the fact that he would guess she had been spying on him was even more embarrassing. She kept her eyes closed and hoped he would go away.

  He did not. Lavender reluctantly opened her eyes again.

  She saw his gaze go to the cut in her leg, and tweaked her skirts down as best she could, but not before he had seen the tell-tale trickle of blood. He frowned and went down on one knee beside her in the grass.

  ‘You are injured! Have you fallen and hurt yourself—’

  The trap was all but covered by Lavender’s skirts. She gestured towards it. ‘As you can see, sir, I have had an accident.’

  Barney’s gaze went from her reddening face to the rusty trap. He bit his lip. Lavender would have sworn that he was about to laugh.

  ‘Oh dear. I see. Presumably it is too heavy for you to hobble home?’

  Lavender’s face reddened even more, this time with fury. ‘Your amusement is misplaced, sir! It is not remotely funny that people go around setting traps strong enough to break a man’s leg! If you cannot find anything more constructive to say, perhaps you should leave me to deal with it as best I may!’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Barney spoke gently. ‘Take comfort from the fact that it did not in fact break any bones. Although,’ his gaze turned back to her ankle, which Lavender was trying to hide under her skirts, ‘I did think that you had sustained a graze…’

  ‘It is nothing!’ Lavender snapped. She did not think that she was spoilt but she felt she was entitled to feel a little sorry for herself. The refusal of this man to sympathise with her predicament was infuriating. Barney was still kneeling by her side and she wished that he would just go away.

  ‘My sister Ellen was caught in a man-trap in these woods once,’ he said conversationally. ‘She was not as fortunate as you, Miss Brabant. She fell into the pit and pierced her arm on a spike. She bears the scar to this day.’

  Lavender was silenced. Suddenly the tears of shock and self-pity were not far away. She sniffed and turned her head away so that he would not see.

  ‘I am sorry,’ she said, a little stiffly, ‘but who would do such a thing—’

  ‘The Marquis of Sywell, I imagine.’ Barney had picked up the trap and was attempting unsuccessfully to open it. ‘He used to derive much pleasure from maiming and killing—man or beast, it did not matter. This is an old trap of his, I am sure.’ He looked at her. ‘I am sorry, but I cannot move
it. You will have to take off your skirt.’

  He spoke in such a matter-of-fact tone that at first Lavender did not register the sense of his words. Then she did and forgot her tears in her outrage. She glared at him. ‘How can you be so nonsensical, Mr Hammond! I shall do no such thing!’

  Barney grinned. ‘Come now, Miss Brabant, this is no time to be missish! I had thought you had more sense than most ladies of your class, but it seems I was wrong!’ He stood up. ‘Have no concern for my feelings! I have three sisters and shall not be shocked!’

  Lavender stared, open-mouthed. It had not occurred to her that he was about to watch.

  ‘But Mr Hammond, you must go away!’

  ‘Miss Brabant,’ Barney gave her a quizzical smile, ‘if I am to help you, I must stay.’

  Lavender tried to struggle to her feet and stumbled as the weight of the trap bore her down again. Immediately, Barney’s arm was about her waist. She could feel the warmth of his hand through the cotton of her dress.

  ‘Let me assist you—’

  ‘No!’ Lavender almost yelped with fright at his touch. ‘Go away! I can manage perfectly well!’

  She realised that she did indeed sound like one of the hen-witted society girls that she so despised. Barney was laughing at her, a twinkle deep in those dark eyes.

  ‘If I let you go you will fall over. Now, pray be sensible, Miss Brabant. You will either need to remove the skirt or at the very least, rip off the offending piece—’

  ‘Thank you,’ Lavender said, knowing that she sounded sulky. ‘I had worked that out for myself! If you will stand a little off, Mr Hammond, I shall do what is necessary!’

  Barney gave her another grin and let her go very gently. Once Lavender had found her balance she discovered that she could manage perfectly well, and was even able to hop into the shelter of a nearby oak, dragging the trap behind her. Having checked suspiciously that Barney was being as good as his word and had turned his back, she slipped her skirt off, her fingers clumsy in their haste. Once she was free of it, it was a relatively simple matter to tear off the strip that was caught, and rearrange the rest about her as decently as possible. When she had finished, she decided that she looked almost respectable, if a little odd. The left-hand side of the skirt was a little lop-sided at the hem, showing a couple of inches of petticoat and an entirely improper glimpse of ankle, but it could have been so much worse. Her leg was sore and stiff from the cut, but she was tolerably certain that she could manage to limp home.