by Sandra Heath
Petra put down her cup with a clatter and began to put on her gloves. “I knew there was something I was supposed to be doing this afternoon, but I couldn’t for the life of me think what it was. Your talk of complaining tenants has quite brought it back to me.” She rose to her feet. “I’ll put arrangements for the assembly and the water party in hand, and between us we’ll liven up this dull summer.”
Delphine accompanied her down to the quadrangle, and Bryony waited in the solar for Delphine to return. Meeting Petra again had quite put her out, for although she had held her own, she had been forced to remember that the way to marriage with Sebastian was not by any means clear.
The door of the solar opened and she looked up expecting to see Delphine, but instead it was a footman bringing her a letter on a silver plate. She took it, thinking it must be from her father, but then she froze, for the name and address of the sender were written on it. Mr. A. Carmichael, Castle Ennis, County Down, Ireland. Petra had been at work again.
Chapter Seventeen
Her hands were trembling as she broke the sealing wax and began to read. The letter implored her not to forget her true love, to turn away from all thought of marrying Sebastian, and to go back to Ireland, where lay her only chance of true happiness. It reminded her of stolen moments which had never taken place, of kisses which had never been shared, and of whispered promises which had never been uttered.
It was a masterly forgery, and anyone merely picking it up without knowing would believe that it had come from Anthony Carmichael and that there had indeed been an understanding which she was now faithlessly breaking. But it was all Petra; she had written it and she had left it where it would be found and brought up to her victim. No doubt the intention had been that it would be delivered when the duchess was present, for that was how it would do its evil work to best advantage, but instead it had been brought when Bryony was alone, when there was no one to see.
The door opened again and she hastily began to conceal it, but it was only Delphine. Delphine looked at her in surprise. “Is something wrong, Bryony? You look very pale.”
“No, nothing’s wrong.”
Delphine studied her for a moment and then went to sit down again, folding her hands neatly on the lime folds of her gown and then looking once more at Bryony. “There is something wrong, I’m sure of it, and I am hurt to think that you cannot confide in me.”
“Oh, please don’t be hurt,” said Bryony quickly.
“Then tell me.”
Slowly Bryony took the letter from behind her back. “This was given to me a moment ago.”
“What is it?”
“Read it and you will see for yourself.”
Puzzled, Delphine took the letter and began to read. Her eyes widened and her lips parted. “Oh, no! What an infamous fellow he is! Oh, if Mother had been here when it came, I dread to think what she would have done!”
“You do still believe in my innocence, don’t you?” asked Bryony anxiously. “You don’t think I’ve been fibbing all along?”
“Of course I believe you,” said Delphine gently. “Indeed, I think this odious Mr. Carmichael should be hanged for what he is doing. Would you like me to write to Felix and ask him to warn the fellow off?”
“Oh, no! Please don’t do that!” said Bryony hastily, imagining what Felix would say to such a communication.
“But he could see that it is stopped.”
“I would rather you did not write to him.” Bryony lowered her eyes for a moment. “Mr. Carmichael is not behind all this, Delphine.”
Delphine stared. “I beg your pardon?”
“It isn’t Anthony Carmichael, it’s someone else, someone much closer.”
“But it has to be him!”
“This letter has not been through the mail, Delphine. Look at it and see for yourself.”
Delphine looked more closely at it, her face becoming a little pale. “Who do you think it is then?” she asked.
Bryony hesitated. How could she say it was Petra, who was so very welcome at Polwithiel Abbey and who had appeared to extend the hand of friendship? She met Delphine’s earnest gaze again and decided to tell her. “It is the Countess of Lowndes,” she said quietly.
Delphine rose slowly to her feet, her dark eyes wide. “Surely not!”
“I am serious about this, Delphine. Mr. Carmichael has no reason to write this letter to me, nor had he any reason to communicate with the duke or inscribe that miniature as he apparently did. But the Countess of Lowndes has very good reason indeed.”
“Because she is Sebastian’s mistress and wishes to discredit you? But, Bryony, what purpose would it serve? She is married already and can never be his wife, for Lowndes will not release her. Besides, she knows Sebastian will always be hers.”
“I know all that, but I also think that she is a jealous mistress, Delphine—she doesn’t want him to marry anyone, even someone like me.”
“You seem almost as if you know something I do not.”
Bryony looked at her for a moment. Should she tell her everything? She had gone this far; what point was there in shrinking from revealing the letter to Sebastian? She picked up her reticule and took it out. “This was hidden in my purse during the night I spent in Falmouth. Someone broke into my room in order to put it there.”
Delphine stared at her and then read the letter. Her face became more and more pale, and when she had finished it she looked quite shaken. “It’s a horrid letter,” she whispered, “and I would not have believed it of her, or of Sebastian for that matter. Oh, I know I’ve quarreled with him because of his conduct with Petra, but I still would not have thought he could be so cruel as to intend this for you. Oh, my poor Bryony, how awful you must have been feeling ever since reading this. No wonder you were disagreeable with her. I marvel you did not strike her, for I believe that I would have done so had I been in your position. To think that she sat beside me, exuding all that sweet friendship and concern! Oh, she’s infamous, infamous!”
With a shudder she tossed the letter onto the tray next to the teapot. “You cannot possibly be still considering the match, Bryony. Say that you are not! Please declare off, for I cannot bear to think of you suffering the marriage they intend for you!”
Bryony looked away. “I have to marry him if I can,” she said quietly, “because of Liskillen’s debts. The marriage will save my father’s estate. I must not forget that.”
“I cannot believe that you are placing such a thing before your entire happiness.”
“Liskillen is all we have, Delphine. Besides, if I withdraw from the match and we lose Liskillen, what happiness will there be anyway? My father adores every acre of that estate, and his health is very frail, more frail than ever since he has been worrying about his debts, and if he were to lose Liskillen now, I dread to think what would happen to him. I love him too much to put my happiness first.”
Delphine put a quick hand on her arm. “Forgive me, I did not mean to speak out of turn. So you truly mean to go on with the match?”
“If I can. Petra is a very clever adversary, and it could be that with her next move she will convince Sir Sebastian that I am everything that is wrong.” Bryony smiled a little wryly. “Perhaps he and I deserve each other, though, for we are both scheming and mercenary, are we not?”
‘‘He may be, but you are acting out of duty and nobility.”
Bryony looked quickly at her. “You will not say anything to anyone about this, will you? I’ve told you, and am relieved to have confided in someone at last, but I do not want it to go any further. It would serve no purpose. Your mother would not believe it anyway and would think it yet another example of my willfulness, your brother would prefer to ignore it, and Sir Sebastian would not be pleased, to say the least. Promise me, Delphine.”
Delphine hesitated. “Very well, if that is your wish.”
“It is.”
Neither of them had heard the duchess’s carriage returning, and they knew nothing of her presence in the
house until quite suddenly the solar doors were flung open to admit her. Delphine gave such a guilty start that she knocked over the teapot, the hot liquid spilling everywhere and soaking Petra’s letter. But it was not of this letter that Delphine initially thought; it was of the one purporting to come from Anthony Carmichael. This she hastily sought to conceal from her mother’s sharp eyes.
The duchess exclaimed irritatedly when she saw the spilled tea, but she did not miss her daughter’s surreptitious movements. “And what is it that you are so desperate I should not see, my lady?” she demanded, advancing toward the dismayed Delphine. “If it is a communication from that disreputable Lampeter, then it will be the worse for you!”
Delphine glanced guiltily at Bryony, who lowered her eyes resignedly, and Delphine very reluctantly surrendered the letter to her mother. As the paper was unfolded again and the duchess began to read, Bryony stared at the tray, which was awash with hot tea. The original letter was illegible now, its paper so soft and fine that it had almost disintegrated. That ruined piece of paper was her only proof that Petra had declared war upon the match, and now it had been destroyed.
The duchess’s face became very still as she finished the letter. She looked coldly at her daughter. “Leave the room, madam, I will deal with you later for aiding and abetting this disgraceful affair.”
Delphine got up in dismay. “But Bryony isn’t ...” she began tearfully, the protest dying on her lips as she saw what had happened to Petra’s letter. She realized immediately that her clumsiness had destroyed a vital piece of evidence and that once again she had been responsible for putting Bryony in an awkward predicament.
The duchess gave her daughter a furious look. “Leave the room this minute, madam, before I decide to severely punish you for your complicity in this wanton creature’s activities!”
With a sob, Delphine gathered her skirts and hurried out, leaving Bryony alone to face the duchess’s wrath. The solar was very quiet in the ensuing moments, but at last the duchess spoke. “You were warned what would happen if you persisted with your defiance, missy, and so you will hardly be surprised when I tell you that I am now going to write to Sebastian and inform him that you are still communicating with your lover!”
“He isn’t my lover!”
“Silence! I’ve endured enough because of you, Miss St. Charles, but your conduct now makes further tolerance on my part quite impossible. I am also now forced to defy my son, for Felix has strictly forbidden me to interfere in any way with the match between you and his cousin, but I cannot possibly ignore this latest matter. Go to your rooms and remain there until I give you permission to leave. And do not hope that my nephew will be lenient a second time, for that is the last thing he will wish to be after he has read what I intend to write. Soon he will wish he had never even heard your name!”
Bryony stared at her in dismay and then without a word walked past her and out of the solar.
She was seated unhappily in the window seat in her apartment a short while later when she saw a rider setting off at a great pace down the drive. The duchess had wasted no time; her letter was already on its way to London.
Chapter Eighteen
In the end the duchess’s promptness proved to be of no avail, for Sebastian was not at home when the letter was delivered to Berkeley Square, and he was not expected there for some time. Word to this effect was sent back to Polwithiel, leaving the duchess in some difficulties, as she had been counting upon Sebastian ending the match with Bryony before Felix returned. Now this seemed unlikely to come about in time, and Felix was not going to be at all pleased when he found out that his mother had deliberately gone against his orders concerning meddling in his cousin’s marriage affairs.
Still confined to her rooms, the duchess not knowing quite what to do with her, Bryony spent a great deal of time in the window seat, gazing out at the view over the estuary. She felt strangely empty now that all thought of marrying Sebastian must be at an end. She tried to tell herself that soon she would be far away from him and from the pain of her unrequited love, but the prospect made her feel more empty than ever.
Common sense and pride told her to deny the duchess the satisfaction of throwing her out; but Bryony simply could not bring herself to leave. It was as if by staying she remained Sebastian Sheringham’s intended wife. She was angry with herself for her foolishness, and for her weakness, but she was ruled by her heart and not by her head. She was angry with herself too for forfeiting Liskillen. Oh, she knew that it was not her own fault, because there was nothing she could have done to prevent things happening as they had, but still she felt to blame—she had failed, and because of that, Liskillen would be lost.
The days passed without word arriving from Berkeley Square, and in the end the duchess’s hand was forced by the arrival at Polwithiel of Madame Colbert, the famous couturière who was to provide Bryony with an entire new wardrobe. Madame Colbert was a brilliant dressmaker, but she was also a notorious gossip, and the duchess knew full well that word would soon be all over the realm that the Duchess of Calborough had locked the future Lady Sheringham in her rooms.
The duchess therefore had no option, in the absence of a decision from Sebastian, but to allow Bryony to see the dressmaker as if all were going on as before. Prior to permitting her to leave her rooms, however, she extracted from Bryony a firm promise that she would conduct herself correctly and not give the dressmaker anything to whisper about.
Bryony agreed readily enough, for as far as she was concerned she had done nothing for which she should have been punished; and besides, it was good to be able to leave her apartment again.
The consultations with Madame Colbert presented opportunities for speaking with Delphine again, that young lady having been strictly forbidden by her mother to associate with Bryony. Delphine proved surprisingly adept at deception, being all coolness and reserve when the duchess was present, and the very opposite when she wasn’t. For Bryony it was just another strain when she already had so much to endure. She wished she had the resolve to leave Polwithiel, and she despised herself for her lack of spirit.
There was something grotesque about pretending to choose a wardrobe which she would never wear. She gazed at countless drawings, inspected hundreds of pieces of material, and considered various accessories, and she did so with a lack of enthusiasm which caused the dressmaker and her assistant to exchange many questioning glances.
Madame Colbert was a shrewd businesswoman, and on accepting the order to provide the future Lady Sheringham with a new wardrobe, she saw an opportunity to rid herself of a gown which had unexpectedly been left on her hands by the demise of the young lady for whom it had originally been ordered. It was a beautiful creation of silver organdy muslin, with dainty silver piping on its sleeves and around its hem and long train. It was a perfect gown, as fashionable as any young lady could wish, and it fitted Bryony as if it had been made for her. Had it not been for the hopelessness of her situation, she would have taken great joy in such a gown, but as it was she felt close to tears just trying it on. The dressmaker evidently thought her very strange indeed, although she said nothing.
Madame Colbert stayed at Polwithiel for rather longer than planned, not departing until early on the day that Felix was expected to return. The duchess still had not heard anything from Sebastian, and so had to prepare for what was bound to be an angry confrontation with her son when he discovered what she had been doing.
The dressmaker left before breakfast, promising a second ball gown in time for Petra’s assembly, and Bryony was strolling in the gardens when a footman came to inform her that the duchess and Delphine were calling upon a neighbor and would not be returning until the afternoon. The news was far from displeasing, for at last she could enjoy a little freedom. She glanced up at the sky. There were storm clouds on the horizon, but as yet the sun was shining. She could go for a ride in the park! She didn’t hesitate, but asked the footman to see that a horse was prepared immediately, and then she hurried up t
o her apartment to change.
She was determined that on this occasion, with the duchess safely out of the way, she would ride without stays. Sally—for that was now what she called Anderson when they were alone—giggled a little as the stays were discarded. Bryony had come to like the maid, and she felt a great deal of sympathy for her because her sweetheart, the youngest Polwithiel coachman, Tom Penmarrion, had a roving eye and was casting speculative glances in the direction of the innkeeper’s daughter at the Royal Charles.
Informing the steward that she would be following the same route that she and Felix had taken, she mounted the horse and was soon riding sedately down through the park. No one watching her would have known that she was improperly dressed, for her back was as stiff and straight as the duchess’s. She looked very decorous, perched gracefully on the sidesaddle, the ribbons of her little hat fluttering gaily behind her. She could not help an ironic smile, for she looked every inch the future Lady Sheringham, but the duchess’s letter must by now have put an end to any such possibility.
It was overcast when she reached the open headland by the tower, and as she paused there for a while, gazing out at the open sea in the distance, she thought she heard the first low rumble of the approaching storm. Below the cliff the tide was out and more rocks were now visible, stretching away toward the creek, which was now little more than a stream between glistening mudbanks. By her horse’s hooves, the star-faced mesembryanthemums were tightly closed, showing their brilliant colors only to the sun.
She turned the horse away then, riding along the bank of Polwithiel Creek. In the distance there was another roll of thunder, louder now as the storm swept closer to the shore, and she urged the horse on, anxious to complete the ride before it began to rain.