Lady Allerton's Wager

by Nicola Cornick

  ‘Whatever can you mean, Lottie? How could it possibly be a good thing for us both to be there together? We would come to blows within minutes!’

  ‘Well…’ Charlotte started to eat again. ‘It will not be so much like an invasion this way, more a house visit—’

  ‘House visit!’ Beth stared. ‘Good gracious, what can you mean? It will make things twice as bad!’

  ‘Oh, surely not! For we may all sit down together and discuss the matter calmly!’

  Beth stared all the more, wondering which of them was mad. ‘Lottie, you saw what the Earl was like when he came to the house in London! How can you imagine that we would be able to discuss anything calmly?’

  Charlotte frowned. ‘Well, I realise that the Earl was suffering under some strong emotion then, but surely he is perfectly reasonable under normal circumstances!’

  Beth grimaced. She could not imagine how their situation could be interpreted as normal and was afraid that Charlotte was clutching at straws. Should the Earl of Trevithick appear and throw a rub in their way, it would prove decidedly awkward. Beth’s fervent hope by now was that the Earl would not care enough for Fairhaven to put himself to the trouble of going all the way to Devon in winter. The little Season was in full flow and Christmas was approaching and surely he had better things to do with his time than pursue a wild goose chase?

  Before she could put this view to Charlotte, however, there was a rumble of wheels in the courtyard outside and the flare of carriage lamps in the darkness.

  ‘Ostler!’ a deep masculine voice shouted. ‘Look lively there!’

  Beth got up from the table and hurried over to peer through the diamond-paned windows. A curricle was standing in the yard outside, a superb vehicle in dark blue or green livery, with four elegant horses of a quality to match. As she watched, the driver handed his reins to his passenger and swung down from the seat. Beth’s stomach suddenly felt hollow for all the excellent meal she had just eaten.

  She turned back to Charlotte who had also started to look apprehensive.

  ‘You may judge for yourself how reasonable the Earl of Trevithick is, Charlotte,’ she said slowly, ‘for I do believe that he is here now!’

  In an excess of propriety, Charlotte had whisked her cousin away from the window, drawn the curtains tightly and ordered the servants to remove the dishes and to serve tea. She and Beth now sat in the wing chairs on each side of the fire, clutching a cup in their hands and looking at each other with ill-concealed nervousness. Both of them knew that good manners demanded that they make themselves known to the new arrivals. Neither of them had moved to do so.

  The whole inn seemed to have come alive with the gentlemen’s arrival. Beth could hear Marcus out in the yard, chatting with the grooms and ostlers and accepting many complimentary comments on the quality of his horses. Lights flared, doors banged and Beth reflected uncharitably that it was typical of the Earl to make as much fuss as possible wherever he went. She sipped her tea, wondering how on earth Marcus could have reached Marlborough that night and with his own horses. Then she told herself that she did not want to know. She did not want to speak with him and preferably she did not want him to know that she was even there. Her appetite for a confrontation seemed to have vanished completely.

  Beth heard Justin Trevithick’s voice in the corridor outside, bespeaking supper for two and rooms for the night. Charlotte heard it too; Beth saw a hint of colour come into her cousin’s face as Charlotte busied herself pouring fresh tea. Then Beth heard the door of the taproom open and a gust of laughter flow out, and for a moment she thought that they were safe and that the gentlemen had chosen to take a drink in the bar. She was swiftly disabused.

  ‘The ostler tells me that there are some other travellers staying tonight, landlord.’ Beth heard Marcus’s voice sound from further down the corridor. She realised that the maid had left the parlour door slightly ajar when she had removed the dishes. She crept towards it and put her ear to the crack.

  ‘Yes, my lord.’ The landlord spoke above the hubbub coming from the taproom. ‘There are two ladies staying with us.’

  ‘Beth!’ Charlotte whispered urgently from behind her. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Hush!’ Beth put her finger to her lips. ‘I am trying to eavesdrop—’

  ‘Real ladies or the other sort?’ Beth heard the amusement in Marcus’s voice. Evidently the landlord did as well, for this time his tone was scandalised.

  ‘Beg pardon, my lord, but I don’t run that sort of a house! And these are very definitely real ladies!’

  ‘My apologies.’ Marcus had erased the amusement from his tone. There was a rustle of something and a mutter of thanks from the landlord.

  ‘It is just that some friends of ours are on the road and we are trying to catch up with them,’ Marcus continued. ‘We traced them through the toll houses and the posting inns and wondered if they had already arrived here…’ The rustle sounded again. ‘Two ladies, young…attractive…The younger is very striking, with black hair and silver-grey eyes…’

  Beth felt herself warming and pretended that she was hot with indignation that Marcus should be speaking so freely of her. She had a small suspicion, however, that it was his compliments that made her face glow. She was not totally immune to his admiration. And the landlord had evidently recognised her from the description. She heard him clear his throat and speak obsequiously.

  ‘Yes, sir. I do believe you are describing our guests…A most beautiful young lady, sir. Most striking.’

  Beth drew in her breath silently. She had not suggested to the staff in any of the inns that her journey was secret, so they had no reason not to give out information, particularly if Marcus smoothed the process with the kind of tip that she could imagine had just changed hands. The landlord was still talking, evidently anxious to please his open-handed visitor.

  ‘The ladies have the private parlour, sir, so you will find them there. I dare say they may be retiring soon though, as they’ve already partaken of supper and have been travelling all day—’

  ‘Of course they have,’ Marcus murmured. Beth could tell he was coming closer. ‘But I am sure that once they know we are here, the ladies may be persuaded to share their parlour with us…’

  Beth shot away from the door like a scalded cat. Charlotte was watching her with a frown between the eyes. ‘What is it, Beth?’ she hissed.

  Beth closed her eyes and opened them again sharply. ‘Oh, Lottie, I think we should have retired when we had the chance—’

  There was a step right outside the door, then Justin’s voice came even closer at hand. ‘Marcus, can you come out to the stable for a moment? Stephens tells me that there is a problem with one of the horses—’

  A cold draught swirled through the parlour as the door to the courtyard opened and closed again. The gentlemen’s footsteps could be heard outside on the cobbles. Without a pause for thought, Beth grabbed Charlotte’s hand, pulled her from her chair and bundled her out of the room and up the stairs. Charlotte, out of breath and protesting, sank down on to the big four-poster bed as Beth closed the bedroom door behind them and leant against it, breathing hard.

  ‘Beth! What on earth was all that about? Why could you not just greet Lord Trevithick in a civilised manner?’

  Beth was not sure of the answer to that. All she knew was that she felt unequal to the task of confronting Marcus that evening and that any such meeting would have to wait until the morning when she would be stronger and better prepared. She did not have the first idea of what she would say to him or how the conflict between them might be resolved. What she did know, however, was that she was certainly not going to agree to go tamely home just because Marcus had caught up with them already.

  There was a knock at the door and Beth’s heart jumped into her throat. The cousins looked at each other.

  ‘Well, go on,’ Charlotte said, a little impatiently. ‘Pray answer! I cannot believe that even Lord Trevithick would beard a lady in her bedroom!’ />
  Beth privately thought that that was exactly what Trevithick would do, but she went over to the door and peeped round. To her relief there was only the maid on the landing outside. The girl dropped a slight curtsy. She was carrying a tray with two beakers of steaming liquid, and now brought them into the room and placed them on the table by the window.

  ‘His lordship’s compliments, ma’am, and he wondered if you would both care to take a nightcap that is sovereign against the aches and pains of the road.’

  Beth stared suspiciously into the cup. The smell was delicious, a mix of mulled wine and spices. Charlotte came across and stood looking over her shoulder.

  ‘Oh, how thoughtful! Pray thank Lord Trevithick for his consideration!’

  The maid dropped another curtsey and went out, and Charlotte, smiling, picked up one of the cups and took a sip. She gave a sigh.

  ‘Oh, that is truly delicious! Beth, you must try some!’

  Beth took a careful taste. The liquid was warm and soothing, easing away all the aches of the journey just as the maid had promised. Suddenly it seemed churlish to be suspicious of Marcus’s motives. Beth drained the cup to the dregs.

  Charlotte was yawning widely. ‘Goodness, I feel tired! I am for my bed.’ She gave Beth a kiss. ‘Do not forget to lock your door, Beth—and I am in the next room should anything untoward happen! I am sure we can resolve this situation with Lord Trevithick in the morning. Goodnight!’

  Beth closed the door behind her and after a moment bolted it. She hesitated over calling the maid but felt too weary to bother. She donned her nightdress in a somewhat haphazard fashion, and half-climbed, half-tumbled into the big bed. She had barely blown out the candle before she was asleep.

  Chapter Five

  B eth awoke feeling warm and comfortable. The room was full of sunlight and shifting shadow, and for a moment she was puzzled until she realised that she must have fallen asleep before she could draw the bed curtains. Certainly she remembered that she had felt extraordinarily weary the night before, which she supposed was no great surprise since she had been travelling for an entire day with little rest. Now, however, she felt miraculously restored and quite capable of dealing with the problem of seeing Marcus Trevithick again. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and hurried to ring the bell for some hot water.

  It was whilst she was waiting for the maid to appear that she heard the clock downstairs in the parlour strike twelve. Beth paused in the act of brushing out her hair, then counted very carefully as the faint chimes of the church clock out in the square echoed the same twelve strokes. She put down her brush and flung open the bedroom curtains.

  Her window looked out on to a small kitchen garden with rows of neat vegetables and a chicken scratching in the dust. The sun was bright and high, and Beth could feel its October warmth through the glass pane. High noon. There could be no doubt. She had slept for fifteen hours.

  Beth frowned. She had been intending to breakfast no later than seven-thirty and be on the road by eight. If they were to reach Bridgwater that day…But there was no possible chance of reaching Bridgwater now, or even Glastonbury. They would be lucky to make thirty miles that day and meanwhile Marcus would be halfway to Devon. No doubt he was on his way already.

  Beth’s eye fell suspiciously on the cup that had held the mulled wine. She picked it up and sniffed the dregs. They smelled of nothing but the same delicious honey and spice scent that had tempted her the previous night. Sovereign against the aches and pains of the road, the maid had said, but perhaps they had been sovereign against more than that…

  There was a knock at the door and the maid appeared, clutching a large pitcher of water.

  ‘Good morning, milady! And a lovely day it is—’

  ‘Is my cousin awake yet?’ Beth asked urgently, dispensing with the greetings somewhat precipitately. ‘It is far later than I had imagined and we had intended to be on the road hours ago!’

  The maid, a large, untidy country girl, put her hands on her hips and surveyed Beth with a certain puzzlement.

  ‘Lords lawks, ma’am, there’s no need to go hurrying about the country on a lovely day like this!’ Her accent was as rich and soothing as butter. ‘Mrs Cavendish only woke a few moments ago—just like yourself, ma’am!—and ten to one you’ll be needing some luncheon before you set out!’

  Beth fidgeted with the curtain cord. Charlotte was a notoriously slow riser and if she had only just woken it would be at least an hour until she was ready to go. It was with difficulty that Beth restrained herself from rushing into her cousin’s room and exhorting her to hurry up, but she knew there was no point in harassing Charlotte, who would proceed at her own unflappable pace.

  The maid shot her a curious look, then started to pour the water into the basin. ‘His lordship sends his compliments, ma’am, and asks that you join him in the parlour—when you’re ready, of course.’

  Beth paused. ‘His lordship? Lord Trevithick is still here?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ The girl lowered the pitcher. ‘Some problem with one of his horses, so I’m told. Still, there’s no rush, is there, ma’am? I’ll tell him that you’ll be down shortly!’

  Beth sighed. However polite Marcus’s request, she suspected it hid a rather more emphatic order and there was little point in resisting.

  She came down the stairs fifteen minutes later, her travelling dress neatly pressed and her hair demurely plaited. The door of the parlour was closed and there was no sound within, and after a moment Beth decided that she had no wish to beard Marcus in his lair just now, and went out into the sunshine.

  There was a busy market in Marlborough High Street and Beth resolved to take a look at the stalls that lined either side of the wide cobbled road. She was in no hurry. Charlotte would not be ready for ages and as far as Beth was concerned, the longer she put off her meeting with Marcus, the better.

  Plenty of cottagers had brought their vegetables to market and turnips, onions and potatoes spilled out of baskets and across makeshift wooden trestles. Cheek by jowl with these were the vendors of bootlaces, nutmeg graters, cough drops, corn plasters and any number of necessities that Beth had never realised that she needed. She wandered along the row of stalls, pausing to chat with everyone and admire their produce and their children. A persuasive street trader almost convinced her that she would like to buy a small, mewling kitten—her heart was broken at the thought of it ending up in a drowning sack—but common sense suggested that it would not make a comfortable pet, particularly on a journey. It was whilst she was explaining to the trader that he must on no account sell the kitten to a bad home, that a gentleman paused beside them and Beth realised with a sinking heart that Marcus Trevithick had caught up with her at last. Her authoritative instructions wavered and faded away as she completely forgot what she had been talking about.

  Marcus was watching her with an expression of amused indulgence in his eyes. He was bare-headed and in the bright sunlight his thick dark hair gleamed a glossy blue-black. He was immaculately dressed in buckskins and an elegant coat of blue superfine, and his Hessians had a mirror-polish that reflected the sun. As Beth watched, he handed the kitten’s owner a coin and said gravely, ‘Take the little creature to the Castle and Ball Inn. It can earn its keep catching mice in the stables.’

  He offered Beth his arm. ‘Good morning, Lady Allerton. Have you completed your purchases, or are there more desperate animals that you wish to rescue? I noticed a small piglet at the stall on the left—if you do not buy it, it will surely end in the pot…’

  Beth took the proffered arm a little gingerly. ‘Thank you, my lord. I am not in a position to establish a sanctuary for animals at the moment and I do not believe I require any more candles, or bootlaces—’

  ‘Or corn plasters or tin trays!’ Marcus finished for her. He smiled down at her. ‘It is tempting though, is it not? I have purchased a box of cigars and a carved walking stick and have no clear idea of how I came to part with my money!’

 
; They were walking away from the bustle of the market now and down the hill towards where the river curled its lazy way through the fields. The water sparkled in the sunlight. Beth wondered how long it would be before one or other of them came to the point. After all, they could scarcely pretend that this was a chance encounter. Yet Marcus did not speak, and when she risked a glance at his face she saw that he was watching her with thoughtful consideration.

  She paused on the bridge and looked down at the ducks splashing in the shallows beneath.

  ‘Oh how pretty it is here!’ she said impulsively. ‘I would almost like to stay…’

  She looked up, caught Marcus’s eye, and bit her lip. She had no wish to give too much away.

  Marcus leant back against the stone parapet and smiled at her.

  ‘Is your journey too urgent to let you linger here?’ he asked. ‘Tell me, Lady Allerton, are you making your way home to Mostyn Hall—or, as I suspect, to Fairhaven Island?’

  Beth held his gaze. ‘We are travelling to Fairhaven!’ she said. She raised her chin. ‘Now that I have the deeds to the island I consider it my own! I told you that I would not give in easily, my lord!’

  Marcus straightened up. ‘Truth to tell, I should be immensely disappointed if you did,’ he said softly.

  The breeze rippled along the river and raised an echo of a shiver along Beth’s nerves. A few dead leaves swirled down onto the water and floated away. She found that she could not look away from Marcus’s compelling gaze, could not break the contact between them. Then Marcus shifted slightly.

  ‘However, there are difficulties in your way,’ he said. ‘Did you expect that I would just let you sail to Fairhaven and stake your claim? I warned you that I would be travelling there myself!’

  ‘I thought to get there first,’ Beth said defiantly. The cold autumn wind had whipped the colour up in her cheeks. ‘And I was not sure that you cared sufficiently for Fairhaven to put up a fight, my lord!’