by Mary Nichols
‘I have been a fool. I was so anxious about Timmy, so worried that we had no money and no home, that I asked the Major for a loan …’
‘Is that all? I am sure the Major is in no hurry for you to repay it. In fact—’
‘That’s just the trouble,’ Annette burst out. ‘He has been too generous. He did not give me a loan. Instead he brought me here and showered me with gifts.’
‘What are you worrying about, then? Gifts do not have to be repaid.’
‘Oh, but they do,’ she said bitterly. ‘Everything has its price.’
Annette’s meaning was abundantly clear, and Meg was not slow to realise it. ‘Oh, my dear, are you sure you did not misunderstand? I cannot believe such a thing of the Major. Of all the officers I met while I was out in Portugal, and at home here too, he is the only one who did not take advantage of the women—even when they offered their services freely. My Bert used to say he was too much in love with his wife to look at anyone else, not even to ease his need.’
Annette could only guess what she meant. ‘His wife has been dead four years.’
‘And no doubt he would like to marry again.’
‘Not me. I am quite beneath his touch, except as …’ She struggled with the word. ‘As a cher amie—isn’t that the euphemism for it?’
‘I don’t know about that, but I do know the Major. You are a lady, anyone can see that, and he wouldn’t—’
Annette gave a cracked laugh. ‘Would that it were true. I am not a lady, Meg, I am a woman condemned.’
‘Whatever do you mean?’
So Annette told her, without mincing her words but without telling her friend the identity of Timmy’s father. ‘So you see,’ she ended, ‘I am here under false pretences. I am not a widow, I have never had a husband, and because of what happened to me I will never know the true love of a man, never be a wife, never have another child.’
‘Oh, my dear girl.’ Meg swept round the table to hug the girl. ‘How you must have suffered. I have seen it happen so many times among the soldiers on active duty, but I never realised it had happened to you. It is just like the Major to take care of you if one of his men—’
‘One of his men!’ Annette said, horror-stricken that she had given the good lady the wrong impression. ‘It was not a soldier.’ She smiled without humour. ‘It was a so-called gentleman.’
‘Oh? Known to Major Ashbrooke?’
‘Yes, very well known to him. So now you know the truth.’
‘Makes no odds. The Major is not like the other gentleman. He would not force himself on you; I am sure you are mistaken about that. I expect what happened before has made you more sensitive than you need be. Please do nothing in haste. Wait until Major Ashbrooke comes back, then you can talk it over with him.’
‘Comes back?’
‘Yes. He left on horseback very early this morning. In a mighty hurry he was too.’
‘Oh.’ Was Meg right? Had she misunderstood? But how could she have misunderstood that kiss? And the worst of it was she had wanted it, had responded in a way she had never responded to Jeremy’s kisses. Did that mean she had fallen in love? Oh, how confused she felt! And Meg was smiling at her in such a friendly fashion, waiting for her reply.
‘Very well, I will stay. But I must work for my living.’ She jumped up. ‘And I will not do it sitting here.’
The Major did not return. She had thought the return of the green gown would bring him hotfoot to her. He would either be in a conciliatory mood or in a towering temper. But he had not come, either in anger or sorrow. It was as if he had expunged her from his mind. She told herself she was glad; it saved her the trouble of arguing with him simply to try and control a situation she could not understand. As soon as her work at Brookside was finished, she would leave. The experience she had gained here made her think that perhaps she could do something of the sort as a living.
Charles left the stage at The Maid’s Head and went to the stables to ask for his mount to be saddled. It was then he saw his old nurse, sitting on the bench outside the inn with a bag at her feet.
‘Becky!’ he called, striding over to her. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I have been visiting my sister. Are you on your way back to Brookside?’
He sat down beside her. ‘Yes.’
‘And? Come on, Master Charles, don’t leave me in suspense.’
‘No, I must tell her first. Do you think it will make any difference?’
‘Of course it will. It will change her life completely. But tread carefully, Charles. Tread very carefully. She will certainly turn you down if she thinks you are only offering because of what you have discovered.’
‘Turn me down! What can you mean?’
She laughed. ‘I have known you since you were in leading strings, my lad. I can read you like a book.’
‘Oh?’ Was he that transparent? Had Annette been able to read his mind?
The fresh horses had been harnessed and Becky got up to leave him. He carried her bag to the coach and handed it to the ostler who was loading the boot, then helped her in.
‘Goodbye, Becky. Wish me luck.’
‘I do that, Master Charles. I do that. Come and see me later. Bring her.’
‘If she will come,’ he murmured as he watched the coach disappearing. A groom was leading his horse forward. He paid for its stabling, flung himself in the saddle and set off for Brookside. The stallion was fresh and ready for a gallop, and as soon as they had left the city behind he let him have his head. He could not wait to get back to Annette. He had so much to tell her, so much to ask her.
When he had left Brookside he had gone to Riseborough, to see his father and also to try and discover something about Annette’s family. He had asked his stepmother, pretending he had not been able to find her.
‘I wondered if she might have gone to relations. Do you know anything about them?’
‘No, only that Lady Somers spoke well of her, and as our last nursery maid had just left I said I would give her a trial. I have regretted it ever since. If it had not been for her Jeremy would be with us now.’
‘Ma’am, you are not being fair. It takes two, you know, and perhaps Jeremy made it difficult for her to refuse.’
‘No good dwelling on it, is it?’
His father, who had seemed frailer than ever, had returned to the subject of marriage. ‘The line will die out if you do not make an effort,’ he’d said.
‘I am aware of that, sir, but I cannot look at marriage so cold-bloodedly. I need to love the woman I marry …’
‘Pah! All you need is a docile wife, someone decorative and healthy—yes, definitely healthy, if she is to bear sons. If she don’t satisfy you in the bedchamber you can always take a mistress. Ain’t anything out of the ordinary in that.’
He had grimaced at his father’s words. Annette was not mistress material. She was too good, too upright for that. And he loved her. But marriage to a nursery maid with an illegitimate child was out of the question, and he had not been able to find any proof that she was anything else.
To please his father he had gone to one or two social events, but the ladies he’d met were insipid compared to Annette. He had not been able to get her out of his head or dislodge her from his heart. He had inevitably come to the conclusion that he would have to chance his father’s wrath and ask her to marry him because he could not live without her.
One day he’d wandered into the schoolroom where his stepsisters were having a lesson, and had sat watching for a time. Afterwards he’d asked them if they remembered Annie Ryston.
‘Oh, yes—we liked her, didn’t we, Harry?’ Isabelle appealed to her sister, who nodded. ‘She used to read to us from her books.’
This surprised him. Nursery maids were not employed for that purpose, but simply to help with practical things like dressing and washing clothes, making beds and cleaning, taking the children for walks on the governess’s day off. ‘What sort of books?’
‘About India. She left them behind.
They are in a box in that cupboard. No one reads them to us now.’
He went to pull the box out. There were several books in it, some writing paper, and a picture of two people: a man in regimentals and a woman who looked so like Annette he was sure they were her parents. She must have found them too heavy to carry, and had since been too afraid to reveal her address by sending for them. In one of the books was a piece of paper torn from a letter which she had used as a bookmark. The writing was almost illegible, but he could just make out the beginning of a word: ‘Fettle’ followed by something he could not decipher. And, a little further down, the word Anstey. It could mean something or nothing, but he was determined to follow it up. Where to start?
Becky came to mind; Annette had been with her when she had assumed the false name and might know more. Becky, bless her, was a mine of information about the aristocracy and seemed to know almost everyone’s pedigree.
Shown the scrap of paper, she had come up with the answer. Now here he was, as anxious and nervous as a schoolboy, not at all sure what his reception might be, with his old nurse’s words ringing in his head: ‘Tread carefully.’
Annette was sitting by the window of her little sitting room, where the light was best, sewing the hem of one of the new bedroom curtains and singing quietly to send Timmy to sleep. He was teething again, and fretful, but there was no fever, as there had been before, and neither was he hungry or wet. She was determined not to spoil him by picking him up.
‘You’ll wait until I’ve finished this hem,’ she told him, smiling fondly.
She had hardly finished speaking when she heard a knock on the front door. Thinking it was Meg, she flung it wide—only to find Charles on the step. She stood staring at him, almost mesmerised, though she had known he would have to come home some time and ought to have been prepared.
He took off his tall silk hat. ‘May I come in?’
Her heart was hammering in her chest as she stepped aside to allow him to enter. He passed into her little sitting room and bent to tickle Timmy under his chin. He laughed when the child giggled. ‘He looks well.’
It gave her time to collect herself, though his very presence was causing her insides to wobble. He had come back. It was all she could think of: he had come back. ‘Yes.’
He was as ruggedly handsome as ever, and immaculately clad in a brown coat, fawn pantaloons and shining Hessians. But it was not his clothes that she noticed, but the way he stood looking at her. He was studying her face as if expecting her to have changed.
‘Mrs Anstey,’ he said. She seemed more beautiful and desirable than ever, dressed most becomingly in a pink that reminded him of crushed strawberries. Her hair was thick and shining and caught up at the back of her head with a plain ribbon. He had no difficulty in imagining her at Anstey Manor, which was where she truly belonged.
‘Oh, forget Mrs Anstey,’ she said suddenly. ‘You know very well she does not exist.’
‘I thought perhaps you would prefer the formality.’
‘Why have you come?’
‘To apologise for my boorish behaviour on the night of the ball, which was unforgivable.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘Though it does not stop me begging you to forgive me.’
‘You are forgiven.’ She spoke quietly. ‘I forgave you long ago.’
He breathed out suddenly, as if he had been holding his breath. ‘Thank you for that. I have also brought something for you.’ He held out the package. She hesitated. It was his gifts that had caused her upset before. ‘Go on, take it,’ he went on. ‘It is not a gift. At least not one from me.’
She took it, undid the string and pulled the paper aside. ‘It is my picture,’ she exclaimed in delight. ‘Oh, Charles, where did you find it?’
He was heartened beyond measure to hear her use his given name. ‘In a box in the schoolroom at Riseborough Hall, with a pile of books.’
‘Oh, thank you, thank you. I never thought to see this again. I had to leave it behind.’ She stroked her hand over it. ‘It is Papa and Mama, painted in India soon after I was born.’
‘I guessed that. You are very like your mother.’
‘Am I? I have heard it said she was very beautiful.’
‘And so is her daughter.’
She looked sharply at him, wondering what to make of the compliment. ‘It was very thoughtful of you to think of returning it.’ She paused. ‘Oh, how remiss of me. Do sit down. I will make some tea.’
‘Is tea your answer to everything?’ he asked with a smile.
‘I find it helps when I have a problem to solve. The making of it is soothing. But you speak as if there is a problem. You have not come to tell me you have told Lord and Lady Ashbrooke where I am, have you?’
‘No. I promised I would not and I have kept my word.’ He took her hand and drew her towards the sofa. ‘Sit down, Annette, I have something to say to you.’
The touch of his hand was enough to set her in a quake, but she obediently sat down. He took his place beside her, turning to face her and taking both her hands. For a long moment he was silent, while she wondered what was coming.
‘Oh, the devil take it!’ he exclaimed. ‘I am as nervous as a boy. I have come to ask you to marry me.’
‘Marry you!’ She was shocked, and wondered if it were some macabre joke, but his expression was perfectly serious. ‘You cannot possibly mean it.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because of who you are and who I am. I am unmarriageable. I have a son with no father …’
‘I should like to be a father to him.’
‘How can you? You will give Lord Ashbrooke apoplexy.’ She stopped suddenly. ‘It was not his idea, to get his hands on Timmy?’
‘Good God! Do you think I would collude in such a scheme?’
‘No, I am sorry.’ Could he really be proposing marriage? She could not believe it. Surely he knew that if she accepted it would cause the most terrible scandal? ‘Anyway, why do you want to marry me? You must look for a wife among your own rank.’
He very nearly blurted out the truth, but remembered Becky’s warning to tread carefully. He had to convince her he would marry her whatever her status. ‘Because I love you to distraction. I have loved you from the first, though I tried to deny it. After the ball, when you sent back that gown, I was in despair, knowing I had made a mull of everything. You are in my thoughts night and day. I have tried, but I do not think I can live without you by my side.’
‘Then you would have to live estranged from your father.’
‘I am hopeful of bringing him round.’
‘By using Timmy?’
‘No!’ He was almost shouting. ‘Timmy does not come into it—except that I love the little imp almost as much as I love his mother. Can you not understand what I am trying to say?’ He slid from the sofa and dropped on one knee beside her, taking both her hands in his. ‘Marry me, Annette, please.’
She did not try to withdraw her hands. She longed to say, Yes, yes, I will marry you. Instead she gave a heavy sigh. ‘It would not do.’
‘Because you have no feeling for me?’
‘Charles, you know that is not true. I have too much to let you ruin yourself attaching yourself to me. I am wholly unacceptable to your family, to your peers, to Society in general.’
‘Is that your only reason? You fear for my reputation?’
‘I think it must be. If you do not think of it, I must.’ She was trying to be practical and firm, but the tears were gathering in her eyes.
He saw them and they gave him hope. He kissed each of her palms one by one, making her shiver. ‘I do not care about that. We can thumb our noses at Society and live happily together.’
‘We might for a time, but the isolation would pall before very long and we would begin to quarrel. Then you would take to going out alone and it would be no marriage at all. Can you not see that?’ Oh, how difficult it was!
‘Dearest Annette, your unselfishness does you credit. Do you tell me you are prepared to give up a life of
comparative luxury and sew all the hours of daylight until you ruin your eyes in order to save me from such a fate?’
She choked back a sob. ‘I suppose I must.’
He got up and sat beside her again, putting his arm about her and drawing her head onto his shoulder. ‘I love you all the more for that. If I could find a way, would you reconsider?’ He kissed the top of her head.
‘I do not see how you can.’
‘That is not what I asked.’ He moved back to take her face in his hands and look at her. ‘Answer me truthfully.’
‘Of course I would. Do you not realise how much I want to be your wife? If only …’
He stopped her with a kiss that was almost her undoing. It was gentle but insistent, and set up such a flurry of exquisite pain in her breast it almost stopped her heart. She let it go on, unable to deny either him or her own longing. He drew back at last. ‘Then I will ask you again later.’
‘I will not change my mind.’
‘Oh, I think you will.’ He was infuriatingly confident. ‘Tomorrow I am going to take you for a carriage ride. We shall be gone all day, so we must make an early start …’
‘Timmy …’
‘Bring him.’
‘You are taking things for granted, Major Ashbrooke. I do not like surprises. They have a habit of turning nasty.’
‘This one won’t, I promise you.’
He would tell her no more and left her in a dream. It was a dream. She could not believe he had asked her to marry him. It was unthinkable. Where was he taking her to try and convince her it was not only thinkable but possible? She could not let herself believe it would make any difference.
CHAPTER SEVEN
HE ARRIVED promptly at eight next morning, and proceeded to load the boot of the carriage with Timmy’s things. There seemed to be a great deal of it: clean clouts, a change of clothes, a can with a close-fitting lid containing some food she had mixed for him, a teething ring and a rattle to amuse him. When all was stowed away, Annette picked him up and carried him out to take her seat.
Charles was as mysterious about their destination as ever, but she was so happy to be in his company that all else diminished into unimportance. She would put doubts to one side to sit beside him, tantalisingly close to her, and dream …