Tavern Wench

by Anne Ashley

  ‘Unexpected, I dare say,’ was the cool response, before the visitor at last turned away from the window.

  Emma wasn’t perfectly certain, but she thought there might have been just an element of surprise in the eyes which began to look her over slowly from head to toe, taking in every detail of her appearance. She, in turn, subjected the unexpected caller to a swift scrutiny, deciding as she did so that Lady Fencham bore little resemblance to her attractive brother, and singularly lacked his abundance of charm.

  ‘You are, I take it, Miss Lynn?’

  Emma stared gravely back at her, experiencing now a feeling of disquiet. She knew that Lady Fencham had earned herself the reputation of being excessively high in the instep. None the less she would have expected her to display at least a semblance of warmth towards the female who was soon to become her brother’s wife. That of course must be the reason behind this unexpected visit. Benedict must have written to her, apprising her of his intentions.

  ‘Yes, I am Emma Lynn,’ she confirmed, dropping a slight but graceful curtsy. ‘I assume, ma’am, that you have received a letter from your brother.’

  ‘You assume wrongly, Miss Lynn. I have had no contact with Grantley since he left the capital several weeks ago.’

  The tone remained clipped, and Emma was not in the least surprised when the lady refused the belated offer to take a seat, and partake of some refreshment.

  ‘My errand will not take long. I am here on two counts, Miss Lynn. Firstly, I wish to know whether the disturbing tidings my son saw fit to impart yesterday, when he paid me a brief visit, are indeed true. And if so, I want your assurance that the marriage will never take place.’

  Refusing to be cowed by the dictatorial manner, Emma continued to stare levelly across at her autocratic visitor. ‘Although it has not been announced officially, Benedict and I are secretly betrothed, yes.’

  In view of the fact that Lady Fencham had made it abundantly clear that she opposed the match, Emma did not expect to receive rapturous congratulations, but she was slightly taken aback by the clear note of derision in the shout of laughter which swiftly followed her confirmation.

  ‘Oh, yes, I am certain that he did wish to keep the whole ludicrous business a secret. But for how much longer do you suppose he’ll be able to continue to protect you from this censorious world of ours, Miss Lynn, once your origins become common knowledge? Which assuredly they will,’ she warned. ‘How long do you suppose it would be before the invitations which at first flood to your home in great numbers rapidly begin to dwindle, and those you continue to receive bear only your husband’s name?’

  The implacable gaze grew noticeably harder. ‘Undoubtedly my brother would continue to do the honourable thing and stand by the female he had foolishly married. I do not doubt, either, that his friends, who bear him a sincere regard, would continue to make you wholly welcome in their homes. But the vast majority of the polite world would shun you both. Are you willing to condemn Benedict to a life where he is no longer considered acceptable company by the vast majority of his class? Are you prepared to see his social standing plummet, and his entry barred to the highest echelons, where he has freely entered throughout his life?’

  The brutally challenging gleam in the hard-eyed stare was no less wounding than the cruelly taunting voice. Emma longed to scream at her to stop, to say that it was utter nonsense to suppose that Benedict’s social standing would suffer as a direct result of marrying her. But the words would not form, simply because Lady Fencham, Emma very much feared, had spoken no less than the truth. She wouldn’t mind so much for herself if the prediction turned out to be distressingly accurate, but she could not place Benedict in a position whereby he would be frequently called upon to protect her from cruel barbs.

  She recalled with disturbing clarity his reaction to Clarissa Ashworth’s thoughtless remarks on the night of the party. He had been angry, bitterly so. How long would it be before he was obliged to protect her name by more than just words? Duelling might be unlawful; it was still practised none the less.

  ‘Furthermore,’ Lady Fencham continued, determined to thrust home the advantage the sad and tortured expression clearly betrayed she had won, ‘Benedict is his brother’s heir. That is unlikely to change. Therefore it is safe to assume that Benedict’s son will eventually hold the title. What indignities the poor child will be made to suffer when he is reminded constantly that his mother at one time earned her living by working in a tavern!’

  Unable to bear more, Emma took swift advantage of the slight pause. ‘You have made your views perfectly clear, ma’am. There is no need for you to say anything further.’ Her eyes betrayed clearly enough the all-consuming wretchedness writhing inside her, but her voice remained remarkably free of emotion as she added quietly, ‘You may leave, now, safe in the knowledge that you have the assurance for which you came.’

  Betraying clear signs of puzzlement, Lady Fencham looked as if she were about to say something else, then evidently thought better of it, and left without uttering anything further, not even a word of farewell.

  Emma waited until she heard the faint click of the door as it was closed quietly, and then went across to take up her visitor’s former stance by the window. She did not notice the perplexed glance Lady Fencham cast over her shoulder, before she climbed into her carriage. She hardly noticed the fine equipage pull away from the front of the inn. She was only painfully aware of the fact that her fairy-tale dreams of happiness were shattered, and that fate had dealt her the cruellest of blows from which she would find it hard ever to recover.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lucy hovered in the coffee room, hands nervously twisting the dusting-rag as she cast a furtive glance towards the doorway leading to the road. He would walk in at any moment, and she mustn’t forget what to say. Miss Emma had told her, before disappearing upstairs herself a minute or so ago, that it was very important to get it just right. Lucy frowned, as she turned those recently issued instructions over in her mind. But why was it so important not to keep Mr Grantley talking, and not delay in telling him Miss Emma was upstairs with Lord Ashworth? she wondered. And why was it also important that he go up alone and she remain downstairs?

  Prepared though she was, the tall figure suddenly appearing in the doorway made her start, and she brushed against one of the tables, almost sending a chair toppling to the floor.

  ‘Ah, Lucy! On excellent form, I perceive!’ Benedict entered, smiling as he heard the familiar nervous giggle which always followed one of the buxom servingmaid’s slight mishaps. How he had missed this place! So refreshingly peaceful after the capital’s bustle!

  He placed the bag he was carrying down on the floor, deciding as he did so that the inn seemed quieter than he remembered. ‘Your master and mistress not about, Lucy?’

  ‘No, sir. They be in Salisbury this afternoon, collecting urgently needed provisions.’

  ‘Sounds as though you’ve been busy here since I’ve been away.’ He bent a glance of mock severity upon her. ‘I hope you haven’t gone and let my room, because I tell you plainly that I have no intention of sharing a bed with my groom above the stables.’

  ‘Oh, sir, you are a caution! As if we’d expect you to do such a thing! There’s only Lord Ashworth staying with us at the moment.’ Mentioning Lord Ashworth succeeded in jolting Lucy’s memory. ‘Oh, yes…and you can go straight up, sir…Miss Emma’s there now…with Lord Ashworth.’

  Benedict needed no further prompting, and was about to head off in the direction of the stairs, when the sound of a light footfall caught his attention and he turned to see Deborah enter the inn, holding a small bowl containing one of his favourite fruits.

  ‘Good day, Mr Grantley.’ She smiled shyly up at him. ‘I heard that you would be returning today. Is Emma about?’

  ‘According to what Lucy here has been telling me, she’s upstairs with the invalid,’ he responded, eyeing the contents of the bowl with relish.

  ‘In that case, I’ll jus
t pop up with these strawberries. His lordship is quite partial to them.’

  ‘He’s by no means the only one,’ Benedict informed her, and was on the point of helping himself, when Lucy forestalled him.

  ‘Oh, no, you mustn’t do that!’

  ‘I’m certain he won’t miss just one, Lucy,’ he protested.

  ‘No, sir, I weren’t meaning that.’ She began to tug nervously at the dusting-rag once more. ‘I mean, Miss Emma never mentioned nothing about Miss Deborah going up.’

  ‘Do not concern yourself, Lucy. I shall be there to ensure that the proprieties are observed at all times,’ Benedict assured her, before popping one of the strawberries into his mouth.

  After leading the way up the stairs and along the passageway, he paused to tap lightly on Richard’s bedchamber door. Then throwing it wide, he stood to one side to allow Deborah to precede him. When she made no attempt to do so and, furthermore, uttered an unexpected gasp of consternation, he peered above her head at the spectacle which was causing her such acute dismay.

  For a few moments it was as much as he could do to stare in stunned disbelief at the sight of the woman he loved, the woman he had swiftly come to trust above any other, half lying on the bed, gown pulled down about her shoulders, breaking free from the passionate embrace. Then searing pain, the like of which he had never experienced before, tore through him, leaving him prey to virulent emotions, not least of which was ice-cold fury at the clear evidence of cruel and wanton betrayal.

  ‘It would seem that our arrival is ill-timed, m’dear,’ he drawled. ‘Or perhaps the opposite is true.’

  Deborah’s only response was to utter a half-suppressed sob, before brushing past him, and spilling the contents of the bowl she carried in her headlong flight towards the stairs. Benedict felt no similar compulsion to flee. He remained in the doorway, watching Emma attempting to straighten her attire, while fighting to suppress a further surge of anger as it occurred to him that Richard had glimpsed far more of her charms than he had been privileged to see, and that he had been a crass fool to treat such a faithless little strumpet with the utmost respect.

  Had he not been battling to maintain a grasp on his emotions, he might have taken a moment to consider why it was that Richard, far from appearing embarrassed at being caught in a compromising situation with another man’s affianced bride, was looking utterly bewildered.

  ‘My compliments, Ashworth,’ he said, his voice remarkably controlled. ‘You appear to have recovered your strength remarkably quickly. Undoubtedly you have been offered every inducement to do so.’

  Richard did not attempt to respond to the sarcasm, but looked instead at Emma, who rose from the bed and went over to stand by the window. Benedict watched her too, but as she had never once attempted to glance in his direction, and was now standing with her back towards him, he did not know, as Richard did, that she was deathly pale, and fighting to hold back the tears.

  ‘My compliments to you too, madam,’ he added, his voice once again cutting through the air charged with tension. ‘In one comprehensive lesson you have proved beyond doubt that I am not omniscient. My assessment of your character, I openly concede, was entirely flawed. Have the satisfaction of knowing that I would never have supposed for a moment that you were ambitious. The title Baroness is not to be sneered at, I grant you. Had you been just a little patient, and bided your time, you might one day have been called Countess.’

  Richard, watching Benedict turn away, closing the door quietly behind him, without uttering anything further, could not but admire the man’s admirable self-control. Had their positions been reversed, he would, at the very least, have done justice to his feelings by indulging in a virulent verbal attack. It was not beyond the realms of possibility that he might have resorted to physical violence. He could not say for certainty that the sight of a heavily bandaged shoulder would have restrained him had he caught the woman he loved being embraced by another man.

  His earlier bewilderment had not been feigned. No one could have been more surprised than he when Emma had entered the room, had seated herself on his bed, and had calmly begun to draw down the bodice of her gown. Desire had quickly mounted when that sweet mouth had pressed itself down upon his. He was only human, after all. What red-blooded male would shun the advances of such a lovely young woman, totally unexpected though they had been?

  He shook his head, marvelling at his own foolishness. He should have known, of course; should have realised at once that it was a complete sham. Emma was a well-bred young woman, with impeccable manners, not some flirtatious wanton. Why, since he had begun to regain his strength, she had never once attempted to venture into the room alone. She had always insisted on being accompanied by either Martha or Lucy, in an attempt, he supposed, not to compromise him, and to protect her own reputation, which up until this day had been flawless.

  It was patently obvious to him now that she had planned the whole interlude. She had intended to give Benedict such a disgust of her that he would walk out of her life. The sound of footsteps swiftly passing the closed door suggested strongly that she had succeeded in her aim. But what on earth had prompted her to do such a thing?

  ‘It isn’t too late to go after him and explain, Emma,’ he suggested. ‘You’ll catch him if you hurry.’

  ‘No, I shan’t do that,’ she responded, her voice barely a whisper. ‘We shall never see each other again.’

  ‘Possibly not,’ he agreed gently. ‘But it is highly probable that I shall cross his path at some point in the future when I visit the capital. May I at least be permitted to know why I must bear the condemnation of a man for whom I have the utmost respect?’

  It was a moment before Emma turned her head, and once again Richard found himself experiencing a deal of respect. She was undoubtedly labouring under the greatest strain to keep her emotions in check. Yet her eyes, when they looked down at him, were surprisingly free from the tears which would surely come before too long, and were shadowed only by a look of acute remorse.

  After a further moment, she moved away from the window, and seated herself in the chair by the bed. ‘I was foolish not to have considered that,’ she admitted, her voice strengthened by self-reproach. ‘I am so very sorry to have involved you in all of this, Richard. If I could have thought of some other way…’

  Richard did not hesitate to reach for one of the slender hands, and retain it comfortingly in his own. ‘Some other way of ending your association with Benedict,’ he finished for her. ‘Yes, I had realised that that was your intention. What I quite fail to understand though, Emma, is why you should wish to part from the man you so obviously adore.’

  ‘For that very reason, Richard,’ she answered, her voice once again barely audible.

  He saw tears begin to moisten the long lashes, but amazingly they still did not fall. He waited a moment to allow her to regain her composure before prompting her further. ‘I’m sorry, Emma. I am just a doltish male who cannot understand that reasoning. At some future time I might be justifiably called to account for my actions, so do you not think I deserve to know precisely why?’

  Emma managed a wan smile at this. ‘I do not suppose for a moment that that will ever happen. Ben is far too much of a gentleman to instigate a common brawl… But, yes, you do deserve an explanation,’ she agreed. ‘However, you must promise me, Richard, that you will never repeat what I am about to tell you to Benedict in the future.’

  He did not hesitate to pledge his word, and then listened, experiencing sympathy and increasing annoyance, as she disclosed the reasons for her astonishing behaviour.

  ‘Confound this country!’ he cursed, when he had discovered all. ‘Is a person’s station in life the only thing that matters? I shall never understand you people!’

  ‘You are one of us too,’ she reminded him, moved by this show of support.

  ‘Yes, perhaps,’ he was reluctantly forced to concede. ‘None the less, I was raised to consider a person’s qualities more important than his
social standing. And I’m certain Benedict is of a similar mind. He evidently did not care a jot that you were forced to make your own way in the world.’

  ‘No, he did not,’ she agreed. ‘But one day he might have reconsidered, have experienced regrets that he had married me.’ Tears began to moisten her lashes yet again, and yet iron resolve still held them in check. ‘My one regret is that I was forced to use you so shamefully.’

  Richard dismissed this with a wave of his hand, before a rueful smile tugged at his lips. ‘And my only regret is that dear little Deborah should have witnessed what for me was, I freely admit, not an unpleasant experience.’

  An expression of total astonishment, quickly followed by one of acute dismay, was proof enough that Emma had been ignorant of this fact up until a moment ago. She was on her feet and leaving the room before Richard could guess her intention.

  In the passageway she encountered Lucy, busily picking up strawberries from the carpet, further proof had Emma needed any that her friend had indeed been there.

  Deborah had paid numerous visits to the inn during the past two weeks, never failing to bring with her some little treat to tempt the invalid’s palate. Emma had very much enjoyed witnessing an ever-increasing bond of friendship developing between Deborah and Richard, and could not bear the thought that she may have been instrumental in preventing their evident regard for each other from developing into something more meaningful.

  ‘I do not suppose Deborah is still here, is she, Lucy?’

  ‘No, Miss Em.’ Lucy was agog with curiosity, and it plainly showed. ‘She went running back out not long after she’d arrived. Looked as if she were crying to me. And that ain’t all,’ she added, eyes widening. ‘Mr Grantley’s gone too. Paid his shot, and left without uttering above half a dozen words. Mistress came back in time to see him drive off in the carriage. Wants to know what’s been going on, so she does.’

  ‘Yes, I can well imagine. But I cannot see her now, Lucy. Tell her I’ll talk to her when I return.’