Edgar looked at him with surprise. “What, old man?”
His cousin’s affected speech and stance annoyed James.
“I am the heir presumptive to the estate and yet when I went to the lawyer he told me I could not sign to look after it for the next six months. You had already done so. Apparently you have been running the estate effectively for the last two years.”
“Quite right, too.”
“All I see around me Edgar, is decay and ruin. The estate is going rotten. Where are the grooms, the staff? Why is the roof caving in?”
“Are you trying to suggest that I have been doing a bad job?” Edgar stepped further into the room, revealing his cane which he twirled in his left hand.
James eyed Edgar with alarm. He had never regarded Edgar as a physical threat, but the way he spun the cane expertly suggested hours of practice. He moved towards the window behind the bed where Edgar’s stick would have less room to swing.
“No, I am merely trying to find out why they nominated you to the estate, and why the mine is doing so badly too.”
And work out what else was going on.
“Unfortunately we had a run of bad luck.” Edgar sat down heavily on the edge of the moldy bed, his stick finally resting still on the floor. He stood up again quickly, wiping the seat of his pristine breeches with disgust. “The market for stone from Brambridge has fallen through. We lost the contract to redo the apse on Exeter cathedral. An excellent friend of mine, the mayor of Exeter, told me that it had been noted that the blocks of stone we had sent them had split and weathered in the cloisters whilst they were waiting to hoist them into position.”
James shook his head. The Brambridge stone was renowned. It had been mined since the Roman times. There was no way that it could suddenly start to weather badly. But once a rumor started, even an unfounded one, James knew they were hard to stop. Every business ran on reputation. If it could not maintain its contracts, then one by one they would disappear as buyers moved to other companies.
“What about the crops?” he demanded. “The failure of the mine surely had nothing to do with that?”
“It was the eruption of volcano, Mount Tamborra, wasn’t it?” Edgar’s lips turned down at the edges. “It’s changed the weather system completely. It was just too cold last summer for anything to grow.”
James knew this to be true, certainly in the main body of Europe where the ground had frozen hard. Germany had been particularly badly hit. But Lord Anglethorpe’s estates next door still seemed as fertile as ever.
Edgar chewed at the knob on the top of his cane. “I’ve heard lots of sensible people are leaving London and going abroad to where it is warmer. Even Lord Byron has left.” He gave James a sideways look.
Who cared about Byron? The ladies loved him yes and he spouted poetry all the time but the man had no sense of honor. “Why didn’t you let me take over?”
“I’m sorry, James.” Edgar took his walking stick out of his mouth and wiped it on his coat. “I thought you would want all your time free to deal with looking for the Mompesson girl. The estate work is time consuming and I thought that I could take it on and leave you to look for her.”
Despite himself James had to acknowledge that the words were reasonable.
“Why did you do it, Edgar?” he said starkly.
“Do what?”
Edgar’s face was reflected in the window. His eyes had grown wider and he spun his cane again. “Why did you tell Father about the Rocket?”
Edgar’s face relaxed and he rested the cane on the floor once more. “I’m sorry, James, I truly am. Your father paid me to watch out for you. He was worried that you were going to come to some harm, so asked me to keep him apprised of your activities.”
It had the ring of truth to it. But it seemed like too much concern on his father’s behalf for James. If the man had looked out for him, why hadn’t he written? Why had he been so keen to hand him over to Lord Anglethorpe?
“Surely you would have protected me as you knew they were coming for me?”
“I didn’t know, James. I had just finished telling your father when the mob turned up at the door. He put two and two together before I could change the story or help you get away.” Edgar advanced into the room. James fought his desire to move round to the other side of the bed. He turned before Edgar could touch him.
Edgar bobbed his head up and down. “I’m sorry about any inconvenience caused.”
That’s what he called it? Two years of fighting on the Peninsular, inconvenience? James could feel his hands itching to lift and throttle the life from Edgar.
“Alright, Edgar,” he forced out, to Edgar’s relief. “Let’s put it behind us. I would like a drink and you look like you need one too.” James put his pent up aggression into clapping Edgar on the shoulder.
Jerkily setting his cane on the floor, Edgar smiled tentatively and led the way out of the room.
But James still wasn’t satisfied.
Lord Anglethorpe’s estate prospered, hardly touched by the weather changes precipitated by the eruption of Mount Tamborra. Something was very fishy indeed.
CHAPTER 11
Harriet’s ears rang. Even the chirping of the birds was too loud. Five hours of rehearsing Romeo and Juliet in the echoing school house with small children and adolescents who were more interested in showing off than acting had tested her patience to the limit.
She shivered, despite the inner heat from the few nights before that still hadn’t left her, her hand tingling occasionally where James had caught her.
She hadn’t shouted yet that day. But she had raised her voice. The only time the cast had listened to her was when she had picked up one of the sword props. She hadn’t let it out of her hand since then.
Moving to stand on the doorstep of the school room, Harriet smiled weakly as the last young actor left. She sank with a sigh against the door jamb.
“That’s an interesting thing for a schoolmistress to hold.”
Harriet straightened and fought the urge to pat her hair. What was it about this girl that made her wish she was something more than she was?
“We were rehearsing Romeo and Juliet.” Harriet drew herself up and clutched tighter at the wooden sword, but still Melissa Sumner was half a head taller than she was.
“What’s in a name, that which we call a rose.”
“You’re interested in Shakespeare?” Perhaps Melissa had some good points after all.
“No, not really. I only remember it because of the comment about the rose. I’m more interested in plants.” Melissa turned her deep blue eyes to Harriet’s. “I’ve never been that interested in plays. I haven’t had time.”
Harriet stamped down on an urge to growl. There was no need to be so dismissive about her passion. She had already had to endure an hour of Melissa and her mother’s company at the vicarage when the Dowager Lady Stanton had visited with the vicar’s wife. Agatha had drafted her in to help serve the tea. They had discussed the success of the school play at the Midsummer festivities as if Harriet wasn’t there. Mrs. Madely hadn’t bothered to hide the snide looks she gave Harriet. Awful woman.
“Tell me, do you know Lord Stanton at all?” Melissa’s gaze dropped away from hers. She fiddled with her pelisse as if wanting to get something out.
Harriet pursed her lips. This wasn’t an accidental visit. Melissa had come to the school seeking her out on purpose.
“I used to.”
“What kind of a man is he?”
“In what way?”
Melissa looked back up at her. Imperceptibly her brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed slightly. The blue of her eyes brightened. How did she do that? Harriet felt even shorter than she already was. She reached up with her free hand and patted at her errant curls—she couldn’t stop herself.
“I’m sorry.” Melissa lifted her chin. “It was silly of me to ask.”
“He is very honorable.” And confusing.
Melissa nodded seriously. “That is impor
tant,” she said. But to Harriet it seemed that she said it more to herself than to her. “Does he have any interests?”
Harriet blinked. “I’m not sure. He’s only just come back. He used to like stargazing as a boy.”
Melissa waved disinterestedly. “No, I don’t mean about that. Does he have any real interests?” Melissa was looking at her again with her eyes narrowed. Harriet swallowed.
“Girls, you mean?”
“Or women.”
Of course Melissa would think of it that way. Harriet was a mere girl. Everyone thought of her as a girl. Her aunt, Bill, James. No one thought of her as a woman. She eyed Melissa’s straight back and sumptuous clothes. Melissa was all woman.
Damn her.
“Gracious. I’m not sure I would know.”
Melissa frowned, and narrowed her eyes even further at Harriet.
Her shoulders slumped. “Not that I’ve seen in the past few weeks.”
“Good.”
Harriet flexed her hand on the wooden sword. Good? If Melissa hadn’t been clear about her intentions before, she was now. She meant to pursue James.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to finish clearing up.”
Melissa looked surprised. “Oh, I am sorry, I hadn’t realized.”
She hadn’t realized? Even though the debris from the rehearsal was plainly littered behind Harriet? Harriet nodded and turned back into the dark schoolroom, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She could not compete with Melissa. Even the faintest hope that had burned slightly in her heart extinguished silently.
Harriet threw all the props into a large box at the back of the school room. With a grunt of frustration, she shoved the heavy box with her feet back against the wall.
“Have you had any more time to consider my proposal?”
Blinking, Harriet turned back to the doorway. All the light had been blocked from the room. Bill’s shoulders filled the gap. She stamped back to the door and, with a forefinger, pointed at Bill’s chest and then at the school garden. Bill threw his hands up and laughed.
“I know I only asked you a few days ago.” He backed slowly into the sunlight of the small yard.
“That’s right, and we have struck a bargain.”
“There’s no need to be so dramatic about it, Harry, you only need to say yes or no.”
“I still need time to think.”
Bill raised his eyebrows. “What is there to think about? We both come from Brambridge, we like each other and we’re both not getting any younger.”
“I’m not that old.”
“Most of the girls in Brambridge are paired up by the time they are sixteen. You’re very much past that.”
“Most of the girls in Brambridge have already experienced your form of romance as well,” Harriet said tartly.
Bill smiled. “It’s not my fault they find me irresistible.”
Harriet blinked. Bill was like a large handsome bear. And she felt absolutely no attraction to him whatsoever.
“Come here and let me show you.” Bill grinned and opened his arms wide and then stilled. “Don’t move,” he whispered.
Harriet froze. Bill reached out a hand towards her hair and she flinched. He hummed slightly at her to make her stay still.
“Got you,” he whispered again, plucking with surprisingly deft fingers at one of her curls. Harriet stood very still as he waved his fingers in front of her eyes. Harriet couldn’t stop the moan that came from her lips. In Bill’s fingers sat a very large and fat spider. He thrust it towards her and she put out her fingers in supplication. He knew she hated spiders. James had told him out of spite one day in a rare fit of rage when yet again he had had to rescue her from a scrape.
“Please… I…”
Bill laughed softly and walked away to put the spider safely on a gatepost.
“So why me?” Harriet couldn’t resist calling after him.
“Why what you?” Bill poked at the spider to make him move.
Harriet had a sudden vision of what their marriage would be like. She had never had a brother but having observed Janey’s siblings she imagined that life with Bill would be very much like having a little brother. A very annoying little brother.
“Why do you want to marry me when you could have any of the other girls?”
“Those village girls aren’t a patch on you, Harry. You can read and write. I think I’m going to need a woman like you in the future.”
Good grief. This proposal was becoming more and more romantic by the minute.
“There is no need to look so disappointed. It’s the truth,” Bill protested as he walked back towards her. He bent his head and peered into her face.
“You’re not still waiting for him, are you?”
Harriet swallowed. “Him who?”
Bill sighed. “That’s the problem with being so dramatic, Harriet. You can’t hide anything. Your face gives you away.”
“No, I really don’t understand what you are talking about.” Harriet took a large gulp of air; it was as if a vice was closing in on her chest.
“He’s not the same man that he was, you know.”
Harriet nodded. There was no point in pretending to not know who he was talking about.
“James has very different priorities now. I’m sorry Harriet. But I think it very unlikely that he will be able to give you what you want.”
Her fingers curled into a fist. Was it so obvious to everyone else that they were unsuited, too? Had James had spoken to Bill about her? She turned away. There was still one last sword to put away in the box.
“I’m the next best thing, Harriet, and you know it.” Bill slammed his fist into his hand. “Dammit, Harry.” His voice softened. “I’ve even been told I look like him. Surely that has to count?”
Harriet paused in the doorway. Her eyes widened in the darkness of the schoolroom. “Perhaps you are right, Bill,” she said softly and she closed her eyes as Bill let out a breath behind her. “But I will still let you know when we return in the Rocket to Brambridge.”
Bill’s footsteps crunched on the gravel as he turned and walked away. Harriet winced as he slammed the gate closed.
She couldn’t marry someone knowing that they had always been second best.
CHAPTER 12
The gravel crunched under James’ feet as he strode heavily up the long drive. He wished he’d never gone for a walk, never attempted to escape Brambridge Manor and its scheming inhabitants.
His mind kept returning to the conversation he had just heard. Or more particularly, the poignant silence in the middle of it.
Have you had time to consider my proposal… it’s not my fault they find me irresistible, come here and let me show you…” And she obviously had, given the lengthy pause that followed. Good God, then she had moaned.
Did she do that with all the men that she kissed? He’d left quickly, back the way he came. James couldn’t listen to any more.
Why had he taken it into his head to see her? Truth be told, it was because the short bursts of time he had with her caused life to spring into color, sparks to course through his veins again. Alone, in the manor, he felt like a shadow, an unfeeling shade amongst many others.
By Zeus, she had rubbed off on him. Look at him, extemporizing like one of her Shakespeare heroes. He stopped and drew a hand over his face. He was tired, so very tired. He had been out every night, ostensibly taking up his old hobby of stargazing, but in fact he had been monitoring the activity up and down the coast. The sometimes very surprising activity.
Should he tell Harriet about her would be fiancé’s amorous night time movements? He licked his lips. No. He would look a fool when they had in reality shared nothing at all.
James started walking again. He hadn’t been quite right since Corunna. Every unexpected touch or noise startled him, turned him quickly to anger. If only he had a more visible wound like his shoulder or even his leg like Freddie’s. Freddie had gained his on the battlefield whereas James had been holed up in a
farmhouse in advance of the troops, still in his role as scout, when an artillery shell had landed straight down on the roof. The house had collapsed in on him. As he lay there, shoulder pinioned by timber, he had gone over again and again the sound of the shell whistling through the air before it hit, the dust raining from the roof, covering his skin.
He had stayed in that position for three days until Freddie had arrived to pull him out.
But Harriet didn’t need to know about that. It wasn’t important. She had protested about waiting two years for him to come back, but in reality she had been building her own life. She had moved on whilst he was still stuck in the past trying to bury his father’s ghost.
James dropped his hand to his side and resumed his approach to the manor door. He could not waste time thinking about her. If he wanted to keep the estate he needed to find Marie Mompesson, whoever she was. There was no record of her anywhere. The Bow Street runner that he’d sent for spent more time in the Prince of Wales Inn drinking with Edgar rather than out searching.
The front door to the manor opened as he stepped up the first of the short steps to the door. Mrs. Sumner exited, followed by his mother and one of the few remaining footmen.
“Dear Lord Stanton, how lovely to see you.”
James bristled, and tensed as Mrs. Sumner caught his arm. This time he was conscious of the anger filling him.
“Your mother and I were just going to visit Mrs. Madely again. Such an interesting woman. I’ve left instructions for a hamper to be packed for you and Melissa for your picnic today. Cecilia has a migraine, I fear.”
James frowned and looked pointedly at where Mrs. Sumner’s hand still rested on his sleeve. She laughed and batted her eyelashes at him, leaving her hand on his sleeve for just a little longer. He clenched his fists. She was acting as if she were in charge of Brambridge Manor, not him. And where on earth had this idea for a picnic come from?
That was why he had had to escape.
“I’m afraid I have another engagement.”
“James, you promised,” his mother protested. James jerked in surprise. It was the most animated that he had seen her in a long time. She had never exerted her authority, especially not when his father was alive.
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