The Hemingford Scandal

by Mary Nichols

  She had to make a new life for herself; if that meant going to Bath as a companion to Aunt Lane, then so be it. She would make the best of it. What would she do there? Visit the baths, go to concerts, go calling, sit and sew? Would she be able to ride? The thought of not being able to get on a horse again decided her. She would rise early and go riding in the morning, but better not say anything to her aunt.

  ‘Aunt, I am very tired,’ she said. ‘I think I will retire early, if you do not mind.’

  ‘Of course not, child. Go along.’

  She climbed the stairs, past the blank spaces on the walls where the pictures had once hung, past her father’s empty room and on to her own room, where Hannah, who had been offered the post of Jane’s personal maid by Mrs Lane, was waiting to help her.

  ‘I can get myself to bed,’ she said. ‘I want you to go out for me.’

  Amid protests that she should not be doing it, Jane sent her to the nearest stables to hire a riding horse to be brought to the house at seven the following morning. Now the decision had been made she was looking forward to her ride and hardly dare close her eyes for fear she would oversleep, although she had asked Hannah to wake her.

  She was sound asleep when the maid shook her at six-thirty.

  ‘You’ll have me in trouble with Mrs Lane, you really will,’ she said as she helped Jane into her habit and pinned up her hair. ‘You are still in mourning and this habit is blue.’

  ‘It is a very dark blue. And no one will see me.’

  ‘There’s any number of blackguards out there, waiting to pounce. It ain’t safe for a man, let alone a woman.’

  ‘Oh, Hannah, you refine upon it too much. I shall be perfectly safe on a horse and back before my aunt misses me; you know she never rises before eleven. Now, fetch my hat and watch for the stable boy. I don’t want him knocking on the door and waking her.’

  Ten minutes later she was trotting purposefully towards Green Park in the light of a new dawn, unaware that Harry had seen her and was riding behind her.

  He had woken early and, unable to wait idly until it was a decent hour to go calling, had decided to go for a ride. His route from Cavendish Square to Hyde Park took him past the end of Duke Street and on a whim he turned down it, only to see Jane emerge alone. He reined in and watched as she mounted a hack being held by a stable boy and trotted off towards Grosvenor Square. He assumed she was making for Green Park and changed his own destination to follow her.

  When she entered the park, she avoided the cows, heavy with milk, and, once clear of them, put her mount to a canter, and then a gallop. After the gloom of a house in mourning, it was wonderful to be out in the fresh air. It would be frowned upon by Society, which set such store on behaving in the accepted manner, but she was sure her father, if he could see her, would not mind. Several minutes later, she drew up by a group of trees and turned to see the man she loved trotting towards her. Her heart gave a great leap of joy, before settling back into its recent numb acceptance that she was fated not to enjoy the love she wanted and needed so badly.

  ‘We are well met, Jane,’ he called, drawing rein beside her. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I am well.’ She looked far from well. She was pale as a ghost, there were dark circles under her eyes and the eyes themselves had an empty look as if her tears had drained the life out of them. He longed to comfort her, to put the sparkle back in them. He waited, his hands idle on the reins. ‘How did you know I would be here?’

  ‘I didn’t. I saw you leave your house and decided to follow.’

  ‘Why?’ He looked exhausted and there was a dreadful bruise on his face. The newspapers had said Mr Allworthy had resisted arrest before being overpowered. Had he inflicted that injury?

  ‘Why? Because you should not be riding out alone and ought to have an escort.’

  She smiled wanly. ‘I needed to get out of the house. It’s not the same now and…’ She paused. ‘You heard?’

  ‘About your father, yes. Jane, I am so very sorry for your loss.’

  ‘He was ill, I knew he was working too hard. That damnable book…’

  He smiled at her language. ‘He wanted to finish it.’

  ‘No, he did not. He knew when it was finished he would have no reason to live.’

  ‘Did he finish it?’

  ‘Yes. When I went into the library to tidy it just before the funeral, there it was on the desk, neatly tied with ribbon. There was nothing else on the desk, no papers, no books, not even a pen, all had been tidied away. It was as if he knew…’

  ‘Oh, Jane, I am sorry, but he is at peace now.’ He did not want to talk about her father, he wanted to talk about her and whether she would accept his offer of marriage, but politeness demanded he speak of the late Mr Hemingford first, to offer condolences. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Anne tells me you are going to Bath with Mrs Lane.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is that what you wish?’

  She shrugged. ‘She has offered me a home.’

  His horse was becoming restive. He dismounted and tethered it lightly to a bush so that it could crop the grass. Then he turned back to her. ‘Come, my love, dismount. I cannot talk to you while you are on the back of that animal.’

  She took his outstretched hands and slid from the saddle. ‘I am surprised you want to talk to me at all.’

  He did not release her hands, but stood looking down into her upturned face, studying her features, the sorrowful eyes, the brows, the soft mouth, the way her hair sprang from beneath her riding hat, the way her white muslin neckcloth nestled at her throat. ‘How can you say that?’

  ‘It is all over, is it not?’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Your mission. You have captured the traitor.’

  ‘Yes, it is all over. The man will trouble you no more.’

  ‘Trouble me? That is not why you went after him, was it? Not for my sake.’

  ‘No, I was ordered to find a traitor. I had no idea it was Allworthy, not in the beginning.’ He paused and went on gently. ‘Jane, I never wanted to hurt you. I hoped you might never learn that it was me who uncovered his villainy.’

  ‘Do you think I care a groat about that?’ she said sharply. ‘Do you think I was so enamoured of him that I would condone his wickedness? I rejected him, or had you forgot?’

  ‘No, I had not forgot.’ He was puzzled. ‘Jane, what are you trying to say?’

  ‘You should have told me, you should have trusted me. Instead, you went about it in secret, dashing off to Norfolk with never a word, while the tattlers did their worst. They said Mr Allworthy had called you out and I thought you had gone to fight him…’ She was in tears now, beating her fists ineffectually against his chest. ‘Secrets, how I hate secrets. That’s what you did two years ago, tried to conceal the truth from me.’

  He let her hit him; she was not hurting him and if it made her feel better, then he welcomed the battering. ‘Jane, there is no comparison. Two years ago I was foolish enough to think I could buy preferment and there is nothing I regret so much as our quarrel. This time I was given the task of uncovering a traitor and that sort of work has to be done in secrecy. Even from you, my darling.’ He took both her hands in his and kissed the fingers one by one. ‘It is over now.’

  She shivered at his touch. ‘Is it? Do you know what Lady Carringdale is saying?’

  He laughed, still holding her hands.

  ‘That she knew Allworthy was a rogue and had been trying to persuade you to reject him, but that you were so beguiled by him, you would not listen. I cannot imagine anyone believing that.’

  ‘She is saying I am a tease, playing you both off one against the other, and now I had my come-uppance because I was lamed and had neither of you. And my shocking behaviour killed my father. Oh, Harry, do you think it did?’

  ‘No, of course not. And as for losing me, I am afraid you will have to try very much harder if you want to do that.’

  She looked up into his face. The tears glistening on her l
ashes were making her green eyes sparkle. ‘I do not want to lose you,’ she said softly.

  ‘I am not talking about being friends,’ he said. ‘Not that a man can’t be friends with his wife…’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Jane, there can be no buts. I asked you to marry me.’

  ‘And then agreed it was a joke.’

  ‘I was hurt by your reaction. Jane, I need to know the truth. Will you marry me?’

  She smiled. ‘You know, that is the first time you have couched it as a question.’

  ‘And are you going to answer it?’

  ‘Are you sure that is what you want? It is not because you feel sorry for me?’

  ‘Feel sorry for you! Why should I feel sorry for someone who can wind me round her thumb, who is not afraid to say exactly what she thinks, who can ride like the wind and smile like an angel and has my heart so firmly in her grip, there is no escaping?’

  ‘Do you mean that?’

  ‘I never meant anything more in my life.’

  She tilted her head up to look into his face. He smiled and slowly lowered his head to kiss her lightly, then leaned back to look at her again, his expression a question. She answered it with a smile, and he kissed her again, more urgently. They clung together, as if making up for lost time, kissing and being kissed, oblivious to the two horses cropping the grass near them, the early birdsong, the distant lowing of cattle. He released her at last and leaned back to look at her. ‘Now, are you going to answer me?’

  She laughed, suddenly joyous. ‘No, I think you should kiss me again first.’

  He did. And then again, ‘Have I earned my answer?’

  ‘Yes, oh, yes.’

  He grinned and tipped her chin up with his finger, so that he was looking into her eyes. ‘And what is it to be?’

  ‘Need you ask?’

  ‘Say it then. Say, “Harry, I love you and will marry you.”’

  ‘Harry, I love you dearly, have always loved you, and I will marry you.’ She smiled, her tears forgotten. ‘Now it is your turn.’

  He obliged and followed that with more kisses until she was breathless. She reluctantly left his side to fetch her horse. ‘I must go home, my aunt will be worried.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ He helped her mount and then untethered his own horse and sprang easily into the saddle. ‘I will escort you. I must speak to her.’

  ‘Oh, Harry, she will not be pleased,’ she said, as they walked their horses back to the gate. ‘I am in mourning; if I suddenly say I mean to marry you, it will set the tongues wagging even more.’

  ‘Are you suggesting we should keep it a secret?’ He spoke sharply, knowing she was right and hating the idea of any delay to the fulfilment of his dream. ‘I collect you hate secrets.’

  ‘There is no need for secrets. I am going to Bath the day after tomorrow and very soon I shall be forgotten. In due course, you may follow me there.’ She turned and smiled at him.

  ‘How long is due course?’

  ‘Oh, I leave that entirely to your good sense.’

  ‘You do not want me to speak to your aunt?’

  ‘Not today. She will still be abed, I hope. I will tell her.’

  ‘You mean I am to let you go to Bath without seeing you again? That is the outside of enough and not to be borne.’

  ‘I must say goodbye to Anne. I shall call at Bostock House tomorrow for that reason. If you choose to be at home…’

  They had reached the gate where she intended to part company from him. They must not be seen together, not yet, and though he railed against it, he knew she was right. ‘Then I shall most certainly be at home and if I cannot contrive to spend a few minutes alone with you, I will eat this hat.’ He doffed his headgear in salute. ‘Until tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ she murmured, and turned away.

  She had been right: Aunt Lane was not pleased. ‘How could you?’ she railed when she came down for luncheon and Jane told her of the meeting with Harry. ‘You are in mourning for your dear papa and should not be going out at all so soon, but you have to creep out of the house like a thief in the night to go riding. And to meet Harry Hemingford of all people!’

  ‘I did not go to meet him. I did not know he would be there.’

  Her aunt ignored her. ‘Oh, I know he is the hero of the hour, but that doesn’t change things, does it? You still broke off your engagement to him and accepted another man.’

  ‘I did not!’

  ‘As good as. You didn’t know he was a traitor when you went off to Cumbria, did you? You made yourself the talk of the town. There are those who do not believe in your loss of memory, you know.’

  ‘Lady Carringdale.’

  ‘She isn’t the only one. Now you must disgrace me with this…this tarradiddle about marrying Harry Hemingford. You can’t marry him.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Why not?’ Her aunt was almost shrieking. ‘You are in mourning. Do you want to bring shame on your poor father’s memory? And me? I shall be glad when we get to Bath and you learn to behave with a little decorum. If you had anyone else to turn to, I would not take you in.’

  ‘I do have someone else—the Earl of Bostock.’

  ‘And that would compound your folly. I have no doubt he is of the same mind as I am. As for that grandson of his…’

  Jane was so happy that most of this diatribe went over her head. Her aunt would run out of breath and then she would explain that she was not planning to marry Harry immediately, but if her aunt was going to complain about him, she had to be stopped. ‘Aunt, do not say it. Do not revile Harry or we shall have a serious falling out and I shall refuse to come to Bath with you. I love him dearly, I always have, he is the bravest, most honourable man I know and he loves me. I will not have a word said against him.’

  ‘Well!’

  Jane smiled. At last her aunt was speechless. ‘Aunt, we have no intention of announcing our engagement yet. No one shall know of it but you and Anne and the Earl of Bostock, not until I am no longer in mourning and all this dreadful fuss about Mr Allworthy has died down. But I shall marry him. And do not think I will change my mind, because I will not. I would not have broken off the engagement before if I had not been persuaded it was the thing to do. I never stopped loving him.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘You do understand, don’t you?’ she asked softly because her aunt was sitting very still as if digesting this information. ‘I suppose so. But if you are intent on going to Bostock House tomorrow, then I am coming with you. We will go openly in my carriage. I am not laying myself open to any accusations of neglect of my duty towards you.’

  Jane reached over and kissed her aunt’s cheek. ‘Thank you, Aunt. I shall be glad of your company.’

  How she was going to have any time alone with Harry, she had no idea, but somehow they would contrive it.

  The house was empty, the packing all done and the bags and boxes, except what was needed for their journey, had been loaded on a wagon to be taken to Bath ahead of them, and, after seeing it all off the next morning, they set off for Bostock House in her aunt’s carriage.

  All three were there, Harry and Anne and the Earl, when they were shown into the drawing room. Anne ran forward and kissed Jane. ‘Harry has told me. I am so happy for you both.’

  Jane went forward and curtsied to the Earl. ‘Come closer, girl,’ he said. ‘Let me look at you.’

  She obeyed and he took her hand. ‘Come to your senses at last, have you?’ But his eyes were twinkling.

  ‘Yes, my lord.’ She looked round for Harry. He was standing beside a chair, his hand lightly on its back. There was a huge smile on his face as he made her a bow. ‘Miss Hemingford.’

  She laughed, dropped him a curtsy, then ran to take his hand. ‘It is all right,’ she said. ‘Aunt Lane knows.’

  ‘My lord,’ Mrs Lane interrupted, addressing the Earl, ‘I am at a loss… I did not think you would condone…’

  He rose stiffly. ‘Madam, I wish to talk to you.
Be so good as to come with me to the library.’ He held out his arm, obliging her to take it, and they disappeared from the room.

  ‘What does he want with her?’ Jane asked as soon as the door was shut on them.

  Harry laughed. ‘Goodness knows. Did she give you a hard time?’

  ‘Only a little one. In any case it did not signify, I had made up my mind.’

  ‘And you will not change it again?’

  ‘Never.’

  He took her hand and looked deeply into her eyes. ‘Neither shall I,’ he whispered.

  Jane was aware of the soft rustle of silk and the closing of the door and knew Anne had left them alone. ‘Oh, Harry, we have wasted so much time.’

  ‘And more still to waste if you go off to Bath.’

  ‘I must. I want to do this properly, Harry.’

  ‘Six months,’ he said. ‘I will give you six months before I come calling, and it will be the longest six months of my life.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘I will not kick my heels, you may be sure of that.’

  ‘Not guns?’

  He laughed. ‘No. I am to see the Regent next week. I believe I am to be reinstated in his regiment with promotion to Major.’ He laughed. ‘Properly earned, this time.’

  She was alarmed. ‘You are not going back to the war? I could not bear that. You might be killed. Oh, Harry, do say you are not going to fight.’

  He laughed and kissed the tip of her nose. ‘The only fighting I will be doing is with paper and words in the War Department offices. Colonel Garfitt tells me I am to interview prisoners of war and obtain intelligence.’

  ‘Oh, then I shall have to congratulate you.’ She smiled and stretched her arms up to put them round his neck, pulling his head down to hers. The kiss went on for a very long time. It was a foretaste of what she could expect in six months’ time and the memory of it would have to last. It was a mixture of sadness and joy, hope and regret, but most of all an expression of a love that would last forever.