The Six Month Marriage

by Amanda Grange

  Madeline had not known whether he would obey her new instructions but evidently her logic, together with her tone of authority, had persuaded him.

  She set off along the drive. It was pleasantly cool now that the sun had almost gone down, and she found herself enjoying the walk. The exercise was beneficial and soon began to calm her overwrought nerves. But as her body grew calmer, her mind grew more active. What had been the meaning of the shot? Who had fired it? Why had they done so? Had they been shooting at someone in particular? And if so, who?

  Was Philip in any danger? Though she was worried about him, she had to admit to herself that it did not seem likely. The shot had not been fired at him, but had instead been fired some distance away from him.

  What then? Had the shot really some connection to the man who had saved Philip’s life? She had thought so at first. But perhaps she was mistaken. Perhaps it had a more mundane cause. It might simply have been fired by a poacher trying to bag a bird.

  She shook her head. She had no way of knowing what had really happened, and it was useless to think about it.

  She was endeavouring to put it out of her mind when she heard the sound of hoof beats galloping towards her. She turned round, expecting to see that Philip had returned, but instead she saw a total stranger riding towards her on a foaming black mount. His hair was long and his clothes were badly stained. There was a look of wildness about him as he hurtled towards her. His eyes were fixed and his hair was flying behind him in the breeze.

  For a moment Madeline froze. And then she began to run. Before realising that running in front of a horseman who was almost upon her would be useless, as she would never be able to outrace a horse. She stopped and looked around for cover. But too late! The horseman reined in his horse in one assured movement and leapt to the ground in front of her. She stepped back . . . then stood stock still in amazement as, instead of attacking her, he swept off his hat and made her an extravagant bow.

  ‘My apologies, Countess,’ he said with a laugh, his teeth gleaming and his eyes dancing. ‘I didn’t meant to startle you. Jack Saunders at your service.’ He straightened up and his eyes glanced merrily over her. ‘You are the Countess of Pemberton?’ he asked.

  Madeline could do nothing but nod mutely, still too stunned to speak.

  ‘Funny, I thought . . . ’ he said, seeming to remember that Philip had talked of marrying Letitia Bligh. ‘But no matter. I am delighted to meet you. I wanted to speak to Philip, but as I can’t wait for him to get back and as I have no desire to follow him, for he has ridden off in the direction of my pursuers and I’ve no intention of getting caught, I will ask you to give him this.’

  He drew a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Madeline.

  ‘Tell him, if he doesn’t hear from me again by the end of the week, he’s to get this to Callaghan with all speed.’

  Madeline took the piece of paper. Despite his unkempt appearance there was something so appealingly roguish about the man who stood before her that she had no hesitation in promising to do as he asked.

  ‘I’ll give it to him as soon as I see him,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you.’ He made her another extravagant bow and then, seizing her hand, he planted a kiss on it before springing back on to his horse and galloping away.

  Madeline watched his retreating figure until it was no more than a speck in the distance. Unless she mistook the matter entirely, she had just met the man who had saved Philip’s life.

  Once he had disappeared from view she turned her attention to the crumpled piece of paper. What could be so important that a man would be willing to risk his life for it? she wondered.

  But before she had time to smooth it out and look at it properly she heard another thudding of hooves and realised Philip must have returned. She looked up . . . only to see a second stranger bearing down on her. Icy fingers clutched at her insides. Although this man was clean shaven and well dressed, there was something about him that made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. This time, however, she had more of a head start. She hesitated for only a second and then she turned and ran. If she could just get near enough to the Manor to be seen, then the servants would come to her aid. But the hooves were getting louder. They were thrumming in her ears. She looked over her shoulder, and saw the man’s arm outstretched to grasp her. Instinctively she ducked . . . and felt his arm snatch at the empty air over her head. She heaved a sigh of relief as he galloped past. But then, to her horror, she saw him wheel his mount and charge straight towards her again.

  Her heart began to hammer in her chest. She must get away.

  And then she heard a shout behind her and looking round saw Philip, his face grim, riding towards her hell for leather, his coat tails streaming behind him in the wind.

  Two horses, one in front, one behind, on a collision course, and she was in the middle. She must move, spring aside . . . Without conscious thought she threw herself out of the way of the two beasts, leaving them to pass within an inch of each other. As they did so Philip took one hand off the reins and in a single fluid movement struck his adversary a powerful blow across the chest. The stranger fell, a look of fury on his face, already beginning to roll as he hit the ground . . . but he struck a large stone with his head as he fell and he did not get up again.

  Philip leapt from his horse and went over to his fallen adversary, making sure the man was truly unconscious, before rounding on Madeline.

  ‘What the devil do you think you’re doing, walking back to the Manor on your own?’

  His voice was thunderous.

  ‘Bates was needed to see to the carriage and catch the horses. I saw no need to take him with me.’

  ‘I gave orders —’

  ‘And I countermanded them.’

  ‘You had no right . . . ’ he began, seething.

  ‘I am the Countess of Pemberton! I had every right,’ flashed Madeline. ‘Besides, what good could Bates have done against armed and mounted men?’

  ‘This isn’t a picnic,’ he said, grasping her elbows, his eyes boring into her own. ‘These men are killers. The next time I tell you to do something, you do it. Do you understand?’

  ‘Are you attempting to give me orders?’ she demanded, beginning to shake. Her father had given her mother orders. Her uncle had given her orders. She had thought Philip was different, but she was wrong.

  ‘For goodness sake, Madeline,’ he said. ‘There’s a time when orders are necessary. You should know that, having seen what you’ve just seen.’

  She was about to make a hot reply when there was a rumbling noise. Unseen and unheard by either of them, the coach had been righted and was pulling up alongside them.

  Philip let go of Madeline’s elbows and turned to Bates. ‘I thought I told you to escort the Countess back to the Manor,’ he said to the coachman angrily as the man reined in the horses.

  ‘It is not his fault,’ Madeline returned, ‘as I have already told you. I ordered him to see to the carriage.’

  ‘Then now that it has been righted I suggest you avail yourself of it,’ said Philip curtly. And bundling her inside, he said sharply to the coachman, ‘Take the Countess back to the Manor. And do not accept any countermanding of my orders ever again. Do you understand me?’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ said Bates with a gulp. He whipped up the horses and the carriage pulled away.

  And why did I over-react like that? thought Philip angrily to himself as the carriage rumbled off down the drive. From the moment I first set eyes on Madeline I have wanted to protect her, and yet I have just berated her in the most unforgivable way.

  But he knew why he had done it. He had done it because the thought of Madeline being hurt had terrified him.

  Because without Madeline he could not claim his fortune, he told himself. But he knew, even as he thought it, this was not the real reason he had been afraid. He had been afraid because she was coming to mean something to him, something beyond a means to an end.

  Bu
t her feelings for him were unchanged. She was afraid of him, afraid of all men, and the only way for him to still that fear was to go through with his side of the bargain.

  And going through with the bargain was what he wanted, he reminded himself. Madeline might be coming to mean more to him than he had expected, but that did not mean that he wanted to change his future.

  Drawing his thoughts back to the present he slung the unconscious body of his adversary over the man’s horse, mounted his own animal and followed the carriage back to the Manor.

  ‘Will you be so good as to tell the Earl I must speak with him urgently when he returns?’ Madeline asked Crump as she swept in to the hall. ‘I will be in my room.’

  ‘Yes, my lady,’ said Crump.

  Madeline went upstairs. To her annoyance, she found that she was shaking.

  Why had Philip been so angry? Why had he given her orders? Why had he behaved like her father and her uncle, when she had thought he was different?

  He is different, said a small voice inside her. He is not angry with you because he wants to hurt you. He is angry because he cares.

  But that thought was too disturbing to contemplate, and she pushed it from her mind.

  Once in her room she rang for Jenny. The accident had left her dirty, and she wanted to clean and freshen herself before going downstairs to see Philip.

  She removed her cape and bonnet, then noticed that her dress was torn. Really, it was not surprising. She had been thrown about so much in the carriage it was a wonder the damage was not worse.

  Jenny soon arrived, gasping, ‘Oh, my lady, what has happened?’ as she entered the room.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Madeline reassuringly. ‘A slight accident that’s all.’

  ‘I’d best fetch hot water,’ said Jenny, suiting her actions to her words.

  She returned not long afterwards with a jug of hot water and poured it into the basin, then set about helping Madeline to undress.

  ‘Your arms!’ exclaimed Jenny.

  Madeline looked down. A number of bruises were beginning to show.

  ‘I’d better have another gown with long sleeves,’ said Madeline, relieved that the weather was cool so that she would be able to disguise the bruises. ‘The spotted muslin, I think.’

  ‘Very good, my lady.’

  Jenny laid the spotted muslin on the bed. She helped Madeline to sponge herself down and then eased her into the pink-spotted gown.

  ‘That’s much better,’ said Madeline with relief. No one would now guess she had been in an accident.

  ‘I’ll just see to your hair, my lady,’ said Jenny. She unpinned Madeline’s chignon, which was already falling down, and then said in concern, ‘Your forehead, my lady.’

  Madeline looked in the glass. There was a long cut on her forehead. It was not serious, but it needed to be bathed.

  ‘How did it happen?’ asked Jenny as she poured a clean basin of water and then sponged away the dried blood. ‘I thought you went out in the carriage. Did it overturn?’

  ‘Unfortunately, yes.’ Madeline described how the horses had bolted, without, however, mentioning the shot as she saw no need to alarm Jenny.

  Jenny had fortunately heard nothing about the accident in the servants’ hall, as it had happened so recently, and so she did not ask any awkward questions. She simply busied herself with seeing to Madeline’s cut, and then announced that she had done.

  Madeline examined her forehead in the mirror and was relieved to see that it was no longer bleeding.

  ‘If I tease out a few more ringlets,’ said Jenny thoughtfully, ‘they should cover the cut, my lady.’ Deftly she rearranged the ringlets that framed Madeline’s face, brushing them carefully until they hid the cut, then stood back.

  ‘That’s much better,’ said Madeline, surveying the results. ‘Thank you, Jenny.’

  Dressed in her clean spotted muslin gown, and with her hair neatly rearranged, Madeline felt better able to face Philip. They had parted on bad terms, and something told her there would be more difficulties to come.

  She straightened the neckline of her gown, picked up her fan and reticule, and went downstairs.

  ‘The Earl will be with you directly, my lady,’ said Crump, meeting Madeline in the hall. ‘He has caught a poacher, and is making arrangements for the man’s detention.’

  A poacher? thought Madeline in surprise. Before realising that Philip must have invented a story about a poacher to conceal the truth, as the truth may well alarm the neighbourhood.

  Madeline went through in to the drawing-room, where a few minutes later Philip joined her.

  She could see at once that his good humour had not been restored. However, she could not put it off any longer. She must hand over Jack’s message without delay.

  ‘I would like to speak to you, my lord,’ she said, as Philip did not say anything.

  His manner was curt. ‘So Crump said.’

  ‘I would not trouble you if it was not important,’ she said, angered by his attitude.

  ‘Very well.’ He sat down on the edge of a Hepplewhite chair. ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘I have something for you.’

  His look seemed to imply that nothing she could give him would interest him.

  She took the crumpled piece of paper out of her reticule and held it out to him. ‘It is from Jack.’

  At once he was alert. ‘Jack?’ He all but snatched the piece of paper from her, standing up as he did so. ‘From Jack, you say?’ he asked, as though he suspected he had not heard her aright.

  ‘Yes. Jack Saunders.’

  ‘But how . . . ?’ he began.

  ‘He rode up to me when I was walking back to the Manor. He leapt off his horse and handed me the piece of paper. It was you he wanted to see, but you were too close to his pursuers and he did not want to risk getting caught, so he followed me instead. He gave me the piece of paper you are now holding. He said, if he hasn’t contacted you by the end of the week, you’re to give it to Callaghan. Does that make sense to you?’

  Philip smoothed out the piece of paper and studied it thoughtfully. ‘It might do.’ He looked at her. ‘What makes you say the man you saw was Jack?’

  ‘He introduced himself.’

  ‘That means nothing,’ said Philip with a frown. ‘Anyone could claim to be Jack and you wouldn’t know the difference. This may be false information. Tell me exactly what this "Jack" did and said.’

  ‘He leapt off his horse, swept off his hat, and made me a low bow,’ said Madeline, remembering. ‘Then he said, "My apologies, Countess. I didn’t mean to startle you. Jack Saunders at your service." Then he gave me the piece of paper and asked me to give it to you.’

  ‘Did he say anything else?’

  Madeline shook her head. ‘He did not have time. He simply kissed my hand and then sprang back on his horse.’

  ‘It certainly sounds like Jack,’ said Philip with an unwilling smile. ‘Only Jack would take the time to kiss your hand if he was being pursued. And then?’

  ‘And then he rode away. Just before the other man bore down on me.’

  She looked at Philip defiantly, half expecting him to rail at her again for having disobeyed him by walking back to the Manor alone. But he did not do so.

  Neither, however, did he offer her an apology for his earlier outburst.

  Instead he seemed to have forgotten all about it. Engrossed in examining the crumpled piece of paper, he seemed to have forgotten about her, too.

  Without looking at her or speaking to her again he turned on his heel and walked out of the room.

  Not an hour later Philip was in his study, sitting at his desk. In front of him stood a capable-looking man in rough clothes, who looked half-way between a workman and a bruiser.

  The last time he had offered Madeline a bodyguard she had refused one, recalled Philip. But the idea of her being hurt was too terrible to contemplate, and after this last dangerous episode he did not intend to give her a choice.

  ‘Jenkin
s,’ said Philip, ‘I have a job for you A delicate job.’ He looked at the man appraisingly, then asked, ‘You’ve heard what happened here this afternoon, I take it?’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘Good. Then I don’t need to brief you on the . . . disturbance, shall we say. There is a possibility that something like it may happen again., and I want to make sure that whatever happens the Countess is safe. I want you to watch over her. You are to follow her every time she leaves the Manor, and you are never to let her out of your sight. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘That part of the job is easy enough. It is the next part that is difficult. The Countess objects to being followed. Therefore you must make sure that she never catches sight of you. You must be her shadow, but an invisible one. Follow her, but discreetly.’ He remembered her treatment at the hands of her uncle, but whilst he understood her objections to being followed, he was no longer prepared to risk her safety. ‘I don’t want her to feel watched or hemmed in,’ he cautioned the man.

  ‘I understand, my lord.’

  ‘Good. If the Countess is ever in any danger it is your job to make sure she returns to the Manor safely. Nothing else matters. You are not to chase her pursuers, nor to leave her unguarded for any other reason. The Countess’s safety is your priority at all times.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘Very good. Oh, and one other thing, Jenkins,’ he said, as the man was about to leave. ‘Make sure you are armed.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’ Jenkins bowed and withdrew.

  Philip went over to a locked cupboard at the side of the room and took out a pair of pistols. He did not know exactly what was going on, but he knew that Jack was intending to return to Stonecrop, if he could, within the week, and if Jack was intending to return then his pursuers may well return as well and Philip meant to be prepared.

  He loaded both pistols and put them back in the cupboard, then drew out the piece of paper Jack had given to Madeline again. It contained two names: Tythering and Peters.

  The first name meant nothing to him. But the second . . . He thought of the man he had captured in the driveway, who was now under guard in one of the barns. Whilst the man had still been unconscious Philip had gone through his pockets and found a letter addressed to Crispin Peters. It had not been conclusive: the letter did not necessarily belong to the man himself. But when he had come round Philip had addressed him as Peters and he had responded.