by Julie Matern
“He came to my ball and then he was at the grand picnic at Bella’s and he introduced himself. Grandmama knows of him and greeted him at the ball, and Bella’s cousin William knows him from Oxford.”
“Well, that sounds like some worthy recommendations, for your grandmama appears to bestow her favor rather sparingly. What did your mama think?”
“To be honest, he did not stay long enough in Mama’s company for her to form an opinion, but I think she would like him very much on further acquaintance. You liked Mr. Ashbourne, did you not, Aunt?”
“I did! He has very proper manners. He is a fine example of gentlemanly behavior and is very pleasing to behold. Yes, I think I rather do like him. What do we know of his character?”
“Grandfather did not seem to know anything of value about his character, so I have put Phillip Waverley on the task. Do you think that is very wrong of me?”
“Perhaps a little forward. Now, Phillip Waverley, there is a fine young man in need of a wife! Do you not consider him, Francesca?”
“Phillip? He is the nicest, kindest man I know but he is more of a brother to me. And anyway, I am told there is a young lady whom he is courting. Mr. Ashbourne spoke of it in Phillip’s presence, and he did not really deny it!”
“Oh well, more is the pity! We know exactly the depth of dear Phillip’s character. Never matter. Perhaps the outing today will reveal more about Mr. Ashbourne and we can form our own opinion.”
T
“What a fine day for a ride!” Francesca looked out of the window of the barouche at Mr. Ashbourne, who was riding a fine horse alongside.
“Yes, it is a fine day!” He trotted up to the coachman and pointed to an area up ahead that was a good place to stop to obtain a good aspect of the castle. As soon as the barouche stopped, he ran with haste to alight from his horse and hand down the ladies from the carriage.
Francesca’s heart fluttered as she placed her gloved hand in his. Her aunt was beaming at Mr. Ashbourne and nodding favorably.
The castle dated from the eleventh century, and Mr. Ashbourne was a veritable fount of knowledge concerning its history. He explained that it was built by the first Earl of Surrey in 1069, a close friend of William the Conqueror, and that it was an example of Motte and Bailey architecture. He further detailed how it was part of William the Conqueror’s power structure after conquering England. Francesca’s uncle was enthralled by the history lesson, but Francesca tired of the facts and hung back with her aunt to look at the scenery.
“He is very knowledgeable is he not, my dear?” asked her aunt sympathetically.
“Very, but I find my mind is wandering … I never was particularly interested in history. I much prefer looking at this view. Quite makes me want to paint a picture!”
After several minutes, Mr. Ashbourne noticed that his quarry had lost interest and stopped to turn around and walk back to the ladies. Francesca’s uncle’s brow furrowed in disappointment at the abrupt end to the history lesson.
“Not a historian, Miss Haversham?”
She dropped her eyelashes and dipped her head. “I must confess, Mr. Ashbourne, that I am not, though I do admire the structure and am very impressed with the views.”
“Then let us take a walk around the grounds and I will try to impress you no more.” He smiled at her pleasantly without the least trace of impatience. “What was your favorite subject to study, then, if not history?”
“French was my favorite subject. I seem to have a gift for languages, and it came rather easily. Do you not agree that we prefer subjects we are good at?”
“Indeed, but French is not my forte. Therefore I will not attempt to converse with you in that language and embarrass myself! To your point, I seem to be able to remember dates and events very easily and therefore have always loved history. Even as a boy, my father would tell me tales of war, and I would be engrossed, afterward playacting them with my tin soldiers.”
“That sounds rather fun. My governess had no gift for teaching history. She never talked about the people as if they had actually lived. Instead, she gave me long lists of dates and events that I had to learn by rote. I did not merely dislike history, I detested it!” She flung her arms in a wild gesticulation, accidentally knocking Mr. Ashbourne and causing him to stumble in surprise.
Before Francesca could apologize, Langley laughed. “Well, well, Miss Haversham! I did not realize you wanted to roleplay the battles this moment! En garde!” He posed as if holding an imaginary sword.
She readily joined in the game and mirrored his pose, and for several minutes they danced the dance of warriors engaged in a skirmish. Upon finishing, her aunt and uncle gave them a round of applause. They both bowed.
“I believe there is a very nice spot for a short repose around the bend. Does that suit everyone?” Langley asked.
“Why, yes!” exclaimed Francesca’s aunt. “For I confess, I am feeling rather hot and in need of some shade.”
“Then follow me,” he said as he offered the good lady his arm. She beamed at the gesture and took it. Francesca fell back to accompany her uncle.
“Your young man certainly knows how to flatter, my dear.”
“Uncle! He is not my young man, as you well know!” The corners of her mouth curved in a very pretty smile.
Her uncle patted her arm good-naturedly. “It is such sport for those of us in middle age to tease the young about romance. You must not mind me. He is rather fine, though, is he not?”
Francesca smiled at the remembrance of Annabelle’s nickname for Mr. Ashbourne.
“Yes, he is rather fine,” she agreed.
“Are you not interested in pursuing a relationship of a romantic nature with him then, my dear?”
“I did not say that, Uncle. I just said he is not my young man at present.” She gave her uncle a knowing look.
As they walked, she watched fondly as Langley Ashbourne bestowed attention upon her aunt and admitted to herself that her feelings for him were growing. He was a young man who was not only of a pleasant appearance but whose heart seemed to radiate goodness too. At least most of the time. And he had sought her out, at last. The future held much promise!
Seventeen
UV
ENGLAND
Phillip threw the sheets from off his legs and stared at the ceiling. It was unusually hot, and he had been tossing and turning for endless hours, his mind feeding on the new evidence of Mr. Ashbourne’s callous disregard for the virtue of young women. He debated whether to just be done with it and arise for the day just as the grandfather clock in the hall struck four. Too early, he thought.
Restless, he felt the burden of the facts he had uncovered. He must not only tell Francesca that Mr. Ashbourne was a disreputable man of corrupt moral values, he also felt a further, immediate need to actively protect her from him. This was an odd thought, as he had no reason to believe that they were currently even in the same county. However, as the hours ticked by, the seriousness of the situation crystallized in his mind. Had Langley, even now, designs on Francesca’s maidenhood? Was he actively stalking her? He shuddered at the thought. Anne’s countenance swam before his eyes and the shadow of what she had once been filled him with sadness. He felt an exigent wish to be on the road, to be doing something constructive. He rolled over again and his arm hung over the side of the bed, his night shirt falling off his shoulder.
Should he not simply write the details in a letter? He vaguely remembered his mother mentioning that she was traveling with relatives in Brighton but had no knowledge of the address where they were staying. No, as illogical as it seemed, he felt an overwhelming urgency to ride to Brighton in haste and search her out. His impatience to be on the road was like a bitter herb in his mouth, and he wrestled with it, rolling it around till it burned.
The clock struck the half hour and he could stand it no more. He arose and penned a note to excuse his absence to his parents and his hosts. It felt so much better to be up and doing. He dressed in haste and quietly ran down the stairs
, shoes in hand, anxious not to rouse the household. As he entered the main hall a maid looked up from sweeping the hearth in the parlor in surprise. He bowed to her and ran out the door, stopping only to drag on his confounded boots.
The crunch of his shoes on the gravel echoed noisily around the courtyard as he went in search of his mount. It was too early for stable boys to be up, so he saddled his own horse and leaped upon it, urging it forward.
An early morning mist hung over the lawn of the vicarage, like a veil. He plunged through it, desirous to shorten the distance between himself and Francesca as quickly as possible.
T
FRANCE
“It is so many years ago, Monsieur. I am not sure we still have our records from that year.” The voice floated out of an open closet door.
Giorgio gazed out of the office that looked onto the village square. The weekly market was in full force, and the vendors were calling out their prices as women with baskets danced a Viennese waltz through the maze of stalls. It was noon and Giorgio’s handkerchief was already damp.
“Voila!” said the property manager, flourishing a piece of paper in his hands.
Giorgio made an effort to stand, but the manager, seeing his distress, hurried over to stand by him.
“Spring of 18 … the villa Normandie was rented to a … let me see … ah, a Mr. and Mrs. John Haversham of Wiltshire, England.”
He looked over in triumph just in time to witness Giorgio clutch his chest and slip ungracefully to the cold stone floor.
T
BRIGHTON
After several days of hard riding, Phillip finally glimpsed the sea. It was nearing nine o’ clock in the evening, and the sun was beginning its descent, throwing a celestial footpath along the water, inviting him to step upon it. He pulled up his mount and removed his hat, relishing the view.
He continued at a trot until he reached a boarding house on the outskirts of the town and, leaving his horse in the stables, went to seek a room for the night before beginning his investigation on the morrow.
Having secured a room, he described Francesca to the desk clerk but discovered that there was no one of that description staying at that hostelry. He turned to mount the stairs, head bowed, and as he did so, bumped into an elderly gentleman of high rank. He made his apologies and ascended the staircase, being much occupied in his mind about Francesca, and failed to notice the man’s son approach from the other side of the establishment. In turn, the young man was so self-absorbed that he did not catch sight of anything but the young man’s coattails, as his father recovered from the entanglement.
T
After a hearty breakfast, Phillip began a long morning of canvassing every hotel and boarding house in search of Francesca and her relations. It was quite astonishing how many places one could stay at to enjoy the seaside air! By luncheon, he had had no success and repaired to the inn for some sustenance.
T
It was the third day of their holidays, and Langley felt convinced that he could orchestrate time alone with Francesca. He knew that she trusted him and was confident that she had fallen in love with him. He had decided to repeat his modus operandi, though it had twice failed to bring about the desired outcome. He would stalk his wealthy prey and persuade them to commit some indiscretion, using the threat of exposure to blackmail them into an engagement. Of course, in execution, it was much less mercenary than it sounded, and the dear little flies had no idea that they were being invited into the spider’s parlor. Luring them in had proved successful, but securing the marriage to a tidy fortune had not yet come to pass. There had been unforeseen complications. And Anne Gray was merely for sport. This time, however, he felt certain of success.
He had invited Francesca to visit with his fictional aunt and suggested that, since it was so close (he had provided the address of her rooms), and she was a respectable woman with a maid, that it was not necessary for her aunt and uncle to chaperone them, for they would be chaperoned momentarily after her departure from their care. Francesca’s aunt had hesitated and looked to her husband for direction, but Langley, seeing the aunt’s hesitation, had gathered her hand in his and placed upon it such a delicate kiss that she was quite a flutter and gave her permission without really meaning to.
Mrs. Barrington stood at the entrance to the boarding house and waved goodbye with her handkerchief, an uneasy feeling of apprehension biting at her heels as the couple flew by in an open carriage.
T
“What a beautiful day it is to be with such an elegant and fashionable young lady!” Ashbourne began. Francesca could hardly believe his words. He did care for her, then? All her anxieties and misgivings dissolved away, and she allowed herself to relax and soak in the pleasure of his attentions. She fluttered her fan and peeked over it in a flirting kind of way. Langley relaxed too; he had but to open the parlor door.
“What did you think of the opera last evening?” he asked.
“It was simply divine!” she replied and described her favorite scenes with many gesticulations.
She leaned back and closed her eyes to relive the magnificence of the previous evening. “I was rather surprised how much I enjoyed it. I have only heard German opera before and always find it rather dreary. Niccolo Piccini is so different, and I was quite transported!”
She sat up after a while, looking around, in confusion. “We seem to have been driving for some time. I thought you said your aunt lived close by.”
T
Balding on top like an eagle, with rheumy eyes that sparkled devilishly, the aged gentleman Phillip had bumped into the previous evening regaled him with tales of his son’s conquests. Distasteful as it was to listen to the tipsy fellow, Phillip felt obliged to give him a little of his time since he had been in the wrong the night before and had seemingly hurt the old man’s pride.
His eyes were faithfully on the storyteller while his mind was busy worrying about Francesca, when part of the tale sunk in and he said, “Pray, can you repeat what you just said?”
“I said that my son is, at this very moment, securing the hand of a wealthy young debutante to ease our pecuniary woes.” The crinkled man cackled with delight.
This commanded Phillip’s full attention. He proceeded with casual caution. “I suppose that the young woman is a willing participant in the betrothal?” His fingers dug into the upholstery as he leaned forward to catch the answer.
“I suppose it depends on your definition of ‘willing!’ ” the old rogue snorted.
Phillip closed his eyes, took a calming breath, and spoke in a clipped manner. “Is it not dishonorable to ensnare a vulnerable, young woman into an engagement? But I am sure I misrepresent your son’s intentions?”
The extra drink was rendering the nobleman defenseless to withhold the truth as he replied, “You have summed up the situation admirably, sir. Desperate times push us to use bold measures. There is no real harm done.”
Phillip’s head tilted in disbelief and he nudged down a swelling fear as he forced himself to ask, “Who is this poor, unfortunate female?”
The brute put his finger to his nose. “Oh sir, you cannot betray me into revealing such details, but this much I will own, she is a dark beauty from Wiltshire.”
An invisible energy punched Phillip in his gut. He jumped to the edge of the armchair, shoulders tight, face taut. “Where is this drama being acted out?”
The fiend’s eyes were drooping as he experienced the effects of the liquor and he was powerless to suppress. “Lighthouse Cove …” he mumbled even as he slumped against the back of his chair.
T
“My aunt? She is in the habit of taking an afternoon siesta,” beamed Langley. “I used her as an excuse. I thought perhaps you might prefer a picnic with me in a very pretty cove I know. I have been searching for a way to have you all to myself. Hence, the small fib. Can you forgive me?”
He dipped his head and looked up at her with an expression full of apology, smiling delightfully.
Her
previous concerns waned at his confession, and, in spite of her former reservations, she was flattered by his attentions. To date, his conduct had been beyond reproach, and she justified his small deception on the grounds that he appeared to be an honorable gentleman.
She sat back in the carriage and endeavored to be pleased that he was favoring her, but, alas, the unease she had attempted to ignore returned as the unscheduled and illicit journey lengthened. Two conflicting emotions began to war with each other: reckless excitement and adherence to propriety. One did not throw off a lifetime of indoctrination that dictated that a young woman should never be alone with a young man in a solitary place. Propriety cut a thrust and started to win the battle of her conscience. She edged away from Langley imperceptibly, mounting concern forming a knot in her stomach. They had left the busyness of the town. She now had no one to appeal to.
T
With no backward glance, Phillip rushed to the reception desk to ask directions to Lighthouse Cove. The desk clerk was helping another patron and Phillip’s toe tapped uncontrollably as he failed to rein in his impatience.
T
“How far is the cove?” Francesca asked, her voice having lost some of its energy.
“Oh, not far now!” Langley hollered as he whipped the horse onward, seemingly unaware of the heightened anxiety in his young companion.
“Will we be meeting a party there?” she asked in desperation, hoping to find a way out of her current dilemma.
“Why, no! I want you all to myself,” he said. Then in a gentler tone, he added, “Don’t you want to be with me, Francesca? I thought you felt about me the way that I feel about you. Come, you cannot pretend to be ignorant of my feelings! I prefer you to any young woman of my acquaintance. Do you not feel the same?”
She looked at him, worry etched on every feature, a pitiful look that would have halted a more decent man, but it did not break him. He was on a mission to save his own hide and she would be a necessary casualty. And besides, she was very lovely. Life with her would have certain advantages, to be sure.
“I would much rather spend time with you in a public place,” she said quietly.