Lady Allerton's Wager

by Nicola Cornick

  Marcus caught her from behind, knocking all the breath from her body as he pulled her to the ground. She was crying now, struggling and pummelling him in her efforts to get away from him, gasping for breath until he had quite simply to lean the whole of his weight on her to subdue her. Beth lay still, trying to calm her sobs, feeling the cold grass beneath her cheek and the warm tears that ran down her face and splashed onto the springy turf.

  ‘Oh, Beth…’

  There was a world of pity in Marcus’s voice now and she did not resist him when he pulled her into his arms, half-cradling her as she cried as though her heart was breaking.

  For what seemed like endless hours she wept into his jacket and felt his hands stroking her and his voice murmuring words that made no sense but sounded inexpressibly comforting. And at length she sat up a little, wiped her hand across her wet cheeks and said, in a small voice, ‘I never cry!’

  Marcus smiled, brushing the hair back from her face. ‘No, indeed. I had noticed.’ He got to his feet, pulling her with him. ‘Come, we must get you inside. Sitting on the damp grass will not make you feel any better…’

  Beth clung to him. ‘Marcus…’

  ‘I know.’ For a moment Marcus’s arms tightened about her in a hug before he slid one arm about her waist and guided her back towards the castle. Lady Salome met them at the door, her gardening trug over her arm, a look of distress on her face.

  ‘I heard,’ she said, patting Beth’s shoulder consolingly. ‘My poor girl, to have all your memories dashed in such a cruel way! Oh, the betrayal of innocent blood! Matthew twenty-six, verse twenty-seven!’

  Beth hiccuped a little and smothered a giggle. ‘Oh, Lady Salome, you are a very present help in trouble!’

  ‘A glass of madeira and a hot brick are what we need!’ Lady Salome said bracingly. ‘Come upstairs, my dear, and I will give you rest!’

  ‘Exodus thirty-three, verse sixteen,’ Marcus said, with a sigh.

  ‘Matthew eleven, verse twenty-eight!’ Lady Salome called, over her shoulder. ‘Marcus, pray ask Mrs McCrae to bring some hot soup and some physick—’

  ‘I am not ill!’ Beth objected, borne irresistibly upwards on Lady Salome’s arm.

  ‘Nonsense! You have sustained a shock and require food, drink and rest,’ Lady Salome said decisively. She opened the bedroom door and pushed Beth inside. ‘You mark my words—within half an hour you will be asleep!’

  The sound of the sea was in Beth’s ears and it was very soothing. She opened her eyes reluctantly. The room was bathed in candlelight and the long curtains were drawn. Martha McCrae was sitting beside the bed, reading a book. She looked up as Beth opened her eyes and her face broke into a smile.

  ‘Oh, my lady! How are you feeling now?’

  Beth frowned slightly. ‘Have I been asleep, Martha? Good gracious! Lady Salome gave me a glass of ratafia and the next thing I remember…Why, I do believe I feel hungry!’

  Martha jumped up. ‘There is some fresh broth made this afternoon, my lady, the very thing! I will go and fetch some for you—’

  ‘Stay a moment, please!’ Beth put out her hand and caught the girl’s sleeve. ‘Martha, will you answer something for me?’

  ‘If I can, my lady.’ Martha looked apprehensive.

  ‘Does everyone on the island know the truth of my grandfather’s dishonour?’

  Martha fidgeted, avoiding Beth’s gaze. ‘Oh, my lady! Everyone knows the old stories, of course, though it was only Jack Cade and one or two others actually remember…’ She twisted her hands together. ‘I’m sorry, my lady. We thought you knew, you see, until his lordship told Colin that you had been told quite a different tale! Then we were afraid, for we knew you would find out…’ Her unhappy brown eyes met Beth’s and there was apology in their depths. ‘It has all been so difficult, my lady, what with thinking his lordship was showing an interest in the place, then hearing that you would be taking Fairhaven over, and worrying for Lady Salome, and not knowing what was really going on.’

  Beth nodded. ‘I understand. But Lord Trevithick has shown a genuine interest in Fairhaven and has done so much for the island—’

  Martha smiled and it was like the sun breaking through clouds. ‘Oh, my lady! Now we don’t know what to think! We know you care about Fairhaven, but Lord Trevithick is a good man and has already helped us so much! If only you could both keep Fairhaven—’ She broke off, getting to her feet. ‘Excuse me, my lady. I will go to fetch that soup.’

  Beth turned her head against the pillow. Now she fully understood the hostility of the villagers when first she had come to Fairhaven. They had either remembered the bad old days of the Mostyns or remembered hearing stories of that time. Her grandfather’s legacy had gone deep and in ways that she had not even imagined. Beth sat up, reached for her wrap and propped herself up on her pillows. She had seldom had a day’s illness in her life, but just for now it felt pleasantly indulgent to stay in bed and let Martha wait on her. She no longer felt tearful, but she did feel tired.

  ‘Entirely respectable, alas!’ The voice from the doorway made her jump and she turned to see Marcus strolling forward into the room. He grinned at her in the old way that she remembered and gestured to the edge of the bed.

  ‘May I?’

  ‘Well…’ Beth frowned. ‘You should not be here, my lord! Whatever would Lady Salome say?’

  ‘I know!’ Marcus looked unabashed. ‘But Martha left the door open and I was anxious to see if you were really better!’

  Beth dropped her gaze. She felt curiously shy, aware of the thinness of her nightgown and wrap, even if Marcus seemed oblivious to it. Which was in itself rather disappointing…Annoyed at the direction of her thoughts, she forced herself to meet his gaze.

  ‘Please, my lord, before you say anything else I must apologise—’

  Marcus touched her hand. He shook his head. ‘Beth, do not. You had sustained a huge shock and anything you said was entirely understandable.’

  Beth gave him a slight smile. ‘Thank you.’ She hesitated. ‘I do understand why you did not tell me. I had to hear it from someone who had been there, someone who had seen with their own eyes—’

  ‘Believe me—’ Marcus voice was a little rough ‘—if I had thought that there could be any other way…’

  Beth felt her face grow warm. She was glad that there was no light but the glow of the fire. She felt a constraint between them, a tension that was due to all the emotions that were present but unspoken.

  ‘I confess I feel rather foolish,’ she said, after a moment. ‘For so long, the history of the Mostyns has been like…’ she hesitated ‘…almost like a talisman to me, I suppose. The romantic history, the feud, good vanquished by evil, or so I thought, when really…’ Her voice trailed away.

  ‘When really there were two warring families, neither of whom deserved your good opinion,’ Marcus finished drily.

  Beth sighed. ‘The whole quest for Fairhaven was based on a false dream. I can scarce believe it! Ever since I was a child I have longed for it!’

  Marcus let go of her hand and stood up a little abruptly. She could not read his expression but his voice was once more his own. ‘It is not surprising. Children are most tenacious of dreams, after all, and you were orphaned young and needed something on which to hang your hopes.’ He smiled down at her. ‘Now I must go. Martha will be back soon with the soup and would be scandalised to find me here!’

  He went out, leaving Beth staring blindly into the fire. Something in Marcus’s tone had pierced her, stripping away the remaining illusions from before her eyes. Somewhere in the past few weeks she had become so intent on gaining Fairhaven and achieving her dream that she had been prepared to sacrifice anything to win it. That feeling had possessed her when she had met Marcus in London, it had prompted her to start the chase down to Devon, it had even driven her to lock him in Theo March’s wine cellar just so that she could get ahead. The obsession with Fairhaven had always been slumbering, but once the island had seemed alm
ost within her grasp, it had taken over.

  Beth slid down under the blankets. It seemed extraordinary now, for she no longer felt that way. She could see clearly for the first time in years, and what she saw was that her quest had exacted a higher price than any wild goose chase. There was Charlotte, who had loyally accompanied her from London on what she had surely known was a fool’s errand, only to be abandoned at Theo’s vicarage for her pains. Beth had regretted her behaviour to her cousin before, but now she saw its full magnitude.

  And there was Marcus…Weeks ago—it seemed like years to Beth now—she had realised that she was in danger of falling in love with Marcus too quickly, too soon. She had distracted herself by the race for Fairhaven, pretending that they were in opposition when, in fact, their conflict had only masked the growing attraction between them. An attraction that Beth now realised, with a dreadful sinking feeling, had developed on her part at least into a hopelessly deep love…

  With a groan, Beth rolled over and buried her face in the pillow.

  ‘My lady, are you feeling poorly again?’

  Beth raised her head to see Martha McCrae standing by the bed with a steaming pot of soup on a tray. ‘Oh, Martha! I did not see you there! No, I am very well…’

  After she had finished the chicken broth, she slipped out of bed and trod across the room. Her cloak was still hanging over a chair before the fire. Beth put a hand in the pocket. Her grandfather’s signet ring was still in there. She took it out and held it up to the firelight, reading the inscription once more. Remember. There had been too much of that. Beth opened the casement window and a flurry of snow blew in on the cutting edge of the wind. Beth gave her grandfather’s ring one last glance and flung it out into the darkness.

  ‘You look very beautiful, my lady,’ Martha McCrae said with a smile, twisting the last lock of hair into Beth’s chignon.

  Beth looked at her reflection and smiled. ‘Certainly no one would know that you had fashioned my dress out of some old curtains, Martha! You have done a splendid job!’

  Martha giggled. ‘But they were the best drawing-room curtains, ma’am, and you have the figure to carry anything off!’ She gave Beth a sly look. ‘I’ll wager his lordship will think so too!’

  Beth could feel herself colouring up. Now that she was so aware of her feelings for Marcus she was hopelessly self-conscious. She had done everything she could to avoid him over the past week and had been practically tongue-tied in his presence, feeling like a green girl scarcely out of the schoolroom. Fortunately Marcus did not seem to have noticed, for he was so involved in various projects of Colin’s devising that Bath barely saw him. He had gone about the estate and she had helped out in Lady Salome’s garden and another week had slipped by, bringing them to the date of the annual Fairhaven dance.

  ‘I imagine that there will be plenty of young ladies vying for Lord Trevithick’s attention tonight,’ Beth said lightly. ‘I shall not expect to monopolise him!’

  Martha looked disappointed. It had amused Beth that the villagers, who had started by assuming that she was Marcus’s mistress, had swiftly learned of their error and had actually seemed disappointed that she and Marcus were not in fact lovers. Beth had wondered if this was because they wanted a neat solution to the future ownership of the island. It would certainly solve the problem if she and Marcus were to share ownership of Fairhaven, but she knew this was not to be. For several days, watching him about the estate, she had felt a growing conviction that it would be wrong to take Fairhaven away from Marcus. Soon she would have to tell him so.

  Beth saw that Martha was still watching her and gave her a quick smile. ‘Besides, I shall want at least one dance with your Colin tonight, Martha! Now, should you not run along and get ready yourself? You have spent so much time helping me that it is almost time to go down!’

  After Martha had hurried away to her own toilette, Beth picked up her reticule and stood up to admire the clinging cherry-red velvet dress. With her black hair and silver eyes it did indeed look striking and appropriately festive since this was the island’s annual dance. Beth sighed unconsciously. She felt as gauche as a debutante and hoped that the young ladies of Fairhaven would distract Marcus’s attention. With his strong physique and dark good looks she knew that he was much admired, for she had seen the village girls watching him and giggling together in corners. But perhaps the good people of Fairhaven had had enough of a lord with a wandering eye. The stories of the Evil Earl’s philandering had been enough to shock even Beth’s strong constitution.

  She realised that she could hear music playing below, the pluck of the violins and the thump of drums. That meant that the musicians had already arrived and with them, no doubt, most of the other villagers. It was time to go down and she just hoped that Marcus would be too occupied to notice her.

  That vain hope died as she went slowly down the stairs. Marcus was standing in the hall, dressed in evening clothes that had certainly not been fashioned from some cast-off furnishings. He was talking to Lady Salome, who looked glorious in a dress of yellow satin with an overskirt of green sewn with lots of tiny diamonds. Her hair was dressed with pheasant and seagull feathers. Beth hoped that the birds of Fairhaven had not died in vain.

  Marcus looked up as Beth came down the final flight and watched her all the way, with a disconcertingly direct gaze that made her feel totally flustered. As she reached the hall, he took her hand and raised it to his lips.

  ‘You look very beautiful, Lady Allerton. I particularly like your necklace! It matches your eyes!’

  Beth laughed, fingering the beads a little self-consciously. She had brought no jewellery with her on her journey, but the low-cut dress had cried out for something and Martha had tentatively pressed on her a necklace made of tiny grey pebbles from the beach. Beth had thought it quite as beautiful as the expensive pearls and diamonds she had locked away in London and had been touched by Martha’s gesture.

  ‘Sheba dressed to greet Solomon!’ Lady Salome said expansively, enveloping Beth in a scented hug. ‘I hear that the dancing has started. Excuse me, my dears, I am off to tread a measure!’

  Marcus offered Beth his arm and they followed slowly. A lively country dance was striking up as they came into the Great Hall. ‘It is remarkable that there are so many musicians on the island, my lord,’ Beth observed, looking at the motley orchestra, ‘especially with the ruinous effect of the sea air in warping their instruments!’

  Marcus laughed. ‘A resourceful lot, our islanders! If one asks why there are so many young children on the island or why there are so many musicians, one receives the same answer—that there is nothing else to do during the long winter!’

  ‘My lord!’ Beth laughed in spite of herself.

  ‘Come and dance with me,’ Marcus said persuasively, smiling down at her. ‘I have been saving the first dance for you!’

  ‘In the face of much temptation from other young ladies, no doubt,’ Beth said, arching her brows.

  Marcus gave her an expressive look. ‘There is only one lady who throws temptation in my path, Lady Allerton, and sooner or later I will fall!’

  Beth had always considered the Great Hall to be a cold and bare room, but tonight it looked as she imagined it might have done for some masque centuries before. A huge fire roared in the grate and the light from a score of torches reflected off the polished shields and swords on the walls. The tapestries glowed with rich colour and between them were draped boughs of evergreen as a reminder of the approaching Christmas season. It seemed that all eighty-six inhabitants of Fairhaven were present, resplendent in their best party clothes.

  As all the servants had been invited to the dance, the food and drink was very much a matter of helping oneself. A large table almost bowed under the weight of Christmas pies made of minced beef and spices and everyone was dipping into a large cauldron that held a brew that Marcus informed Beth was called Puffin Punch.

  ‘The bird does not form the chief ingredient, however,’ he added, when Beth
drew back, wrinkling her nose up. ‘I believe you will find it quite appetising.’

  He was right. The mixture of wine, spices, oranges and lemon was thoroughly delicious and put Beth in mind of the soothing mulled wine that Marcus had sent up for her and Charlotte that night at the inn in Marlborough. The memory brought a strange lump to her throat, for it seemed that so much had happened since that night and not all of it as she had planned. Marcus was watching her, his eyes narrowed on her face.

  ‘What is it, Beth? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost!’

  Beth raised her eyebrows haughtily. ‘My name, my lord?’

  Marcus laughed. ‘You think me inappropriate? After all that we have…been through together? You have called me by name before!’

  ‘You are certainly inappropriate to remind me, my lord,’ Beth said pertly, looking at him over the rim of her drinking cup.

  ‘Yet on such an evening as this we could dispense with formality, perhaps?’

  Beth finished her punch. ‘Very well then, Marcus. But we must not let Lady Salome hear us, for I am sure she is a stickler for formality—’ She broke off as Lady Salome whirled past them clasped in the arms of one of the sheep farmers. His face was flushed with drink and excitement and Lady Salome was roaring with laughter at whatever tale he was telling her.

  ‘Well, perhaps not!’ Beth finished.

  ‘I hope that the Fairhaven festivities will not shock you, Beth,’ Marcus said, grinning. ‘They are rumoured to be quite outrageous!’

  Beth tried to look cool and unshakable but it was difficult under Marcus’s mocking gaze. She looked down the table, seeking distraction.

  ‘Good gracious, what is that?’ She pointed to an orange studded with cloves and decorated with a sprig of holly that stood in the centre of the table on a little tripod of twigs.

  ‘The Calennig,’ Marcus said indulgently. ‘I believe it is a Welsh tradition, for here the customs of Wales and England merge sometimes. It is a symbol to bring a fertile harvest.’

  Beth looked around. ‘And are there any other traditional decorations here tonight?’