A Perfect Likeness

by Sandra Heath

  He held up his glass. “I promise you that this is all I have touched tonight.”

  “Then it must be the full moon.”

  “And I am perfectly sane. I meant what I said about her becoming au fait with what is required, for she can be put under my Aunt Calborough’s wing at Polwithiel.”

  Petra was taken aback. “You’d do that, knowing how Delphine feels about you?”

  “I’ve already told you that Delphine feels nothing extraordinary where I am concerned, it’s Toby Lampeter who’s the light of her fool life. Petra, my aunt is the perfect person for the task. There isn’t anyone in the realm, not even the queen, who puts more emphasis on matters of etiquette, protocol, manners, and so on, and since my uncle’s death two years ago she’s been even more strict.”

  Petra rose slowly to her feet. “I wish I hadn’t come here tonight now,” she said in a trembling voice, “or I wish that I could suddenly wake up and find that it has all been a horrid nightmare.”

  “You will know it is no mere dream when I tell you what I wish you to do for me.”

  “This has absolutely nothing to do with me, Sebastian Sheringham,” she said quickly, “I wash my hands of it, and that is the end of it!”

  “Please, Petra, for I need your help.”

  “I would as soon help the devil himself! Sebastian, since you are determined to get yourself into this pickle, you can flounder in it for all I care!”

  “I know you do not mean that.”

  “Oh, yes I do.”

  “Please, Petra,” he said again, “for I am in deadly earnest about this.”

  She hesitated. “What do you wish me to do?” she asked at last.

  “I believe that for Miss St. Charles’s own sake it will be best if she stays awhile at Polwithiel before the betrothal, and while she is there it will be expected that I see her.”

  “That is obvious enough, even to me.”

  “Then it will also be obvious that I cannot stay at Polwithiel, for Felix and I are oil and water. It is one thing to dine with him occasionally, or have to meet him socially; it is quite another to lodge beneath his damned roof and accept his hospitality. Petra, I want you to invite me to be your guest at Tremont while Miss St. Charles is at Polwithiel.”

  “Is that wise? Or kind? Sebastian, the whole of society is whispering about you and me. It would whisper all the more if you came to Tremont. And how can you lodge with me and then ride over to whisper sweet nothings to her? Think of how she would feel if she found out.”

  “What is there to find out? Simply that you and I are very old friends and that you have kindly helped me to avoid the ordeal of Felix’s constant company, for to be sure he’ll take himself back to Cornwall while all this is going on—he will not be able to resist it! Will you do it for me?”

  “I think it most ill-advised.”

  “But you will agree?”

  Slowly she nodded. “Yes, but on one condition. You must tell me your real reason for wishing to marry this very unsuitable creature.”

  “Please don’t ask that of me, Petra, for I am not ready to confide in anyone. I promise you, though, that you will be the very first one to be told. Will that suffice?”

  She studied his face for a long moment. “I suppose it will have to, but there is something you must accept as well.”

  “What?”

  “I will go along with this foolishness, for foolishness is what it is, but if I think she is never going to come up to the mark, I will not hesitate to tell you—and I’ll go on telling you until you give in and accept that I am right.”

  He smiled. “My dearest Petra, I did not for a single moment imagine it would be any other way.”

  She smiled too, but then she glanced again at the miniature. Bryony St. Charles wasn’t the wife for Sebastian Sheringham, and somehow he must be made to realize that fact, preferably before he placed his ring upon her finger.

  Chapter Two

  One month later the Mourne Mountains were cloaked in mist and cloud as the May thunderstorm retreated toward the south. Liskillen House gleamed very white amid the emerald acres of County Down, and the park and woods echoed with birdsong as the sun at last broke through the lingering haze. The air was translucent and the scent of flowers was everywhere as Leon St. Charles stood by the open window of the library gazing over the scene he loved so very much.

  He was a thin, stooping man, very aware of his frail health. He always wore a woolen shawl over his narrow shoulders and a warm cap upon his thinning gray hair. The afternoon was warm, but he felt cold, and there was a fire crackling in the hearth behind him.

  Sebastian Sheringham’s letter of reply lay on the table beside him, together with the almost obligatory miniature; and the package from London had been received in Liskillen with as much astonishment as Leon guessed his original communication had been received in Berkeley Square.

  A ghost of a smile played about the elderly man’s lips, for he had never for a moment really believed Sebastian would respond as he had, but now, against all the odds, Bryony was on the brink of a truly dazzling marriage. She did not know it yet, indeed she knew nothing at all of her father’s recent activities.

  With a heavy sigh he turned from the window and went to his favorite chair by the fire. He sat down carefully, rearranging the shawl to protect against an imagined draft from the window. When he was comfortable, he gazed thoughtfully into the flickering flames. When he had first written to Sebastian, it had been a spur-of-the-moment thing, a clutching at any straw to put an end to Bryony’s undesirable liaison with a certain gentleman by the name of Anthony Carmichael.

  Hence the resurrection of the pledge, which James Sheringham had evidently forgotten and which Leon himself had never any real intention of calling into effect. Learning about Bryony’s secret affair with Anthony Carmichael had been too great a shock, however, and the letter to Sebastian had been dispatched the very same day.

  But things had changed since the writing of the letter. Bryony was still seeing Carmichael, nothing had changed that, but now Liskillen was in danger of bankruptcy. Leon sighed sadly, blaming himself for the fact that the duns were at the door. He had entered into such wildly expensive farming schemes, squandering money and borrowing more in order to make the whole thing a viable proposition. He had been out of his depth from the outset, and now his creditors were demanding their money. These financial straits had put an entirely different complexion upon matters, for now, if Liskillen were to be saved, the Sheringham match was suddenly of the utmost importance.

  Leon lowered his gaze remorsefully, for instead of placing the brilliant match tentatively on the table as a desirable alternative to the dubious delights of a plausible but impoverished rogue like Carmichael, he now had to ask her outright to accept Sebastian, a man she had never met. Bryony was a dutiful and loving daughter, so Leon knew that she would accept for the sake of her father and the estate she loved as much as he did, but it was a dreadful thing to expect of one’s adored only child, and the guilt weighed heavily upon him. To cast this opportunity aside, to let her choose her own way in life at this point, would be to cast Liskillen itself aside, leaving them penniless and without a roof over their heads. What alternative did he have? He had to ask her.

  A woman’s light steps approached the door and Leon sat up quickly, instinctively endeavoring to look brighter so that she would not begin to worry again about his health. He smiled as she entered the room, a basket of freshly gathered spring flowers in her hand.

  Bryony St. Charles was just twenty-one years old. Of medium height and slender proportions, she had large dark-lashed green eyes which seemed so very right for the mistress of Liskillen House, set as it was in the emerald beauty of the Irish countryside. Her hair was light brown and worn in heavy ringlets, a prettily old-fashioned style in these modern days of Grecian knots or short curls.

  Her high-waisted muslin dress was the color of primroses and it brought out perfectly the clarity of her complexion. He noticed that
her hem was damp from having walked in the gardens so soon after the storm, and he also noticed that she was not wearing a bonnet, a failing for which he seemed to be forever chiding her.

  “No bonnet again, my dear?” he scolded gently. “That isn’t at all the thing, you know.”

  “And who is there to see my sins?” she inquired, bending to kiss him on the cheek. The scent of the flowers in her basket enveloped him in sweetness for a moment.

  Who was there to see? Why, there was Anthony Carmichael for one. The thought entered his head, but he did not give it voice.

  She noticed his sudden silence and slowly put the basket down. “Is something wrong? You’ve been very quiet for some time now and I was wondering if perhaps I should send for Dr. O’Connor.”

  “There’s no need to go sending for that dithering old fool, he’ll only bleed me, prescribe more physic, and confine me to my bed for a month.”

  “Maybe he will, but if that is what is needed—”

  “Dammit, Bryony, his advice over the years has always been the same, and look at me, I’m exactly the same now as I was when I first had the misfortune to consult him!”

  “You’re no worse, though, are you?” she pointed out.

  “Who’s to say how I would be if I’d left well alone in the first place?”

  She fell silent. She worried a great deal about his health, especially lately when he seemed to have sunk low beneath some anxiety or other. It was almost summer now, a time of the year when he usually rallied, but this time there had been no improvement.

  He glanced at her, wishing that he hadn’t spoken so crossly. Gently he put a hand on her arm. “It isn’t my health that is causing me to be as I am at present, it’s matters concerning your future, my dear.”

  “My future? Father, I’m quite happy as I am, here with you at Liskillen.”

  “Close to Anthony Carmichael?”

  She looked quickly at him, her face going a little pale. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “No? Oh, Bryony, don’t make it worse by denying it.”

  “I’m not denying anything, for there isn’t anything to deny.”

  “Not even the fact that you’ve been meeting him secretly in Liskillen woods?”

  She flushed a little. “Only to ride with him, that’s all.”

  “If that was all, why haven’t you said anything to me?”

  “Because of the way you feel about Anthony. I know that you and he have virtually been conducting a feud for as long as I can remember. I don’t even know what it’s all about, but I do know that when my horse threw me one day no one could have been kinder or more gallant than he was when he came to my assistance. I like him, Father, and I found his conversation very witty and amusing. I saw nothing wrong with agreeing to meet him again, and that was what I did. We’ve ridden together on numerous occasions, and each time he has been the perfect gentleman.”

  “Then all I can say is that he’s playing his hand very carefully indeed!” snapped Leon, suddenly angered at the way she defended a man he loathed. “He’s long been casting his covetous eyes on Liskillen and no doubt he sees in your gullibility the chance to lay permanent claim to my property.”

  “You’re wrong,” she replied, “and please don’t upset yourself. Perhaps now you’ll understand why I said nothing. I knew you’d be like this about it!”

  He was trembling a little and struggled to regain his lost composure. “Very well,” he said at last, “very well, I accept that you were only riding with him, which, if it is so, must mean that you are not in love with the ruffian.”

  “Anthony is not a ruffian, except in your mind. And no, I am most certainly not in love with him.”

  “Then you will have no objection to reading the letter which is on that table by the window,” he said quietly. “The miniature you see beside it is a likeness of the author of the letter.”

  Puzzled, she looked at him for a moment, and then she went to the window, glancing first at the portrait of the handsome golden-haired young gentleman clad in clothes which could have come only from Bond Street. Then she read the letter. The room became very quiet indeed, the birdsong from the nearby woods carrying clearly on the still air. In the distance there was another rumble of thunder, a sign that the storm would soon return from the mountains. Her hand was shaking when at last she put down the letter. “How could you have done this without consulting me?” she asked, “How could you?”

  “I deserve your anger, my dear, but at the time I was angry myself. I believed you to be conducting a clandestine affair with Carmichael.”

  “You should know me better than that.”

  “I do know you, Bryony, but I know my damned Carmichael too, and he’s a cunning, scheming, thieving ne’er-do-well, and he could charm the birds down from every tree in Liskillen woods had he a mind to it.”

  “And now that you know you were mistaken, I trust that that will bring an end to all this nonsense.”

  “I cannot. Bryony, I wrote to him and he has agreed to stand by his father’s word.”

  “Why? Why is such a fine gentleman, a man even I’ve heard of because his name is so often mentioned in the tittle-tattle columns of the newspapers, prepared to honor a pledge which is hardly binding upon him? He could have his pick of society ladies, women with fortunes, and yet he chooses to take me?”

  “It could simply be that he is a very honorable man.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Your association with Carmichael has made you cynical.”

  “I would have been that cynical before I set eyes on Anthony,” she retorted. “Sir Sebastian is a man of the world, rich, eligible, and attractive. He isn’t going to marry someone like me simply because you’ve chosen after all these years to inform him about a forgotten pledge. He has another reason, and it certainly is not honorable obedience to his late father’s idle promise.”

  “The promise wasn’t idle,” protested Leon.

  “It wasn’t exactly memorable either, was it? The letter says that he had never heard of the promise and hadn’t even heard of you!”

  He pressed his lips together, not wanting to get into an argument about Sebastian’s motives, for all that mattered was that Bryony accepted the match. “Please, Bryony, I want you to consider him as your husband.”

  “No. I wish to remain here at Liskillen to look after you, and that is the end of it,” she replied firmly.

  “It isn’t the end of it, my dear,” he said sadly, “for if you stand by what you have just said, then there will not be a Liskillen for either you or me.”

  She stared at him. “What do you mean?” she asked in a voice which was little more than a whisper.

  “Forgive me for this, my dear, but I have to tell you—impress upon you—that because of my foolishness, my lack of business sense, and my faith in a land agent who schemed to swindle me of a fortune, I am on the verge of bankruptcy. The wolves are at Liskillen’s door, Bryony, but the Sheringham match could send them packing. Before you say anything,” he went on quickly, holding up his hand to stem the flow of questions she was anxious to ask, “I swear to you that when I first wrote to Sheringham I had no idea of the financial predicament I had got us into. I wrote to him in the heat of the moment, fearing you would marry Carmichael and be desperately unhappy for the rest of your life. It was after I had dispatched that letter that I learned of my debts.

  “Sheringham’s unexpectedly favorable response means there is a chance to save Liskillen, my dear, and although it grieves me deeply to ask such a sacrifice of you, I have to beg you to accept Sir Sebastian Sheringham as your husband. If you do not, then we will be in penury and you will not have a roof over your head. Mine is an old head, it does not matter so much to me, but I cannot endure the prospect of such a terrible future stretching before you. Accept this match, Bryony, for your own sake as well as for the sake of Liskillen.”

  Tears filled her eyes as she looked at him. She had to accept, she had no choice. To refuse would be t
o forfeit the home she loved, and although he had not said it in so many words, it would mean her father’s health suffering from guilt and a broken heart. A cool breath of wind from outside carried the scent of the flower garden into the quiet room.

  Thunder rolled threateningly over the graying skies, and the first raindrops of another storm began to patter on the ivy below the window. “I will marry Sir Sebastian,” she said in a voice which could barely be heard. “I will go to the Duchess of Calborough at Polwithiel Abbey and I will learn anything I need to learn to be a worthy Lady Sheringham. We will not lose Liskillen if it is in my power to prevent it.” Gathering her skirts, she ran quickly from the room, afraid she would break down completely in front of him.

  Leon remained sadly where he was, his relief tinged with unhappiness that she would soon be leaving Liskillen and going across the water to England. He did not know what manner of man Sebastian Sheringham really was, he only knew that his intuition told him he was a true gentleman, but whatever Bryony lacked in fortune, she would more than make up for with her lovely smile and sweet ways. She would make a dazzling Lady Sheringham, refreshingly different and unspoiled, and if Sebastian Sheringham had not the wit to fall hopelessly in love with his bride, then he was not half the man Leon suspected him to be.

  Chapter Three

  It was the middle of June before all the arrangements had been finalized and Bryony set off from Liskillen, accompanied by her maid, Kathleen. In Dublin they boarded the schooner Molly K, bound for Falmouth, and several days later had rounded the southern coast of Cornwall.

  The voyage had been uneventful, apart from an alarm when a sea mist almost concealed the shore and the schooner passed too close to the submerged rocks known as the Manacles. Warning guns were fired from land and all hands were called on deck to turn the almost becalmed ship away to the east, leaving the hidden hazard safely behind.