by Sandra Heath
The morning sun slanted through the stained-glass windows, casting colored light on the glazed tiles of the floor. She was closer to the hammerbeam roof now and could see the Calborough phoenix more clearly, its savage beak and finely carved feathers looking so near that she felt she could reach out and touch them.
There was a sound from the floor below and she looked down to see some maids carrying fresh bowls of flowers to the long table, arranging them carefully, and then hurrying away again. The hall became silent again, the tapestries on the walls seeming to muffle even the slightest sound. It was so quiet that she could hear the gulls calling outside. She was about to turn away when she heard the sound of hoofbeats in the quadrangle, and her heart sank as she heard the steward’s voice beyond the porch.
“Good morning, Sir Sebastian.”
“Good morning, I trust my aunt is at home?”
“She is, sir, and I am sure she will receive you.”
“I’ll wait in the great hall.”
“Very well, Sir Sebastian.”
Bryony was rooted to the spot, staring down at the doors which gave onto the porch. He entered the hall, crossing to the table to put down his top hat, gloves, and riding crop. His coat was dove gray and his breeches the color of charcoal. There was a silver pin in the folds of his light blue silk neckcloth, and a bunch of seals was suspended from the fob of his striped waistcoat. Spangled lights from the windows fell across his golden hair and she could see his face quite clearly as he glanced around the hall.
Suddenly he looked directly up at her. “Good morning; Miss St. Charles.” His voice echoed a little.
She didn’t know what to say or do; she had thought herself unseen. Her cheeks felt hot with embarrassment, but at last she found her tongue. “Good morning, Sir Sebastian.”
“How very neat and tidy you are today.”
She said nothing.
He seemed vaguely amused. “Conducting a conversation with you is sometimes extremely difficult.”
“Perhaps it is the times you choose for such small talk, Sir Sebastian.”
“Indeed? And what is wrong with this morning?”
“I think you know the answer to that already, sir.”
“Do I? Pray enlighten me.”
“Do not patronize me, sir, for it is obvious why you are here and it ill becomes you to pretend anything else.”
“On the contrary, Miss St. Charles, there is nothing at all obvious about my visit here today, other than that I told you yesterday I would be calling, and I doubt very much if you have even the slightest notion of my purpose.”
“I am not dull-witted, sir,” she said stiffly, “and I know perfectly well why you have come. And now, if you will excuse me ...” She turned on her heel and left the gallery.
She was trembling as she hurried back toward her rooms, but then something made her stop. It was wrong that she should hide away in her apartment, waiting to be summoned. She was innocent and she would conduct herself in a dignified manner; she would wait openly in the solar, and she would be proud in the face of defeat!
But being proud was, under the circumstances, rather more difficult than she would have wished. The solar seemed oppressive, the faces on the tapestries staring down at her as she sat waiting on one of the elegant sofas. The minutes dragged by on leaden feet. Half an hour passed and still she sat there.
Memories of her first evening came back to haunt her. She could again hear Kathleen humming and she could see herself dancing, her skirts held so unwisely high, her ankles there for all to see; and she could again see those disapproving figures by the door, the duchess so outraged, Petra so sweetly bemused, and Sebastian so coldly expressionless.
As she gazed at the doors, remembering the scene so well, they suddenly opened again and she gave a start as Sebastian came in, accompanied not by the duchess, as Bryony had expected, but by a rather subdued Delphine. It was Delphine’s pale face and rather tense manner which conveyed to Bryony that it had been done, Sebastian had withdrawn from the match. She rose to her feet to face them, trying to look composed, but inwardly trembling.
Sebastian saw her and bowed. “Good morning, Miss St. Charles,” he said lightly. “I trust that you are well. It is a fine morning, is it not? Such a welcome change after yesterday.”
Nonplussed, she stared at him. He spoke as if they had not already met that morning, and furthermore, his greeting was more than a little odd under the circumstances. “G-good morning, Sir Sebastian,” she replied after a moment. “Yes, it is indeed a fine day,”
He smiled, conducting Delphine to a chair and then waiting until Bryony was seated once more before himself taking a place opposite. “I am relieved to find at least one of you in good spirits, Miss St. Charles,” he said, his eyes mocking her confusion, “or otherwise my visit here would have been in vain.”
“I don’t understand,” she said lamely, quite bewildered by the way things were going.
“I came to invite you and Delphine to luncheon at Tremont, but Delphine informs me that unfortunately she is feeling far from well today and could not possibly accept. I was to have ridden over yesterday to deliver the invitation, but I was ... er, caught in the rain.” He smiled a little.
For a moment she simply could not think of anything to say. She felt quite mystified, and she knew that he was silently laughing at her. She suddenly remembered what he had said of Delphine, and she looked anxiously at her. “You are unwell ... ?”
Delphine smiled a little nervously. “I know I would not admit it earlier, but I feel quite wretched. I think I may be going down with an ague of some sort, for I ache abominably and feel dreadfully hot. I shall go to my bed, I think, but I have assured Sebastian that my indisposition will not in any way preclude you from returning to Tremont with him.” She looked a little apologetic.
Bryony was inwardly aghast at the prospect suddenly opening before her. Luncheon alone at Tremont with Sebastian and his mistress? It was not to be contemplated. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly accept,” she said quickly, “not and leave you unwell like this.”
Sebastian’s gaze rested pensively on her, the ghost of a smile still on his lips. “But you cannot disappoint Petra,” he said softly, “for she has gone to considerable trouble to have a particularly fine luncheon prepared.”
“Oh, please, Bryony,” said Delphine quickly, “I would feel even more dreadful if I knew you were remaining behind because of me. You must go. Perhaps you would find it easier to accept if you knew you were doing me a favor.”
“A favor?”
“You could ride my gelding for me. I’ve been neglecting him of late and he’s sorely in need of exercise. He’ll be very fresh, but he’s a very fine ride.”
Sebastian got to his feet. “It is settled, then. I will await you in the quadrangle, Miss St. Charles.” Bowing to them both, he left the room.
Bryony stared after him and then looked at Delphine. “I don’t understand,” she said. “I don’t understand at all. Didn’t he say anything?”
“No.”
“Didn’t the duchess tell him?”
“Oh, yes, she told him everything, but he said that he did not intend to do anything about it.” Delphine’s voice shook a little and she passed her hand weakly over her forehead. “Oh, I feel so dreadful, I’ll simply have to go and lie down.”
She got up. “Bryony, you forgive me for almost forcing you to accept the luncheon invitation, don’t you? Only, I couldn’t help remembering that you once said you intended to marry Sebastian because of saving Liskillen. I know you hate Petra and that she is responsible for everything that has happened to you, but I didn’t think you had any option but to accept, since the match is evidently still on.”
“There is nothing to forgive, Delphine,” said Bryony gently, going to her and hugging her, “and now I wish you would go and lie down, for you look quite awful and I am very worried about you.”
“I’ll be all right,” whispered Delphine, but then she managed a smile. “One
good thing has happened, hasn’t it?”
“Good thing?”
“You’ll be staying on at Polwithiel after all.”
Bryony returned to her rooms to tell an astonished Sally that far from being ordered to pack her things and leave, she was instead to take luncheon at Tremont with Sebastian and his mistress. Bryony still did not know what to make of it all as the maid brought the riding habit, which had been attended to since its soaking the day before. Why, in spite of all that was being done to convince him that he was making a serious mistake, was Sebastian Sheringham still insisting on marrying her?
When she left her apartment, she paused at one of the gallery windows to look down at him as he waited in the quadrangle below with the Polwithiel groom who would accompany them. In that moment she suddenly knew she could not proceed without attempting to find the answers to the questions which seemed more and more to present themselves, and if that meant asking him outright, then so be it.
Chapter Twenty-one
She went straight to him and she did not beat about the bush. “I must speak with you, sir.”
He raised an eyebrow at the challenge in her manner. “Indeed?”
“Yes, Sir Sebastian. Now, before we leave.”
He glanced at the groom, who had heard every word, and then he took her by the arm, steering her a little distance away and then turning her to face him. His eyes were angry. “I am not accustomed to being spoken to like that, Miss St. Charles.”
“And I am not used to being treated in cavalier fashion, sir,” she replied, her determination to learn the truth making her a little reckless. “You’ve been making a fool of me today. Indeed, you did so yesterday too!”
“Did I indeed? I was rather under the impression that yesterday you did the work yourself.”
She flushed. “Why do you still persist with this match?”
“Can you give me any reason why I should not?’’
This reply took her a little aback. “No,” she said a little lamely.
“Then why do you ask?”
He was toying with her again! “Because I want to understand, sir!” she said coldly.
“Miss St. Charles, you’ve assured me that you are innocent of any involvement with Mr. Carmichael. Would you now have me doubt your word?”
“No, but—”
“But nothing, madam. You say you are guiltless, and I believe you. Can we not leave it at that?”
She felt suddenly helpless, for if she was determined to reach the truth, he was equally determined to conceal it from her. “Why won’t you tell me what I want to know? Why do you answer question with question? Why won’t you be honest with me?”
“Do you want me to withdraw from the match?” he asked suddenly.
“No.”
“Then I rather think this pointless discussion is at an end, don’t you?” He began to turn away.
“No, sir!” she cried furiously. “The discussion is not at an end!”
He turned very slowly back to face her, his eyes cold. “Have a care, Miss St. Charles, for at the moment I think you are on dangerously thin ice. You need this marriage, and I don’t think you should forget it.”
She stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“Now who’s playing games, madam? I refer to the fact that you are marrying me simply to save Liskillen, and certainly not because you are being the dutiful daughter.”
“How do you know that?” she whispered. Had Delphine said something? Or maybe even Felix?
He smiled a little. “Shall we just say that I made it my business to find out all I could about the woman I was thinking of marrying? I know all about your father’s debts, Miss St. Charles, debts which I fully intend to settle once my ring is on your finger.”
For a long moment she continued to stare at him. “Why?” she said then. “Why are you doing this?”
“Is a husband not expected to do such things for his new bride?”
“That isn’t what I meant, and you know it.”
“Do I? You flatter me, I think.”
“Maybe I do, but then, I cannot be much of a judge, since I know so little about you, not having gone to great lengths to find out about you before coming here.”
“That was remiss of you.”
“So it seems.” She held his gaze. “I still do not know why you are taking me as your wife, do I? You have discovered why I am entering into this contract, Sir Sebastian, but you are still amazingly coy about your own reasons.”
“I may choose to tell you one day, Miss St. Charles, or then again I may decide never to divulge my reason.”
She smiled a little scornfully then. “Oh, Sir Sebastian, how smoothly you think to continue deceiving me, but the truth of it is that I already know your reason.”
His eyes sharpened. “Do you indeed?”
“Yes, and I suppose I am not really surprised that you wish to keep it secret, for it is hardly commendable, is it?”
“Since you apparently know so much, I suggest you enlighten me, for I am all curiosity.”
“Why do you still try to mock me?” she cried.
“I’m not. Of that you may be certain.”
“I can’t be certain of anything where you are concerned!”
“Oh, yes, you can, madam, you may be certain that one day soon I will be your husband. But first, I wish to know what it is that you think you’ve found out.”
She flushed a little. “There is no doubt about my information, sir. I have it from a very reliable source.”
“I’m waiting, Miss St. Charles, and my patience is fast running out.”
“You’re marrying me because you need a wife quickly in order to gain your kinsman’s fortune. You’ve chosen me because you think I will not stand up for myself, that my provincial and rather obscure background will have made me suitably weak and unsure of myself. That is your reason, Sir Sebastian, and I’ve known about it since my very first night in England.” She hesitated, on the verge of telling him about the letter, but something made her step back from the brink.
Anger had flashed into his eyes. “Well, I don’t need to ask the name of your source, do I? My cousin Felix’s hand is only too plain.”
“This has nothing to do with him.”
“No? How strange then that in Town recently he mentioned the selfsame inheritance, which I assure you does not exist. I’m disappointed in you, madam, for I didn’t think you would be fool enough to pay heed to a man as shallow and contemptible as my cousin. It may be a little late, but perhaps I should still warn you that he is venom in human form, nothing delights him more than causing trouble for others, and you would be wise in future to keep him at a considerable distance.”
“May I remind you, sirrah, that you placed me in his house?”
“I do not need reminding, madam.” He gave a short laugh. “Dear God above, if I am supposed to have chosen you because you are weak and will not stand up for yourself, I’ve made a singularly ill-judged choice, haven’t I?”
“Even a worm will turn, sir.”
“To be truthful, madam, I do not see you as a worm.” He looked at her again. “Ignore my cousin’s stories, Miss St. Charles, for they are false. I am not marrying you so that I may lay my grasping hands upon some imagined inheritance.”
“You tell me not to trust the duke, but should I trust you any more?”
“Since we are to be husband and wife, madam, I would have thought it fitting that you attempt to trust me, for if you cannot, then perhaps it would be best to call a halt to the proceedings after all.”
She looked away. “No, I don’t want that.”
“No, because of Liskillen. What a dilemma you are in, to be sure, for you must save your father’s estate, but in order to do so you must marry a man you do not seem to particularly like and whose word you apparently cannot rely on.”
Oh, if only you knew the truth of how I feel about you ... She met his eyes. “What we are contemplating is not a love match, sir, it is to be a marriage o
f convenience. You have made that perfectly clear, and I am under no illusion whatsoever.”
“Miss St. Charles,” he said softly, “I do not know what you mean by a marriage of convenience, but if by any chance you should mean a marriage in name only, perhaps now would be an appropriate moment to inform you that that is most certainly not what I intend. When you become my wife, you will be my wife in every sense of the word.”
The flush which had stained her cheeks all along now became positively fiery.
He smiled a little. “Now, then, do you still wish the marriage to proceed?”
“Yes.” Her voice was scarce above a whisper.
“So do I, Miss St. Charles, which would seem to bring us back to the beginning of this conversation. I have every intention of marrying you, and I will not be swayed by the interference of others. I am also prepared to meet your father’s debts in full, which is, as I understand it, your sole purpose for giving yourself to be my wife.”
She searched his face. “I am still no nearer hearing the truth from you, am I? You deny the existence of an inheritance, which implies that you have another reason. What could it possibly be which makes a man like yourself decide to take a woman like me as his wife? I would like to know, Sir Sebastian, for to be sure, it is a mystery to me.”
“And it will remain a mystery, madam, until such time as I think it right to tell you. Now, then, can we close this endless discussion and get on with the business in hand? We were about to set off for Tremont Park, as I recall.”
For a moment she hesitated, not satisfied with the way things had gone. She had wanted answers, but she had had none. Should she provoke him by facing him with her knowledge of his mistress? But even as she thought of it, she discarded the notion, for it would serve no purpose at all. Besides, whatever his reasons, she still wished the marriage to go ahead, and it could only do so on his terms.
“Is there still something on your mind, Miss St. Charles?”