Charles drew a quick breath then sipped his wine before he gazed compassionately at Elizabeth.
“My neighbour, Jacob told me what happened,” he said. “I did wonder if anyone would turn up to claim the place. I did not kill your betrothed, My Lady. I did find him hanging from the rafters though.”
Elizabeth gasped and Frances caught her hand.
“He killed himself?” She said.
Frances soft voice seemed to draw Charles’ attention and his heart skipped. Her lovely, round face beneath her blonde curls made him smile; she was the first woman he had taken notice of since Julia and now he could not take his eyes off her.
“Mr Carlisle,” Adrian said. “We can see how much work you have done here and we have no wish to evict you, but..”
“But nothing,” Elizabeth interrupted. She turned to Frances, who nodded. “You have done heroic things for the Protestants and you have kept this place as best you can. If you wish to stay, we will not hinder you.”
Elizabeth looked around the vast hall, her eyes moved to the stairs and the rafter beside it. That must be where Elliot’s body hung rotting, until this man had come and found him. Up those stairs was her bedchamber, the chamber she had slept in from the time she first came to live here.
She had a vague memory of Elliot sneaking into that chamber one night, one of the last nights before he decided to commit the ultimate betrayal. He had wanted to share her bed, before the marriage, tried to convince her it was what everybody did. She refused, but she should have known then he was not to be trusted. Instead, in her vanity, she had simply believed he loved her too much to wait.
She dragged her attention back to the present company.
Charles bowed his head as he spoke.
“That is kind, My Lady, but it is your house. I can return to my father’s farm if necessary. My son and I will be happy enough there.”
“You have a son?” Frances asked.
This young woman intrigued Charles. He had still not guessed at her true role in the family; he had thought at first she was a servant, but she showed no servile deference and spoke her thoughts without fear of rebuke.
He looked passed her to the doorway where Simon stood watching and he held out his hand to the boy in greeting.
“My son, Simon,” he announced and the child ran forward and climbed onto his lap.
Adrian recognised him at once but made no remark on it. This was Richard Summerville’s son, there was no doubt about that. This was why it was so important to keep Charles Carlisle alive and free; it had nothing to do with the Protestant cause.
Now he was more mystified than ever. His mind was busy trying to work out where everyone fitted in this scenario; he had thought Carlisle to be Lady Summerville’s lover, but now he found the man was raising the son of her husband. But who was the boy’s mother?
He was trying to think of a civil way to learn the answer, but Frances was not prepared to wait.
“Where is his mother?” She asked boldly.
She no longer adhered to the niceties of the aristocracy; in the New World if you wanted to know something you asked. Since she had not been accepted back into that aristocratic world, she saw no reason to change that now.
“Dead,” Charles replied.
“Forgive me,” she said, but she did not drop her gaze as would be expected after such a remark. She kept her eyes on Charles Carlisle, on his handsome face, his luxuriant dark auburn hair and beard and he smiled with amusement.
“She was a martyr,” he said, then glanced quickly at little Simon, wishing he had not said that in front of the boy.
Frances eyes filled with quick tears of compassion for the loss of this child’s mother. The thought which leapt into her mind was voiced before she had time to stop and think about it. She had been searching for a place for herself and her children since the day she returned to England and now it seemed she was being presented with just such a place. She was not about to let it pass her by for the sake of false civility.
She could do a lot worse. She had enjoyed the farm in the Americas, so that would be no hardship and this man was very attractive. So far he had also seemed to be a kind man, a man who loved his son and the child appeared happy and healthy. Yes, he would make a good father for Mark’s children.
“My children have no father,” she said impulsively. “Yours has no mother. I think we could help each other.”
Adrian stared at Frances in disbelief. His glance moved from her to Charles, to Elizabeth and back again, searching their expressions for a hint of their thoughts.
Charles smiled slightly, as though finding the suggestion amusing; Elizabeth looked as shocked as Adrian but Frances was smiling at their host, a little enigmatic smile which told Adrian she knew exactly what she was doing.
“Frances, Mr Carlisle does not understand your sense of humour as we do,” Adrian said. “Perhaps we should talk in private.”
“I will go,” Charles said. “Give you some privacy.”
They watched him in silence as he left the house, his smile growing as he went, then turned back to Frances.
“What are you doing?” Adrian demanded.
“Finding myself a suitable husband,” she answered mischievously. “He is in need of a wife and a mother for his child. I am in need of a husband and a father for mine. What could be better?”
“Do you not think you should learn something about him first?”
“Why? I knew nothing about you when I was told I was to marry you.”
“Yes and look how that turned out.”
“Adrian,” she said, putting her hand over his. “He is a hero, you said so yourself. I will never get over Mark and judging by the look in his eyes when I asked about Simon’s mother, he will never get over her either.”
“You put the man in a very difficult position,” Elizabeth said. “I do think you should give him a fair opportunity to refuse.”
“Besides,” Adrian said with a shamefaced look. “You are of the nobility, or have you forgotten that? He is a farmer.”
“So was Mark,” Frances retorted. “And I am a farmer’s widow. I no longer fit into your world, Adrian, and your world do not want me. I am a pariah, an outcast and while that suits me, I have to think of my children, of Mark’s children. They have no place; this is my chance to give them one.”
***
Charles was still smiling when he left his strange visitors to talk, taking Simon with him. If Lady Elizabeth wanted the house back, there was nothing he could do about it and he still had his father’s farm, though lord knows what sort of state it would be in. He also feared Julia’s husband might still look for him there, but it was a chance he would have to take.
But the woman they brought with them was intriguing. Her clothing was not of the elegant fabrics that Lady Elizabeth wore, although it was neat and clean enough, much as the women here wore, as Julia had worn towards the end, and Charles had believed her to be a servant. But she did not behave like a servant. She sat at the table with the others and her suggestion was bold and forward, not how one would expect a servant to talk or a grand lady for that matter.
Her accent when she spoke was on a par with the Earl and his Countess, not the accents of a servant or anyone else he could think of. She did not speak like him and his friends; she spoke like Julia, who had been given the best education money could buy while growing up.
He was at a loss as to what the woman’s place was in the order of things and His Lordship certainly seemed shocked by her words, or perhaps it was just the outspoken way she voiced them.
He sent Simon off to Emily, where she was busy hanging washing on the line to dry. He had spoken of Julia’s death before the child and he was afraid of what else he might say without thinking. He could only hope nobody told him what a martyr was before Charles was ready to tell him himself.
While he leaned on the rail and watched Julia’s son busily trying to help Emily, he thought about Frances’ words. He had no idea if she mea
nt them, but she reminded him so much of Julia. She always saw the practical side of things first.
He had never considered marrying. Julia had been the love of his life and always would be, but Frances also had children and perhaps their father had been the love of her life.
He turned as she came to stand beside him, that mischievous little grin bringing a smile to his lips again.
“Forgive me, Sir,” she said. “I had no right to embarrass you as I did. I am afraid living in the Americas did nothing for my social manners.”
“You lived in the New World?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me who you are, please. I took you for a servant, but now I am not so sure.”
She laughed delightedly.
“I used to be Lady Frances Morgan and I was raised to be the wife of an important nobleman. I was betrothed to Lord Kennington when I was but ten years old and sent to live with his family.”
Charles glanced at the house.
“That Lord Kennington?” He asked.
“Yes, that Lord Kennington. Adrian.”
“What happened?”
“I fell in love with his brother.”
Charles could only stare. His life was completely different, the principles of his class in no way resembling those of the nobility, but even a farmer could understand how disruptive it would be for a man to have his betrothed fall for his brother.
“And His Lordship forgave you?” He asked hesitantly.
“Mark persuaded Adrian to release me from my promise to him and we eloped; we ran away to the New World, found some land and built a small farm. We had two wonderful children; they were the happiest years of my life.”
“And your husband? He is dead?”
Frances caught back a sob.
“He was killed in an Indian raid so I sold everything and brought the children back to England. Adrian and Elizabeth were kind enough to take us in and we have lived with them ever since.”
“Then you, too, are of the nobility. You must marry within your own class.”
Frances shook her head and her blonde waves shone in the sunlight making his heart skip as it never had since he lost Julia. Was there something about him which made him keep falling for ladies of quality?
“I have no idea what that is, Mr Carlisle. Because of the betrothal to Adrian, I am guilty of adultery; because that adultery was with his brother, I am guilty of incest. I will never be accepted and I do not want to be. Apart from Adrian and Elizabeth, who have been so good to me, those people are false. I would laugh at them all were it not for my children. Perhaps I deserve to be shunned; they do not.”
Charles watched her carefully for a few moments, his thoughts taking him to a future he might share with this woman. He did not know her, not at all, but neither had he known Julia when she rode in on Guinevere and stole his heart. But despite the title, Julia was not of the nobility. Could he believe this lady could ever replace her? Did he want her to?
“The life of a farmer’s wife is a hard one,” he remarked.
“I know that; it is not new to me. At least here I will not have savage natives attacking and trying to kill me. We have had enough of that with the bishops these five years.” Frances looked up at him and smiled. “I meant what I said, Sir. We could build a life together. Elizabeth wants me to have Sinclair Manor but she does not want to turn you out, or all your people here, and neither do I. It is a perfect solution and if you refuse, I shall have to return to Kennington Hall and live in a sort of limbo of not belonging anywhere with a dowager who hates me.”
“Is that the alternative? Well, I suppose I am preferable to the Dowager.”
They laughed together at his joke and it was somehow comfortable, as though they had known each other for years. He seemed just what Frances had been waiting for. He could never replace Mark, but that did not mean she could not learn to love him.
“Tell me about your wife,” she said.
“Julia came here to escape a violent husband,” he began. “We called each other husband and wife, but it was never blessed by any church, only by our love for one another.”
Frances caught her breath.
“I am sorry,” she said. “I just assumed…”
“It is a long story and I will tell you one day, but not today. Simon is not my natural son, but I love him dearly and you are right; he does need a mother.”
“Can I return in a few days with my children,” Frances asked. “I have a son and daughter; he is Mark, after his father, and she is Katie. They are a little older than Simon, but will make him a fine brother and sister.”
“I would like that.”
***
On their arrival at Kennington Hall, Frances had her boxes and those of the children packed and prepared for the return journey to Suffolk the following day. Adrian had spent all morning trying to persuade her to give the plan more thought, but she would have none of it.
“Adrian, please stop nagging,” she said. “This is fate, do you not see?”
He was concerned for her wellbeing but he had to admit to a certain degree of snobbery about his insistence that this plan was not a good one. Charles Carlisle might have been a hero to the Protestant cause, and he might, for some mysterious reason, be raising the son of Lord Summerville, but he was still a farmer.
It seemed odd to him that Frances was happy to accept such a life; he had never seen her on the farm in the Americas, never seen her life with Mark. In his mind she was still little Lady Frances, that shy, well brought up young lady who would one day be his countess.
She wore a little smile on her pretty face and a sparkle of excitement in her blue eyes which had not been there since the night he agreed to release her to his brother. She had looked happy then and she looked happy now.
“So you believe you can find a place with Charles Carlisle?” Adrian said, his arm sliding around her shoulders. “You believe you can make it work, that he will look after you?”
“I do. At least I am willing to find out. I would like your blessing, though.”
He kissed her cheek.
“You have it. Just remember you always have a home here, you and the children no matter what. You do not have to stay if things do not work out.”
***
She had no idea what living arrangements Charles had arranged for them until she arrived. He might think it was in order for her to move into the manor house with him, but that was one little nicety she had not yet relinquished. When she arrived, she was pleased to find he had prepared one of the cottages for himself and arranged for her and her children to have the manor house.
Charles waited in the courtyard as her coach rumbled across the stone ground and the children looked out excitedly at the farm. She had tried to explain to them what it would be like, but they had little memory of their own farm across the ocean and it was all an exciting novelty to them.
Simon greeted them with a smile of pleasure and Frances realised there were no other children here. This new brother and sister would likely be the first playmates the child had ever had and as they jumped down they all ran off towards the fields together. She turned to Charles expectantly. He was a fine looking man and he had a lovely smile, a smile which made her heart skip as it had not done since she lost Mark.
He stood with his hand out waiting to take hers. She caught hold of his hand and noticed how warm and comforting it felt. Then he took her by surprise as he pulled her to him and kissed her.
“We will be happy together,” he said softly. “I feel it.”
“I, too, feel it. I think we have Mark’s blessing. Do you think we have Julia’s?”
***
The marriage ceremony was the Protestant one Queen Elizabeth had restored, Cranmer’s service in English. Frances recalled saying these same words to Mark in a small, hastily built wooden church on the other side of the world, but for Charles this was the first time. He and Julia had made their own, private vows and kept them.
Adrian was there to
give her away and Elizabeth attended her; she wanted to provide Frances with her own wedding gown for the occasion, but she refused.
“It is gorgeous, Elizabeth. It is very much like the one which was made for my wedding to Adrian, the one I never wore, and I do thank you, but no. I am going to be a farmer’s wife again, and a farmer’s bride would not wear a garment like this.” She fingered the material for a moment, then smiled contentedly. “I have no need of fine fabrics,” she went on. “Charles will feel uncomfortable if I wear this; it will remind him of just who I am and I do not want that. I do not want to be reminded of it myself either.”
When Adrian led her into that church, he could not help but remember his own betrothal to her, to think what might have been. Would they have been happy together? Frances once said they would have, but the bliss they had each found with the two people who loved them would have escaped them altogether.
Now he could only hope and pray she could find the same happiness and bliss with this farmer as she had with Adrian’s brother.
It was a strange sort of ceremony, not what the Earl and Countess were accustomed to at all, but there was no unnecessary formality and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. Adrian almost envied them the freedom they would have and he understood at last how Frances could be happy with this life, why she preferred not to try to re-enter the society which shunned her.
While she was hugging Elizabeth, Adrian took the opportunity to speak to Charles.
“You will look after her?” He said. “I am trusting you.”
Charles grinned.
“Frances is trusting me,” he replied. “And that is far more important to me.”
Adrian was longing to ease his curiosity and ask this man why he was raising Richard Summerville’s son, but he did not quite have the courage. He could be wrong, after all; it could be just a coincidence that the boy so resembled him and if that were case, Mr Carlisle would take offence and quite rightly, too.
But he could not forget Richard’s words when he asked him to keep an eye on Charles: it is imperative he is kept safe. I have my reasons.
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