Amberley Chronicles Boxset II (Amberley Chronicles Box Sets Book 2)

by May Burnett

  ***

  Most of the congregation had already left for their homes when Lord Desborough introduced Charles to the Vicar. Charles asked a confidential talk, when it was convenient. The Vicar, slightly mystified but cordial, said he would be at his service in the Vicarage in an hour’s time. Charles bowed, and took himself off for a brisk walk in the interval.

  The day was foggy and humid. Although it was close to eleven, the sun had not broken through the low-hanging clouds. Fallen leaves, slippery with moisture, covered the path on which Charles strode. It was pleasant to move quickly, after sitting in that narrow pew for over an hour, and the carriage before that. Lord Desborough had offered to send it back for him, but he had declined; it was only a forty minute walk back to the Hall.

  When he was admitted to the Vicarage study, a large room of elegant proportions, Dr Twombley offered him a glass of sherry.

  “What can I do for you, Mr Denham?”

  Charles explained about the vow he had taken aboard ship, and his intention to embrace a career in the Church of England.

  “Most unusual,” the vicar said thoughtfully. “There are precedents in Church history, of course, particularly in the early centuries. Though they usually founded monasteries, or became anchorites.”

  Charles quickly denied any desire to turn hermit. To a man of his sociable nature, the very thought was anathema.

  “Frankly, I am not sure I can advise you in good conscience to pursue your plans. Not that we only recruit those whose vocation is clear and pure, when I consider all those younger sons of families with a parish in their gift.”

  “It is not as though I had a choice, given the vow I made. I take my vows very seriously.” Charles did not want to enter into an argument about the strength of his vocation.

  “There is always a choice. The Church is empowered to release you from this kind of vow, were you aware of that? I could do it here and now.”

  For a moment Charles was tempted, but he fought the feeling down. “Thank you, but no. I could not in honour take you up on that offer.”

  “In that case, I can only advise you to think carefully and take your time, to be quite certain that you are taking the right path. It is possible to be a force for good - a champion of the Lord - without belonging to the clergy, you know.”

  “A saint, you mean?” Charles had to smile. “I am not that ambitious.”

  “Well, if you insist on pursuing this path, the Church will undoubtedly be pleased to have you. You are rich enough, you said, to live without work of any kind? And heir to a baronetcy? Then you will prosper in your new profession also. I have always noted that preferment comes most easily to those who least need it.”

  “I would not want to deprive any deserving curate of preferment, or put myself forward in any way,” Charles said. “But that is getting somewhat ahead of myself – what do you suggest I had best do? My education was at Cambridge, and a have a First in the Classics, but I am no more versed in theology than any educated layman.”

  “Latin and Greek are already an excellent basis. As for the theological training, you should not find it difficult compared to your time at university. I can lend you some standard texts now, so you can immediately embark on a course of study. See if you can find it in your heart to defend the dogmas of our Church, when called upon to do so. For some it is a stumbling block.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You should apply to the Bishop of your own parish, to see what exact requirements are considered necessary in your case.”

  “The one thing that gives me pause,” Charles confided, “is that I feel unworthy of ministering to the faithful. Only the observation that all men I have met so far, of whatever station in life, are also imperfect, has emboldened me to proceed. Is this a common problem in new applicants?”

  Dr Twombley raised his greying brows. “No. I only wish it were. A proper measure of humility and self-knowledge are highly desirable for anybody in authority. All too many cannot see their own faults, though they are very quick to perceive those of others, as the Bible describes so vividly. That you hesitated speaks well of you, unless of course there are any habitual vices that would not accord with your life as a clergyman. No, don’t answer, that is between you and the Lord.”

  “Nothing of the kind, although I do hope to marry. I believe you are an advocate of celibacy, Doctor? Do you see theological advantages in it?”

  “As the apostles were married, there is no compelling case against marriage for clergy. We can discuss the reasons why I think it preferable for men with a true vocation once you have been ordained, but I do not seek to press my conclusions on anyone else. For a man with ordinary male urges marriage is certainly the wisest course, provided he is very careful about his choice of spouse. Not every woman is suited to being a vicar’s wife. It would be a great disservice to the Church to saddle it with some sordid scandal.”

  “I am fully aware of that,” Charles said. “I have no particular candidate in mind as yet, and will bear your warning in mind when I do.”

  He had long finished his sherry. The vicar, on noticing the empty glass, brought out a different bottle and fresh glasses. “As a future colleague, let me offer you this whiskey, a gift from a cousin in the Highlands. It is just the thing on a cold wet day like this. Let’s drink to your finding clarity and deciding on the right path.”

  The whiskey was fiery and delicious. Charles finished it slowly, reverently, while the vicar rummaged among his bookshelves. He pressed two heavy volumes on him, a foretaste of what his theological studies would comprise.

  They parted with the promise that Charles call on the vicar again before he left Desborough Hall, to return the books and discuss his case further. Though not particularly keen to study a subject he had always considered dry and abstruse, he resolved to begin this very day, as a test of his determination.

  Hopefully a concentrated dose of theology would drive any inappropriate thoughts of Lady Anthea from his mind.

  Chapter 17

  It can be fatal to underestimate your opponent.

  Maxims for Young Gentlewomen, by A Lady, London 1823

  “I have hardly slept a wink all night.” Driving back from church, Anthea was sharing the barouche with Cecily, Cherry and Jonathan. “I want to escape from this engagement as soon as possible, but I am apprehensive how Silas will react.”

  Cherry and Jonathan, who were sharing the carriage with the cousins, exchanged a look.

  “Maybe it would be best to end it all in public, before witnesses,” Cecily suggested. “He could hardly forget himself if a number of guests and family listened to every word.”

  “But that would be even more humiliating for him – and me – I don’t think I can do that,” Anthea said, a little uncertainly. “I should not even be talking with anyone else beforehand, like now.”

  “Even so,” Cherry advised, “it might be a good idea to have one or more of us within calling distance.”

  “To receive one’s congé cannot but evoke strong feelings, of whatever kind,” Jonathan commented. “I strongly advise against doing it all alone, in some isolated spot.”

  “That advice shows how little you think of Silas,” Anthea said a little bleakly. “As a gentleman, you may see him from a quite different side. Do you also think I should break off my engagement?”

  “I would not have presumed to advise you had you not asked, but frankly, I do not understand what made you enter into this betrothal in the first place. If you are this nervous about talking to Lord Winstanton in private, I can see no possibility of a happy marriage. You can do better, Anthea.” His deep voice had a soothing quality. How lucky Cherry was in her choice.

  “Mother will be disappointed and angry, but I must not regard that. After all, it will not be she who would have to spend the rest of her life in Silas’s company.”

  “Quite right,” Cecily supported her. “Not having Lady Winstanton’s disapproving face hovering over you for years on end will also be a boon.”

&nb
sp; “Peter will not like it, but he has no authority over me. I only hope Father will understand. But even if he is annoyed at first, he will surely come around.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Jonathan said. “As a prospective father I would never wish an unhappy marriage on my child. Surely your father feels the same.”

  “If he can be brought to understand that it would be unhappy, - but what if he believes I am succumbing to a temporary fit of vapours? Lady Amberley and Mother did not take my doubts about the marriage at all seriously.”

  “Lady Amberley is hardly the best counsellor in such matters,” Jonathan said drily. “Consider that her two younger children married against her will, and yet are enjoying marital felicity, as I can attest from my own observations on multiple occasions.”

  “They are happy, against her advice? I am glad. I know Minerva, though not well, she made her come-out before I did. During the past Season I saw her once at a rout – she was on the arm of a gentleman in his thirties, but there was no occasion to talk to them.” Not that she had tried. Anthea had been surrounded by young gentlemen vying for the next dance, and a little giddy with her success.

  Jonathan smiled. “That was most likely her husband, Henry Beecham. He is a member of parliament now, but before that was a very successful solicitor, another friend of mine.”

  “I remember when everyone expected Minerva to marry Cousin Rook,” Anthea recalled. “We were astounded to learn of her marriage to a mere solicitor instead.”

  “Despite what society may have judged, Rook was not right for her,” Cherry said gently, “Henry suited her better. A title is not everything, you know.”

  Anthea inclined her head. “I know it now.”

  ***

  Perkins was instructed to hand Lord Winstanton a folded note from his betrothed shortly before teatime, containing the request that he meet her at once in the library.

  As twenty-two minutes slowly ran their course, Anthea stewed in growing anxiety. How like Silas to take his time over complying with her request, to teach her a lesson. Too nervous to sit, she paced in front of the fireplace. Every minute of delay only strengthened her resolve. She was not going to stand for such treatment for the rest of her life.

  Finally he sauntered in, throwing her a quizzical look. “You wanted to see me, Anthea? I hope this won’t become a habit, sending me urgent summons through the servants.”

  “By no means,” she said coldly. Her hands were clasped together in front of her body, the ring in her palm cutting into her skin. “It will be the last time, as a matter of fact.”

  “Oh?”

  “After our talk yesterday I have taken counsel of my feelings, and come to the firm conclusion that we do not suit. Please take your ring back. I find I cannot be your wife.” Surely that was plain enough to prevent any kind of misunderstanding.

  Anthea held out the emerald ring in a hand that was steady, to her relief. Silas made no move to take it for several long seconds. He stared at her, his surprise gradually giving way to a calculating expression.

  “You are trying to jilt me? Make me a laughingstock?”

  She shivered involuntarily at the cutting tone. “In a word, yes, I am. I have concluded I could not be happy as your wife.”

  “What does that matter at this point?”

  “I should think it matters a great deal. My whole life will take a different and happier course, once we terminate this ill-considered engagement. I am willing to shoulder the blame for my fickleness, or my mistake, however you want to put it.”

  Silas shook his head. ”Foolish Anthea, to believe you can play fast and loose with me.” His voice turned cold and menacing. “You will not tell anyone else that you tried to get out of your promise to me, and you will go through with the engagement and wedding, or I shall see to it that you are ruined and unable to marry any other man.”

  She blinked in confusion. “What do you mean? You would lie? You cannot mean that!”

  “You had better believe that I do mean it. If you breathe a word to anyone else that you are not happy and proud to be my future Viscountess, and eagerly looking forward to our marriage in January, I shall let it be known among the London Clubs that I have already enjoyed your favours.”

  He must be mad. “You would not dare. My family would avenge me.”

  “You want Peter to be killed in a duel? Risk his life because of your nonsense? The whole family would be disgraced.”

  Her throat was threatening to close up. She took a deep breath. “Why are you so hateful? If you were not going to love and cherish me, why did you ever ask for my hand, Silas? I do not understand you at all. We could have been happy, had you only been the man you first appeared.”

  He stepped closer, put his hand on the wrist of her right hand, deliberately letting her feel his strength. “I see. This is childish pique because I do not sufficiently cater to your vanity and amour-propre. Do not continue in this vein, Anthea. You will live to regret it.”

  She was speechless with anger and indignation, grasping for words, when Cherry’s cheerful voice intruded on the tense confrontation.

  “Hello, I am not de trop here, am I?”

  Her sister appeared from the half-open side door, a book in her hands. “I came to find the next volume, but I can come later if you two want to be alone.”

  Cherry’s eyes moved to Silas’s hand, still encircling Anthea’s wrist, and to the ring in her palm. She raised her beautifully defined dark brows. “Is everything in order, Anthea, dear?”

  Silas slowly pulled his hand back.

  Anthea did not reply at once, waiting for Silas to completely release her and step back.

  “Think carefully,” he said to her in warning, bowed briefly to both ladies, and abruptly left the library.

  “Oh, Cherry!” Tears flowed, hateful and unwanted, but unstoppable. “I am so glad you came. He said – he threatened – ,”

  “Hush. I heard everything.”

  Anthea did not know whether to be happy or angry that this humiliating exchange had been witnessed. Relief won out. She had never liked to bury deep dark secrets in her bosom. “Can he really ruin me? Would he be believed?”

  “Maybe,” Cherry said reluctantly. “If he pretends to be in his cups, and allows some salacious details to slip … no matter how untrue, there would be serious damage to your reputation.”

  “But that makes it even more imperative that I escape his clutches. I cannot marry a man who compels me to the altar through blackmail. Or is it extortion?”

  “No, of course you cannot.” Cherry put the book down on a desk and hugged Anthea. The friendly touch was comforting. How was it her sister seemed so much stronger, though she was half a head shorter? “We must find a way to foil Lord Winstanton, to stop the wedding in such a way that the blame attaches to him alone. Then even if he slanders you afterwards, it would be regarded as mere sour grapes and vindictiveness.”

  “I had no notion he could be so mean-spirited and cold.” A last shudder passed through Anthea. “How could I have been so mistaken in Silas?”

  “It is not all your fault,” Cherry consoled her. “Your parents should have made sure of his character, before permitting the betrothal.”

  “What should I do?”

  “One possibility would be to talk to your father immediately, and inform him of what transpired here today. He may have the means to deal with Winstanton’s threat.”

  Anthea shook her head. Telling Father about this fiasco? It would be too humiliating. “I do not want to involve my father in this mess. It was my mistake to get betrothed to Silas in the first place.”

  “Your father gave him permission to pay his addresses, so he is equally responsible.”

  “Father has a terrible temper when sorely provoked. He would throw Silas and his mother out of the house, and Silas would proceed to slander me as he has threatened.” A terrible thought struck her. “If Father even believes me, and not Silas.”

  “Remember that I overhear
d your conversation. By design, I confess – I decided that it might not be sufficient to be within hailing distance.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “This villain will not marry you, whatever happens.”

  “No.” Anthea would not marry Silas now, even if she had to repudiate him at the altar, in front of the world. It would serve him right, but she would pay a heavy price. “Maybe it would have been better after all to reject him in front of witnesses. Too late for that now.”

  “Maybe not too late, when the right occasion comes,” Cherry mused.

  “I certainly would feel no qualms to humiliate Silas in public, after this,” Anthea agreed. “What a coil. Just a few weeks ago I was happy and carefree, proud of having concluded the Season with a highly suitable match.” What a fool she had been.

  “We will find a way to deal with him, somehow. Do not despair.”

  “Despair? Nothing could be further from my mind. Silas will rue the day he threatened a Desborough. We are not born to be victims. He shall not prevail.”

  Cherry nodded encouragingly. “That’s the spirit. He has made two dangerous enemies today. Men like Winstanton are inclined to discount the power and importance of women. We shall teach him a lesson.”

  Chapter 18

  You never know what lurid thoughts may be hidden behind the most pious countenance.

  Maxims for Young Gentlewomen, by A Lady, London 1823

  Dinner that night was marred by an unspoken tension. Charles had always been sensitive to atmospheric changes, feeling them almost like a physical current of air. He curiously looked around to locate the source of disturbance.

  It could not be his Grandfather, placidly consuming a piece of sole, or Lady Desborough, who engaged Winstanton in small talk. Cherry was a little quieter than usual, and her husband looked grave, but that might well have to do with the negotiations between him and the Earl. Charles remembered what Miss Trevor had told him, that a belated dowry was owed.