The Yuletide Bride: 1781 (Wedlocked!)

by Mary Lyons

  Maybe if, during that tense and anxious time, there had been someone with whom she could have discussed her problems, her life might have turned out differently. But with no close relations other than an elderly aunt in London, and all her school friends either away on holiday—or prevented by their cautious parents from associating with the child of a man who had, reportedly, been involved in crooked financial dealings—her only relief from the mounting stress and strain had been to take long, solitary walks through the deserted meadows edging the river-bank near her home. And there it was that Max had found her, one hot afternoon in late August, weeping with despair and deep unhappiness.

  Despite an early teenage crush on the wickedly glamorous Max Warner, she’d seen nothing of him during the past five years. However, it had seemed the most natural thing in the world when he’d put his strong arms about her trembling figure.

  ‘How could I have forgotten those wonderful, sparkling green eyes?’ he’d said, smiling lazily down at her as he wiped away her tears. ‘I always knew that you’d grow up to become a real beauty.’

  ‘Have I really...?’ she’d gasped, her cheeks flushing hectically beneath his warm, engaging smile as he gently brushed the long, damp tendrils of hair from her wide brow, before lowering his dark head to softly kiss her trembling lips.

  Miraculously, it seemed that Max—unlike so many of her family’s friends and acquaintances—did not hold her personally responsible for her father’s misdeeds. And as they’d walked slowly back to her house, whose contents were now mostly in packing cases for despatch to the local saleroom, she realised that he, too, was suffering from the sudden loss of a parent. Completely immersed in her own problems, Amber had only been dimly aware of the Reverend Warner’s recent death from a massive stroke, resulting in Max’s urgent recall from America, where he’d just completed his postgraduate degree at the Harvard Business School. However, when he confessed to the misery and desolation of being now alone in large empty rooms of the vicarage, or his deep regret at not having been closer to his father, saying, ‘I was pretty wild as a teenager, and there’s no doubt he must have found me a considerable pain in the neck,’ she was easily able to understand Max’s thoughts and feelings at such an unhappy time.

  If only she hadn’t been quite so young and innocent! Amber squirmed with embarrassment as she now gazed back down the years at her youthful self. With her head stuffed full of romantic fantasies, her dazed mind reeling beneath the assault of those glittering blue eyes and his overwhelming sensual attraction, it was no wonder that—like some modern-day Cinderella—she’d immediately fallen head over heels in love with her very own Prince Charming. But if Max found her obvious adoration a nuisance, he gave no indication of doing so, as day after day he joined her for long walks along the deserted river-bank. So, it was perhaps inevitable that, having tripped and fallen over a log hidden in the thick grass, she should have found herself clasped in his arms, fervently responding to the fiercely determined possession of his lips and body.

  It wasn’t for lack of trying, of course. But, over the past eight years, Amber had never been able to fool herself into believing that Max was totally to blame for what happened. Pathetically ignorant of lovemaking as she was, the feverish impetus of her desire had been every bit as strong as his, her ardent and passionate response clearly overpowering any scruples he may have had.

  It had always seemed to Amber as if the next few weeks had been an all too brief, halcyon period of enchantment and rapture. Neither the deep sadness of her father’s death, nor her increasing worries about her mother’s mental condition, had seemed to disturb their mutual ecstasy and euphoric happiness, or the uncontrollable desire that exploded between them each and every time they were able to be alone with one another.

  Unfortunately, there was nothing they could do to prevent the harsh, cruel light of reality from eventually breaking through their cloud of happiness. Both the fast-approaching sale of her family home, and the offer to Max of a job in his uncle’s large firm in America, meant that they would soon have to part.

  Starry-eyed with joy when he placed a small gold ring on her finger, vowing that they would be married just as soon as he was well established in his new career, Amber had never doubted Max’s total sincerity. ‘My uncle’s offering me a good salary, with a partnership in the near future. So, it won’t be long before we can be together for ever and ever,’ he’d pledged, clasping her tightly in his arms before leaving for the airport. ‘Just promise that you’ll wait for me?’

  ‘Of course I will,’ she told him fervently, blinking rapidly in order to prevent the weak tears from running down her cheeks as she waved him goodbye.

  And she had waited. Waiting, alone in the empty house through the long autumn days, while her father’s creditors checked that all her family’s precious possessions had been sold; waiting, while her mother who, if not yet ready to leave the hospital, was showing definite signs of improvement. Until, well over two months after his departure, her increasing apprehension that she might be pregnant hardened into certainty, and she realised that she was in deep and desperate trouble....

  A sudden, freezing gust of wind cut into her memories of that intensely unhappy time, bringing her sharply back to her present-day problems—and the questions raised by the fear of Max’s return. However, by the time she found herself driving back home, Amber had managed to regain a small measure of self-control.

  She couldn’t, of course, pretend that Max’s return was likely to be anything other than a major disaster. On the other hand, to have found herself in such a blind panic, feeling sick and shivering like a leaf at the mere sound of his name, wasn’t going to achieve anything, either. Leaving her own desperate worry and fears about Lucy aside, it was plainly quite ridiculous of her to have been so overcome with sheer terror. Max may have inherited Lady Parker’s large estate—but so what? If, as Sally had said, he was enjoying such a successful career in London, and only visiting Elmbridge to meet his grandmother’s lawyer, there was very little likelihood of his ever returning to live permanently in the area. Besides...all this frantic shock and worry could well prove to be completely unfounded. It was more than likely that such an attractive, vital man would be married by now, and have completely forgotten all about their very brief, secret love affair.

  As she made her way up the drive, she was comforted by the familiar sight of the ancient mansion with its warm red brick and mullioned windows, which, despite its imminent sale, seemed at the moment to offer a place of refuge and safety.

  An American guest had once referred enthusiastically to Elmbridge Hall as a ‘Medieval Gem’. He may have been right, Amber thought wryly as she carried her shopping into the house, but he should try living here in the winter! Which was yet another reason for selling this huge, rambling old house, she reminded herself grimly, only too well aware of the astonomically high bills for coal and electricity, which would be due for payment in the new year.

  ‘Hello, dear. Are you going out shopping?’ her mother murmured, wandering into the hall and casting an approving glance at her daughter’s old tweed coat, over a matching skirt and green, polo-necked sweater, the same colour as her eyes.

  Stifling a sigh, Amber explained that, far from going anywhere, she had just returned with the shopping—before once again reminding the older woman of the large note pad and pencil beside the telephone.

  ‘Mother! Do please try and concentrate,’ she added, as Violet Grant drifted about the hall, idly touching up a flower decoration here, and straightening an oil painting there. ‘I’ve got a huge order for plum puddings. So, I’m going to shut myself away in the kitchen until it’s time to collect Lucy from school. As I won’t be able to hear the phone here in the hall, I’m relying on you to take down any bookings. It’s very important that you write down the correct names and the exact dates they want to stay with us—OK?’

  ‘There’s no need to worry, dear.’ Violet Grant gave her daughter an injured look. ‘You know tha
t I always do my best to welcome your friends to the house.’

  Amber closed her eyes for a moment, mentally counting up to ten. While she loved her mother very dearly, there was no doubt that even her seven-year-old daughter, Lucy, seemed to have a stronger grasp on reality than poor Violet. Unfortunately, the older woman seemed incapable of understanding either the family’s dire need for hard cash, or the necessity of accurately recording all telephone messages.

  A child of wealthy parents, and much indulged by her rich husband, Violet’s butterfly mind had never been able to fully accept their changed circumstances. Even though it was now a long time since all the scandal and newspaper headlines, which had surrounded both the crash of her husband’s business empire and his subsequent fatal heart attack, Violet continued to live in a private world of her own.

  Four years ago, when Amber had first floated the idea of taking in paying guests, her mother had been distraught.

  ‘You must have taken leave of your senses!’ Violet had gasped in horror, before collapsing down on to a chair. ‘To think that I should live to see my own daughter running a...a boarding-house!’

  ‘Oh, come on, Mother—it’s hardly the end of the world!’ Amber had retorted with exasperation. While she felt sorry for the older woman, she nevertheless knew that they both had to face up to the harsh facts of life. ‘When poor Clive died, he left us with nothing but this house and a huge pile of debts. We’ve sold everything we can, and now that Lucy is growing up, she’s going to be needing clothes and toys, and lots of other things that we simply can’t afford at the moment. The house is our only asset, which is why I’ve decided to take in paying guests. However, if you can think of an alternative plan of action—I’ll be glad to hear it!’

  Not able to come up with a viable course of action, it seemed the only way Violet Grant could cope with their changed status was to completely close her mind to what she called the ‘sordid, financial aspects’ of Amber’s business. However, by insisting on treating those who came to the house as personal guests of her daughter—charmingly welcoming everyone as if they were old family friends—Violet had, in many ways, proved to be a considerable asset.

  But that state of affairs was now coming to an end, Amber quickly reminded herself as she made her way to the kitchen, feeling distinctly guilty at not yet having found the courage to tell her mother about the forthcoming sale of the Hall. She was deeply ashamed of being such a coward—but dreaded having to face the hysterical scenes that were bound to follow such bad news.

  All the same...she told herself some time later as she moistened the heavy, dried-fruit pudding mixture with a hefty dose of brandy, she really couldn’t put off telling her mother the truth for much longer. As for the question of Max’s return—well, the sooner she put it out of her mind, the better. After all, no one had any idea of what had happened during that long, hot summer over eight years ago. So, there was no reason why the episode shouldn’t remain firmly buried in the mists of time.

  * * *

  Continuing to sternly lecture herself throughout the rest of the day and most of the next, Amber had gradually managed to recover her usual good sense and equilibrium. Being busily occupied in trying to catch up with all her orders for home-made Christmas produce was proving to be a positive advantage, since she simply didn’t have time to think about anything other than the job in hand. Only abandoning the kitchen to collect Lucy and her friend, Emily Thomas, from school, she was delighted when they decided that it would be fun to explore the contents of some of her mother’s old trunks up in the attic. There was nothing that Lucy liked more than dressing up in Violet’s old clothes—a fact that Amber welcomed, since it meant that the little girls were happily occupied while she made another batch of mince pies for the freezer.

  Busily absorbed by her work in the kitchen, she was startled when one of the row of old-fashioned bells began ringing high on the wall above her head.

  Glancing up, she noted with surprise that there was obviously someone at the front door. Certainly Rose, on a shopping trip to Cambridge, wouldn’t be collecting Emily for another hour at least—and she couldn’t think of anyone else likely to be calling at this time of day. However, as the bell was given yet another impatient ring, she realised that she was going to have to go and answer it.

  Wondering who on earth it could be, Amber didn’t bother to remove her messy apron as she hurried down the dark corridor, through the green baize door, which separated the kitchen quarters from the rest of the house, and across the stone floor of the large hall.

  ‘OK, OK, I’m coming!’ she muttered under her breath as someone began banging loudly on the old oak door.

  ‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting...’ she began as she opened the door. And then, almost reeling with shock, she found herself frantically clutching the large brass door handle for support. With the blood draining from her face, her dazed and confused mind seemed barely able to comprehend the evidence of her own eyes. Because there—standing casually on the doorstep beside Mr Glover, the house agent—was the tall dark figure of Max Warner!

  CHAPTER TWO

  JABBING a fork into the iron-hard frosty ground, Amber tried to ignore the bitterly cold wind gusting through the large kitchen garden. Saving money by growing their own fruits and vegetables was all very well, but having to dig up leeks and parsnips in the middle of winter wasn’t exactly one of her favourite pastimes.

  On the other hand, she’d always found that there was nothing like a bout of hard digging or hoeing to put any problems she might have in their correct perspective. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be working at the moment, Amber told herself gloomily, pausing for a moment to brush a lock of golden brown hair from her troubled green eyes.

  What on earth was she going to do? It was a question that she had been asking herself, with increasing desperation, ever since she’d discovered Max Warner—together with the house agent, Mr Glover—standing on her front doorstep. Even now, two weeks later, there seemed nothing she could do to calm her tense, edgy body, while her brain appeared to be frozen rigid with fright. In fact, with her nerves at screaming point, she wasn’t able to think about anything, other than Max’s sudden reappearance in her life—which had to be one of the most catastrophic and potentially disastrous twists of fate she’d ever experienced!

  She’d hardly been able to believe the evidence of her own eyes. Almost paralytic with shock, the breath driven from her body as if from a hard blow to the solar plexus, it had taken her some moments to realise that it truly was Max, and not an evil figment of her overheated imagination.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Stanhope. It was very good of you to agree to see my client at such short notice,’ the estate agent had murmured pompously, his voice seeming to be coming from somewhere far away. ‘I...er...I hope you haven’t forgotten our appointment?’ he added hesitantly, gazing with apprehension at the young woman, who was staring silently at both him and Mr Warner in such a wide-eyed, unnerving manner.

  ‘An appointment...?’ Amber echoed helplessly, her mind in a chaotic whirl as she stared past him to where a sleek, glossy black sports car was parked beside Mr Glover’s vehicle on the gravelled drive outside the house. ‘I don’t understand. Do...do you mean you want to see over the house?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Mr Glover gave a nervous laugh, clearly wondering if the young widow was entirely ‘all there’. ‘I made the arrangement with your mother this morning, and...’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Amber gasped, suddenly realising that her mother was likely to appear on the scene any minute. ‘I’m sorry—you can’t possibly see around the house today. It’s absolutely out of the question!’ she babbled hysterically, glancing nervously behind her as she tried to close the door. ‘I haven’t yet told my mother, you see. She doesn’t realise...she has no idea that the Hall is for sale. You’ll just have to go away, and...and maybe come back some other time.’

  Unfortunately, Max Warner had quickly taken a firm grip of the situation. Swiftly
placing a well-shod foot in the door, he thanked Mr Glover for his services, smoothly informing the estate agent that he was quite capable of coping with the ‘delicate’ state of affairs at the Hall.

  ‘There’s no need to worry or disturb Mrs Grant. I’m quite confident that her daughter will be pleased to give me a personal conducted tour around the house.’

  Oh, no, I won’t! Amber screamed silently at him as the house agent gave a helpless shrug of his shoulders, walking back down the steps as Max pushed the door open, moving calmly past her trembling figure into the wide, spacious hall.

  Completely stunned, Amber could only stare at him with glazed eyes, quite certain that she must be in the midst of some awful nightmare.

  ‘I should have been in touch with you before now,’ Max told her quietly. ‘But I’ve been abroad and only recently heard the news.’

  ‘”The news”?’ she echoed blankly.

  ‘I merely wanted to say that I was very sorry to learn about Clive’s death.’

  ‘Yes...um...it was a long time ago, of course. So much seems to have happened since then,’ she muttered with a helpless shrug.

  ‘However, it does seem as though you’ve done very well for yourself, Amber,’ he drawled, glancing around at the old family portraits in their heavy gilt frames and the warm, comfortable effect of copper vases filled with greenery against the highly polished, old oak panelling.

  The unexpectedly cynical, scathing note in his deep voice acted as a dash of freezing cold water on her shocked, numb state of mind. Her hackles rising, she was just about to demand an explanation for his sudden appearance—surely he couldn’t really be interested in buying the house?—when her mother floated into the hall.

  ‘How nice to see you. Have you come far?’ Violet murmured, giving the tall man a welcoming smile.

  Amber nearly groaned aloud. This was definitely not the time for her mother to be putting on a performance of her ‘gracious hostess’ routine!