“I’ve no idea,” she said, her voice faint as she stared up at him. “I’ve never met the man.”
Harry gave a bark of laughter and gave into the overwhelming desire to kiss her again, before setting her away from him with regret.
“Oh, don’t stop, Harry,” she said, trying to move closer to him once more.
Harry shook his head and stepped back again, catching at her wrists to stop her reaching for him. “Clara, please. I shouldn’t have done it, love,” he said, quite unable to help smiling and adding, “no matter how much I wanted to. Things are complicated enough, aren’t they?”
“I want to be with you, Harry.”
Harry felt his heart glow in his chest, touched by the longing in her voice. “I know it, love, and, bearing in mind the mess I’m in, I can only wonder at it. But unless I get out of this unscathed, you have to keep your distance. You’ll not have endeared yourself to the brothers after today’s little outburst. They could do you a deal of harm.”
Clara scoffed at him, shaking her head so that dark curls bounced around her face. “What do I care for that!” All at once she looked the spoilt little girl she’d been, pouting at him and folding her arms against the idea.
“You should care,” Harry said, his voice hard now as the idea took hold for him, too. He held her wrists tighter, giving her a little shake. “That Mariah is a nasty piece of work, worse than both her sons, I reckon. She’d destroy your reputation before you could blink, and for nothing more than her own amusement.”
She stopped pouting then, her face growing sombre as she understood the risk she’d taken. But Clara was too spirited to be cowed by such a threat.
“I’m still glad I said it,” she replied, putting up her chin.
Harry sighed but couldn’t help but grin at her. “Me, too,” he said, giving her nose a brief kiss. “You were magnificent.”
Beaming at him, Clara took his arm. “Come, then, and take me to Mrs Fletcher. I went into town yesterday and promised to bring her all the latest gossip.”
They stayed an hour in the calm sanctuary of the kitchen, chatting to Beryl as she plied them with tea and scones, and then Harry escorted her back to her carriage.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” she said, her voice wistful as they reached the top of the back stairs and walked towards the front doors. Harry went to reply but was stopped in his tracks.
“Murderer!”
“What the devil ...” he began, looking up.
They turned as one to see Mariah Preston standing at the top of the stairs like the spectre of doom. All in black bombazine, she held out a fat finger, pointing at Harry and clutching at her throat with the other, bejewelled hand. “You!” Her voice trembled with emotion and she closed her eyes in distress, though Harry thought she looked more bilious than upset. “You tried to murder my son, my ... darling boy.”
Even Wilfred, who was standing behind her, looked faintly nauseated at this rather overblown performance, and was thus unprepared for the moment his mother swooned.
All sixteen stone of her.
Rushing forward at the last moment, he tried to catch her about the waist, but gravity caught up with him, and her far larger frame was too much for his skinny one to support.
Harry and Clarinda simply watched the show, torn between outrage and delight, as Mariah tried to keep up the pretence of having fainted dead away, whilst not allowing her son to drop her on her head. The result was an ungainly tangle of limbs and black skirts and the audible muttering of Mariah to her son in obvious indignation.
Shaking their heads and dissolving into laughter, Clarinda and Harry decided it was too delightful to be infuriated by and continued on their way as though nothing had happened.
“I’m so sorry to leave you in this mad house,” Clarinda said as he escorted her outside.
Harry shrugged, still chuckling over Mariah’s indignation. “It’s not so bad,” he said, grinning at her. “I avoid them most of the time, and occasionally they’re quite entertaining.”
Clarinda gave an unladylike snort of amusement and allowed Harry to hand her up into the carriage.
“Until tomorrow, then,” she said as he closed the carriage door.
“You ought to stay away, love.” He knew it was hopeless to say so, she’d do just as she pleased no matter what he said, and he couldn’t help but be glad of it, though it worried him to have her so much in his company. Her look of disgust implied he may as well have saved his breath.
“Until tomorrow,” he said with a wry smile, shaking his head. He gave her a wave and walked away, across the wide gravelled driveway and back up the grand steps to stand by the front doors to wave her off. Baden came as he waited and stood beside him. The youngest Preston brother waved a cheerful hand at Clarinda, who waved back. Her driver tipped his hat respectfully and climbed up and Harry raised his hand ... as he saw Clarinda’s face distort in horror.
“Harry!” she screamed his name, clutching at the open carriage window. Harry and Baden both stepped forward, perplexed and horrified by the terror in her face. A rush of air shivered past the back of Harry’s neck and he stumbled forward in horror as a huge coping stone crashed to the ground, missing Harry by a bare inch.
“Good God!” Baden exclaimed, looking shocked.
Harry couldn’t move or speak but just stood staring at the stone as Clarinda tumbled out of the carriage and threw herself into his arms.
“Harry, Harry,” she said, her hands flying to his face, reassuring herself he wasn’t hurt. “I’m fine,” he mumbled, not entirely sure it was true. Pulling himself together, he glanced at Baden, who was looking up.
“There’s someone up there!” he said, grabbing Harry’s arm. The two men ran forward into the house, Harry close behind Baden, who took the stairs two at a time.
“Quick, this way,” Harry called, directing Baden to a servants’ stairway that would get them up to the roof quicker. They rushed past Beryl who was standing, carrying a tea tray and looking startled, but by the time they emerged, Baden breathless and sweating, there was no one to be seen.
“I definitely saw someone up here,” Baden gasped, bending over and bracing his arms on his knees. “God, I’m out of shape.”
Harry leaned over the edge and looked over, seeing the coping stone broken into pieces far below him on the steps.
“It came from here, look,” Baden said, gesturing to one of the crenulations that was now missing the angled stone that sat upon it.
Harry frowned, trying to be reasonable. “I’ve been telling Alistair for years this roof needs attention,” he said, watching Baden’s face to see his reaction.
The young man snorted and shook his head. “That was no accident and you know it. I told you, I saw someone up here.”
“Who?” Harry demanded.
Baden shrugged and pulled a face as he looked over the edge. “I don’t know. It was too fleeting, just a dark shape.”
“Man or woman?”
Harry stared at him hard as Baden gave an apologetic shrug. “I don’t know, sorry, old chap.”
“Would you tell me if you did?” he demanded, wondering if Baden was really the devil-may-care fellow he made himself out to be. “They’re your kin, after all.”
Baden pulled a face of disgust. “Well, you can’t hold that against me. It’s not my fault, is it?”
The two men stood side by side, looking out over the acres of beautiful, lush countryside that comprised Stamford. “You’re a lot younger than your brothers,” Harry observed.
He felt rather than saw Baden nod. “A surprise to all concerned,” he said with that rather too-charming smile. “Old Wilfred is pushing fifty, Edwin not far behind, whereas I am a mere slip of a lad, barely thirty.” He chuckled at Harry’s expression. “You wouldn’t think mother had it in her to allow such a thing, eh?” Baden looked rather revolted by the idea himself. He turned back to Harry. “I know what you’re thinking,”
“So do I,” Harry said, his voice d
ark. “With me out of the way, you’ve got two far older brothers, you could still inherit yet.”
“But I was downstairs!” Baden protested, looking amused rather than affronted at the accusation. “Good God, man, an inch to the right and I’d have been squashed flat instead.”
“Hmmm.” Harry acknowledged the truth of that with a grudging tone.
“Besides,” Baden said, his voice lower now as he leaned back against the crenulations, “I don’t want the old place. Truth be told,” he added, turning to look at Harry. “I’d rather it goes to you than either Wilfred or Edwin.”
Harry made a noise of outrage, not believing a word of it, and Baden laughed.
“Oh, I don’t blame you for being sceptical, but it is true.” The man took a deep breath, his dark eyes holding a far-off expression. “I despise them both,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “But especially Edwin.” He looked up at Harry, then, a twisted smile on his handsome face. “You suspect him of cruelty?” he asked, raising one eyebrow. “That he beats his wife perhaps?”
Harry nodded, wondering where this was going.
Baden turned back to the view. “Imagine what he could do to a child,” he said, his tone light. Harry felt sickened at the idea, but waited, feeling the man was struggling to say what came next. “He was eighteen when I was born, still living at home.” Baden stood straight then and looked at Harry. “I have the scars to prove it.”
With that he turned away and left Harry on the roof alone.
Chapter 24
A Cit - Nouveau Riche, made a fortune in the city
- The 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, by Francis Grose.
It was with relief that Clarinda heard Harry give in to the demand he call in Mr Formby.
Her father had arrived an hour later, wondering why she’d been late for lunch with him and been horrified by the sight of the smashed coping stone. His voice was added to by both Beryl’s and Reggie’s, and even Baden, who was adamant that he’d seen a figure and that it had been no accident.
Clara took a breath, trying to calm herself when there was a childish part of her that wanted to run around screaming and stamping her foot. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair! But she wasn’t a child any longer and stamping her foot would not help Harry.
She was desperately afraid for him, afraid that whatever dreadful secret was in his past could really be dug up by this Formby fellow and get him into even deeper water. Without giving him details, she had intimated to her father that Harry might have things in his past that he’d rather not let a law man bring to light. To her surprise, her father had just chuckled. “I don’t doubt it, my pretty widgeon,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes. “A man of that character makes enemies whether he wants ‘em or no.” But further than that, he’d just advised her not to fret and to let her papa take care of everything.
Clara wished she could. She did feel assured that her father would do everything to keep Harry safe for her. The idea that she would be established as a viscountess and close by, and that his own lands would one day be part of the great Stamford estate when he was dead and gone, was a heady one. That everything he’d strived for would be inherited by his grandchildren, one of whom would be a viscount himself, well, that was enough to make him misty-eyed with longing. To be fair to the man, he did want her happy, but to see her marry a man she loved and he felt worthy of her, and fulfil his own dreams, too ...
Well, he’d move heaven and earth to make that happen.
Beryl had brought them all tea in the parlour, and Mr Fletcher had even lit the fire as the summer was still little in evidence and Clara was shivering. She knew it was shock, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.
Baden was there, with the lovely Rebecca looking bored and indifferent, and Mildred Preston, sipping at her tea and sitting on the very edge of her chair. She looked ready to bolt at any moment, her pale, grey eyes darting from one person to the next.
Harry sat beside Clara, holding her hand and looking shaken and a little defiant, lest anyone should judge her harshly for allowing it.
Dear Harry, always so worried for her.
Her papa sat at the writing desk, writing out the missive to Mr Formby and instructing him to come at his earliest convenience.
“A fine fellow,” the squire said with a nod, his usually jovial face grave. “He untangled that wholly mess at Grizedale Court. Remember, Clarinda?” He gave a tut of impatience as Clarinda returned a blank expression. Her father was surprisingly fond of the scandal sheets, however, and followed all of the ton’s gossip like a religion. “You remember, my lamb,” he said, setting down his quill. “The heirs of the Duke of Denholm were dropping like flies and all fingers pointed at Benedict Rutland, Earl of Rothay.”
“Oh, yes,” Clarinda said, with a vague nod of her head, not remembering a word of it. “And Mr Formby solved the case?”
“He did,” the squire replied with a satisfied nod, folding his hands over a breath-taking scarlet waistcoat that Baden had rather admired. “And,” he carried on, tapping the side of his nose with a smug expression, “I happen to be very well acquainted with his sister.”
“Papa!” Clarinda exclaimed, a little shocked.
“Not in that manner, you naughty chit,” he replied, growing rosy around the cheeks as Baden sniggered. “I just happened to be able to do the woman a kindness some years past, and she felt she owed me a debt for it. Mr Formby will be honour-bound to pay it off on her behalf.”
Clara nodded, a little chastened, and watched as he turned back to his letter and sealed it shut. “I’ll get this sent off, right away,” he said, getting to his feet and coming over to squeeze Harry’s arm in a fatherly manner. “Don’t you worry, Harry. We’ll get this sorted and the two of you married before you can say knife.”
Before either of them could say a word in protest at this rather sweeping statement, the squire had seen himself out.
“You’re to be married?”
Clara looked up, surprised by the faint, timid voice of Mildred Preston actually asking a direct question. She smiled at the woman and then cast a sly, questioning look at Harry, who sighed.
“There is nothing official,” he said, his voice stern as he favoured Clara with a reproving expression. “No engagement ... but,” he added, his eyes softening as he looked at her. “But if this mess is ever sorted out, I hope ...” He paused and Clara felt her heart burst at the longing in his voice. “I hope very much to change that.”
“Oh.” Mildred gave a happy little sigh, looking upon them both with real pleasure.
“What wonderful news,” Baden said, grinning. “Calls for a drink.”
Harry snorted, having noticed that Baden was happy to work his way through the cellars on any account, despite the poor quality that Reggie kept favouring them with.
The door opened and everyone looked up, the atmosphere plummeting as Edwin and his mother walked in.
“What calls for a drink?” Edwin asked as he settled Mariah into her chair and arranged a black lace shawl around her pudgy shoulders with care. Once satisfied, he straightened, and gave Baden a cold look that put Harry in mind of bloodless creatures with darting tongues.
For a moment, Harry thought Baden wouldn’t reply, but then he seemed to sit a little straighter, staring back at his brother.
“Harry and Clarinda will be married, once this distasteful affair is over.”
Clara noticed that Mildred seemed to have shrunk into herself the moment her husband had appeared. Her head was down, her shoulders slumped, and she clutched at the tea cup she held so tight it was a wonder she didn’t crack the fine porcelain.
Edwin’s cold, dark eyes trailed from Baden to Harry and back again. “I’ve warned you before about the company you keep,” Edwin said to his brother, standing tall and clasping his hands behind his back. “But you seem to prefer to disgrace your family and your name by spending your time with low-born types ... and whores.”
Rebecca gasped at this, as the ac
cusation had clearly been levelled at her. Baden and Harry both stood in unison.
“Take that back,” Baden said, his face white and drawn with fury.
“No,” Edwin said, sneering at him and looking amused and contemptuous of his brother’s outburst. “You know I can see why you are drawn to Mr Thompson here, he’s marrying the daughter of a mushroom, and you a cit. You’ve much in common.”
Clara made a grab for Harry’s arm as he took a step forward. “Watch your damn mouth,” he said, the words a growl of fury. “You’re here under sufferance and I’d just love an excuse to throw you out.” She could feel the tension running through him, the desire to hit the repulsive man in the clenched fist beneath her hand.
Mariah chipped in, then, her flabby chin wobbling with indignation and her dark, piggy eyes glinting. “You dare touch my son, you thieving swine!” she shrieked, sitting forwards in her chair, her thick fingers grasping at the arms. “I’ll have the law on you. You’ll hang, you murderer!”
“Mother, the only one with a right to call murder so far is Harry,” Baden said in disgust. “And as it is, he has called in the law.”
“What?”
Clarinda watched with interest as Mariah looked suddenly a lot less composed. It was a fleeting impression, swiftly gone as she pursed her fat lips. “Good. I’m glad,” she said, with a decisive nod, her chins echoing the movement. “Any sensible man will be able to separate the wheat from the chaff.”
“Watch your step, Baden,” Edwin warned, his thin lips curling as he walked to the decanter to pour himself a drink. “You’ve always had a penchant for the gutter. Do you think your new friend will protect you, is that it?” he said, jerking his head at Harry with a sneer. “You snivelling coward.”
Baden lunged forward and Clarinda let Harry go as he forced his way between him and Edwin.
“Calm yourself, calm down, man,” Harry hissed, holding Baden back. “He’s not worth it,” he added in disgust. He turned and stared down at Edwin, his tone so cold even Clarinda shivered. “You can bully your wife and the rest of your family, you pathetic excuse for a man, but you’ll not do it to me.” Harry leaned forward then, his face full of fury though his words were cool and calm. “It’s you that should watch your step.”
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