Lavender was standing some twenty feet away, deep in conversation with Barnabas Hammond. Barnabas had evidently come to deliver the mourning attire, for his hands were full of black silk scarves and crêpe bands, and a basket at his feet contained bonnets, caps, hose, handkerchiefs and other items all trimmed with black. Neither Lavender nor Barney were concentrating on the funeral attire, however, for they were quite engrossed in each other. Caroline drew back, concerned not to be seen prying, but as she turned away from the window there was a step behind her and she swung round to confront Lewis Brabant.
Caroline had had no time to prepare herself and felt at a definite disadvantage. Along with her own embarrassment, however, was a confusion over whether she should try to prevent Lewis from seeing the scene outside the window. If Lavender was gaining some solace from talking to Barney Hammond, Caroline could see no reason to interfere. Her brother might well feel differently, however.
As she hesitated, Lewis said, with rueful amusement, “Do not worry, Miss Whiston! It would be a harsh brother indeed who wrests from his sister some comfort in the current situation! I am not inclined to intervene.”
“Oh! You knew!” Caroline let her breath out in a long sigh. She moved away, wanting to put some space between the two of them. Once again, she knew that her face had betrayed her thoughts. Still, if Lewis thought that her nervousness arose from concern over Lavender’s situation rather than her own, she had at least managed to conceal something from him.
Whatever the ill-effects Lewis might be suffering from imbibing too much brandy the previous night, they were not visible to an onlooker. The stark black of the mourning clothes made him look uncompromisingly severe, and though his eyes were still tired, their gaze was quite steady.
“Before you run away, Miss Whiston, I should like to say something,” he said quietly. “It will not take much time.”
Caroline’s heart sank. Running away was precisely what she wanted to do. She rested her hands on the back of one of the chairs and gripped tightly.
“I imagine that you must believe you have several good reasons for leaving Hewly after last night,” Lewis said. He seemed to be choosing his words with care but he held her gaze quite deliberately. “I suppose that I should apologise for my conduct—”
Caroline turned her face away, afraid that her feelings for him would be too obvious. “You had been drinking—” she began, but stopped as Lewis put a hand over one of hers, forcing her to look at him.
“Not that much. Caroline, I—”
“Lewis?”
Julia’s voice came from behind them, sweet but with a faintly puzzled note. Caroline had not heard her come in. “Excuse me if I intrude—”
Caroline heard Lewis swear softly under his breath. He dropped her hand abruptly and turned, shielding her from Julia’s gaze.
“Good morning, Julia. I shall be with you directly.”
“Excuse me,” Caroline murmured. She knew that her cheeks were scarlet with embarrassment and did not dare to look at Julia’s face as she brushed past her on her way to the door. As she hurried away, she heard Julia’s voice, light and teasing, “Lewis, my dear, must you be so kind to poor Caro? She has led a sheltered life, you know, and is in serious danger of falling desperately in love with you, poor girl!” And her peal of laughter followed Caroline up the stairs, seeming to echo mockingly around the corridors and pursue her wherever she went.
Much to Caroline’s surprise, Julia did not broach with her the subject of the scene in the library. Caroline could only assume that Julia was so sure of her power and so disparaging of any rival that she felt no need to mention it. As to what Lewis had been about to say, Caroline thought that it must have been an apology and told herself that she should be grateful that Julia had foreshortened so embarrassing a moment. She tried to avoid Lewis as much as possible, but it did not make for a comforting existence.
It was several days later that Caroline received a reply to her letter to Anne Covingham. Lady Covingham expressed her disappointment that matters had not fallen out well at Hewly, but was encouraging that she might be able to help Caroline find a place elsewhere. Friends of the Covingham family had just returned from India. They had a young family and two little girls just approaching the age when they required a governess. Anne would make enquiries on Caroline’s behalf. Caroline folded the letter and put it in her chest of drawers, then, feeling a mixture of hope and obscure disappointment, went to find to Julia.
It was the morning of the Admiral’s funeral, and Julia was seated at her dressing-table, brushing her hair slowly, whilst Letty shook out the black silk crêpe dress that she had been pressing. Julia’s big blue eyes swept over Caroline’s plain black bombazine, and she gave a slight nod.
“I should have guessed that you would have some old dress that would be appropriate, Caroline! You must have been in mourning for ever with all those dull families you have lived with! Still, I suppose that does not matter for a governess!” She stood up, stretched gracefully, and allowed Letty to slip the dress over her head. “I was intending to purchase bombazet for you when the servants get new mourning clothes,” she said over her shoulder, “but I see it is not necessary!”
Caroline helped Letty to fasten the hooks on the black silk dress, wondering if Julia expected to be thanked for her back-handed generosity.
“Will the crêpe be warm enough, Julia?” she enquired levelly. “It is a chilly morning and the church will not be heated—”
Julia shrugged airily. “Oh, it will do! To tell the truth I have a black grosgrain that would be warmer, but it is not near so pretty! And with my cloak and muff I shall do very well!”
She sat down to allow Letty to adjust the delicate black bonnet with its gauzy veil. “What a gloomy way to start a new year! I declare, it is all silence and long faces! I quite yearn for some excitement! And Lewis has decreed a quiet funeral, so I shall have no one to gossip with!”
“I am sure that all the local families will pay their respects,” Caroline said tightly.
“Oh, surely,” Julia pirouetted about the room, and smiled with satisfaction as she heard the crêpe rustle about her, “but you know that Lady Perceval scarcely deigns to acknowledge me! That must change when I am Mrs Lewis Brabant of Hewly Manor! I shall be generous, however, and not remind her of her former coldness!”
Lewis Brabant closed the study door behind him and leant against it for a moment in grateful silence. They had buried his father with the quiet dignity that the Admiral himself had requested in his last communication to his son. The Reverend William Perceval had led the simple and moving service, and many of the villagers had come to pay their last respects. Now the house was empty, the last of the mourners departed, and the Admiral laid in the cold earth beside his wife, his grave stark and newly turned amidst the snow.
The Admiral’s final letter was before Lewis on the desk, forwarded by the family lawyer with a note to the effect that Mr Churchward hoped to present himself at Hewly within a few days to discuss the matter of the will. Admiral Brabant’s instructions for his funeral rites had been quite specific. Since he could not be buried at sea, he would be interred with the minimum fuss and expense. Lewis smiled a little as he reread the close-written scrawl. His father’s personality came over strongly; opinionated, terse, but for all that, a man to be respected.
He replaced the letter on the desk top and reached for the brandy bottle, frowning a little ruefully as he reflected that he had consumed more brandy in the last week than in a whole month in the Navy. Perhaps that was what had made his judgement so damnably at fault in the matter of Caroline Whiston. He had known what he wanted but had not thought how best to achieve it, and now he was presented with a whole new set of problems…
“Lewis?”
He turned to find that Julia was in the doorway. The light was behind her, and she appeared shadowy and insubstantial in her black crêpe dress. She glided forward into the room and closed the door quietly behind her.
“Pray do not let me disturb you, Lewis,” she said with a gentle smile. “I know you will wish for some time alone to think of your father. I merely wanted to say goodnight.” She looked at him with sorrowful eyes. “Poor Uncle Harley. It made me so sad to see him suffer so much. For all our differences, I loved him dearly.”
Lewis rubbed a weary hand across his eyes. He had no particular desire for a tête-à-tête with Julia, but he knew she was trying to tell him something and it seemed discourteous to dismiss her.
“My dear Julia, whatever can you mean? I had no notion that you and my father did not see eye to eye! What can he have done to upset you?”
He saw her hesitate before she made a gesture of denial, a fluttering motion of the hands that was as charming as it was distressful. Her voice was full of confusion.
“To own the truth, Lewis, I always intended to tell you, but not just yet—” She looked up and met his eyes, and her own were full of mortification. He took a swift step towards her, but she moved away, evading his gaze. “Oh, let us not speak of it! Not now, of all times!”
Lewis was aware of feeling irritated. He schooled his features to patience and took both her hands in his. “Julia! If there is something I should know—”
She tried unsuccessfully to free herself. “Oh it is nothing! I feel so ashamed of speaking of it!” She gave a little shudder. “It was all so long ago, and no doubt I mistook the situation—”
“Julia!” Lewis gave her a little shake. He was feeling both annoyed and concerned now. What could his father have done to engender such embarrassment? And why should Julia be so wary of telling him?
Julia gave a graceful little shrug. “Oh, if I must tell you…” She cast her eyes down.
“You may remember, Lewis, that when you went to sea I was quite desperately in love with you and hoped that we might marry.” She raised her gaze to his suddenly. Her eyes were limpid and very blue, and Lewis felt a pang of some emotion he did not wish to analyse. “Despite the fact that our betrothal was a secret I felt as bound by it as if—” She broke off, biting her lip. “But that is immaterial. What you must have thought when you heard I was promised to Andrew, I cannot imagine.” Her tone was anguished. “It was your father’s doing, Lewis! He made me agree to marry your brother! He told me directly that it was a business matter, uniting two fortunes and that I was a foolish chit to imagine otherwise! And your brother was as determined as he! Together they wore me down, and I was so very young and alone…”
She freed herself and moved away from him. Lewis watched her as, head bent, she stared into the fire. His first response, a natural anger, was already fading into a cynical acceptance. His father had been an ambitious man whose plans for his children had involved both the augmentation of his wealth and social advancement. It was no surprise to hear that his strategy had involved keeping a grip of Julia’s fortune.
Julia was watching him, and for a moment Lewis thought he glimpsed a flash of a strange expression in her eyes, too swift to read. She straightened up and gave him a smile that was both brave and shaken.
“Poor Lewis! I am so very sorry to tell you this when your father is scarce cold in his grave, but I thought it better to be honest…”
He had not noticed until now just how close she was to him. One—or both—of them must have moved instinctively towards the other. Julia’s face was tilted up to him, the luscious red lips parted slightly. He could smell her perfume, faint but sweet. After a moment, she said regretfully, “There is worse I fear, my dear. When your brother died before we could be wed, your father suggested that he take the place of the bridegroom—”
This time, the shock was so sudden that Lewis felt it hit him like a physical blow. He could not imagine what must be showing on his face. Julia was watching him with concern and she put a light hand on his arm.
“Lewis…”
Lewis took a deep breath. “I cannot believe…You are saying that my father intended to marry you when his plans came to naught? But he…My mother had died only days before of the same fever that carried Andrew off—”
Julia evaded his eyes again. A faint shade of colour had come into her cheeks. Lewis knew that his pain and repulsion were clear in his voice, but he could not help himself. He broke away and strode across the room, as though to dissipate the horror with action.
“Good God, the squalor of it! How could he—”
Julia had followed him. He could feel her presence close behind him. In an agony of revulsion he swung round and caught her arms. The first allegation he could well believe, for the Admiral might well have forced her to marry Andrew in an attempt to keep the money in the family. But the second? For all his faults, the Admiral had been as sincerely attached to his well-born wife as she was to him and he had been too scrupulous a man to sink to marrying his own ward. Surely…
Lewis looked down into Julia’s clear blue eyes. There was nothing there but anguish and he had an unnerving conviction that she must be telling the truth. Besides, why should she lie? There was nothing to gain.
“I am so sorry, Lewis.” Julia’s words were a whisper. “I would have spared you this, but I needed you to know the truth. It was the reason I married Jack Chessford, you see, and in such unseemly haste…I had to escape. But it was always you that I loved…”
Lewis stared down into the exquisite face so close to his own. His mind was cloudy with tiredness, recoiling from the horror of what he had heard. He felt Julia press closer to him, softly brushing the length of her body against his.
A stray breath of wind stirred the letter on the desk and stirred at the same time some doubt in Lewis’s mind. It had something to do with letters, but the connection evaded him, slipping away. Nevertheless he froze. Julia, nestling close, opened her eyes.
“Lewis?” she whispered.
He put her away from him gently, aware of a sudden and extraordinary sense of distaste. Caroline Whiston’s face was before his eyes; the uncompromising honesty of her gaze, the sweetness of her smile on the rare occasions she could be tempted from her severity, the softness of her mouth beneath his…He stood back punctiliously.
“Julia. Excuse me. I am very tired.”
He could see the chagrin in her eyes but before she could speak the front door bell jangled violently. They both stood quite still for a moment.
“The mourners have all gone home,” Julia began crossly. “Who could possibly wish to call now?”
Lewis went over to the door and flung it open. “Marston? What the devil’s going on?”
The front door was wide and a quantity of luggage was being unloaded from the carriage outside and piled on the steps. Lewis strode forward.
“What the deuce—”
“You’re not on the quarterdeck now, Lewis,” Richard Slater’s voice said sardonically. “A fine welcome this is for your old friend!”
Chapter Seven
Caroline splashed through the puddles on the road from Abbot Quincey to Steep Abbot. The first snowfall of winter was thawing, but local soothsayers were promising another cold snap. In the meantime, Caroline found that her boots were leaking and her cloak was soaked through at the hem.
She had been into the main village to send some letters and pick up a few bits and pieces for Julia, and now she was hurrying back as the winter light faded and the darkness set in across the fields. It had been pleasant to be out of the house; Lewis and Richard Slater had been out on the estate all day, Lady Perceval had swept Lavender away to the Hall for a few hours, and Julia had been cross and scratchy as a consequence of being left behind again.
“Miss Whiston!”
Caroline had just passed the last cottage on the edge of Abbot Quincey when she was hailed by Mr Grizel, who was emerging through a doorway at the end of what had evidently been a pastoral visit. The curate trod eagerly down the path towards her, cassock flapping, his gaunt visage wreathed in smiles. For all her charity, Caroline could not help feeling that he looked like a crow. She organised her face into some semblance
of a welcoming smile, and waited for him beside the picket fence.
When Mr Grizel arrived he was somewhat out of breath.
“Apologies for greeting you like that, ma’am,” he puffed, bowing awkwardly. “I saw you pass by and wished to beg a word…” Here he was obliged to break off for a moment to regain his breath.
“I had a plan, ma’am, an excellent idea,” the curate burbled on. “Knowing of your undoubted skill in encouraging youth in the ways of virtue and good education, I wondered if I might make so bold—” Mr Grizel temporarily lost himself in his circumlocution. Caroline raised her eyebrows and waited.
“The village school, Miss Whiston!” Mr Grizel waved his arms about enthusiastically. “Might I prevail upon you to spare a little of your time for the children? The benefits of a sound education for untutored minds, the influence of culture and instruction—”
“I should be delighted, Mr Grizel,” Caroline said hastily, fearing that the curate was about to launch into a lecture. “If you feel I could be of help—”
Mr Grizel beamed. “Dear Miss Whiston! I knew I could rely upon you to spread the light! Where there is darkness—”
“Indeed,” Caroline said, seeing an opportunity to escape. “Speaking of which, sir, I must be on my way. The evening is drawing in.”
Mr Grizel seemed disinclined to bid her farewell. He came out on to the road and kept pace with her, asking after the household at Hewly and commiserating over the Admiral’s sad demise. Caroline responded civilly and it was only where the track petered out into a narrow path that she turned to him and held out her hand in an unmistakable sign of dismissal.
“Our ways must part here, I believe, sir. Good day to you—”
To her amazement her hand was grasped in a fervent grip.
“Miss Whiston!” Mr Grizel’s Adam’s apple bobbed nervously. “My dear Miss Whiston! I had intended to wait a while longer, but your wholehearted agreement to my plans has led me to believe…I know you are the helpmeet I require! Allow me to tell you how ardently I admire you!”
A Companion of Quality Page 11