by Anne Ashley
Not delaying even for the time it would take to collect a shawl, Emma raced out of the inn, in much the same way as Deborah had done a short time before. Not surprisingly she arrived at the Hammonds’ home, a few minutes later, breathless but determined to see her friend, and was admitted to the house by Mrs Hammond herself, who was not slow to divulge the information that her daughter had locked herself in her room, refusing to see anyone.
Emma did not allow this to deter her. Hurriedly mounting the stairs, she scratched lightly on Deborah’s bedchamber door, and was not unduly surprised to receive no response.
‘Deborah, it is Emma. Please let me in. I must speak with you. It is important. Things are not what they seem,’ she assured her, and a few moments later she heard the key, blessedly, turn in the lock.
Having to explain her actions a second time was no less heart-rending. Emma felt emotionally drained, but at least gained some satisfaction from seeing the happiness return to her friend’s eyes, even though she knew it would be a very long time before she would experience that feeling again herself.
Refusing both Deborah’s and her mother’s invitation to remain to partake of some refreshment, Emma returned to the inn, and went directly up to her room to stare sightlessly out of the window. She was not unduly surprised to hear the click of the door a few minutes later. There was no need to turn round to see who had entered, for she knew full well who it must be, and ran straight into those loving arms which had offered such comfort when she had been a child.
Martha did not attempt to stem the flow of tears, which at last began to flow and continued to flow. After learning all, she continued to cradle Emma in her arms. The tears gradually subsided, but the pain, Martha knew, was no less intense.
‘The first time that ever I set eyes on the man, I feared something like this might happen,’ she murmured, stroking the chestnut locks. ‘You loved him too well, my darling girl…you loved him too well.’
Chapter Fifteen
Unlike her husband, who would have been more than content to remain in the country all year round, enjoying the peace and quiet and the occasional visit from a genial neighbour, Lady Fencham much preferred the hectic social whirl. Three weeks of bucolic tranquillity had been quite sufficient to revitalise her, after the rigours of the London Season and her short sojourn in Bath, and she was more than ready to embark on the next major event in the social calendar.
It was mutually agreed that she should travel on ahead to Brighton to set the house in that fashionable seaside resort to order. It was an arrangement which suited both husband and wife admirably, for it granted his lordship the chance to remain in the country for a short while longer, and her ladyship the opportunity to make a short detour in order to pay a brief call on her favourite brother, and put her mind at rest by discovering for certain that he had indeed overcome the madness which had possessed him to contemplate marriage with someone far beneath his station.
On the day of her departure, Lady Fencham went outside to the carriage to discover the mid-July morning was both dry and bright, and yet not so warm as to make the journey ahead of her uncomfortable. With only her personal maid to bear her company, she was granted ample opportunity to indulge in lengthy periods of quiet reflection and, as had happened all too frequently during her short stay at her country home, her mind began to dwell on that brief visit which she had made to Ashworth Magna.
Being an innately honest person, Lady Fencham would have been the first to admit, if ever called upon to do so, that Miss Emma Lynn had turned out to be something of an enigma. In truth she had been expecting to discover some vulgar, scheming hussy who had entrapped poor Benedict in her toils by her dazzling beauty; instead, she had come face to face with a demure young woman whose gentility had been clearly evident in both speech and manners. There was no denying that, dressed appropriately, Miss Lynn would have been lovely enough to grace any ballroom. It was indeed a pity that her humble origins made her an unsuitable candidate, for in every other respect Lady Fencham very much suspected that she would have made Benedict an ideal mate.
Lady Fencham was not frequently plagued by pangs of conscience. None the less, she found herself experiencing a slight twinge of regret now as her coachman turned into the impressive gateway leading to her brother’s country home. If the lack of any official announcement in the newspapers was anything to go by, then Miss Emma Lynn was undeniably a young woman of her word who had released Benedict from any obligation he might have felt to wed her, leaving him free to look about for a more suitable bride.
A surge of hope quickly silenced the voice of conscience which suggested that she might have been grossly at fault to interfere in her brother’s personal concerns. Why, he might even be persuaded to join her and her husband in Brighton for the summer, she mused, where he would undoubtedly meet dozens of young women infinitely more suitable to be his wife!
With this very satisfying prospect in the forefront of her mind, Lady Fencham stepped lightly down from the carriage, and quickly mounted the steps leading to the house which she considered to be one of the most charming country residences she had ever been privileged to visit.
Purchased by her brother some ten years before, the mansion, built in a mellow yellow stone, was set in several acres of delightfully rolling park land. Modest in size compared to many of the more famous country residences, Fairview was none the less a perfect example of a building erected in the Classical style. Benedict had gone to considerable expense to redecorate the whole of the interior, and the house now seemed to reflect its owner’s personality—quietly elegant and altogether aesthetically pleasing.
Fingle, opening the door in response to the summons, did not attempt to hide his dismay at this unexpected visit. Nor was he slow to impart, as he moved to one side, allowing her ladyship to step into the hall, that this was not the best of times to pay an impromptu call, as his master had given strict instructions not to admit anyone to the house.
Lady Fencham dismissed this with an imperious wave of one gloved hand. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Fingle! Of course he will see his own sister.’
The middle-aged butler was decidedly sceptical, and made no attempt to hide the fact. ‘My lady, he has seen no one since his return from Wiltshire. He—he rarely leaves the house.’
Lady Fencham had learned of Benedict’s return to Fairview in a letter she had received from a close friend conveniently living in the area. She had not, however, heard from any one of her reliable sources, whereby she managed to keep track of his comings and goings, that her very eligible younger brother was behaving in any way out of the ordinary.
She experienced a moment’s alarm. ‘You are not trying to tell me, I trust, that your master is ill? If so, why was I not informed at once?’
‘I wouldn’t go as far as to say that he is ill, my lady,’ Fingle responded, swiftly allaying her fears. ‘But I would be forced to admit that the master hasn’t been—er—quite himself of late.’
‘What do you mean by “not quite himself”?’ Lady Fencham had not been slow to note that the loyal retainer seemed quite unable to meet her gaze. A hideous suspicion filtered through her mind. ‘I hope you are not suggesting that my brother is foxed?’
It was indeed an effort, but Fingle managed to suppress a smile. Lady Fencham was nothing if not brutally direct. ‘I wouldn’t go so far as to suggest that, my lady. He has, however, been incarcerated in the library with the brandy decanter for well over an hour. Which would lead me to suspect that he’s no longer perfectly sober.’
‘I simply do not believe it!’ she announced, loyal to the last. ‘I have never seen my brother in a state of inebriation in my life.’
Well, you will now, Fingle mused, as he watched her set off across the hall in the direction of the library.
He made no further attempt to dissuade her, simply because things could not continue as they were. Not a day had gone by when his master had not had recourse to the brandy decanter in an attempt to lessen the pain. A wom
an was at the root of all the trouble, of course. Every servant in the house was very well aware of that fact. Even had the head groom not disclosed that the master had at long last been struck by Cupid’s dart, the instructions they had received from their master to have Fairview in perfect order by his return would have been sufficient to convince the entire household that they would soon be welcoming a mistress to the house.
Fingle shook his head, at a loss to comprehend what might have occurred. His master was far too discerning a gentleman to be beguiled by just a pretty face. Consequently Fingle had come to the conclusion that the young woman who had, against all the odds, succeeded in capturing Mr Grantley’s heart must be a rare specimen indeed, and he had been very much looking forward to welcoming her to her new home. Yet the master had returned alone, and in a mood of black despair from which he had not recovered. Only in the mornings did he ever attempt to leave the house in order to ride, as though the devil himself were at his heels, across the estate. If he did not end by breaking his neck, then it would not be for the want of trying.
No, he reiterated, as he watched the unexpected visitor sweep majestically into the room, things simply could not continue in this way. Her ladyship might not have been his first choice to deal with a delicate situation such as this, but if she could manage to restore at least a semblance of the master’s former good sense, he for one would not be sorry that she had unexpectedly turned up on the doorstep, even if it meant losing his position for deliberately disobeying strict instructions. But then, he reminded himself, it certainly wouldn’t be the only order he’d quite failed to carry out since the master’s return to Fairview.
For a few moments Lady Fencham remained on the threshold, appalled at the sight which met her eyes. Even from this distance she could see that Fingle had not exaggerated. Sprawled in one of the chairs by the hearth, her brother bore little resemblance to the impeccably attired gentleman whose faultless appearance had been much admired, and aped, by the majority of his peers during the past decade.
He had dispensed with his coat, which now lay strewn across the floor at his feet. His waistcoat was unbuttoned, revealing a shirt that was both creased and stained, and his cravat was limp and so abysmally arranged that it resembled nothing so much as a well-used dusting-rag. Unless she much mistook the matter, his face had not felt the touch of a razor for some considerable time, and there was a telltale glint in his half-closed eyes which betrayed clearly enough the quantity of liquor already consumed that day.
‘Yes, you may refill the decanter, Fingle,’ Benedict murmured, without bothering to turn his head, but the derisive snort which swiftly followed his instructions eventually induced him to glance in the direction of the door. He was then forced to blink several times in an attempt to clear his vision.
‘Good gad! Is that you, Aggie?’ He made not the least attempt to rise. ‘What the deuce brings you here?’
‘I did not come, I assure you, expecting to discover my brother in an advanced state of intoxication!’ Her sharply spoken response made him wince, but she steadfastly refused to spare him further discomfort, and closed the door none too gently before moving towards the hearth. ‘You look little better than a vagrant! Whatever has come over you?’
‘Well may you ask, dear sister.’ Resting his head against the back of the chair, he gazed down into the contents of his glass, although, much to his sister’s intense relief, he made no attempt to reduce the level further. ‘I fell in love with a girl whom I foolishly imagined would make me the perfect wife.’
His unexpected shout of laughter distinctly lacked any semblance of humour. ‘For the first time in my life my judgement has proved sadly flawed. I lost my heart to a faithless little strumpet!’
Lady Fencham was genuinely shocked. A female of loose morals was certainly not the impression she had taken away with her, after her short meeting with Miss Emma Lynn at the Ashworth Arms.
‘If that is indeed the case, then it is most fortunate that you discovered her true character before you foolishly announced your engagement to the polite world.’
The glazed look rapidly faded from his eyes, and they were suddenly disconcertingly direct, as though he were seeing her clearly for the first time. ‘You appear very well informed, Agnes. Did your son, perchance, make a slight detour during his journey to Devon?’
‘Yes, as it happens, he did call on me when I was in Bath.’ Dropping into the seat opposite, she made a great play of rearranging her skirts. ‘Not that I didn’t consider the whole idea of your marrying such a female utterly preposterous. I cannot imagine what must have come over you to contemplate such a thing. Really,’ she scoffed, ‘a girl of that class!’
‘A girl of what class?’ he enquired, one well-shaped brow arching quizzically. ‘You appear to be labouring under a misapprehension, m’dear. Miss Lynn is the daughter of a gentleman. Furthermore, she is a cousin of my good friend Charles Lynn, no less.’
‘Great heavens!’ Lady Fencham’s jaw dropped perceptively, clear evidence of her astonishment. ‘I had no notion,’ she freely admitted. ‘Why on earth didn’t the silly chit say something when I…?’
‘When you…what, sister dear?’ Benedict prompted when her voice trailed away.
No response was forthcoming.
The brandy’s numbing effects had been miraculously decreasing with every passing second, and although Benedict would never have tried to pretend that he was now stone-cold sober, he was certainly as near to it as made no difference. ‘Would I be correct in assuming that you took it into your head to pay Miss Lynn a visit?’
‘Well, of course I did,’ she admitted, knowing full well that it would be futile to attempt a denial. Her younger brother was far too perceptive. ‘You did not suppose for a moment that I would sit back and do nothing when I discovered my brother was contemplating such a deplorable mésalliance? And it is no earthly use your staring at me in that odiously hateful way, Benedict!’ she snapped, faintly defensive. ‘I had no notion the girl was so well connected. What on earth possessed her to find employment in a common inn, I should like to know?’
‘We shall leave that for the moment.’ His penetrating, hard-eyed gaze never wavering for an instant, he reached out an arm to place his glass down on the table by his elbow. ‘What did you say to her, Agnes?’ he enquired, with deceptive mildness. ‘What did you say to my darling girl?’
‘Darling girl?’ she echoed in astonished disbelief. ‘But—but you just said that she was a designing—’
‘I know what I may have said, Agnes,’ he interrupted, his voice all the more menacing because of its softness. ‘But I am beginning to suspect…oh, yes, I am very much beginning to suspect that I have been a damnable fool.’ He leaned forward in his chair so that she could not fail to see the determination in his eyes, even had she failed to detect it in his voice. ‘And you are going to supply me with the proof I need, dear sister, by disclosing precisely what passed between you and Emma during your visit to the Ashworth Arms… You are going to tell me e-v-e-r-y last detail.’
Lady Fencham’s nature could never have been described as submissive. Yet, against all the odds, she found herself automatically complying, the result of which had Benedict out of his chair and towering above her, and she herself almost cowering beneath the crushing tirade which subsequently fell about her ears.
‘I—I shall not be spoken to in such a fashion, Benedict,’ she managed faintly, after having been forced to listen to her character comprehensively pulled to shreds. ‘I—I would never have believed you so un-feeling as to speak to your own sister in such a fashion. I had only your best interests at heart.’
‘Fortunately for you I am well aware of it. That is the only thing to have spared you the thrashing your husband ought to have administered years ago!’ Swinging away, he began to pace the room. ‘Damn you for an interfering baggage, Aggie!’
It needed only that to repair her severely dented spirits. ‘I refuse to remain here and be insulted a moment longer!
Why, I can almost feel sorry for the poor girl. You will quite obviously make an odious brute of a husband. And you may tell Miss Lynn from me that I for one shall always be there if she should ever feel the need of my support. Or seek protection from you!’ Gathering the shreds of her dignity about her, she rose to her feet. ‘I wish I’d never come here!’
‘Aggie,’ he called after her, halting her stalking progress across to the door. ‘I’m not in the least sorry you came.’
She swept majestically out of the room, but not before Benedict had detected the faint smile of satisfaction. His own swiftly faded, as he cursed himself silently for every kind of a fool. He ought to have realised at once that it had all been a complete sham, a ruse to prompt him to terminate the engagement. And like a simpleton he had walked straight into that well-baited trap!
Anger and elation, a potent mixture, had him once again pacing the room, his mind’s eye clearly seeing now what ought to have been so blatantly obvious from the moment he had entered the inn—Lucy, conveniently awaiting his arrival in the coffee room, slightly confused and striving to repeat parrot-fashion what she had been instructed to say, and Richard quite obviously completely bewildered by what had taken place. Little wonder Emma had not dared to face him, he reminded himself. The devious little minx had feared that, had he chanced to look into her eyes, he just might have realised that it wasn’t mortification she was experiencing, but searing heartache. Oh, yes, it was all so crystal clear now, he mused, marvelling at his own gullibility. Had he not allowed shattered feelings, and a severely bruised ego to cloud his judgement, he would have suspected the truth long since.
Finding himself now standing beside his oak desk, he noticed the mountain of correspondence neatly stacked in one corner, awaiting his attention. Locked in his own private misery, he had lost complete interest in the outside world. It had been as much as he could do to ride over occasionally to see his steward. Not surprisingly he experienced a twinge of conscience, quickly followed by a sense of shame, as he seated himself at the desk and began to read through letters from several of his neglected friends.