For days, not able to understand how I could hate you, yet long for you with all my heart. Now I understand. You could, and should, have kept what you learnt to yourself, for me. If you did not love me enough to protect, then you did not love me enough to make me happy.”
He silenced her by lowering his head and pressing his lips to hers, but the spark was gone and though she responded, they both knew it was a farewell and not a new beginning.
When he escorted her into the hall he found Isobel sitting on a chair, waiting for her sister. Charlotte took her leave of him very formally, offering him her hand which he held only for a moment, kissed swiftly, then released. As she went out to the waiting carriage, Isobel stood and much to Underwood’s surprise, she approached him and stood on her tiptoes in order to reach him. Instinctively he bent so that she could attain her goal. She kissed him softly on the cheek, the same cheek Charlotte had slapped, and which still bore traces of reddened finger marks, “I like you very much, Mr. Underwood,” she whispered shyly, “I think Charlotte is stupid not to marry you – and I’m very glad you killed my papa. He was a hateful man!”
He was appalled, “I didn’t kill…” he trailed off, suddenly aware that in Isobel’s and probably Charlotte’s opinions kill their father was precisely what he had done, “Goodbye, Isobel,” he said sadly.
“May I write to you?” she asked diffidently. He knew he should refuse the request, that all connection with the Wynters should be cut, swift and painless, like pruning a dead branch from a tree before disease can affect the whole, but he could not quite bring himself to do it, “I should be happy to occasionally hear how you are faring,” he said, weakly.
“And you will give my love to Miss Chapell?”
“Yes, yes I will.”
“You should marry her, Mr. Underwood. She really is much nicer than Charlotte.”
He smiled at her childish method of solving all the misery. If one love affair doesn’t work, simply move on to another.
“I don’t think Miss Chapell has any idea of marrying me, Isobel.”
“Oh yes, she does! Goodbye, Mr. Underwood.”
She went briskly to join her sister, who sat in the carriage, staring straight ahead, not even turning to give him a last glance as the vehicle pulled away. Underwood closed the front door very gently.
Rev. Blackwell was walking down the stairs as his guest turned away from the door and Underwood raised his eyes to look at him.
“I have an apology to make, Underwood. Obviously I should not have brought Charlotte here?” There was a note of diffidence in his tone which Underwood had never heard before from the usually confident clergyman, and which caused a smile to light briefly on his sombre features, “No, my dear fellow. No apology necessary. You did exactly the right thing – as usual. Charlotte and I needed to see each other and finish the thing properly. Loose ends have a habit of tripping one up.”
Blackwell smiled, a mixture of relief and affection, “You have a succinct way of expressing yourself, Underwood. Now you can out this incident, and the others we have discussed, firmly behind you and pick up the threads of your life.”
Underwood smiled rather humourlessly, “Strangely enough, despite everything, I think I can. Thank you for your hospitality, Blackwell, and your counsel, but I think I am ready to go home now.”
“The pleasure has been entirely mine, my dear fellow. There is a stage leaving tomorrow, and I took the liberty of booking your seat for you. Your mother has been appraised of your imminent arrival, and your brother has been granted a short holiday, leaving Bracken Tor in the very capable hands of the newly returned Pollock!”
When Underwood laughed, it had the ring of authenticity, “Are you ever wrong about anything, Blackwell?”
“Not often, Underwood, not often.”
*
A summer spent at his childhood home, just outside Bath, did much to restore and repair Underwood’s battered reserves of strength, though he could not, as ever, be persuaded to take the waters.
He began to write a very erudite, and extremely boring, book. He walked for miles with his mother and Miss Chapell, who had been quickly persuaded that she was not suited to the life of servitude which was the lot of a governess, and accepted an offer to stay as Mrs. Underwood’s paid companion. Verity knew this was a kindly civility, and that Mrs. Underwood had managed for years alone, but she could not help but grant herself these last few precious weeks in Mr. Underwood’s company. She was fully aware that when he went back to Cambridge for the winter term, it would be for good, and that she would never see him again. When that happened, she would have to decide whether to accept Gil’s offer of marriage, or to find some new source of employment.
Gil returned to Bracken Tor only briefly, to arrange for his property to be packed and removed from the vicarage. It was not a comfortable visit. He confided the story to Verity, but would tell Underwood nothing. Edwin Wynter was happily established at the Court, and had brought the girls home, Jane to be his housekeeper, the others to give his presence an air of respectability, for Harry’s situation was regarded as scandalous by many. Harry himself seemed to be quite happy in his life as a farmer. Harriet made sure he had a horse to ride, and his old cronies from his past life were kindly making sure he was occasionally invited to meets and shoots. Had they been aware of his true, and humble, roots, they would doubtless have dropped him, but as far as they knew, he had merely suffered a reversal of fortune. He had greeted Gil with surly aggression, for he blamed the Underwood’s utterly for the death of a father whom he, at least, had always held in the greatest affection – until the last, vitriolic meeting, when his rejection had shocked and wounded the boy.
Underwood’s original aim that the word ‘unknown’ be replaced on the gravestone with a name was also doomed to failure. As the new power in the district, Edwin Wynter refused absolutely to have the stone interfered with, for, as he had privately and bitterly pointed out; what name could they use? Adela Wynter was out of the question, for in law, no such person existed. She had lived as Mary Hazelhurst, also a lie, and died as Mary Smith, but how pointless to carve that on the stone when it was also false. So ‘unknown’ remained, and when Gil went, as a last gesture, to place flowers on the unhappy mound of earth, he found that Harriet Hazelhurst had been there first.
Gil and Verity agreed that Underwood must never know these things, and grew ever closer to each other in a kindly conspiracy to keep Underwood in ignorance. Underwood noticed their mutual affection, but placed an entirely different complexion upon it.
With the first fall of leaves, the early morning chill, the remnants of mist which lingered in the hollows, Underwood knew the time had come to make his decision. Cambridge beckoned strongly and he found his missed his rooms, dark-panelled and musty, that he even missed his boys – but only a very little. He looked forward to a winter closeted within the thick stone walls, which shut out the fiercest winds and held the world at bay.
Mrs. Underwood, realizing as clearly as Verity, that once shut away, Underwood looked unlikely to ever re-emerge, went in frantic search of her young friend. She wasted no time upon pointless pleasantries, but came straight to the point,
“He is going back to Cambridge, Verity. What are you going to do about it?”
Verity was shocked, and showed it, “What has it to do with me? It is not my business. I cannot intervene.”
“But you must. We both know that if he goes back now, he might just as well enter a monastery.”
“Mrs. Underwood…” began Verity in protest, but the older woman brushed aside her interjection with a wave of her hand, “Verity, I want grandchildren. If I don’t take a hand now, I might never have them.”
Verity blushed at such forthright expressiveness, but admitted shyly, “Gil has proposed to me.”
“But you are in love with Chuffy.” Mrs. Underwood blundered on, not seeming to notice that she had shocked Verity by voicing a knowledge which Verity thought she had kept closely confined, �
��Mistake me not, I adore both my sons, and Chuffy is not one whit better than Gil. In fact, in many ways, he’s more of a trial to me, but on this occasion Gil must shift for himself. At least he is out and about in the world, and there is always a slim chance he might find himself a girl – but how is Underwood to fall in love if he never sees a woman from one year’s end to the next? No, I am quite determined! It would be better for Chuffy to marry a woman who loves him, rather than the other way about, for he has notoriously poor taste and always chooses the wrong types. Even poor Elinor, God rest her soul, was so delicate that a good gust of wind would have felled her.”
Verity was inclined to ask further about the mysterious Elinor, but managed to restrain herself. Once started on another subject, Mrs. Underwood was likely to completely lose her train of thought.
“But I can’t force myself into his notice; I can’t ask him to marry me,” she said hotly, feeling that it was most unfair of Mrs. Underwood to show so little concern for her emotions in all the mess. Of course, there was nothing she desired more than to marry the man she loved, but what could be worse for a woman, than knowing that her husband was not only not in love with her, but was still deeply in love with another?
She said as much to Mrs. Underwood, who was at once contrite, “Poor Verity. I did not mean to be so bombastic. It just distresses me so, to see both you and Chuffy throwing away what might be your only chance of happiness. Don’t you think I know, beyond any shadow of doubt that Underwood will fall in love with you, once the idea penetrates his thick skull? If I recall, it was Charlotte and not he, who initiated their romance. Why should you not do the same?”
Verity had to admit this was true, but how could she explain to the doting mother that it took more courage than she knew she possessed to risk a rebuff from the man she adored. Better to keep Underwood as a friend and retain her dignity, than see his embarrassment when he tried to explain that he had never thought of her as an attractive woman.
By the following Saturday Miss Chapell had still made no decision and when she woke early, stricken with a painfully sore throat and a pounding headache, she was scarcely surprised.
Mrs. Underwood was solicitous in the extreme, sending for the doctor and insisting that her companion kept to her bed. The doctor diagnosed a bad cold, which Verity could have told him, and suggested she take a tonic he made himself. A more foul liquid she had never tasted, and it was whilst she was pulling the ugliest of wry faces that Mr. Underwood entered the room to ask how she did. His laughter alerted his mother to this presence, but instead of chiding him for entering a lady’s bedroom uninvited, she hastily removed herself and the doctor, leaving the couple alone.
Mr. Underwood, who was as inordinately fond of comfits as he was of snuff, just happened to have some in his pocket and he offered one to Miss Chapell to take away the nasty taste. She took one gratefully, then huskily bade him draw up a chair and sit with her for a few minutes.
She waited until he was comfortably settled before speaking again, “I have been wanting to talk to you, Mr. Underwood,” she said hesitantly, her voice made gruff and throaty by her affliction. He smiled and helped himself to a comfit, “You need only ask, I am always at your disposal.”
“Thank you. I should like you to give me some advice.”
He gave a self deprecating laugh, “Now, that is something I never offer. It is the most dangerous undertaking in the world, giving advice.”
“Why?”
“If the advice is bad, one takes the blame, if good, the recipient prefers to believe that it was his or her own brilliance which caused the success.”
She looked so crest-fallen that he was forced to retract, “I’m only teasing, my dear. Ask away, and I shall do my utmost to assist you.”
She gazed thoughtfully at his profile, for his attention seemed to be anywhere in the room but on her. In truth he was thinking how charming the plain room looked, since Verity had taken possession of it and had brought so many touches of homeliness to it. Many of her sketches and paintings adorned the walls, and vases of flowers added colour and scent just where it was needed.
“Gil arrives next week to perform the wedding service for your mother and General Milner, and that means she will no longer need a companion.”
“I’m sure my mother is in no hurry to send you away, my dear. She is very fond of you.”
“I know that, but I will have to go sooner or later.”
“I have to admit, I had not quite realized you would be going away…” he broke off, mildly embarrassed, a slight frown marring his features briefly, “However,” he rallied swiftly, “you need not fear we will be unhelpful. On the contrary, I am sure my mother will do her utmost to find you other employment and provide you with a sparkling reference.”
“Mrs. Underwood has been so very kind. I shall miss her dreadfully,” said Verity quietly.
He looked at her and she was surprised to see concern for her in his eyes,
“You know, Verity, you would be well not to allow yourself to grow so attached to your charges, or it will always be painful for you to change employment.”
She smiled gently, “When my heart prompts, I wish I could but ignore it, Mr. Underwood.”
His frown deepened, “You worry me, Verity. I fear you are too vulnerable to be let loose in the world alone.”
“Perhaps I should accept Gil’s offer, then,” she snapped with swift irritation, annoyed that he should think her so weak and witless.
Suddenly he was all attention, “Gilbert has offered for you?” he asked, his tone as sharp as her had been.
“Yes,” she answered, almost defiantly.
He recovered his equanimity very quickly, but not before she had seen that the news had taken him unawares, “Congratulations, Miss Chapell,” he said dryly, “you have succeeded where many another woman has failed. I have never known my brother offer marriage before.”
“But should I accept, Mr. Underwood? Am I the sort of woman who would make a good vicar’s wife?”
“Good God! Why ask me? You would be admirable in any role, I imagine, but what of Gil. Are you in love with him? I suppose that is what matters most.”
“I am fond of him,” she admitted carefully, “But I own, I feel more towards him as I should feel to a brother, had I ever possessed one.”
Was it her imagination, or did this seem to relieve his mind of some faint worry?
“Does Gil know this is all you feel for him?”
“Oh yes. I would never be less than honest, Mr. Underwood.”
“Then if he sees no obstacle, I see no reason why you should be troubled either.”
“And you would not object if I married him?” she asked carefully, her heart pounding in her throat.
He did not answer the question, but looked deep into her eyes. Verity felt her resolve crumble and she was astounded that she had found sufficient courage to speak thus to him. It took every ounce of determination she possessed to stop herself confessing the whole to him and assuring him that she could never marry one brother whilst she loved the other. He looked angry, as though he despised her dispassionate appraisal of the situation, “Is marriage truly what you want, Miss Chapell?”
She swallowed deeply before nodding her assent.
“I confess I’m astounded. I had thought better of you, but in the circumstances, I think it would be better if you married me. I would not have Gil marry a woman who did not value him as she should!” With that he rose and went away, leaving Verity ashamed and tearful. She had what she wanted, but at what price? He sounded as though he hated her.
*
Gilbert was delighted when he was told he had two weddings at which he must officiate. He found a moment alone with Verity to congratulate her upon her betrothal, but was puzzled to find that his words seemed to distress her.
“What ails you, Verity? I should have thought you would be the happiest of women now that you have attained your heart’s desire.”
Verity was mortified
to have to admit the truth, “Oh, Gil, he is only marrying me to save you from my evil machinations.”
“What?”
She explained everything and to her utter misery and humiliation he laughed long and hearty, “Good Gad, Verity! What on earth possessed you to say such things?”
“Your mother said I ought to make him jealous,” she said, with a melancholy little sniff. He hugged her.
“Believe me, my dear, you have done so, with great success. My brother is suffering torments, and I intend to make him suffer a little more, before I put him out of his misery.”
He sought out his brother and when he found him, in their father’s old study, he castigated him with as much fervour as he could manage without laughing.
“Chuffy, you are a brute!”
Underwood was very much on his dignity and glanced superciliously at his brother before responding, “I trust you have some adequate excuse for that unwarranted outburst, Gilbert.”
“I certainly have. Not only have you stolen from me the finest woman who ever drew breath, but you have the audacity to inform her you have only done so for my own good.”
Mr. Underwood was at once contrite, his expression of horror and confusion amply demonstrating how appalled he was to think he had taken away the woman he loved from his brother, “Good God, Gil! I had no notion you felt so strongly about her. She gave me to understand…”
“Don’t try and blame Verity for this.”
“But why the devil has she agreed to marry me? Heaven knows I should never have come between you had I only known how you felt. Can you ever forgive me? You showed not the slightest partiality…”
“For God’s sake, Chuffy, be quiet,” intercepted Gil, unable to quell his amusement any longer, “Are you completely blind? Verity is in love with you, and has been from the first moment she met you. I only offered for her because you seemed intent on the folly of marrying the Wynter chit. I am no more fond of Verity than I would be of a sister, but that does not prevent me from recognizing what you evidently do not. She is the perfect wife for you!”
A Noble Pair of Brothers (The Underwood Mysteries Book 1) Page 31