Anne’s first furious impulse was to refuse his offer, but she knew that Julia would swiftly reverse that decision leaving her looking ridiculous. However delicate Julia’s sensibilities might be in face of blood and injury, they were far from tender in financial dealings. She would have no compunction over accepting as much of Edmund’s money as he offered— indeed, her abundant new wardrobe showed that she had been making inroads into it unasked.
‘I had thought we could make just a few rooms inhabitable at first. Live in those and…’ she began defensively, unwilling to give in without a struggle.
‘Ridiculous! Far more sensible to make a thorough job of it. That will be far less expensive and troublesome in the long run. Could you—or Julia—live in this hubbub?’ Seeing her frown still, he demanded in exasperation, ‘Why are you so loath to accept my hospitality, Anne? Your sister is more gracious.’
And more grasping, Anne thought grimly. Having to bite back the angry retort did not make her mood any sweeter. How could she tell him that she was desperate to move away because she was frightened—terrified of what Julia might be driven to under Weston’s influence? To remove her from Ashorne might not take away all danger but it would lessen her chances of harming Edmund—or of fascinating him, an insistent inner voice whispered, but she thrust that idea away. It was for Edmund’s sake she had to leave, not in the selfish hope of parting him from Julia’s wiles.
But she could not share those fears. She might be wrong. Julia would never forgive her if she gave Edmund a false impression, though increasingly Anne had come to believe her doubts only too horribly justified.
For her own sake too she must get away from Edmund. Living so close to him it would be all too easy to let that old attraction take root and flourish as strongly as before. She had to face the truth, that she was in danger of falling just as desperately and hopelessly in love with Edmund as ever she tumbled when a silly adolescent. Away from him she might find strength to withstand that potent attraction—here she knew she had little chance of avoiding its insidious growth. The consciousness that sooner or later she might betray her foolish weakness made her stiff and abrupt with him.
‘I am not ungrateful,’ she replied coldly, ‘but obviously I want to see my sister settled into her own home as soon as possible.’ Frantically seeking for a valid reason she blundered on, not daring to look at him, ‘Then—then I shall be at liberty to—to make plans for my own future. My marriage has already been postponed far too long. It is not fair to James to delay indefinitely, but naturally I prefer to see Julia properly settled before I leave her. Restoring the Hall quickly seemed to be a perfect solution.’
Edmund was not to know that this was only an excuse—that she had no intention of continuing with her engagement—that his coming had finally convinced her that marriage with James was unthinkable. Let him discover that after she was out of harm’s way.
‘Your marriage …’ Edmund echoed, hesitated a moment then went on awkwardly, ‘Forgive me, Anne, if I speak out of turn, but may I beg the privilege of an old friend to advise you to think very seriously on that subject. Are you sure in your own heart that you are doing the right thing?’
‘In what way?’ she demanded truculently, though with sinking spirits she guessed what he meant and braced herself to combat the persuasion. She dared not let his kindness weaken her resolution.
‘Are you sure that you can be happy with Sir James?’ he asked gently. ‘For a start, he is so much older than you…’ The genuine warmth in his gaze, the compassion in his voice tugged at Anne’s feelings unbearably. Yet she dare not respond to it. ‘That is true of many couples,’
she rejoined lightly, ‘but their marriages are perfectly happy.’
‘Only those who start with something in common. Forgive me, Anne, but I have not noticed you show more than a very moderate affection for Sir James and your tastes are vastly different from his. Can I not beg you, as one who used to hold a special place in your affections, that you think carefully before embarking on so final a step?’
His perception, echoing her own doubts, was nearly her undoing. Only pride enabled her to stiffen her spirit and prevent him guessing how his words affected her. She took refuge in anger, letting the spark of annoyance his reference to the past evoked, blow into flame. How dare he trade on that childish infatuation! Whatever decision she had secretly arrived at, she would not let him suppose he had influenced her actions.
‘How dare you suggest I have not considered the matter?’ she cried, rounding on him in fury. ‘I don’t allow anyone to dictate to me. I am no longer the silly infant who languished after you. I’ve long since outgrown the stage of being infatuated with a scarlet coat!’
‘I am not trying to dictate at all,’ Edmund replied, still patient with her. Gently he took her hands in a shamefully disturbing grasp. His touch tingled through her, and trembling, she snatched her hands free. Edmund looked surprised at her action but persevered. ‘All I ask is for you to think again, Anne. Your own good sense must do the rest. I am only concerned for your happiness.’
‘Then prove it by allowing me to know my own mind,’ she retorted. ‘I know James far better than you do, so must consider myself the better judge of whether or not we should suit.
Why else should I agree to be his wife? What do you expect me to do, throw him over like a common jilt because you consider him unsatisfactory? Do you want James made a laughing stock as …’ She broke off, aghast at where her deliberately stoked fury was leading her.
‘As I was by your sister?’ icily he finished the sentence for her. ‘Don’t try to spare my feelings, Anne. But you mistake the matter, that case was entirely different.’
‘Yes.’ Anne shouted, guilt and rage making her throw caution to the winds in a fervent desire to shake his implacable calm. ‘Julia had some justification for her action. I have none.
Don’t insult me by any further comment on the matter. I am the best judge of my own future happiness.’
But even that could not entirely silence him.
‘If that is how you feel I will say no more—except to hope that you will reconsider my words when you are calmer.’
Anne turned her head away, unwilling for him to see the tears that pricked at her eyelids at this generous response to her bad-tempered taunts. Why was it that Edmund could always make her feel so petty when she quarrelled with him?
‘Are you ready to leave now?’ she demanded ungraciously. ‘Or have you any more commands for the workmen?’
He ignored the petulance of that last comment, and Anne had to wait while lie sought out Bedford and gave him brief instructions on how the restoration was to proceed. Slowly the anger drained out of her, leaving her bleak and ashamed.
When he returned they mounted their horses silently and set off. It was an uncomfortable ride home, each of them engrossed in their own thoughts. Anne felt worse than ever now.
Although she had intended her words to wound him, the suspicion that she had succeeded only made her feel more miserable. This frosty tension crackling between them upset her. In the old days there had never been need to make conversation with Edmund, but then they had shared a comfortable silence, not this bristling antagonism.
What made her so set on quarrelling with Edmund now? Was it the fear that otherwise her love for him might betray itself too plainly? Aghast, she tried to stifle that thought. It was too disturbing, raising ideas she dared not admit to yet.
The knowledge that the fault was hers—that their estrangement was caused by her untruthful insistence that she was happy in her impossible engagement—made her feel utterly wretched. Edmund had not even hinted at the chief obstacle—James’s obsession with her sister—and she had repaid his generosity with cruel insults. Was she to lose her long-valued friendship with Edmund because she was afraid that he would read too much into her friendliness? Whatever path she chose, she would be the one to suffer most from her own folly.
She could tell from Edmund’s rigid b
earing, his grimly set features, that his wound was troubling him, but she dared not offer sympathy lest she break down her own defences. It was his own fault if he felt ill, she tried to convince herself. Let him suffer! There had been no need for him to come poking his nose into her concerns, she was perfectly capable of arranging matters at the Hall. If Edmund had overtaxed his strength going against the doctor’s advice, then it was too bad! She would waste no sympathy on him.
All the same, she stole an anxious look at the drawn white face. Edmund stared doggedly ahead, too proud to admit his discomfort. She guessed what an effort it was for him to remain erect in the saddle, but he managed it.
It was a great relief to reach home at last. Thankfully she slid off her horse and handed the reins to the waiting groom.
Then as the animal was led away she could bear the bleak atmosphere no longer. Edmund was so silent and aloof, walking away from her into the stables with his mount, that she had to do something to bridge the gaping rift between them.
‘Edmund!’ Impulsively she caught at his sleeve. ‘I am sorry for my bad temper. I didn’t mean to be so rude.’
The warmth that transformed his features was worth every scrap of dented pride.
‘Perhaps I was equally to blame. It was presumptuous of me to interfere…’
‘No! You were right to rate me,’ she insisted. Suddenly the world seemed bright with sunshine once more. They were at loggerheads no longer. ‘Friends ought to be able to advise each other frankly without offence.’
‘Then we are friends again?’ he asked quizzically, taking her hand in his free one. ‘For how long? Till I speak out of turn once more?’
Anne’s lips twitched. Edmund had always known how to win a smile from her. ‘Probably,’
she admitted. ‘But don’t let me be so unreasonable!…’
What more she might have added was never to be known. As they stood, hands linked, laughing at each other, a frantic housekeeper ran towards them.
‘Thank goodness you’re home at last, Miss Anne! Have you seen Master Kit anywhere?
He’s vanished!’
Julia followed fast on her heels. She flung herself, sobbing, into Edmund’s arms, thrusting her sister aside.
‘My poor Kit! I know I shall never see him again. What shall I do now that he has been murdered too?’
CHAPTER
FIVE
Anne could not suppress a twinge of envy as she saw Edmund’s arm close protectively around Julia. It was still hard to see him fall slowly but inevitably back under Julia’s spell.
She could have borne the pain if Julia truly loved him and regretted her unkind betrayal of him, but Anne knew that his wealth and position were the chief attraction for her sister.
Except perhaps in her dealings with Thomas, Julia had always let her head rule her heart.
Self-interest had always been her strongest emotion. Anne had a shrewd suspicion that the pathetic helplessness and distress she was displaying now were all part of her campaign to ensnare Edmund. She doubted whether Julia was half as anxious about her son as she pretended.
The widow raised tear-drenched eyes to gaze forlornly into his. Grasping feverishly at him she cried, ‘What shall I do, Edmund?’
Startled by her sudden movement, Edmund’s horse whickered nervously and side-stepped, tugging at the rein. Seeing Edmund’s wince of pain as the pull of the heavy beast strained his injured side, Anne exclaimed crossly, ‘Do be more careful, Julia! You don’t want to start Edmund’s wound bleeding again.’
Julia drew away from him with a tremulous sob.
‘Forgive me, Edmund! I forgot you had been hurt—forgot everything in the relief of having someone to turn to. I have been beside myself with worry! My poor darling Kit!’
Her eyes, swimming with tears, only looked more infuriatingly brilliant and luminous.
Patting her awkwardly with his sound arm, Edmund cast a look of anguished entreaty at Anne. Exasperated by the knowledge that, as always, she was expected to deal with Julia’s emotionalism, Anne exclaimed, ‘For goodness’ sake calm down, Julia! There is nothing to be gained from all this fuss. No one has been murdered, and I am sure that Kit will turn up quite safe and sound.’
‘No one murdered! How can you say such a thing after Edmund and Phillip have both been savagely attacked and left for dead? What chance would my poor dear Kit have against the brutal ruffian who treated grown men so violently? It is all very fine for you to tell me to be calm,’ she went on shrilly, working herself into a frenzy as Anne tried to stem this flow, ‘what can you understand of a mother’s feelings? Oh my poor lamb! I know I shall never see him again!’ Weeping, she cast herself once more into Edmund’s arms. He frowned reproachfully over the golden curls at Anne. Swallowing the angry words that trembled on her tongue, she inquired with commendable calm when Kit had last been seen.
‘Not since breakfast time, miss,’ the housekeeper told her with gloomy relish. ‘He ran off in a tantrum when Nurse told him you’d gone to the Hall without him. She tried to stop him, but he was too quick for her and made off round the lake.’
‘The lake! Oh my poor angel! I knew it! He is drowned!’
At this Anne’s sorely tried patience gave out; ‘Do make up your mind, Julia,’ she snapped.
‘A moment ago you were convinced that he had been murdered.’
Julia took refuge in tears.
‘Your sister does not mean to be heartless,’ Edmund tried to soothe her. ‘I’m sure the child is safe but to set your mind at rest I’ll have the men drag the lake immediately.’
Predictably Julia greeted this offer with a shriek of horror. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Edmund!’
Anne exclaimed crossly. ‘There is no need to do any such thing. Julia knows perfectly well that even if Kit were so foolish as to fall in the lake, it would do him little harm. He learned to swim when he was tiny and is completely at home in the water. All this fuss is quite unnecessary. It is my belief that he has run off somewhere to sulk because he couldn’t have his own way. It wouldn’t be the first time. He’ll come back when his temper cools.’
‘That’s what Nurse said,’ admitted the housekeeper. ‘She didn’t worry about him at first either, but she got upset when Master Kit didn’t come back for his riding lesson. You know how he loves that pony of his.’
Anne had to admit that it was unlike Kit to miss the riding instruction that was usually the high spot of his week.
‘All the same,’ she added, seeing that Julia was ready to fall into hysterics once more, ‘I don’t consider that any proof of his being harmed. He may have mistaken the time, or become lost or shut in somewhere. Have you searched for him properly?’
‘The maids have been-all over the house, Miss Anne, and Charles has been out in the park calling and looking for him, and Nurse is still searching the grounds.’
‘One footman and an elderly woman! What good is that to cover so vast an area? Let all the footmen and grooms be sent out immediately,’ ordered Edmund. In a short while with military efficiency he had organised a thorough search of the Manor, its outbuildings and grounds. Relays of servants were sent in all directions. Soon one was back with the lodge-keeper’s daughter, who admitted to having seen Kit leave the park more than an hour before.
‘I thought it odd-like, him being on his own and all, but he said he was going to meet you, miss,’ she gulped tearfully. ‘So I thought it was all right.’
‘We are not blaming you at all,’ Anne assured her. ‘We are just anxious to find where Master Kit has got to. Are you sure you saw him go along the lane?’
‘Yes, miss. Down towards Melthorpe.’
‘He cannot have gone to the Hall or we should have seen him on our way back,’ objected Edmund.
‘Not if he cut across the fields or through Bassett’s wood.’ Anne, too, was beginning to be worried now. Bassett was reputed to set man-traps. Was Kit foolish enough to risk those?
One of the grooms remembered seeing a gipsy encampme
nt near the wood and was unwise enough to mention the fact.
‘Are you trying to tell me that my Kit has been stolen by gipsies?’ shrieked Julia.
‘Nonsense!’ Her own anxiety made Anne sharp. ‘That is just an old wives’ tale. Gipsies don’t steal children. Why should they? Heaven knows they have enough of their own without!’
‘All the same, I think I will ride back along that way,’ said Edmund. ‘The boy may have got himself into some difficulty and need help.’
‘No, Edmund! You’ve ridden much too far already today,’ Anne protested. ‘Anyone can see you are exhausted.’ She had determined not to sympathise with him, but his drawn face and the involuntary wince as he moved, convinced her that Edmund’s wound was troubling him. ‘You stay here with Julia. I will go with one of the grooms to look for Kit.’
But Edmund obstinately refused to accept this arrangement. He insisted on going himself, although he accepted her company gratefully. A stiff brandy restored some of his colour and he directed a servant to fetch food to make up for the luncheon they had missed. Anne did not want to stop to eat, but he pressed her.
‘You will be no use if you are weak from hunger. We may have a long ride.’
She saw the sense of his argument and somehow managed to choke something down.
‘What about me?’ demanded Julia indignantly as they prepared to leave. ‘You are not intending to leave me all on my own, are you? Let my mare be saddled at once. I will come with you.’
Patiently Edmund explained that, as they had no certainty of finding Kit, it would be better for her to wait at home in case he returned another way. He had already sent out search parties in likely directions. Any of those might find the boy, and Kit would want to see his mother when he reached home. Reluctantly, Julia allowed herself to be persuaded to remain in James’s care.
‘But be as quick as you can or I shan’t be responsible for the consequences. The suspense is shattering my poor nerves!’
Anne fidgeted impatiently while all this was being settled. How could Julia be so selfish as to hold them up with her foolish objections? The thought of Kit wandering lost or injured tormented her. She would have spurred away directly Edmund was mounted if his hand on her rein had not checked her.
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