by Sandra Heath
She didn’t flinch. “Do that and you’d have to face Sir Brand,” she declared with confidence, then added, “He always carries a pistol, you know.”
His eyes wavered.
She pressed her advantage finally home. “As soon as Francis returns to Bevincote and informs his father what happened here today, you can be sure that jail awaits you. Ending the match with Caro may have been Lord Lytherby’s aim, but certainly not at the expense of his son’s reputation! He’ll be furious enough to carry out his threat—what was it? That he’d tear your heart out with his bare hands?”
The lawyer was completely silent.
Caro’s father, who was shaken to discover what had been going on, rose slowly from his chair. “Your silence speaks volumes, George. Clearly Olivia is the one telling the truth, sir,” he said coldly.
The other capitulated suddenly. “I had to do it, Henry! Lytherby does hold my IOU’s, and forced me to assist him to destroy the match if I wished to redeem them! I could think of no more certain way to end it than to cast doubt upon the groom’s suitability! And if you’d only held your lunatic tongue, all would have been well!”
Uncle Merriam looked at him with utter dislike. “For you maybe, but certainly not for Caro. Get out of this house, George,” he said quietly.
“Henry, I—”
“Get out! I never want to see your miserable face again!”
The lawyer turned on his heel and hurried away.
As his footsteps died away up the staircase, Uncle Merriam turned to Olivia. “So that is how you and Sir Brand became acquainted,” he murmured.
Her cheeks flamed again. “I’ve never behaved like that before, Uncle Merriam, truly I haven’t, but when I met Brand, I mean Sir Brand, I...” Her voice limped to a halt, and she bit her lip before looking at him again. “I just couldn’t help myself; I love him with all my heart.”
“And so you spent the night with him?”
“Yes.”
He drew a long breath. “Well, as it happens your conduct—or rather misconduct—hasn’t made the slightest difference to the situation, for I am the one who has in the end brought Caro’s life tumbling about her ears.” He sat down unhappily. “Oh, Olivia, how am I going to right the terrible wrong I’ve done to Francis, and how am I going to repair the damage I’ve done to Caro’s happiness?”
“Uncle, it was George Bradshaw’s doing on Lord Lytherby’s behalf; you were merely the unwitting tool,” she said gently, her heart almost breaking for him because she and Brand suspected Lord Lytherby’s opposition had become a thing of the past anyway.
He sighed. “Ah, yes, Lord Lytherby. Well, if he is now so set against the match that he is prepared to stoop to such vile methods, I cannot see there is any point in my attempting to put matters right with Francis. What happiness will there be for poor Caro if Lytherby despises and resents her?”
“But there has to be a way of undoing all this damage. Uncle, you may as well know that last night Brand convinced me that Lord Lytherby had given up all thought of opposing the match with Caro. Maybe the things that were said here today were heinous, but they can be retracted, can’t they?”
“I would willingly retract them, my dear, but right now I cannot imagine that even if I were to write a letter to Francis, its fate would be anything other than to be ripped up and burned.”
“Brand will help us, Uncle, I know he will.”
“And put his friendship with Francis at risk?”
“Brand and I are allies in this, so I must get word to him without further delay, for the sooner he learns that you now know the whole truth and wish to right the wrong, the better.”
A scheme was already beginning to form in her mind, and she caught up her skirts to hurry up to Caro’s apartment.
Her uncle gazed perplexedly after her. “What are you going to do, Olivia?” he called, but she didn’t even glance back.
Caro was lying on the bed, her face hidden in her pillows, and her red-gold hair was a tangle that would take an age to comb. She still sobbed a little, but was much more quiet now. Gwenny was standing next to her and turned relievedly as Summer entered. “Oh, there you are, madam. I think the orange flower water has worked a little,” she said.
“I’m sure it has, Gwenny,” Summer said reassuringly.
“Shall I go now, madam?”
“No, for it’s you I wish to speak to.” Summer drew the puzzled maid over to the window and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Gwenny, is Miss Huntingford’s maid a relative of yours?”
Gwenny nodded. “Why, yes, madam, Martha’s my cousin.”
“I thought so, she looks so like you.”
“Oh, we’re almost like peas in a pod,” Gwenny smiled.
Summer paused as she noticed George Bradshaw’s carriage driving out through the gates, then come up to breakneck speed toward Berkeley, hurtling along the lane as if the Gabriel hounds were in pursuit. Or Lord Lytherby. She felt no compassion. Let him face the consequences, she thought, then turned to Gwenny again. “Apart from Martha, does anyone at Bevincote know you work here?”
Puzzled, Gwenny shook her head. “No, madam.”
“Good, because I want you to do something for me. I’m going to write a letter to Sir Brand Huntingford, and I want you to take it immediately to Bevincote in the pony trap. You are to give Martha the letter and tell her to give it secretly and without delay to Sir Brand.”
The maid’s eyes widened. “Secretly, madam?”
“It’s vital, Gwenny. No one else is to know about it, no one at all. Do you understand?”
“Yes, madam.”
“Please get ready to leave, and I’ll write the letter now.”
“Yes, madam.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Gwenny returned from Bevincote with a hastily written but long reply from Brand, and Summer adjourned to the privacy of her own room to read it.
My darling Olivia,
Lytherby is both livid and distressed about the unbelievably foolish way Bradshaw went about things, but is persuaded that to call in the fellow’s IOU’s would be to risk spreading far and wide the unwelcome allegations about Francis, with the consequence of some mud sticking. So, for the time being at least, Bradshaw lives to fight another day, although I shall take it upon myself to advise him to leave the country if he wishes to see old age.
Lytherby is also resigned to losing Bevincote. Last night he intimated in a most genuine and believable manner that he was happy to welcome Caro as his daughter-in-law as she is undoubtedly a most delightful young woman and Francis clearly loves her to distraction. I intended to communicate these welcome tidings to you this afternoon, but your letter arrived first, and, of course, there was the bombshell to Francis in the interim.
I tell you all this about his lordship in order to explain my desire to try to leave his name out of what has happened. While I know he doesn’t deserve protection, we must consider the future. Why destroy Francis’s love for him? Why ensure that Caro always resents him? Why estrange him from any grandchildren he may have? He is to lose Bevincote, and that, I feel, is punishment enough.
I note from your letter that while Mr. Merriam is now in full possession of the facts, Caro as yet knows nothing. For the sake of the plan, I have in mind to bring Francis and Caro together again; this is how the situation must remain, so I hope you will be able to persuade your uncle to say nothing. Trust me in this, my darling.
Unfortunately, there is one rather signal obstacle to any reconciliation, namely Francis himself. He will not even speak the name Merriam, and given the nature of the slur that has been cast upon his character, I suppose I cannot blame him. On top of that he is not disposed to listen to me because he believes I am too infatuated with you to be impartial. I therefore see no alternative than to force him to be sensible.
To this end, tomorrow morning at about eleven I will bring him to the ruined chapel on the embankment and hope you will be able to do the same with Caro. I suggest that you get there
early and keep your horses out of sight, for in his present mood he is only too likely to ride off again in high dudgeon. Once we have them together, leave the talking to me. All will soon become clear, and you will be able to follow my lead. Don’t be apprehensive at all, my darling, for I am certain I can bring this whole thing to a fitting conclusion.
À bientôt, ma chère, and have faith that love will conquer all, not just for our star-crossed friends, for Francis is right—I am infatuated with you, besotted beyond all redemption, in fact.
Brand
Folding the letter again, she smiled. She would do everything he asked, beginning with persuading Uncle Merriam to go along with it.
After hiding the letter in her reticule, she went to find her uncle. Half an hour after that she had his consent. All that remained was to persuade Caro to go for a ride the next day.
Caro proved very difficult, for the last thing she wished to do was emerge from the haven of her apartment, but eventually she agreed, and the following morning the cousins set off beneath the frozen brilliance of the January sun. The countryside was still covered with snow, and except for the screams of seagulls high above, everything was very quiet as they rode along the lane into the End of the World.
Summer wore her usual rose woolen riding habit, and a tasseled military-style hat borrowed from Caro. Her mount was the same bay hunter she’d ridden before. Caro wore a bottle green riding habit and Summer’s top hat because its veil concealed how pale and tear-stained her little face was. She rode a chestnut mare and showed no interest in anything as she stared at her mount’s plaited mane.
The ride was taking a little longer than anticipated, and it was nearly eleven as they at last neared the embankment and urged their horses up the slope.
“Come on, just to the chapel and back,” Summer said, kicking her heels to bring her mount up to a canter along the path at the top, and as she glanced over her shoulder, she was relieved to see Caro following.
She was further relieved to see no sign of anyone at the chapel, and as she and Caro maneuvered their mounts into the lee of the ruins out of the icy air that swept off the estuary, she could only hope that Brand had managed to persuade Francis to come out.
As she began to dismount, Caro’s face fell still further. “It’s too cold to stop, Olivia; can’t we ride back immediately?
“We have to rest the horses,” Summer replied.
“But—”
“We won’t be long.”
With a sigh Caro slid down from the saddle. “Very well, if you insist.”
They tethered their mounts to the ivy overgrowing the walls, and then Summer caught Caro’s hand. “Come on, it won’t be so drafty inside.”
As they hurried around the front of the chapel, Summer saw Brand and Francis emerging from the fox covert farther on, so she quickly ushered Caro through the doorway.
Once inside, Caro looked around uneasily. “What a horrid place,” she said.
“Oh?” But even as Summer replied, she was aware of the whispering she’d heard before. I, Stephen, adore thee, Susannah...
She glanced at her cousin, wondering if she heard it too, but Caro raised her veil over her hat and stood in the doorway to stare across the estuary toward the Welsh coastline with eyes that were full of shadows.
A trick of the breeze carried the sound of jingling harness, and Summer decided it was time for honesty. “Caro, I haven’t been entirely truthful with you about the ride. You see, Brand is bringing Francis, although I fear the latter is as unaware of the situation as you.”
Caro’s green eyes widened accusingly. “Oh, Olivia, how could you!”
“You and Francis are going to speak to each other again if it’s the last thing Brand and I do.”
“At the very least you could have confided in me!”
“Would you have come if I had?”
Caro looked away. “I don’t know,” she admitted.
“Well, you’re here now, and there’s no escape, so it’s up to you, Caro.”
The two men had drawn close enough for the breeze to carry a snatch of their voices, and Summer looked intently at Caro. “Well? Are you going to do the sensible thing and speak to him?”
After a moment Caro nodded, and Summer smiled. “Good, for I would put my hands around your obstinate throat if you’d said anything else.”
Caro lowered her eyes. “Summer, what does it matter what I say if Francis no longer loves me?” she said quietly.
Summer said nothing more as she leaned cautiously out to watch the approaching riders. Francis was pale and strained, clearly in no mood to enjoy either the scenery or Brand’s conversation. His handsome face was unsmiling, and suddenly he reined in impatiently.
“For God’s sake, Brand, will you please stop trying to reason me into changing my mind about the Merriams! Can’t you get it into your head that I don’t want to hear any of it? Besides, your motives are patently selfish, for your sole concern is Mrs. Courtenay.”
Brand glanced toward the chapel doorway and saw Summer peeping out. He raised his eyebrows, clearly wanting confirmation that she had Caro with her. She nodded, and with a faint smile he dismounted and came around the horses to drag his startled friend from the saddle.
“Eh? What the devil—!” Francis cried, beginning to struggle as soon as he’d recovered from the shock.
But being the taller and stronger by far, Brand took no notice. He hauled his captive to the chapel doorway, and Summer and Caro drew back among the shadows as Francis was unceremoniously bundled inside.
Shaken by such high-handed treatment, Francis staggered backward, but then his bewilderment turned to dark fury as his eyes grew accustomed to the shadows and he saw the two women. He immediately began to stride toward the doorway again, but Brand’s imposing figure darkened it.
“No, Francis, you’ve been tiresomely obdurate, so matters are being taken out of your hands.”
“Damn you, Huntingford!” Francis breathed.
“So it’s Huntingford now, is it?” Brand gave a faint smile. “Shall we see if it’s still that in half an hour’s time when you and Miss Merriam are in each other’s arms again?”
Francis raised his chin. “I have no intention of even speaking to her,” he replied.
“Then you are ill-mannered as well as a fool,” Brand replied bluntly. “Olivia, come here.” He held out his hand to her, and she went to him. His fingers closed reassuringly over hers. “I trust your cousin has been more reasonable?” he murmured.
“Only just,” Summer replied.
Brand looked at Francis again. “Francis, there isn’t a soul at Oakhill House who still believes the vile things that George Bradshaw suggested of you. Indeed the only reason Mr. Merriam mentioned them at all is that he is so very fond of you that he felt he had to be honest. Put yourself in his place, would you have said nothing?”
Francis lowered his eyes.
Caro looked at him, then at Brand. “What did my father say? Please tell me, Sir Brand, for I have no idea at all, and I do so need to understand. I know that it must be very terrible, for my uncle has been thrown out of Oakhill House and told never to return, but no one will tell me what was said.”
“Francis will tell you in due course,” Brand replied quietly.
Francis stiffened. “Never!”
“Oh, yes, you will, my friend, for it is only right that she should know the terrible lies that were invented in order to part her from you.”
“They were invented, that’s true enough, but why?” Francis cried then. “What possible reason could Bradshaw have had for—”
“To ingratiate himself with your father, who holds his IOU’s and could ruin him by calling them in,” Brand interrupted quietly.
Francis looked blankly at him. “That makes no sense. How can lying about me achieve my father’s favor?”
“Bradshaw believed your father had come to deeply regret the Merriam contract because Miss Merriam brings no fortune with her, and thought that by be
ing instrumental in ending the match he’d be able to retrieve the IOU’s. But the truth is that your father has never regretted the match; indeed he has told me most honestly how very glad he is that Miss Merriam is to be his daughter-in-law.”
Caro’s lips parted. “Forgive me, but I find that hard to believe, Sir Brand. Lord Lytherby has clearly changed toward me of late, and—”
Brand interrupted her. “No, Miss Merriam, he has simply had a great deal on his mind. His finances are somewhat precarious, to say the least, and losing Bevincote seems the inevitable outcome.”
Francis straightened. “Losing Bevincote?” he repeated incredulously. “Why haven’t I been told?”
“Because your father feared you might regard it as pressure to marry Melinda, who was rather reprehensibly pretending to be in love with you. Your happiness is what matters, Francis, and that happiness depends upon Miss Merriam.”
Brand’s eyes met Summer’s for a moment, for the statement was half truth, half very definitely lie! She smiled a little, then looked away. Lord Lytherby certainly didn’t deserve exoneration, but that was exactly what he was getting with every clever word.
Brand went on. “As I said, Bradshaw thought your father opposed the match and knew the one slur on your character that would horrify Mr. Merriam, so planned accordingly. Anyway Bradshaw has been ejected from Oakhill House and will never be accepted there again. This is because contrary to your belief, Olivia spoke up so strongly on your behalf that she tricked Bradshaw into admitting his scheme in front of Mr. Merriam. So be sensible, Francis, put this sad business behind you, admit that you’re in love with Caro, and look to the future!”
Francis drew a long breath and hesitated as if about to concede the point, but then he shook his head again. “No, I cannot and will not forgive!”