Bless Us With Content

by Tinnean

  “Arabella! Oh, my dearest child, what is the matter?”

  “It’s from William!”

  “From William? He’s still in the country?” Aunt Cecily appeared not to know whether to be relieved or alarmed. My heart lurched, for if he was, so was John also.

  “No. He was about to take ship for the Americas. He’s… oh, Aunt Cecy! He’s releasing me from our engagement!”

  “Let me see that, if you please?”

  Arabella held out the letter blindly, her face buried in her arm, and Aunt Cecily took it.

  “Aunt? May I… may I know what it says?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course, Ashton. I’ll read it aloud.” She drew a breath and began. “My dearest Belle, I am writing this aboard the Peregrine Falcon, a three-masted schooner which will sail out of Liverpool on the tide—”

  “What care I what ship is taking my William from me?” Arabella cried.

  “I imagine the poor boy was as distracted by circumstances as you, Arabella. By the time this reaches you, we….” She paused to look up. “The ‘we’ is scored out. I pray William is not alone and that his brothers are, indeed, with him! I will never believe them capable of stealing something of value!” She cleared her throat and continued. “By the time this reaches you, I shall have set sail for America. There are vast opportunities there, and with the help of the Almighty, I hope to make my fortune and so somehow repay Aunt Cecy. What was done was unforgivable, and yet I must hope that given her kind heart and loving nature, she will one day be able to forgive.

  “My darling girl, it breaks my heart to do this, but I must end our engagement. I do not know how long I will be from the shores of my birth—or if, indeed, ever I may return—and so I would be the veriest cad to hold you to an understanding made in happier times. Forgive me, dearest, and forget me. All I ask is that you do not forget me too soon.

  “Give Aunt Cecy our deepest love and assurance that what was done, was done with the best will in the world.

  “I remain, until the end of time, Ever your loving, William.”

  “Never! I will never forget him!” Arabella thrust back her chair and, sobbing, ran from the room.

  “Pray excuse me, Ashton.”

  “Of course, Aunt.”

  But Aunt Cecily had already risen and was hurrying after Arabella.

  The letter was left lying on the table. I picked it up, hoping there might possibly be a postscript containing word of John, but there was nothing.

  Well, there was an end to it then, for both Arabella and myself.

  My appetite gone, I pushed away from the table and returned to my room to dress in clothing more suitable for the day’s tasks.

  “Arabella is taking a tray in her room,” Aunt Cecily informed me as we sat down to dinner that evening.

  “Ah.”

  “I’d….” She paused to take a sip of her wine. “There is something I feel we need to discuss, Ashton.”

  “Yes, Aunt?”

  “I have been giving this some thought. Arabella needs to be married. Oh, no, no! Nothing of that nature, I assure you!” she exclaimed when she saw my appalled expression. “What I mean to say is that… a woman needs a man in order to be truly and completely a woman.”

  “I have never given much thought to this, but I imagine you are more knowledgeable in this matter than I.”

  “Yes, and so I hope you will allow me to guide you in this and will agree to my suggestion.”

  “Your suggestion?” I had no idea about what she was talking, and I reached for my own wine.

  “Yes. You see, I think you should marry Arabella.”

  The glass fell from benumbed fingers, and I stared aghast as the ruby stain spread, leaping to my feet before the wine could drip onto my inexpressibles. As I dabbed at the spill with my napkin, I shook my head and smiled sheepishly. “I do beg your pardon, Aunt. I must have misheard you.”

  “Not at all, Ashton. Your marrying Arabella would be the ideal solution to this situation.”

  “For whom?”

  “Why… why, for the both of you. Arabella will be much happier once she is wed and has other things to take her mind from William, and you must needs get a wife to ensure that Fayerweather and Laytham Hall stay within the family.”

  “But there is no love between us!” She of all people knew what a loveless marriage was like.

  “Surely you didn’t expect to marry for any reason but expediency?”

  Truth to tell, I had not given any thought to marrying. I imagined that some day, in the very distant future, I would have to marry in order to provide an heir for Fayerweather as Aunt had suggested, but until the matter of Sir Eustace’s debts could be settled, that was not something on which I intended to dwell.

  “Anyway, talk of love is fustian. Where there is regard, love will grow.”

  There was no regard between Arabella and myself. We could barely tolerate one another! “I cannot!” I declared, hoping that would be an end to it.

  “Why ever not? It’s not as if you’ve formed an attachment to anyone.”

  “No, but….” My mind worked frantically, scrambling to find a reason she might accept. “But it would feel unnatural to me!”

  She frowned. “Unnatural? In what way?”

  “Arabella and I have grown up together. It… it would be like wedding my sister!”

  “But she is not your sister. There is no blood relationship there at all!” She nodded in triumph.

  “Be that as it may, and pray forgive me for being so blunt, but it would prove impossible for me to father a child on Arabella!”

  “But why…?” A blush colored her cheeks as the realization of my statement sank in. “Oh. I see. Oh, dear.”

  “I deeply regret disappointing you, but trust me, Aunt. Arabella and I would not suit!”

  She sighed heavily. “If you are certain?”

  “I am.” I was never more certain of anything.

  “Very well. It was just a thought. We will not inform Arabella about this discussion.”

  “No, Aunt.” I breathed a sigh of relief that a potential fiasco had been averted. The footman entered with the next course. “David, bring me a fresh napkin, please?”

  “And refill Sir Ashton’s wine glass.”

  “Thank you, David. Asparagus, Aunt Cecily?”

  Time continued to pass, and each day my nerves stretched tighter, awaiting the inevitable.

  On this day, not quite a fortnight since my uncle’s demise, I had been closeted in the study all afternoon with Mr. Kirkby, Uncle Eustace’s man of business, trying to make heads or tails of the shambles in which he had left his estate.

  “I’ve seen to it that Fosby has been paid to the end of the quarter—that’s very generous of you, if I may make so bold, Sir Ashton, and I’ve given him the letter of reference you were so kind as to write for him.”

  “Fosby was with Uncle Eustace for as long as I’ve lived here, and most likely even longer than that.” My uncle’s valet had been kind enough to instruct me in the art of tying a cravat, although I had no doubt he took more pleasure in performing that task himself for the Hoods. “It was the least I could do, especially considering how in arrears Uncle was in paying him.”

  “Yes.” Mr. Kirkby cleared his throat and went on to other matters. “As per your instructions, I’ve put it out around Town that the cottage off Covent Gardens is for sale. Sir Eustace’s opera dancer—quite a taking little thing, but very vulgar, I fear—was none too pleased to be given her congé—”

  “I beg your pardon? Sir Eustace is dead! How could she expect to remain there?”

  “Er….” He studied the space beyond my left shoulder. “I believe she expected you to take her under your protection.”

  My jaw dropped, an inelegant expression, but one I could not contain, and Mr. Kirkby gave me an apologetic smile.

  “Indeed, Sir Ashton. I imagine she’ll soon find someone to take her under his protection. I… er… felt it was in the estate’s best interest to
let her keep the jewels she was given.” He peered at me over his spectacles. “Paste, I’m afraid.”

  I tapped a pen restlessly against the blotter on what was now my desk. “That wasn’t like my uncle.” However niggardly he might be with the estates, he would never let his town cronies see him as a pinch-penny.

  “No, Sir Ashton. However, I rather imagine they were genuine at one point.”

  “Ah. And you think Uncle Eustace had ’em switched?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Are you sure it would not be wiser to give the woman their value?”

  He was shaking his head. “No, for then she would become curious. And there’s the possibility she might demand more.”

  “You’re right. I still feel uneasy over it, but I’ll let myself be guided by you.”

  “Thank you, sir. I have no wish to speak ill of the dead, but truthfully, that’s more than Sir Eustace did. Perhaps….”

  I knew what he was thinking. Perhaps if Uncle had paid heed to what his man of business advised, the estate wouldn’t be in such poor condition.

  “Is it true he was desirous of selling the Flame of Diabul, sir?”

  “Yes. He was not best pleased when he learned it had gone missing.” I did not want to discuss that day. “It will only be a matter of time before his creditors come pounding upon the door. I am surprised they have not set the bailiffs upon us already. I would have used what my father left me….”

  “Such a thought does you credit, Sir Ashton, but….” Mr. Kirkby shook his head. “I am so sorry there is nothing. Mr. Dinwiddy, my predecessor….” His lips tightened. “He was unable to do anything to stop your uncle from squandering your inheritance to cover his gaming debts.”

  And that was the truth of what had happened to what Papa had left me, of what had happened to Mama’s jewels.

  I cared not about the money and the other jewels Papa had given her, the suites of opals and sapphires, but the string of pearls Mama had been wont to wear…. I removed my spectacles and pinched the bridge of my nose.

  “What of my uncle’s breakdowns?”

  “I’ve had offers for the blood bays and the matched chestnuts.”

  “Accept the best one.”

  “And the racehorses?”

  “No. Not yet, at any rate. If they do well enough, we may drum up some interest in a stud. But sell off whatever cattle he had stabled at the posting houses on the Bath and Reading roads.”

  He nodded and made a note of it.

  There was a tap on the study door, and Colling entered. “Forgive me for intruding, Sir Ashton. There is someone here to see you.” He handed me a card.

  I replaced my spectacles and took the rectangular piece of cardboard. “George Stephenson, Esq.”

  “Are you sure he does not wish to see Aunt Cecily?” He was an old friend from the days when she had taken the Town by storm, having been a diamond of the first water, and he would visit Fayerweather whenever he was sure Sir Eustace was from home. A widower with one son, he would beseech Aunt Cecily to run away with him each time he came to see her. He always claimed it was in jest, but being unhappily in love at the time myself, I could recognize it in another.

  “He asked for you, sir. I have put him in the conservatory.”

  “Very well.” The conservatory was not my most favorite room, since I found the scent of the flowers that grew in riotous profusion within its confines cloying at times, but Aunt Cecily had a fondness for it, and often sat there with Mr. Stephenson when he visited. “Thank you, Colling. Please tell Mr. Stephenson I will join him shortly. Mr. Kirkby, perhaps we can continue this conversation at another time?”

  “Of course. I’m sorry I do not have better news for you, Sir Ashton. However, I must say the farms are in far better condition than I had dared to hope. At least there is that, as puzzling as it might be.” Mr. Kirkby gathered his papers and shook my hand. “I will continue to study your uncle’s affairs, and will return sometime next week to let you know how things stand.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Kirkby.” I followed him out and saw him to his gig in the courtyard before reentering the Hall once more and hurrying to the study to retrieve my coat. It wouldn’t do to appear in my shirtsleeves.

  Why would Mr. Stephenson wish to see me? Whenever he visited he had never shown any liking for me, much preferring the company of the Hood brothers.

  Surely he had not come to me as head of the family to sue for Aunt Cecily’s hand! So soon after Uncle’s passing would cause a scandal none of us would live down.

  There was no point in putting this off, I thought impatiently. I detested confrontation, but I would simply have to be firm.

  I swallowed, trying to come up with a graceful turn of phrase that would not make it seem as if I was denying his suit out of hand and because I knew he disliked me.

  The conservatory was toward the rear of the house, and I made my way there, opened the door, and stepped into the room.

  For a moment, I thought the room unoccupied. Had Mr. Stephenson grown impatient and left? The only sign that someone had been there was the Benjamin flung carelessly, almost proprietarily, over the back of the settee.

  A slight sound drew my attention to the French windows. The afternoon sun poured through them, leaving the man who stood before them, gazing out toward the gardens that were Aunt Cecily’s pride and joy, in bas relief.

  I approached him warily. “Mr. Stephenson? Pray forgive me for the delay. I was with my man of business, and I did not want to come to you in my shirtsleeves. I understand you wished to see me?”

  “Lovely view from here.” The unexpected voice, a pleasant baritone, caused me to start. He turned, and I beheld quite the most handsome man I had ever seen.

  “You are not George Stephenson!”

  “I am, actually. However, the George Stephenson with whom you are acquainted is my father. To distinguish between the two of us, I am called Geo by my friends.”

  I felt the queerest sensation in my chest so that I barely paid any heed to the slight emphasis on “friends.” Mr. Stephenson the senior had often spoken of his son, regaling Aunt Cecily with tales of his adventures, and I had been fascinated. I’d hoped he would one day bring the young man with him, but Mr. Stephenson the younger was frequently out of the country, having followed his father into His Majesty’s Civil Service.

  Now he stood here, leaning casually on his walking stick. I let my eyes feather over his elegant figure, then glanced away before he could see my interest. Stephenson was beautiful, with classical features, curly blue-black hair, and a body that looked fit and solid although I knew him to be at least six years my senior. The dark frock coat he wore with fawn trousers was set off by that ivory-headed walking stick.

  My mouth went dry, and I swallowed hard, startled by my reaction.

  In the four years since I had taken John Hood to my bed, there had been no one else. I’d thought, foolishly, as it turned out, that if perhaps he realized how faithful and steadfast I was…. Of course, it was for naught, for he loved his brothers more than ever he would love me.

  I shook myself out of my reverie, fretting that while my trousers were not quite as form-fitting as the current fashion decreed, they were still snug enough so that concealing my interest was somewhat difficult.

  “May I offer you tea?” I went to the bellpull to summon Colling. “Perhaps something stronger?”

  “Thank you, no. Your butler already offered, and I declined.”

  “Very well, then. What may I do for you, Mr. Stephenson?”

  His look was pensive. “You may pay me my money.”

  “Your money?” I repeated stupidly, my body losing all interest. “I beg your pardon?” That was not at all what I’d expected him to say.

  He took a fistful of notes and vowels from his pocket and offered them to me.

  So it began. I sighed and took them from him. They were all signed by my late, unlamented uncle. I tallied them up quickly and felt the blood drain from my face. Th
e total was just under £10,000. No wonder Uncle had been so desperate to sell the Flame. Anger at him roiled in my gut.

  “The estate doesn’t have this much money.” My voice was a tight growl. “Not with the Flame of Diabul gone.”

  Blister it! We’d kept silent about the loss of the ruby, and here I’d gone blabbing it like the veriest nodcock.

  “Perhaps Lady Laytham—”

  “No! She suffered enough at my uncle’s hands. I won’t have her paying for this as well.” I started to scrub my hand over my face, but realized I had a fistful of paper and kept it at my side instead, opening my fingers and letting the vowels fall to the floor. “How much time will you give me?”