The old man was struggling to breathe, and James wondered if he should end the conversation because listening to him gasp for air made him feel as if he fought to breathe as well. But Archie clearly had something he needed to impart.
“Your father and I met through a mutual business acquaintance…many years ago. Herbert Tremont had no money but he had integrity, and I found him admirable in many ways. He had met Amanda, although I doubt she remembers him. She was beautiful even as a child, poised. That’s when he mentioned…his only son.”
James shared a look with the ailing man as the significance of what was being said hit him. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
Archie’s gaze was unwavering, his answer clear without being voiced.
“You and my father agreed on a betrothal between Amanda and me?”
“Nothing that formal. We spoke on…a number of occasions. There was a logic to the possibility. Your family needed money…I wanted my daughter to marry well.”
James was thunderstruck. “You made this decision when we were children?”
“There was no decision…just talk. However, not long before he died, your father sought me out for the first time in many years. He knew he was not well…and he wanted you to come home. Your family needed you. He knew his death would force you back to England, but you were returning to…obligations and no money. He hoped to save you from that. He also felt that you would make a fine husband for my daughter.” He smiled a wan smile. “Your father was very proud of you.”
Archie closed his eyes as he took another labored breath. His complexion was waxy and gray, and he looked as though the effort to talk had exhausted him. James wanted to fill the silence but was too emotionally stunned to speak. The pain he had experienced when he first heard of his father’s death had come back in a rush. He started to stand, his hand on the mattress for leverage. Archie grabbed his arm again. James looked into a pair of black eyes that were feverish but fully alert.
“Reassure an old man. Tell me…that you care for my Manda, that all is well…or will be well.”
Oh, the irony! For the first time James truly understood how Amanda felt. He was as much a pawn in the scheming of two ailing old men as was his wife. However, it took him only a moment of consideration to know absolutely he wouldn’t change a thing. He admired and loved his father and still missed him greatly. Archie Campbell was a decent if highly ambitious individual who meant well and clearly loved his daughter. And Amanda had come to mean more to James than he was comfortable admitting. He could throw a tantrum, having been manipulated into doing someone else’s will, but as satisfying as that might prove to be, Amanda and he had suffered enough through this orchestrated debacle. Others had set this play into motion, but his wife and he had been the principal performers and, given no script, they had been left to muddle through as best they could.
Despite the cynicism that now claimed his thoughts, James could not spite a dying old man. Nevertheless, a gentle rebuke was not uncalled for. He regained his seat and eased back in the chair.
“Amanda has suffered greatly from your machinations, sir. And I sincerely regret my part in all this. A more intuitive man would have seen through your ruse, so I’m feeling rather dense at the moment as well. You deceived not only her but also me, and yet…I can truthfully say that the outcome is to my satisfaction. I cannot speak for my wife on this matter.”
“But you care for her?” Archie pressed again, oddly urgent as if that was the only issue that held importance for him.
“I love her, sir,” James said simply. “And I believe she loves me. To say we’ve had an easy time of it, however, would be inaccurate. It’s been a struggle, but I believe we’re going to be all right.”
Archie relaxed, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, what he would call the old man’s first satisfying breath since James had entered the sickroom. James actually felt the tension ease in his own lungs as well.
“I’m going home and bring Amanda back with me,” James continued. “I want you to hold on until we return. For my wife’s sake.”
Archie opened his eyes. He now looked less coherent, but he wore a contented expression. “I’ll wait for her.”
“I’ll expect you to keep your word, sir. I will hold it against you if you die and leave Amanda with a guilty conscience. None of this is her fault, and I want her to be at peace with what is to come.” James knew he was being overly frank but, when all was said and done, Amanda continued to be his first priority.
The only answer the old man gave was a vague smile. Then he closed his eyes and promptly fell unconscious.
Saddened and not a little concerned, James left the chamber in search of the nurse.
***
Amanda approached the courier in the hall, apprehension developing in her midsection. She was uncertain why she felt that way but, in her experience, urgent missives were rarely good news.
“I understand you have a letter for me,” she said to the man.
As the courier handed it to her, he said, “This is from the household of Archie Campbell. You are Lady Lonsdale?”
“Yes, I am.” She glanced at the envelope. It was addressed to her, but this was not her father’s sprawling script. “From the household of Archie Campbell—not from my father himself?”
The man shook his head. “Unless Mr. Winston is your father?”
Amanda stared at him but didn’t answer. Abruptly she turned to the footman who stood at her elbow. “Please see this man is fed and his horse tended to.” To the courier, she said, “Thank you. You’ll be compensated before you leave.”
She crossed the entry and entered the sitting room, moving to the escritoire along one wall to find a letter opener. An impatient search found what she was looking for, and Amanda quickly sliced through the flap on the envelope, removing the folded paper inside. She held her breath, reading the note twice before releasing the pent-up air. On shaky legs she moved to the sofa, pulling the bell, then sat down. Another footman appeared almost immediately, and Amanda suspected the staff had been watching and preparing to act swiftly if she needed them to. If they feared something was wrong, they were absolutely correct.
She turned a face she knew was strained to the servant and said, “Please ask Lady Bickford to attend me here at her earliest convenience.”
Her father was ill. And since the missive was clearly sent without his participation—and most likely without his knowledge—she had to assume the worst. But how could that be? He was well when she left him recently. Or was he? She remembered the watery cough and his washed out appearance when she saw him last.
Within minutes Aunt Henry rushed in the room. “Amanda! My dear, what has happened?” The older woman plunked next to her on the sofa, and Amanda passed her the letter. Henry gasped as she read. “Oh no, oh no,” she murmured. She glanced up, worry in her kind gaze. “What are you going to do?”
“Pack a few things and leave within the hour.”
“Do you think that’s wise? Perhaps you should wait for James to return.”
Amanda waved an impatient hand. “I don’t know when that will be. I need to leave for London now.”
“But I thought he was expected back rather quickly.”
“That was the plan, of course, but I still have no idea how much time is involved in his stay. So much depends on what had to be accomplished, and even James was uncertain about that. I simply can’t wait. My father may be…dead,” she forced the fearsome word through trembling lips, “as we speak.”
“I pray that’s not the case. Was James supposed to visit Mr. Campbell?”
“We didn’t actually speak of it one way or the other. I now wish we had. It would, of course, have been the courteous thing for him do.”
“It’s already past the noon hour. Late to be starting a journey.”
“What choice do I have?”
Henry sighed as if whatever argument she was waging was already lost. “Right then, what do you want me to do?”
“Send my maid to me. And please send word that a carriage is to be readied for my departure. The coachman needs to take another driver to relieve him. We’ll only be stopping to change horses and refresh ourselves. I can rest while I’m traveling.”
The older woman nodded as she stood up.
“And please give the courier a missive for my husband. Hopefully, the man can intercept James before he leaves London.”
***
As soon as James rode into the stableyard at Lonsdale, he speedily dismounted his horse and tossed the reins at the young stablehand who rushed out to greet him. He wasted no words, merely nodding at the young man with the expectation that he would be understood. James took the steps at the back entrance of the main house, entering through the kitchens, because that was his quickest access to inside. His sudden appearance must have been a shock, for he evidently frightened a scullery maid who was sitting on a stool and peeling potatoes in a large wooden bowl she held on her lap. She jumped to her feet, nearly losing the bowl to the floor in her haste.
“My lord!” she squeaked.
He dashed through the kitchen. “Carry on,” he threw over his shoulder as he ran toward the servants’s stairs. His destination was the floor above, hopefully to find his wife.
The bedchamber he shared with Amanda was empty. He moved back into the hall and toward the main staircase, calling for his wife as he went.
Aunt Henry appeared at the foot of the main staircase. “James, where did you come from? And why are you yelling?”
“Where’s Amanda?” he asked as he descended into the entry hall to come abreast of her.
Uncles Ham and Harry, with Huey trailing behind them, appeared from the sitting room. Curiosity was written on all three faces. Several servants from different directions in the house also gravitated toward the commotion. We’re drawing a crowd, James thought in dismay.
“Everyone back to their respective duties, please,” he said, authority in his voice that sent everyone who was employed scurrying. His family, however, remained in place, waiting for him to explain himself. He turned to Aunt Henry. “Where’s my wife?”
“She left for London day before yesterday.”
“Damn it all to hell!” he bellowed.
The old lady jumped, placing a hand to her ear closest to him. “James! Behave yourself.”
At once James was contrite. “Pardon, uncalled for.” He quieted his voice though he knew his frustration was still obvious. “But I was hoping to reach home before Amanda did anything rash.”
“You know of her father’s illness?”
“I visited him. Why didn’t she wait for me?”
“Because she didn’t know when you were scheduled to return, and finding out that information would have taken more days than she felt was advisable under the circumstances. And frankly, the message she received was quite dire. Said if she wished to see her father alive, time was of the essence. It was sent by a Mr. Winston at the behest of Mr. Campbell’s man of business. It was also signed by the attending physician.”
A very reasonable explanation and yet James felt frustrated. “I’m uncomfortable with her traveling and staying at an inn without me. A woman alone…”
“She’s not alone. She has four servants with her, my dear, who are very diligent in their duties. No harm will come to her. Moreover, she decided to travel without stopping except for meals and the changing of horses.” Aunt Henry glanced around the entry then motioned for her nephew to follow her into the sitting room. As she passed her brothers, she said, “I’d like a few minutes alone with James, if you don’t mind, gentlemen.”
All three men nodded at her with disappointed expressions. After James entered the room, Henry closed the double doors with a decisive click and turned to face him.
It was not a comfortable interview. Aunt Henry was obliged to tell him about her wayward son and the trouble he had tried to provoke. She was close to tears by the time she finished.
“I had to have Derrick forcibly removed from the house, James.”
James had managed to hold his temper while she spoke but only just. From where he stood by the fireplace, he had remained quiet as his aunt explained the events leading up to Amanda’s departure for London. But the effort not to yell again was taking a toll on him. Just as his relationship with Amanda had reached a very satisfying turning point, Derrick had stuck his malicious accusations into the middle of their reconciliation. His gut churned with righteous fury.
It was bad enough that Derrick had exposed his presence on the estate, but to imply that James was having an affair was beyond reprehensible—and dim-witted. What had he hoped to gain? James held the purse strings after all. Was his cousin truly that self-destructive?
“You know I’m going to strangle him, don’t you?” James said through gritted teeth.
“A fate he’s earned.” Aunt Henry moaned. “I’ll not defend him any longer, James, and so I told my son. You must do what you must do.”
“Do you think I should provide him with a place to live after this?”
She pulled a lace hankie from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “That is for you to decide. Derrick does not deserve your generosity.”
“Is he gone?”
“I believe so.”
“I’m going to make certain.” His tone was harsh and unyielding. “Pray that he is gone, Aunt Henry, because I won’t lie to you—his life is in danger.”
***
“Have you sent him packing, Mother?”
“For heaven’s sake, James, you are forever making more of a situation than actually exists.”
Muriel Tremont was intoxicated, her voice thick, her words slurred. She was sitting in an armed parlor chair, upholstered in rose-colored velvet, watching her son pace back and forth. She held a full goblet of something alcoholic, taking sips as she talked. James fought the disgust that made his stomach queasy because, at least for the moment, this was not about his broken association with his mother. All right, perhaps it was to some extent, but he wasn’t going to dwell on that right now.
“For once, discard the evasive talk and answer me.”
He barked the words at her and she jumped, sloshing her drink over the rim of her glass and onto her gown.
“Well, I never! How dare you—”
He stopped in front of her. “Answer me, damn it!”
She dabbed at her skirt with shaky fingers, not looking at him. Those fingers indicated, as nothing else had, just how nervous she was.
“As far as I know he’s gone. He’s not staying at the dower house, at any rate. And I must say I’m glad for that. I never did like him. He’s a most unpleasant young man. Makes my skin creep.”
“Then I should think, Mother, you and he were well suited.”
Muriel did look at him then, her mouth crimping in distaste. “I suppose I should expect nothing more from you than disrespect. The last decade has not, as one would have hoped, made you one whit more pleasant.”
“Are you saying over time I should have become more pleasant to an inebriate whose only reason for getting out of bed in the morning is to pour her first drink? You haven’t changed—why should I? You were an appallingly poor wife and mother. If I refuse to pretend otherwise, it’s only what you deserve.”
“I married a man with no money. How was I supposed to overcome that disadvantage? I was trapped here in the country, living like a pauper. I hated it!”
“Then why did you marry my father? I knew your father. He would not have forced you into a marriage that was abhorrent to you.”
“I…thought I loved Herbert.” She looked away from him and out the window. Her voice took on a distant quality as though for a moment she had moved back in time. Oddly, her face appeared younger, her expression less embittered as she continued to speak. “I was young and foolish. Love cannot overcome poverty. I should know—I’ve tried.”
Perhaps it was the amount of alcohol she had imbibed that had loosened her tongue, or beneath all
that narcissism there was a person with at least some depth. But briefly he could almost sympathize with her situation. Unfortunately, in the next moment she reverted to her old self.
She glanced back at him, lip curled. “I see you were not willing to go through life without a full purse.” A nasty reference to his own marriage…
“Mother, be careful.”
“Come back to me in a few years and let’s see how your wife feels about living with all your strange and destitute family. Let’s see if she’s as amenable then as she is now.”
“How can you hate people who have never done anything objectionable to you?”
“I never said they had.” Again, that faraway look. “But your father put every one of them ahead of me. Every one. Our only real connection was our children, and he subverted them where I was concerned as well. He made me feel an outsider, and that never changed.”
“Do you really believe that was his purpose?”
Muriel sighed, a disgusted sound. “Herbert was a sweet man but insensitive. He never understood what he was doing.”
James opened his mouth to dispute her claim and instead remained quiet. He suspected that his mother and he would never fully repair the rift between them, but he would be a fool not to understand the message she was giving him, whether she intended to or not. As much as he didn’t want to see his father in any but a perfect light, he wondered if Herbert had been a somewhat neglectful husband.
Something to ponder—and an object lesson for certain. James must never forget the most important person in his life, regardless of his responsibilities. As his mother had proven, not only his own happiness but the happiness of his entire family depended on him understanding his priorities.
***
CHAPTER 17
Late morning and Amanda stood in the corridor outside her father’s sickroom, trying to prepare herself for entering. She knew it would do no good. There was no way to prepare for that moment when all over again she was accosted by the reality of her only living parent’s impending death. She did not pretend to herself that he was, by some miracle, going to get well. The physician had been kind but blunt. Archie Campbell’s days were numbered, most certainly fewer days than more.
In the Garden of Deceit (Book 4) Page 19