He desperately wanted to help her, to do something to ease her lot, but what? He could hardly remove her from the place without Richard finding out and it was really none of his business. He had enough to concern him in his own marriage without worrying about his friend’s and he could do nothing about either while this Queen still lived.
He had no way of knowing he would not have much longer to wait, that the end of this year would see the end of Mary and her inquisition.
CHAPTER TEN
News of the death of Queen Mary reached Sinclair Manor only a few hours after it happened. It was momentous news which spread throughout the country like a fire and when Charles heard, he smiled for the first time since Julia died. He picked up her little son and held him close, kissed his cheek, then set him gently down again. Simon was growing fast and was almost too big now for Charles to lift, and his colouring was slowly changing; his hair was no longer as dark as it had been, but he still resembled his natural father too much for Charles’ liking.
He went inside the house and sat at the table. It was chilly and he would light the fire later, but for now he wanted to ponder this news and decide how best to proceed into the future. Nobody had come to claim this house in all the time they had been here, but now the reign was over that could change. He would have liked to be able to feel secure here, to feel settled, but that was not possible.
His father’s farm was still his own. He could take Simon and anyone else who wanted to come and return there, but no doubt Julia’s legal husband still had that warrant for his arrest. He did sell stolen jewellery belonging to him after all and he wondered if the man would still be interested in executing that warrant. He no longer had a claim on his wife, could no longer threaten Julia with his barbaric punishments. She had moved beyond the reach of any man, but it was still within his power to ease his frustration for that on Charles.
Charles decided he would stay for a little while, see what happened. If anyone did come along to claim back Sinclair Manor, he could think then of returning to the farm. For now, he had to put the past behind him and do his best to raise Julia’s son to be the man she wanted him to be.
***
Adrian kissed Elizabeth gently and left her to finish dressing. She had sent for him after their long estrangement because his son was dangerously ill, but thank God the boy had recovered. Instead of the tragedy he has dreaded on his journey here, she had given him the greatest gift of all this day; she had allowed him a second chance and he would not fail her.
“Your mother will disapprove of you taking me to bed in the daylight,” she said playfully.
He shrugged.
“It is none of her business. It was her meddling that came between us before; I’ll not let her do it again.”
Elizabeth was not going to argue about it, not now they were trying to rebuild their marriage, but had Adrian told her about Marianne, they might not have parted. It was hardly fair to blame the Dowager Lady Kennington for that.
Downstairs he was greeted by the angry scowl of his mother. The older she got, it seemed the more permanent that scowl and Adrian had not forgiven her for breaking into his desk and finding letters from his former mistress. That had driven the final wedge between himself and his beloved wife, and this reconciliation would not be spoiled by her or anyone else.
“So you have returned, then?” The Dowager asked. “Is it for good? Will you return to your marriage and at least spare me more disgrace.”
He continued down the stairs and kissed his mother on the cheek.
“It is wonderful to see you, too, My Lady,” he said.
“Do you realise what you have done? Allowing your wife to leave you when we were already the gossip of the neighbourhood.”
He frowned. What on earth was the woman talking about?
“It is true, Adrian,” Frances spoke from the sitting room doorway. “I am afraid people still disapprove of my living here.”
Frances had been Adrian’s betrothed until she fell in love with his brother and eloped with him to the New World. Society was not happy about Adrian’s agreement to allow her to live in his house when his brother died; neither was the Dowager Lady Kennington.
She told them all from the beginning that Frances would never be accepted, that her children would never find suitable marriage partners. Adrian had taken little notice; his mother was always very aware of her own importance, her own place in society and he believed she was only angry that he did not agree with her.
“After all this time?” He said incredulously.
“I told you what would happen!” The Dowager declared. “I told you when you let her move back here how it would be, but you refused to listen.”
“And you have done nothing to fuel the fire, I suppose?” Adrian asked suspiciously.
“Me?” His mother said defensively. “Why would I?”
“Why not? It proved you right.”
Old Lady Kennington glanced at Frances disapprovingly, her arm out as she gestured toward her.
“She does not even try to fit back in,” she declared. “Look at the way she dresses! A lady should be dressed properly, like Elizabeth; Frances looks like a peasant.”
Adrian noticed Frances’ attire for the first time and saw that she was dressed in simple linens, a pretty gown but not the sort a lady of the nobility should wear.
“I think that is a little harsh, Mother,” he protested. “And anyway, what difference do her clothes make? Perhaps she would dress up if she thought she had anything to dress up for.”
“Please,” Frances pulled on his sleeve. “Do not argue over me. Your mother is right; as far as anyone who matters is concerned, I am an adulteress for eloping with Mark. They refuse to recognise my marriage to him. Our own betrothal was not much different to a marriage, apparently.”
“Unconsummated it was no marriage,” Adrian said.
“Do you not see,” Frances said. “In their eyes, you and I were wed. That makes what I did with Mark not only adultery but incest too. I am shunned.”
He put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her, a gesture she felt surprisingly comforting. She had tried to stand alone since she lost Mark, tried to be independent and needing of no one, but this small comfort suddenly meant the world to her.
“You do not want to be bothered with my troubles when you have only just arrived home.” She smiled and reached up to kiss his cheek. “I am so pleased for you both.”
“I am the luckiest man alive,” he said. “My dear Elizabeth believes me worthy of another chance; I will not fail her a second time. Perhaps now I am back, we can begin to look to a real future, I can do something about your situation.”
“It is of no matter to me, Adrian,” she said. “But the children are growing fast. What sort of life will they have?”
Old Lady Kennington scoffed loudly and walked with the aid of her stick towards the back of the house. Adrian had not noticed that before; she now needed a walking stick.
When Mark died in the New World, Frances had no other thought but to return to England with his children, to beg his brother for help in his memory. Adrian had been more than kind, but he had no idea how she felt. She felt a burden; old Lady Kennington was right to suppose she would be shunned and Frances’ presence in the house put her in a precarious position of her own.
Frances wanted to do something to ease the burden, but she had nothing and even if she had, she felt out of place in noble circles now. She and Mark had built a farm together, had lived as farmers with no affectations of position and they had been happy. Here she felt herself in a foreign land with no knowledge of the language.
She was doing Elizabeth no favours either. People thought it very odd that she should welcome her husband’s former betrothed and it cast doubt on the legality of her own marriage. It was wrong that their lives and happiness, their acceptance should depend on the opinions of others. That is what she missed about her life with Mark, as well as the man himself; there nobody cared who you w
ere or whether you belonged.
They went into the sitting room and sat before the fire, watched the children playing in the gardens outside the window.
“I wrote to my father,” Frances said. “I told him he had grandchildren. I even begged his forgiveness for all the trouble I caused and you know what he said?” Adrian shook his head but he could easily guess. “He wrote back that I must have made a mistake, that he had no daughter. I have tried, Adrian, but if you are going to be here, it is going to be worse for both of us, me and Elizabeth.”
“I suppose they must think of her as living in sin as well,” Adrian remarked with a sardonic smile.
“They may well do, but they respect her. They have no respect at all for me or for my children.”
The voice from the bottom of the stairs stopped him from saying the same thing.
“We will work something out for you, Frances,” Elizabeth said. “Now Adrian is home, we can see what can be done. Would you consider a new marriage?”
Frances smiled then shook her head.
“No one of your acquaintance will want me, that is for certain,” she said. “And after the years on the farm, I am not sure I would fit into that life any more.”
Adrian took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. He could hardly believe that after all this time people would not accept Frances back into society.
But her feeling of being in limbo, without a place and with nowhere to go, was soon to change to one of hope.
The following day, Elizabeth received a letter from a London lawyer, telling her that Elliot had been missing for seven years, the time the law allowed before someone could be presumed dead. That being the case, as his lawyer he had opened Elliot’s Will and wrote to ask for a meeting.
“What do you suppose it means?” She asked Adrian.
“Well, since the traitor wiped out his entire family and has no one else, I imagine you are his main beneficiary.”
“I do not want anything from him!” She cried.
“Nevertheless, if he has named you in his Will, you should see what he has left. You can do some charity work with it if nothing else. Think how many Protestants have lost their possessions during the Papist reign. That would be a fitting tribute to the Sinclair family.”
Elizabeth smiled at the idea, then kissed Adrian’s cheek affectionately. She wanted to kiss him properly; having him back meant the world to her and she only wished she had listened to him when he told her about his mistress. He had sworn it was but one indiscretion, one temptation when things between him and his wife were strained, but she had not believed him. She was too hurt, her trust had been betrayed again and she could not forgive that.
They went to London to meet with Elliot’s lawyer. The journey was not a long one, but as they approached the city, Adrian was half surprised to see no smoke on the horizon, no stench of burning flesh. He shivered. He had always loved the capital city, but now it was spoilt in his memory and he hoped never to see it again.
The carriage reached the address on the letter before Adrian realised it was but a few streets away from the rooms he had kept for Marianne, his mistress. He glanced hesitantly at Elizabeth, hoping she did not connect this place with that terrible afternoon when she had caught him in the act of betraying her. He put his arm around her and hugged her close, relieved that she did not seem to notice where she was.
The lawyer’s office was up a narrow staircase in one of those black and white buildings with the upper floors hanging over the street, just like the rooms where he had kept his mistress, just like that same room where he had lost his Elizabeth because he could not keep his hands off Marianne.
He hoped this meeting would not take long.
“My Lady, My Lord,” the lawyer greeted them and gestured to a settle along the wall beside his desk. “Lord Elliot’s Will is simple enough and will not take long to explain. He has left everything he has to you, My Lady, with a message. It is a simple message; it says only: forgive me. I imagine we all know what that means.”
“I know what he meant by it, yes,” Elizabeth replied. “But I cannot comply. What precisely has he left and what happens now?”
“The first thing to do is to have him legally declared dead. Once that is done, I can arrange to have ownership of Sinclair Manor transferred to you.”
“Sinclair Manor?” Adrian said with a frown.
Elizabeth turned to look at him with a nod.
“His father’s manor house, from where they were taken,” she said. “Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing.”
But he recognised the name at once and hoped it was another house and estate called Sinclair Manor, for that was the name of the house from whence he had followed the Protestant leader, Charles Carlisle. The house would not be empty, as Elizabeth supposed, and since Carlisle had been living there, what was the likelihood that he had killed Elliot in order to take over the house?
Adrian waited until they were home again, all the children in bed, supper eaten and he had retreated to his bedchamber with his wife. He still found it hard to believe that he was finally here, after the years of separation, and he wanted nothing to spoil that.
They had made love as they had when they were first wed, with all the passion and desire two people in love could have for each other and the feel of her flesh next to his, of her lips on his chest, was paradise on earth.
They both lie beneath the covers, his arm around her, her head resting on his broad chest. He would have to tell her but he wanted to leave the past buried where it belonged; unfortunately that was not an option.
“What are you going to do with the house?” He asked.
“I have been thinking about that,” she answered. “I thought we might let Frances have it.”
He sat up and looked down at her with a frown. He had not expected that, not at all, but it was a wonderful idea.
“She could live there with the children,” Elizabeth went on. “She could call herself the widow she is and there would be no one to criticise. She would need help; it is farmland after all, but at least no one would be calling her an adulteress and accusing her of incest. What do you think?”
“I think it is wonderful of you and very generous, but…”
“But?”
So he told her about Charles Carlisle, about how Richard Summerville had asked him to follow him, about how he had followed him from Sinclair Manor. He did not tell her where he had followed him to, as it did not seem appropriate; it was Richard’s secret, not his. But then, it was keeping secrets that had led to their rift before and he vowed never to do that again.
He decided to tell her everything, how he thought the man was Lady Summerville’s lover, how he had followed him to her prison in the woods. She caught her breath, reached up to stroke his shoulder.
“It is all right,” he told her. “She was back where she belongs when the Queen died and he was back with her. We can only wish them well.”
“If she can forgive such treatment, she must love him as much as I love you,” she said softly.
He kissed her, slipped his hand beneath the covers to caress her breast.
“I will go alone,” he said. “To Sinclair Manor. It could be dangerous.”
“No. I will come and bring Frances with me, if it is what she wants. If this man is still there, we will discuss things, perhaps see if he can be persuaded to leave.”
***
Charles had just finished breakfast when he heard the horses and carriage draw up. His heart leapt and he quickly ran to the window to be sure Simon was out in the fields with some of the men, not here in the house where he could be claimed by Sir Geoffrey Winterton. He lived in fear that the man would find him, destroy his quiet life by serving his warrant.
He saw at once it was not Winterton and he relaxed a little. Still the carriage was of superior make and the man who rode before it had the dress and bearing of the nobility. He stood in the courtyard and frowned at the approaching party, his arms folded.
“I am Adrian,” the man said as he dismounted, “Earl of Kennington.” Charles nodded. “And you are Charles Carlisle.”
Charles frowned suspiciously before replying.
“I am, My Lord. What can I do for you?”
“It is complicated. May we come inside?”
Charles looked passed him to where a lady with blonde waves in her shiny hair stepped down from the carriage. She was dressed in red velvet and she greeted him with a warm smile which put his mind at ease.
As she put her feet firmly on the ground, she turned back to the carriage and another woman followed her down the step. This one looked a little less elegant, her gown of printed linen, more of the farmer class but wealthier. Still her smile was warm and he could not help but wonder what her position was with this noble couple. She too was blonde, but neither of these women had hair like his Julia.
He shook his head to clear it of her memory. Whatever these people wanted, he could not afford to break down before them.
He poured wine, likely not the sort they were accustomed to but the best he could manage and they all sat at the table and eyed each other suspiciously.
“I will come straight to the point, Sir,” Adrian said. “I know what an important part you played in the recent reign; I know you are responsible for the survival of hundreds, if not thousands of Protestants and we all owe you a debt which can never be repaid.”
Charles neither expected nor wanted thanks; he had paid dearly for his role in the resistance and he needed no praise from anyone. He had done what needed to be done, as had Julia.
“You are Protestant then?” Charles asked quickly.
“We are.”
“And have you come here simply to thank me?” Charles asked. “Or have you another motive?”
“The fact is, Elliot Sinclair, who owned this house, has been declared dead and has left his entire estate to my wife, to whom he was once betrothed.”
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