The Penniless Bride
Page 27
In the barn at the end of the stables, Lord and Lady Selborne were personally investigating the quality of the hay that had been stored for the winter. At least that was how the expedition had started. Tipsy with sweeps’ scrumpy, they had walked arm in arm to the stables, where Rob had proudly displayed the huge piles of hay, the product of much of his hard work in the past few months. He had picked Jemima up and thrown her into the haystack to demonstrate just how sweet and soft it was, and then he had thrown himself down beside her. Much of what had happened next was inevitable.
It was the unexpected sound of carriage wheels on the cobbles and the sound of raised voices that had finally caught Jemima’s attention and she had rolled out of her husband’s arms, sat up and peered around the corner of the barn door.
‘It is Mr Churchward!’ she hissed. ‘Whatever can he want? And whatever is he doing arriving at this time of night?’
‘Catching us in flagrante,’ Rob said, with a grin. He got to his feet, helped her up and tried to brush the hay off his clothes. Then, giving up, he sauntered out into the stable yard to greet his guest, a wide smile on his face.
‘Churchward! What an unexpected pleasure. You have found us in the middle of our Guy Fawkes’s celebrations.’
Mr Churchward’s face looked strained in the flaring torchlight. ‘Good evening, my lord. Lady Selborne.’ He bowed awkwardly. ‘Pray forgive my unheralded arrival. I have some very grave news to impart to you, my lord, pertaining to your late grandmother’s will…’
Jemima could see Rob frowning and thought that he had probably partaken of too much wine to be able to make much sense of this. She took the lawyer’s arm.
‘Pray come inside, Mr Churchward, and take some food and drink. You must be exhausted after your long journey…’
Churchward, however, seemed incapable of consuming any refreshments until he had said his piece. He followed them into the study, refused the seat that Rob offered, and stood looking a little forlorn as his curious hosts waited expectantly for him to begin.
‘I do apologise, my lord,’ Churchward said. He took a document out of his case and stood holding it out, looking a little at a loss. ‘I came as quickly as I could to give you this. I…’ He paused. ‘I did think about destroying it, my lord, and pretending that it had never been received in my office, but alas…’ he shook his head ‘…when the moment came I found myself quite unable to falsify the record.’
Rob and Jemima exchanged a look at this terrible admission. It was almost impossible to imagine the upright lawyer doing anything so shocking.
Rob took the paper and unfolded it, then looked up sharply. ‘But this is my grandmother’s will, Churchward. We are already aware of the terms—’
‘The second page, my lord!’ the lawyer said, in anguish.
Rob raised his brows. He turned to the second sheet of paper and read out, ‘Should my grandson marry, then his marriage vows must of course take precedence over this other vow of celibacy. I should not wish the terms of my will to come between Robert and his bride, and I applaud him on his good sense in choosing to marry when young people today so often show a distressing tendency towards waywardness…’
Rob stopped. His eyes met Jemima’s.
‘Oh, Rob,’ Jemima said, ‘a second page to the will!’
‘I am most dreadfully sorry,’ Churchward said, polishing his glasses on the sleeve of his jacket. ‘The sheet had fallen down behind my cabinet—indeed, I did not find it again until this very morning—and as the first page of the will concluded on such a final note, signed appropriately and so forth…’ He cleared his throat unhappily. ‘I am sorry that I never suspected there was anything missing. So careless of me!’ He polished his glasses again. ‘I cannot conceive how I could be so inefficient…’
He stopped. Neither the Earl nor the Countess of Selborne were paying him any attention at all. They were staring at each other with a mixture of shock and starry-eyed affection that made Mr Churchward feel quite de trop.
‘One hundred days,’ Rob said, wincing.
‘Oh, dear,’ Mr Churchward said.
‘You mean seventy-five days,’ Jemima pointed out with a slight smile.
‘Eighty.’
‘I have told you before, Robert, that that depends on your definition of celibacy—’
‘Ah…’ Mr Churchward said. He looked from one to the other and turned slightly pink. ‘Ah…excellent. Well, I see no need to dwell any further on the terms of the will. I shall arrange for the capital to be released…’
‘Thank you, Churchward,’ Rob said, without taking his eyes off his wife. Very slowly he entangled Jemima’s fingers in his and drew her towards him.
‘Very well, then,’ Churchward said, a little helplessly. He stuffed the late Dowager Countess’s will back into his case and fastened the buckles, his fingers shaking a little in his haste to escape. ‘Thank you Lord Selborne, Lady Selborne.’
‘I will ring the bell and ask the servants to take you to your room, Mr Churchward,’ Jemima said, making no move to free herself from Rob’s embrace.
‘I will find my own way,’ Mr Churchward said hastily.
Neither his lordship nor his ladyship answered him and as Churchward closed the door behind him he saw that Rob was already drawing Jemima closer into his arms. Churchward hurried out into the hall. There were two torches flaring in the walls, mirroring the firelight that still danced and glowed down in the meadow. In the drawing room doorway, Churchward could see the figures of Letty Exton and Jack Jewell locked in an ardent embrace.
Mr Churchward blinked and hurried towards the door. Perhaps it would be wiser to stay at the Speckled Hen. He did not feel quite comfortable remaining at Delaval tonight.
Down by the bonfire the dancing seemed to becoming even wilder. Shadowy black figures jumped and spun like a scene from a primitive painting. He could see Lady Marguerite Exton, her skirts held up in one hand, dancing with what looked like a Master Sweep.
‘Good gracious!’ Mr Churchward said, pushing his glasses back up his nose with a nervous gesture. ‘Good gracious! Delaval is becoming a paradigm of passion! Amorous, abandoned and…’ he smiled a little ‘…rather amusing.’
Back in the study, Rob had let Jemima go sufficiently to draw breath.
‘Which vow do you prefer, Rob,’ she asked, smoothing the material of his shirt with gentle fingers, ‘the one you took to win your grandmother’s fortune, or the one you made to me, to love and to cherish?’
Rob tilted her chin up so that lips were very close to his. ‘To cherish and to adore,’ he said. ‘That is the vow that I intend to keep, Jemima. Forever.’
ISBN: 978-1-4268-3692-3
THE PENNILESS BRIDE
Copyright © 2003 by Nicola Cornick
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
www.eHarlequin.com
with friends