by Sandra Heath
“Not at all.”
“Good, for she feels very bad.” She lowered her eyes. “Actually, so do I.”
“You? But what have you to feel bad about?”
“Well, Brand and I have given conflicting stories about how we met, and you must be wondering—”
He laughingly interrupted her. “It’s none of my business, Mrs. Courtenay, and besides, conflicting stories make for interesting conjecture.”
“I’m sure they do.”
“More interesting by the moment,” he murmured, observing the blush creeping over her cheeks. Then he exhaled slowly. “Mrs. Courtenay, may I presume upon your good nature and confide in you concerning a rather sensitive matter?”
“Sensitive?”
“It concerns Caro’s father.”
“Uncle Merriam? Why, certainly ...” Unbidden, she recalled that moment at the ball when her uncle had clearly not wished to greet Francis. Was that what this was about now?
Francis smiled. “I’m grateful. Shall we walk a little in the corridor? I find it easier to talk if I do that.”
“Of course.” She took the arm he offered, and they left the anteroom to stroll slowly along the passage.
“Mrs. Courtenay, just before Melinda disappeared, my father informed me that he had reason to believe Mr. Merriam has become deeply opposed to my match with Caro.”
She didn’t know what to say.
Francis went on. “Apart from seeming a little odd toward me when he arrived at the ball the other night, Mr. Merriam hasn’t given me any reason to think such a thing might be so. Although, on reflection, I fancy he was a little cool when Brand and I called at Oakhill House a day or so after that.”
He looked at her. “Is there anything I should know, Mrs. Courtenay?”
She abided by the decision she and Brand had made to say nothing until forced to, and so gave him a false smile. “There’s nothing I am aware of,” she said untruthfully.
Francis went on. “You have no idea how relieved that makes me.”
Her conscience pricked, and she felt she had to say something. “To be frank, Mr. Lytherby, I would have thought any opposition more likely to come from Lord Lytherby.”
“My father? Well, there is no doubt that like any father he would prefer me to snap up a great heiress, but he will always place my happiness first.”
He looked hastily at her. “Please don’t tell Caro, for it gives the impression that my father does not care for her, and that isn’t so; he’s actually very fond of her.”
Fond of her? That was why he referred to her as a nonentity, was it? Summer bit back the angry retort that blistered to her lips, for it was hardly Francis’s fault that his father was so devious and unpleasant.
After a moment Francis smiled sheepishly. “I’m worrying unnecessarily, for my father has it wrong, does he not?”
Somehow she met the smile and was glad to retrace their steps because at that moment Brand and Melinda came out of the apartment.
Melinda was pathetically uncertain of how to speak to Francis. “I... I’m so sorry for behaving as I did, Francis. I can’t think that you and Miss Merriam will ever be able to forgive me.”
“It’s over with, Melinda, so you must not think any more of it.” He pulled her into his arms for a moment before drawing back to look into her tear-reddened eyes. “Come, we’ll adjourn to the drawing room to broach a bottle of my father’s best champagne to celebrate that all is well again.”
Brand took Summer’s hand and drew it over his sleeve, but as they all began to walk toward the drawing room, Summer’s thoughts bore no relation whatsoever to the smile upon her lips. Celebrate that all was now well? How could she possibly do that when she knew all was still far from well!
Brand glanced at her. “I haven’t forgotten my promise to convey you back to Oakhill House in a carriage,” he said with a smile.
She nodded, then looked uneasily up at him. “We have to talk, Brand. Lord Lytherby has been saying things to Francis about my uncle having changed his mind about the match, and Francis asked me if I knew anything. I didn’t like not telling him everything.”
He searched her eyes. “It will seem churlish if we don’t take champagne with them now, so we’ll talk in the carriage on the way back to Oakhill House.”
She nodded, and they followed the others to the drawing room, where Lord Lytherby soon joined them.
Summer found it hard to tolerate his frequently expressed relief regarding Melinda’s timely escape from Jeremy, because she knew his only real concern was that his ward and her fortune were still available for his own purposes. As to the false warmth he also expressed toward Francis’s match with Caro, that was beyond the pale, so she said very little as she sipped her champagne. But as she watched Lord Lytherby, she became aware of a subtle change in him, as if a little of his spirit had been dampened. He certainly wasn’t the same man he’d been on the night of the ball.
When at last Brand led her out to the waiting carriage to take her back to Oakhill House, it wasn’t of Lord Lytherby that she thought in the few moments before the vehicle drew away, but of the future, where surely it was now all over for her modern self? Oh, if only she could be certain, but she didn’t dare rely upon anything. She almost wished she could become Summer Stanway again for a few moments, just to see. It was a very fleeting wish.
As the carriage drove away from Bevincote, Brand wrapped his cloak around them both. Her head rested on his shoulder, and as he stroked her cheek with ungloved fingertips, she gazed up at the starlit sky. Stars were timeless, but she prayed that from now on for her they would always gaze down on the nineteenth century.
Chapter Twenty-two
The snow-covered countryside was ghostly as the carriage swayed at a leisurely pace through the darkness. It was very cold outside, but before speaking of Francis, Summer and Brand used their minutes of privacy to steal kisses and embraces. They held each other close, making the most of the opportunity to whisper all the things that lovers whisper, and it wasn’t until they were within half a mile of Oakhill House that she moved out of his embrace to tell him what Francis had said.
Then she looked at him in the shadows of the carriage. “Dare we still keep our own counsel on this, Brand?”
He leaned his head back against the upholstery and thought for a long moment. “On the other hand, dare we say anything?” he murmured. “I’ve already told you that Francis isn’t aware of the true extent of his father’s financial scrape, and look at how Lytherby behaved tonight. Nothing could have been more fond than the way he spoke of your cousin. Can we expect Francis to believe it was an act?”
“Lord Lytherby loathes poor Caro, and it was hypocrisy of the vilest kind for him to speak as he did.”
“My darling, I beg to differ with your conviction that he loathes her, for it isn’t true; what he loathes is her lack of fortune. His back is to the wall.”
“You surely aren’t defending him, are you?” she said incredulously, for that was indeed how it began to sound.
He studied her for a moment, and then suddenly got up to lower the window glass and call out to the coachman. “Pull up, if you please, Hoskins.”
“Sir.”
“Why do you wish to stop?” Summer asked as the carriage began to slow.
“Because I intend to scotch your obvious suspicion that I may after all be on Lord Lytherby’s side in this,” was the firm reply.
The carriage came to a standstill, and he alighted, his cloak swinging as he turned to assist her down as well. The night air seemed colder than ever, and the snow was freezing and crisp beneath her riding boots as she glanced around. They were at the junction with the little-used lane that led across the End of the World to the estuary, and even in the moonlight she could see the chapel ruins on the embankment.
Brand drew her hand over his sleeve and led her away from the carriage. She could feel the coachman’s curious eyes upon them, but within a hundred yards the lane curved, and they passed out
of his sight. They could hear water beneath the crust of ice in the ditches and the brittle rustle of a bitterly cold night breeze through a willow tree by a field gate.
Brand halted at the gate. “Now then, let us be in no doubt, Olivia. I do not defend Lytherby, although I do have some sympathy with his position.”
“Sympathy?” She was indignant. “How can you possibly say that!”
“Because I too am a landowner, and so to some extent I understand his problems. I have a vast estate in Lincolnshire and can vouch that there are always expensive difficulties to be overcome. Olivia, given your own uncle’s recent trials, I would have thought you would understand a little too. If there’s one thing that can be said in Lytherby’s favor, it’s that he loves Bevincote. It’s everything to him, and if Francis marries your cousin instead of a bride with a fortune, that estate is almost certainly forfeit.”
“Through his lordship’s financial incompetence,” she observed uncharitably.
“Possibly, except that no incompetence would have been evident if his cousin hadn’t willed everything elsewhere,” Brand said patiently.
“And that justified his vile plot to split Caro and Francis!”
“All I’m saying is that I can see why a man like Lytherby has resorted to the means he has. He’s arrogant and manipulative and feels the cards are loaded against him. In such circumstances there isn’t much room for playing according to Hoyle. The ace is my sister, but in order to play it, first he has to dispose of an undesirable card, to wit your unfortunate cousin. I don’t think he relishes what he feels he has to do, but as I’ve already said, he believes marriage should be a matter of practicality, not mere love.
“However, since Melinda so ill-advisedly ran off with Fenwick, Lytherby has been faced with the unpalatable truth that it will take a miracle for the marriage he desired to ever take place. Personally, I doubt very much if he’ll continue plotting now; indeed I already perceive a change in him. He said what he did to Francis before Melinda’s elopement, and now I think he’s resigned to the inevitable. I suspect that from now on his policy will be one of laissez-faire, which is why I don’t think we should say anything to Francis.”
“But what if his attitude toward Caro hasn’t changed?” she asked.
“It’s still better to wait and see than to stir up a hornet’s nest.”
She said nothing.
“Do you still believe I’m his lordship’s secret henchman?”
She returned the smile a little sheepishly. “No, and I hope you’ll forget I was so foolish as to accuse you of defending him. What I was thinking was that today I too noticed a change in Lord Lytherby, as if he’d, well, lost a little of his spirit.”
Brand nodded. “Yes, that describes it exactly. He’s defeated, and knows it.”
“I pray you’re right.”
“For Francis and your cousin, yes, so do I, but I can’t help a sneaking sympathy for Lytherby. He lavished everything on Bevincote and now stands to lose every brick.”
Summer gave him a wry look. “You almost persuade me to forget his misdeeds sufficiently to admire him!”
“Ah, that is the power of my charm,” he murmured, pulling her close and kissing her on the lips.
Her mouth softened beneath his, and she molded to him. He enclosed her with his cloak, then pressed her to the gate as the kiss became more urgent. Desire caught them up as it always did, but as his hand cupped gently over her breast and expectant quivers of pleasure ran through her, a long mournful howl drifted on the frozen air.
Her breath caught, and she drew back uneasily as memories of the Black Lion orchard returned.
Knowing what she was thinking, Brand pulled her close again. “Les loups-garous do not exist,” he murmured, just as he had on Twelfth Night.
“No, but Jeremy Fenwick and his hound do,” she whispered, glancing nervously around the dark, bleak countryside.
“I don’t think he’ll risk coming back here.”
“Melinda’s here,” she reminded him.
“She’s seen the light, and I fancy friend Fenwick knows it,” he said soothingly.
Once again the howl wavered uncannily over the countryside, and Summer felt the hairs on the back of her neck stirring unpleasantly. “It’s a terrible sound,” she breathed.
“Probably an old hound with a bellyache.”
A twig snapped nearby, and Summer started, her eyes wide with fear. “What was that?” she gasped, but then a fox dashed from the undergrowth and across the open field.
Realizing how unsettled she now was, Brand took her hand. “Do you want to go back to the carriage?”
“Yes,” she said in a small voice.
He drew her fingers to his lips. “Come then,” he said.
He ushered her protectively back along the lane, and it was with some relief that she soon saw the steady glow of the carriage lamps ahead. A minute or so later, the coachman stirred the team into action again.
Caro and her father emerged as the carriage at last drew up at the door of Oakhill House, and Uncle Merriam was at pains to invite Brand into the house, but he declined.
“Thank you, sir, but I think I should return to my sister.”
Caro was concerned. “How is Miss Huntingford, Sir Brand?”
“Shaken, but thankfully unharmed.”
Summer looked at her. “And very anxious that although Francis has forgiven her, you will not be able to, Caro.”
Caro smiled. “Of course I can forgive her.”
Brand took her hand and brought it swiftly to his lips. “You are very gracious, Miss Merriam.”
“Perhaps it would be in order for me to call upon her soon?”
“That would be more than just in order, Miss Merriam, it would be most acceptable.”
Uncle Merriam cleared his throat. “Er, Sir Brand, would you be so kind as to convey a message to Mr. Lytherby for me?”
Brand’s eyes slid momentarily to Summer, then back to her uncle. “Yes, of course, sir.”
“Would you inform him that I would be most grateful if he could come here tomorrow? There are certain things I wish to discuss.”
Summer’s heart sank, but it was impossible to tell anything from her uncle’s face.
Brand hesitated. “Certainly, Mr. Merriam. Is, er, is anything wrong?”
“Wrong? Oh, dear me, no!” Caro’s father gave a dismissive laugh. “It’s nothing of dire consequence, just a few loose ends he and I should tie.”
Brand relaxed. “I’ll inform him as soon as I return. No doubt he’ll call in the morning, for I believe he has to go to Berkeley Castle in the afternoon, something about damage done to Bevincote land during the recent hunt.”
Uncle Merriam nodded, then shivered. “Dear me, it’s very cold out here. If you will excuse me, I think I’ll go inside.”
As he and Caro returned to the house, Brand turned to Summer. “No doubt I will see you again soon,” he said softly, looking deep into her eyes.
She smiled. “I certainly trust so, sir,” she whispered.
Ignoring the watching coachman, he kissed her before climbing swiftly into the carriage. The whip cracked, the team strained forward, and Summer watched the lamps dwindling away down through the park.
Chapter Twenty-three
Summer awoke the next morning to find herself still in the past, and still so alive and well that it was getting hard to believe how lackluster she’d felt as Summer Stanway. She hugged herself as she lay there in the warm bed, for surely she could now be certain that her theory was vindicated? The only thing she could think of that might yet prove her undoing was that Chrissie or Andrew had found her in time and rushed her to the hospital, where she was still in a very deep coma because of all the insulin she’d taken.
After breakfast she and Caro went out for a walk, then returned to find that Francis had called upon Uncle Merriam as requested. They were taking off their outdoor things in the entrance hall when they became aware of two raised male voices beyond the closed
door of the library.
Summer glanced uneasily toward the muffled sound, for there was no mistaking that an angry altercation was in progress. Her heart began to sink as a sixth sense told her Lord Lytherby’s plot was coming to fruition after all.
Caro’s lips trembled as the argument became even more heated. “What has gone wrong?” she whispered to Summer, her eyes filling with swift tears. “I must go and see!”
She caught up her skirts in a flurry of white-spotted lime dimity to hurry toward the door, but Summer hastened after her, seizing her arm before she could go in. “No, don’t!” she cried.
“But I must!”
“No,” Summer said again.
To her relief Caro acquiesced, but they both remained outside the door, listening in increasing consternation as the bitter but indistinct exchanges continued. Caro became more and more distressed, but as Summer put her arms around her, she saw a nervous figure at the top of the staircase.
It was George Bradshaw. The lawyer drew furtively out of sight as he realized she’d noticed him.
Suddenly, the library door flew open and Francis strode out, so beside himself with fury that he didn’t even appear to notice the two women. Caro tore herself from Summer’s arms, her red-gold hair tumbling down from its pins because she was so overwrought. “Francis!” she cried hysterically. “What’s wrong? Oh, Francis, please tell me!”
He turned, his brown eyes bright with bitterness. “It is over between us, Caro; I want nothing more to do with the name of Merriam!”
Caro ran to him. “For pity’s sake, I love you, Francis!” she sobbed, trying to put her arms around his neck.
But he caught her wrists and held her away. “No, Caro, I cannot and will not suffer the unspeakable insults your father has just directed toward me.” His bitter glance went to Summer. “Nor can I forgive you, Mrs. Courtenay, for allowing me to confide in you yesterday, when all the time you must have been well aware that something was very wrong. I will never forget that you were despicable enough to allow me to be sent for today without at least giving me some warning of the monstrous insults that awaited me!”