by Anne Millar
“What did Brewson want, father?”
“A problem with the hedges on the river meadow, Judith.” It was far too short an answer, and the embers of her rage let her hold her father’s gaze until he conceded a proper explanation. “The beasts have broken them down and strayed across the cottagers’ plots.”
“I said the hedges should have been laid afresh last winter, if the cattle were to be run there.” The villagers would want compensation, and there would be weeks of squabbling. “Brewson didn’t listen to me.”
“He has been a sound steward for nigh forty years, Judith. My father thought well of him.”
“He is too old to manage the estate, father. Unless I check what he does.” She loved riding the estate, she knew what was needed, and she enjoyed talking with the tenants. But anyone would grow frustrated when there was no capital to make the improvements that were so clearly needed. Did that make her the hoyden her brother accused her of being?
“That is my concern, Judith. Brewson has been a loyal servant.” Father sounded petulant and she knew there would no further work on the rents today. Especially when he levered his leg onto the footstool and opened his snuff box.
“Father, we need to finish the arrears.” It was a forlorn hope. Father would use the cinnamon scented tobacco to calm nerves shredded by his clash with John, and then he’d doze.
“Tomorrow, Judith. In the morning. But I do have some news for you. I had a note just now.” The very tentativeness of his smile would have hoisted storm cones. “We shall have visitors on Thursday.”
“Not in itself an unusual event, father. Are these visitors of special note?” Judith knew her own smile was of the variety that said she suspected a plot.
“Sir Roger Duthford, my old friend.” His smile had washed away to a transparent plea for calm.
“Sir Roger is coming twenty miles to pay a call? And you said he was a confounded Whig. Now he’s an old friend, is he?” To Judith’s knowledge Sir Roger and her father had been at best nodding acquaintances, and happy to be so, but Sir Roger’s son, Frederick was another matter. Frederick Duthford was a polite, well presented young man who had been quite incapable of concealing his admiration for her when they met in London. “Will Mr. Frederick Duthford accompany his sire?”
“I think so, Judith. Are you pleased? And gentlemen are entitled to disagree about politics, my dear.” Often enough Lord Hampton could win over his disapproving daughter by playing the benign buffoon.
But not today when Judith was so thoroughly irritated by her morning. “Press ganging suitors is becoming a hobby with you, father.”
“Judith! That is outrageous. The Duthfords are simply paying a call.”
“Why is this call so important, father?” That her words were so carefully enunciated should have been sufficient warning to Lord Hampton of the state of Judith’s temper.
“Not important, Judith. Friendly. Frederick was much taken by you. Made a point of saying so. And the lad is eligible. Sir Roger has prospered.” He tailed away, and even in her wrath Judith could imagine how painful it must be for father to contrast Sir Roger’s good fortune with his own. Frederick Duthford might be eligible, but the same could not be said for Judith Hampton. And father didn’t even know the whole truth. The thought was enough to trigger all the latent frustration in her.
“I had not realised it was market day, father. Is our position now so precarious that you must sell your daughter?”
She knew at once that she’d gone too far. Father’s face turned chalky white, and he didn’t reply, defusing her anger instead with eyes that could have belonged to an abused spaniel. But when his answer came it could have been designed to cut through to her guilt.
“It is a father’s duty to dispose for his daughter, Judith. I was disappointed that your season was not to your satisfaction. My sister went to considerable trouble and expense on our behalf. And would have done so again had you wished. Since it will not be Jeremy who will be master here when I am gone, you must give thought to your future.” He paused, but waved down her attempt to speak.
“I am not unmindful of family honour, Judith. My father and my son both died on the battlefield burnishing that honour. I would not permit myself to tarnish it by what you suggest. If Frederick Duthford is so little to your taste, we’ll send him and his father packing.” That he rose to open the door for her in dismissal told Judith how far she had transgressed. “Though with the respect due to a man who has done us no harm.”
As she moved to the door Judith saw a woman staring back at her from the mirror over the mantelpiece. Thin faced, drawn by anxiety, one and twenty going on forty. Was this what father and John saw every time they looked at her? Little wonder they all scratched at each other. “I will receive your guests as you would expect, father. Please forgive my quick words.” In an excess of etiquette that she knew to be quite absurd, Judith curtseyed to her father as she left the library.
~
She didn’t bother to stir though when John’s return rattled the house. Not until she heard her father’s voice amid the commotion did she abandon the rent rolls she’d fetched upstairs to tally in order to investigate the row. John was in full flood, absorbed in a vehement denunciation until the sight of her brought him to a halt. That unmistakable sign of guilt sent a chill of trepidation through her, and Judith barked her question out much too harshly. “What have you done, John?”
“For once, Judith, your brother is not the cause of the upset.” Father’s denial only confirmed her suspicions, and in her anxiety Judith snapped at him too.
“What is it then?” Her regret for the disrespect was instant, but it vanished at the solemnity of her father’s answer.
“Judith, Thomas Stainford has been sent here.”
Her instinctive response was to deny it. To open her mouth and protest that it couldn’t be true. Thomas. Sent here. Was he here now? In the house? She felt an insane urge to twist her head round to see where he was.
“John has just come back from the militia camp, Judith. Thomas arrived there today.” Father was using that special measured tone he kept for when John was past unreasonable, and even in the midst of her alarm Judith felt aggrieved that he thought to treat her with the same condescension.
“Why should that matter to me, father?” She formed each syllable of the question with painstaking care, using every vestige of control she possessed to ensure there was nothing to betray how much it did matter. Except the words were a little too defiant, and father didn’t seem to want to answer her. She was on the verge of repeating the question until she realised he and John were looking at her as though they expected her to collapse like some mewling miss.
“Has he left the army?” She’d no sooner spoken than she realised how foolish the question was. If Thomas had left the army why would he come to the militia camp? She needed to restrain herself before she asked any more nonsense. There would be a reason for this, other than Thomas coming back for her. And if he had come back it didn’t mean she wanted him. Even if the news had already sent a treacherous surge of joy through her body.
“He has orders to train the Volunteers, Judith.” John’s answer extinguished the elation, leaving her dry mouthed and flushed with embarrassment. She needed to know if her confusion had been noticed, but it was painful to lift her eyes. It would be too shaming if either father or John knew the direction of her thoughts. Instead her need to claw back some control prompted a small defiance. “You will be pleased to have your friend returned, John. Is he much altered?”
“Become quite the drill sergeant, Judith. And arrogant. Refuses to listen to the officers who raised the regiment. You were well served that he left.” The words carried their own conviction and Judith felt a hint of sympathy for her brother. Thomas Stainford had never been mindful of others. But she still needed to correct John.
“You are in error, brother. Thomas Stainford was always a source of indifference to me.” She could see John’s obvious disbelief, but it was
the concern in her father’s eyes that triggered the deeper anger. Damn Thomas for coming back to train the militia. And father too for thinking she was made of spun sugar to need protecting.
“Why is he here?” It was a stupid question since she’d already been told the answer, but she needed to know about Thomas, and for once her brother answered intelligently.
“He’s been wounded apparently, and sent here to convalesce.” John completely missed the quizzical look on her face and instead of telling her about the wound resumed his own rant. “Marched into headquarters and started issuing his orders, bold as you like.”
“Father, I must return to the rents.” She could feel herself start to tremble, and it would not do to show distress. The servants were bound to stir themselves into a frenzy of rumour about this. When they did there must be no suspicion that she had been anything other than aloof to the news. “I’m sure John has much to tell you about the militia, but I have little interest in military affairs.”
Judith genuinely tried to return to the rent rolls, but she couldn’t settle to it. The figures still wouldn’t make sense, but this time because they were swimming in front of her eyes. The inevitable knock came five minutes after she’d drifted upstairs to her room in frustration. It could only be Lucy, alerted by the other servants and come to see if she needed anything.
“Mistress Rogers said I was to come up, Miss, to see if you wanted to dress now.” Judith could see excitement behind her maid’s deference. Rumours must already be racing round the servants’ hall. “Will you want the green satin, Miss?”
“Whatever for, Lucy? And it’s far too early to dress now.” A bobbed head told Judith her tone had been too sharp. Lucy was only trying to be helpful.
“It’s ever so lovely, Miss Judith.” It was, and it had cost an exorbitant amount, which she’d thought worthwhile for the way it picked up the colour of her eyes. “You wore it last when Viscount Alsbury came to dinner, Miss.”
Thomas had smiled his appreciation for the low cut gown. His eyes had filled her with heat as though she were one of the new gas lamps being turned up to illuminate the dark.
“It’s also an antique, Lucy. That hasn’t been in style for years. It’s far too low for the fashion now.”
“You could wear a fíchu, Miss. The Viscount Alsbury was handsome, Miss. When he was sweet on you.” Lucy must have seen the balefires ignite, for she dropped a curtsey and scuttled out the door before harm could come her way.
Thomas Stainford might be handsome, but he brought nothing but trouble. All the days of waiting hopefully, of expecting Aunt Chloe’s butler to announce him, of not wanting to accept that he wouldn’t come. Her own fault for being naive and trusting. Thomas had been a rake, easily able to bamboozle a green girl. Nor was it likely that she was alone in her ruin. Three years ago, there had been a tale of a duel over the wife of a Spanish Marqués. Amara said it was a faradiddle not to be listened to, but for once Judith hadn’t believed her.
There was no denying she’d been a fool. The entire season Aunt Matilde had given her had gone by in a whirl of gaiety, attending routs and concerts and balls. Father had been very mindful of the cost and so grateful to his sister. Leaving Judith to suffer in her guilt, for she never intended to accept any of the polite, eager young men. Not when Thomas would be coming back for her. A fool indeed. Well, she was older and wiser now. Too wise for such foolishness.
Dinner was a very quiet meal. There was not a single reference to the Viscount Alsbury, and Judith guessed her father had spoken with John. Not for the first time she found herself wondering how sharp father’s suspicions had been. He’d never explained the sudden trip to Launceston, and when they arrived Aunt Chloe had favoured her with two cringing lectures on the ways of young men.
She went to bed early, but lay awake late. The same circle of thought kept running through her mind. Ruin was such an irremediable word: it was unfair, unjust, and final. Leaving her with only anxiety. Anxiety that if she dared to marry she might be returned to father the morning after her wedding, and anxiety that father would then feel bound to defend her honour. Anxiety that he might die for what a silly, foolish girl had done.
And when she saw Thomas, for she would have to see him, would he acknowledge their past? If not, it would be unbearable, but how could she let him when that might betray her secret? It would be petty and childish to slight him, but it would be safer. And it would free her too of that last lingering hope. The exhaustion that had been stalking her finally won and she never knew when she tumbled over into sleep.
If dinner had been quiet, breakfast was not, which was unusual in the Hampton household. A raised voice was not heard in the morning, and certainly never at breakfast. But then this voice belonged to John Hampton, whose attendance at breakfast was a rare curiosity.
“He all but cut me, damn it.”
After her restless night the devil was in Judith and she listened to John with impatience. He obviously considered that father’s stricture on mentioning Thomas had expired last night. Judith looked up from her brioche to see how her father would react to John’s outburst.
“You forget yourself, John. Apologise to your sister.” Jonathon Hampton left his son in no doubt that profanity was unacceptable.
“My apologies Judith.” John Hampton apologised as instructed, but the anger was still plain within him.
“You are inclined to intemperance, John, especially when you work yourself up with such denunciations of Thomas Stainford.” Judith knew a softly spoken censure would annoy her brother far more than raging at him and sure enough he reacted as she expected.
“He just nodded and went on his way. Too high by far. I thought he’d have been keen to share tales of the Peninsula with his friend.” John’s face flushed as he spoke, and her father glanced warningly at Judith.
“At least the Major’s demands for morning parade have brought you to the breakfast table, John.” This time she avoided father’s reproach by the simple expedient of keeping her eyes downcast as she delivered her bon mot. It was unkind, but John had puffed himself up so.
“He’s put Sir Theodore out of sorts too. Ordered up a parade as if he were running the regiment.” John Hampton obviously saw this as conclusive backing for his point of view. “If he’s not careful Theo’ll have him packed off back to London.”
“Is that likely, John? “ Jonathon Hampton was keeping one eye on his daughter and the other on his son. “The Volunteers need stiff training, do they not?”
“Whether they require training or not, Theodore will not put up with this. After all he paid for the regiment out of his own pocket.” John’s certainty was so absolute Judith had to stifle the absurd urge to giggle. Her brother’s stance as champion of the militia was unconvincing. Until last week John had attended parades rarely, spending most of his time in London.
“Do you think Viscount Alsbury will call?” Judith voiced the thought with an insouciance she didn’t feel. There was no choice but to receive such a call, and not to slight Thomas when she did. Her father would be shamed if she couldn’t behave toward him with the politeness that society required of the mistress of Oakenhill.
“It seems likely. I shall drop a card at Trefoyle, Judith. Look odd otherwise, my dear.” Father was apologetic when he was entirely correct. The returning war hero would be the lion of the neighbourhood, every mama who had a daughter out eager to receive him. The salver at Trefoyle would be groaning under cards. For the Hamptons to pass would be remarked. And Amara Guilmor was a good friend.
“I shall expect him before four, father.” She looked at John to see if he thought the call should be later, but her brother gave no sign that he wished to revive the friendship. Judith felt a surge of relief. Keeping Thomas Stainford at a formal distance would make it easier. He would have no part in her life beyond that of any other gentleman visiting the neighbourhood. Judith placed her coffee cup carefully back on its saucer. Father did so detest clattering china in the morning, and she would
not want to upset him unnecessarily.
Chapter3
“There appears to have been a deluge of cards, milord.” Wright proffered the silver salver with a certain glee. “The neighbourhood must think someone of importance is visiting Trefoyle.”
“Damn nuisance. I’ll return cards for most. Sir Edmund was right about the Volunteers’ drill. Did you ever see a battalion make such a shambles of a wheel? Horsley coloured up to a charming shade of plum.” Even if he had enjoyed their colonel’s discomfiture, Thomas was still appalled at the state of the Volunteers. “Lacey might have some idea what’s he’s about.”
“While Captain Hampton would benefit from a transfer to the cavalry, milord.” Graham Wright showed no hesitation in making a comment entirely improper for an enlisted man. “Card here from Lord Hampton, Major. At home three till four.” Wright was even more annoying when he tried to sound sympathetic.
Lord Hampton’s visiting card had a clear message; call at the formal time of visiting before family and close friends would consider paying calls. Was that to be the way of it now? Previously Judith’s father had been the epitome of hospitality. Right up until he had taken Judith away. There was no doubt about what Thomas had to do now. Returning a card would be the coward’s way.
“I’ll call there tomorrow, Wright. Thank you.” Thankful to be rid of even a loyal audience, Thomas returned to thoughts that had never gone away. He’d always known how far they transgressed society’s code, but Judith had been so bewitching, and all that had mattered was being with her. He knew better now. Love didn’t conquer. Just as on the battlefield, duty was the key that turned the world. No matter what your feelings might be. Or Judith’s. For it could be only arrogance to think that she might retain any affection for him. Most likely he was nothing but a fading memory.