A Sense of Misgiving (Perceptions Book 3)

by Wendy Soliman

  ‘No. We barely speak nowadays. He looks upon me as a Judas.’

  Flora flashed a wry smile. ‘I am perfectly sure that he does. If you are not for him, then you are against him. He does not have a forgiving nature, which I have always looked upon as an unfortunate failing in a man of God.’

  Mr Bolton’s responding smile enhanced his handsome features. She had misunderstood him, it seemed, and liked him a great deal more now. But not enough to even contemplate marrying him. The feelings that engulfed her whenever Luke smiled at her trickled through her bloodstream like warm honey. Mr Bolton’s smile simply made her think that he should smile more often.

  ‘Well, I am glad we have had this conversation, and am very sorry to disappoint you,’ she said. ‘But I hope we can be friends.’

  ‘I would like that,’ he said, sadness in his eyes.

  ‘Flora, is everything all right?’

  Flora and Mr Bolton both turned at the sound of Sam Beranger’s voice. He dismounted and sent Mr Bolton a suspicious look.

  ‘Hello, Sam. This is Mr Bolton, my father’s curate. Mr Bolton, may I present, Mr Sam Beranger, the Earl of Swindon’s brother.’

  Sam gave a curt nod as he subjected the curate to a suspicious appraisal.

  Mr Bolton bowed. ‘Your servant, sir.’

  He sent Flora a surprised look, probably wondering why a paid companion presumed to address an earl’s brother by his Christian name, and why that gentleman didn’t object to such informality.

  ‘You know where to find me whenever you have need of me,’ Mr Bolton said, sweeping the hat from his head and fixing her with a probing look. ‘Be assured that I have only your best interests at heart. Good day to you, Flora. Mr Beranger.’

  He turned away and did not look back.

  ‘Good heavens.’ Sam removed his hat and scratched his head. ‘What was that all about?’

  ‘I wish I knew, Sam.’ She turned to watch Mr Bolton go, still finding it hard to believe that he liked her for herself rather than for the sake of his progression within the church. ‘I wish I knew.’

  Sam relieved her of her parcel, carrying it under one arm and leading his horse with the other. ‘Do you have the gig at the Hart?’ She nodded, still distracted by Mr Bolton’s remarkable admissions. ‘Come along then, I’ll walk with you to prevent you being accosted by any more of these suspicious ecclesiastical types.’

  ‘You are a brave man, Sam Beranger,’ she said, laughing at him.

  Chapter Seven

  Luke made a concerted effort to concentrate upon the stack of correspondence that awaited his attention. He dictated letters to Paul and dealt with a visit from an aggrieved tenant, but remained distracted. He then had his black stallion Onyx saddled, so that he could ride the estate with Parkin, his steward. Hopefully, that would focus his mind.

  ‘Come on then,’ he said to Romulus, who looked up from his position in front of the fire the moment Luke stood up. The dog had been snoring, dreaming of chasing rabbits no doubt. ‘You could do with the exercise, too.’

  Romulus barked once, suddenly full of life. He loped along beside Onyx, occasionally running off barking some more as he lumbered after squirrels he didn’t have a hope of catching, before returning to Luke with his tongue lolling from the side of his mouth. Luke laughed at his antics as he and Parkin checked on the progress of the harvest, discussed the possibility of rain intervening before it was completed and then examined the cattle, deciding upon the number ready to be sent to market.

  Parkin acknowledged his orders and rode back to the estate office to carry them out. But Luke sensed Onyx’s need to stretch his legs and used it as an excuse to delay his own return. He turned the stallion in the direction of his favourite gallop across the lower pastures and gave him his head. The powerful horse ate up the ground with a long stride, putting in the occasion buck because he couldn’t seem to help himself. Luke understood his desire to retain his independence and simply let him run until he tired, slowing to a canter then a sedate trot, at which point a panting Romulus caught up with them.

  ‘Better?’ he asked, patting the horse’s neck beneath his long mane.

  Luke guided Onyx in the direction of the reservoir, one of his favourite locations and a place where he had once come upon Flora enjoying the view. He dismounted and sat on the same mound that they had shared, looking out over the expanse of water rippled by a light breeze, enjoying the serenity. He recalled how Flora had been dangling her bare feet in the water on that occasion but had seen no reason to cover her ankles just because he had intruded upon her. He grinned, thinking it typical of her rebellious nature that she took in her stride a situation that most unmarried females would find scandalous.

  Hatless and in shirtsleeves, he leaned back on his braced arms, seeking an inner peace that evaded him. Romulus, now tired, flopped down beside him and rested his big head on Luke’s thigh. His responsibilities hung heavily on his shoulders. Responsibilities that included selecting a wife and procreating. He could not defer that duty indefinitely, but the task held little appeal. There was nothing to say that one of his brothers shouldn’t produce the next heir. Charlie was already married. Presumably Miranda would imminently announce her pregnancy.

  ‘You’re being cowardly,’ he said aloud.

  Perhaps that was true, but he would not be the first aristocrat who had eschewed the questionable pleasures of marriage.

  His ruminations were disturbed when Romulus lifted his head and let out a deep bark, alerting Luke to the sound of an approaching carriage. He frowned, not wanting his solitude invaded. The reservoir was not on his land and the track leading to it was a public thoroughfare, but not many people used it unless their specific destination was the reservoir itself. It wasn’t a short cut to anywhere and the weather wasn’t fine enough to entice bathers to the spot at that time of year.

  ‘Who is it, boy?’

  Luke stood, in no mood to socialise, but before he could remount Onyx the approaching carriage slowed to a halt.

  ‘Luke,’ said the female seated beside the driver. ‘What a pleasant surprise.’

  ‘Mrs Arnold?’ Luke groaned inwardly as he peered up at a pretty face that he had not seen for some years. ‘What brings you all the way out here?’

  ‘What sort of greeting is that after such a long parting?’ She gave a trill little laugh that sounded contrived and went straight through Luke. Romulus barked at her again and trotted up to the carriage, expecting to have a fuss made of him. Lucy Arnold shied away from the dog, clearly frightened by his size. Or perhaps she simply didn’t like dogs. Luke didn’t bother to tell her that Romulus was incapable of hurting anyone and was terrified of his grandmother’s cat. ‘Where are my manners? This is my brother, Captain Redfern. The last time you saw Fergus he would have been a small boy, so you can be forgiven for not recognising him. Fergus, may I present Luke Beranger, the Earl of Swindon.’

  ‘Your servant, m’lord. Please excuse my not getting down. Gammy leg, you understand. Injured in the line of duty.’

  ‘Please, there is no need.’

  Luke examined the man who had made such an impression upon his sister. The scar on his otherwise handsome face would, he supposed, seem romantic to an impressionable young girl. It had been incurred in the defence of his country’s interests, Luke conceded, attempting to be fair. Not one accustomed to making hasty judgements, he had already taken the man in dislike. There was something about him that simply didn’t jibe. That and the fact that Mrs Arnold’s abode was twenty miles away and they had absolutely no reason to be on this out of the way track.

  ‘I wanted to remind Fergus of the place where you boys all used to swim when we were younger. Do you remember those days, Luke?’

  Luke forced himself to smile. ‘I was not aware that you girls spied on us.’

  ‘Of course we did. We failed to see why the boys should have all the fun.’

  An awkward silence ensued. Luke presumed that Lucy awaited an invitation to return to the hou
se, but Luke had no intention of issuing it.

  ‘You must excuse me,’ he said, swinging into Onyx’s saddle and whistling to Romulus. ‘I have already neglected my duties for too long.’

  ‘Oh. Well, of course, we shall see you tomorrow at Mary’s party. Indeed, we look forward to it.’

  ‘Your husband will not be joining us?’

  ‘Sadly not. He is in France and likely to remain there for some weeks.’ This statement was delivered with a significant look. ‘You will have to make do with me, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I’m sure Mary won’t mind,’ Luke replied, deliberately misinterpreting her meaning. ‘Good day to you, Mrs Arnold. Redfern.’ He saluted them with his riding crop, then turned Onyx and cantered away, with Romulus loping alongside him.

  ‘What was that all about?’ he asked Romulus.

  His dog offered him no answer.

  Feeling disgruntled, he surrendered Onyx into the hands of his groom and returned to his library. The ride, and Mrs Arnold’s unwanted intrusion on his solitude, had done little to calm him, and he was still unable to concentrate. He hadn’t been there above half an hour before his brother Sam joined him. And what he had to tell Luke only added to his bad mood.

  *

  Mary gave up on her painting and threw her brush aside with a frustrated sigh. She simply couldn’t get it right. Perhaps she should have gone into the village with Flora after all. She was achieving nothing here. The problem was that painting was a solitary occupation, and left her with too much time to think. That had not been the case when Emma had been at home. Although her sister didn’t paint, she shared the same sitting room as Mary. She was constantly there, full of chatter, confiding in Mary and preventing her from feeling lonely. That was at the root of her dissatisfaction, she realised.

  She was lonely, and a little lost.

  Perhaps that was why her mind seemed determined to dwell upon Captain Redfern, even though she was unable to decide how she truly felt about him. She was certainly a little smitten and enjoyed being courted by him, if that’s what was happening to her. It was hard to be sure. She hadn’t seen him that often, but whenever she had he’d made a point out of behaving charmingly towards her, making her laugh. Making her feel special. And she was uncomfortably aware that she had invented reasons to call upon Lucy while staying with Emma in the hope of seeing him. That probably made her seem desperate and might have given Captain Redfern encouragement.

  She despised young women who turned into sentimental sops the moment an attractive gentleman paid them any attention. She and Emma used to laugh at such silliness and Mary had been determined never to become one of them. She had convinced herself that she had more sense than that.

  But it now appeared that she did not.

  Disgusted with herself, she glanced out the window and observed sunlight filtering through the trees, dappling the leaves and highlighting their glorious colours. Beyond the well-tended lawns, the fields merged into an undulating horizon of low hills and trees coppered by the season. If she were to go outside, perhaps she could capture the effects of the sun in the trees and shake the cobwebs from her brain at the same time. It was worth trying, and might even stop her thinking about the wretched captain. Flora had told her she would instinctively know when she met a gentleman who stirred her passions. Her difficulty was that she couldn’t be sure Captain Redfern had done so. It was all so very confusing.

  Emma had been in love with Mr Watson, now her husband, for years and never had a moment’s doubt about the true nature of her feelings for him. How Flora could be so sure about the lures of passion when to the best of her knowledge she had never experienced it first-hand Mary was at a loss to know. But Flora was so very clever and sensible, so she was sure she must have got it right.

  Mary pulled on an old-fashioned cape that left her arms free of the inconvenience of tight sleeves, snatched up her sketchbook and pencils and headed outside. She settled on a stone bench that gave her an unimpeded view of the trees she wanted to draw, waving to Luke, whom she could see standing at the long windows in his library that overlooked the gardens. He waved back and turned away, apparently preoccupied.

  The fresh air, solitude and quiet rustle of a breeze agitating the leaves had the desired effect, and this time Mary managed to absorb herself in her work. So much so that she started violently when she heard someone approach. She turned and smiled when she realised it was Paul. He too clutched a sketchbook.

  ‘May I join you?’ he asked, sounding tentative.

  ‘Please. I was not aware that you enjoyed sketching.’

  ‘I find it relaxing, but I am not in your league.’

  Mary laughed. ‘There is nothing particularly special about my abilities. My family are just kind enough to heap praise upon my efforts, that’s all.’

  Mary agreed to let Paul stay because she was too polite to tell him that she preferred to work alone. But when he didn’t attempt to engage her in conversation, instead concentrating upon his own work, she found his undemanding presence soothing.

  ‘May I see?’ she asked, when Paul sighed and put his pencil aside.

  ‘If you promise to be honest.’

  He turned his pad to face her and she gasped. ‘But that’s wonderful! You deceived me. You told me you simply dabbled, but it is clear that you are far more proficient than I shall ever be.’ She pouted. ‘How discouraging.’

  ‘I’m not sure about that. I had ideas once of making a living as a portraitist, but…well, things did not turn out quite as planned.’ He lifted one shoulder. Mary hadn’t noticed quite how broad his shoulders were before; nor had she been aware of the fetching cleft in his chin and the sharp cut to his cheekbones. So much for an artist’s observant eye, she thought with a wry smile. ‘Life seldom does.’

  ‘I don’t know the particulars,’ Mary replied, abandoning her own sketch and giving Paul her full attention, ‘but I have always sensed that you gave up a great deal for Luke’s sake, and Lord Hardwick’s, too.’

  He shot her a sharp look. ‘Whatever makes you say that?’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, I am not privy to any dark secrets. It’s just that I remember so well how upset Luke was just before Lord Hardwick’s accident.’ She chuckled at Paul’s horrified expression. ‘I was still a child at the time and things were said in front of me, as though I was too young to understand them. That was most likely true. Then.’ She paused. ‘But looking back, and taking into account recent developments, it all makes more sense.’

  Paul quirked a brow. ‘Recent developments?’

  ‘Lord Hardwick’s miraculous resurrection, of course.’

  ‘But that isn’t…’ Paul’s words trailed off. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I am not a complete simpleton, Paul. Lord Hardwick fell from two floors up. Had he survived, then I dare say he would be permanently crippled.’ She flapped one hand in dismissal of his obvious concerns. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not asking you to explain and I am perfectly willing to carry on pretending that your friend is in fact the marquess’s French nephew.’

  ‘You are very astute, and have guessed the truth. I cannot tell you everything. Suffice it to say there was a lady involved.’

  Mary nodded, biting her lip to hold back a smile. ‘I thought there might have been.’

  ‘A lady with a very jealous husband who didn’t take kindly to sharing his wife’s favours, and who was ready to ruin the marquess’s good name. It transpires that the marquess anticipated his son’s death in order to appease said jealous husband and save his reputation, but only because he had been told there wasn’t the least chance of Archie recovering.’

  ‘Good heavens!’

  ‘To be fair, we none of us assumed that Archie could possibly have survived his injuries.’ Paul stared off into the distance. ‘Goodness knows who was in the coffin that we carried into church. We only discovered ourselves back in the spring that he had been alive all this time.’

  ‘You need to be careful. If I have guessed the trut
h, it stands to reason that others will be curious about the sudden emergence of a badly injured nephew.’

  ‘Archie is aware of that.’ Paul sighed. ‘It’s his problem now.’

  ‘And you have made more than enough sacrifices on his behalf.’ Mary smiled at him. ‘You are truly a good and honest friend, Paul.’

  ‘I’m not sure about that. I was always going to have to work for a living, doing something or other, and serving Luke suits me very well. With the benefit of maturity, I very much doubt if my art would have kept the wolf from the door, even though a small part of me resented never having the opportunity to find out. Anyway, Luke and I are the best possible friends, he rewards me well for my efforts and I have no complaints to make.’

  ‘Luke couldn’t manage without you, I am absolutely sure of it.’

  Paul smiled. ‘You’re very kind, but we are none of us indispensable. Anyway, what about you? Since we appear to be speaking frankly, tell me how you feel without Emma here. You two have always been inseparable.’

  ‘A little lost at first. I still am, I suppose, but I have Flora and her presence makes a huge difference. In fact, I am unsure how we managed without her. She is so very good, and kind and wise beyond her years. Grandmamma adores her. Not that she will ever admit it.’

  ‘I have no right to offer you advice, but I recommend caution. Take time to readjust to being the only daughter of the house and grow accustomed to the attentions you will get before making decisions.’

  Mary sent him a sideways look, feeling suddenly very self-conscious and a little warm inside. ‘Yes, that’s what I fully intend to do,’ she replied, wondering if Paul had somehow heard of her interest in Captain Redfern and was warning her against him. She didn’t know how to ask without embarrassing herself, so she returned her attention to her sketch.

  ‘I have always wanted to travel. Perhaps now I shall,’ she remarked. ‘Emma and I were promised a tour but…well, Mama and Papa died and everything changed. Not that I am complaining, of course. I am luckier than most, and well I know it.’